Chapter 314
Chapter 314
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: EP.66 – Night with Knights and the Campfire (4)
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"-If the soul has escaped, it makes sense that the blood would rot."
The mysterious Ganok—a member of the [Spirit Eyes] clan and the greatest spirit medium of the present era—lent his testimony to back up Lark's claim.
"Blood has been a precious ingredient in spells and magic since ancient times, and it's no different today. The reason is simple: blood is the 'source' that drives living beings."
Blood was the force that animated all life forms, a pure crystallization of vitality—no exaggeration there.
In a shamanistic sense, it was also commonly said to contain the power of the soul.
Thus, the idea that the blood in a body abandoned by its soul would rot instantly was a fairly plausible hypothesis.
"I can roughly guess the means those Blood Cross cultists use to transfer souls."
"Is that truly the case, Sir Ganok?!"
"We're Modred. When it comes to souls, no one is more expert than us. Dig through the old Modred records, and you'll find similar cases along with ways to counter them. That said, the best solution would be to travel with those who possess Spirit Eyes."
"Well!"
An unexpected stroke of luck—no, a solution—had presented itself.
Lionel and Galahad, who had been pursuing the cultists from various angles, were under considerable stress due to this unheard-of method called [Soul Escape]. Who would have thought Modred held the key...?
"To think we never considered asking Modred for help all this time."
Galahad's side was exasperated at themselves for enduring such hardships without thinking of Modred, but Ganok shook his head to stop their self-recrimination.
"It couldn't be helped. As long as that great evil spirit's curse lingers, outsiders won't easily think of Modred."
This incident was the same.
Had they come to aid Modred, they probably would have encountered some event before even departing for Wales and been forced to change course.
And Modred would have been annihilated.
In that sense,
"It's fortunate the one who requested outside help was that young man."
Ganok looked warmly at the young knight.
The one still bickering with Galahad's knights.
"You really gonna stab me just 'cause I teased you a bit? You're vicious."
"Hmph. Your hide won't bleed a drop from a spear tip anyway, so what do you care?"
"True... but your spear still hurts."
"Such a wimp. And you're just a lump of metal in human shape."
"......Why can't I deny that?"
'Heh, what an extraordinary group of youngsters.'
The old knight found the sight amusing.
'The young knights who will lead this era have gathered.'
Some were renowned, others not.
But one thing was clear: one among them would represent the knights of this age.
This was the intuition of a spirit medium, and such intuitions from spirit users were...
'Terrifyingly accurate.'
"Heh."
The old knight was delighted.
His recent life had been filled with more reasons to smile, more vitality.
After some hunting and sharing information, the knights soon began setting up camp.
They would prefer to leave this place quickly,
but...
Neigh...
"Good work today too. Rest well, old friend."
All of them had reached their physical limits.
Man and horse alike.
It was only natural—they'd raced to Modred at full speed upon receiving the messenger bird, then immediately fought hundreds of thousands of monsters upon arrival.
Exhaustion was inevitable.
Even without that,
"What do those folks have to talk about so much...?"
"It's not talking—they're just fighting."
"Well, that's par for the course."
A quarrel was breaking out in a massive, ornate tent of unknown origin.
A verbal one, precisely.
The tent housed this kingdom's princess, duke, grand duke, and marquess.
It represented more than half of Pendragon's power structure—a royal council, one might say.
Yet over ninety percent of their discussion consisted of,
"Impossible."
"Hmph, typical northern cat."
"Do you want war, Blake?"
"I've never permitted you to use my name."
"Calm down, both of you. Why are you so desperate to devour each other?"
"Seems you've forgotten you started this fight, Princess."
"Hmm, what do you mean?"
"Ahaha!"
"...And why have you just been laughing since earlier, Jenimia?"
...bickering or sniping at each other, which was disheartening.
In any world, when those in power gathered, productive talk was rare; they wasted time quarreling.
The knights ignored the heated exchange—no actual shouting, but plenty of tension.
Or rather, they shrugged as if accustomed to it.
Why? The noble council was worse every day.
"I hope it doesn't lead to war..."
They might stand shoulder-to-shoulder today, but tomorrow's fallout could turn blades on each other.
No knight order, no matter how rivalrous, wanted that. They could only pray for a smooth resolution.
Then.
"What the hell? Those guys still fighting? Annoying as shit..."
His mutter shattered the silence.
Especially clear in the hush.
"Watch your mouth, thug. Her Highness isn't fighting. She's engaged in serious discussion."
"That?"
"......"
"You really have a blind spot for her."
"Nonsense."
Yet no one openly showed displeasure at his muttering.
Respect for his achievements? Or for his strength?
Either way, no one would belittle him now, not even compared to those in the tent.
Not even if he barged in.
Lee Han made no effort to hide his incredulity, clicking his tongue.
"Ugh, forget it. Was gonna say hi and go, but no."
"What do you mean?"
"What else? You heard it all. Was gonna greet 'em and leave."
"Leave?"
"Yeah. What am I sticking around for?"
"......"
"See? Nothing. So I'm out. Done my part."
"...Unbelievable."
"What?"
"What are we supposed to do if you leave?"
"...Huh?"
"You brutish oaf!"
"......What's wrong with how I look, you bastard?!"
Was this a challenge?
Lee Han was too tired for more bickering, but the jab at his appearance ignited his temper, banishing fatigue.
Thwack!
Thud!
Lee Han and Lark struck simultaneously, without warning.
Boom!
Their heads snapped back from full-force blows, yet both faces remained unscathed.
One endured with tough skin and bones; the other perfectly deflected the force.
And then...
Booom!
Punches flew again.
Ferocious.
Each impact produced sonic booms like dozens of balloons popping, with enough power to kill a wild boar in one hit.
Any onlooker might think they harbored grudges or wonder what the sudden nonsense was, but...
"If you leave, that meeting's pointless!"
"It'll go fine without me!"
"Idiot! They're here because of you. Without you, they'd have no reason to be here. What nonsense!"
"Damn it! That's the nonsense!"
"You're the one talking nonsense!"
To them, this fistfight was mere 'conversation'.
Naturally so.
A serious fight wouldn't limit blows to mere boar-killers.
Thus, it was just a method for smooth dialogue.
Easier than headache-inducing words—fists worked better for them.
...Barbaric to the point of absurdity, but in a way,
"What manly conversation! Ahaha!"
A heartfelt punch convinced better than words. Fitting for men.
Maximus laughed heartily at the sight, then,
"...This looks fun."
Boom!
Maximus crashed their 'talk'.
Thud!!
His giant fist slammed like thunder, targeting Lee Han and Lark.
Crack!
"What's your deal?!"
"What the hell?!"
"Just wanna join the conversation."
"What?"
"You sane?"
"Uhaha!"
"??"
The two effortlessly blocked the intruder's punch. Maximus, grinning madly, charged with gripped fist.
Lee Han and Lark were baffled, but agreed instantly.
First...
"Tone down the crazy, man!"
"You lunatic!"
Beat the madman senseless.
Crackle.
"......?"
Booom!
Craaack!!
Thoom-!
...What was this sudden commotion?
Knights who'd just lit campfires and built shelters gathered at the noise.
And witnessed,
Boooom!
Three men inexplicably fighting.
Bang!
"What the heck is that?"
Incredulous mutters escaped.
Their brawl was that ridiculous.
"The target keeps switching."
"It's 2-on-1, right?"
Their fight was unique.
Started as two ganging on Sir Maximus, then two on Lark, next two on Lee Han.
Back to 1-on-1, then 2-on-1 again.
Utter chaos, brutally intense.
"...Heh."
More absurd: the knights couldn't—or wouldn't—stop them.
They were quarreling, sure, but...
"It's sparring."
"Not 'sparring' level. More like beasts tumbling around."
"Ah, got it."
Yes. Destructive and fierce beyond intervention, yet not serious.
More like...
"-Just fooling around."
"Your Highness!?"
"Mind your manners. Let's just watch. Rare entertainment."
"......"
"Fun, isn't it, Isis?"
"Don't talk, Uncle. Enjoying the show."
"Always so prickly."
When had they emerged from the tent?
The powerhouses formed a circle like the knights, spectating.
Primitive, simplistic brawl.
Yet,
"Magnificent. That's what men are."
Vital young men were unstoppable.
Undeniable powerhouses before them.
Men they inwardly respected despite reluctance.
So, they clench fists.
Instinct. Males' innate drive.
Savagely foolish, yet endlessly amusing.
A fight of pure 'sincerity', ignoring politics or gain?
And truly...
"Hot-blooded."
A stirring, chest-thumping spectacle.
Enough to feel the youthful passion still burned within, despite age...!