69. Primordial
"Is it because of the Black Hand subjugation?"
Isaac nodded at the Great Master's question. She tilted her head after a moment's thought, then asked, "But I wonder if you really need my help. Arandel's already nearly finished it off, hasn't he?"
"The transcendents I know all share a fierce pride and a tendency to despise humans."
"……."
The Great Master didn't deny it. That was her way of agreeing.
"Even if we abandon Black Hand, I doubt they'll accept defeat so easily."
"They've pulled some trick? What's your evidence?"
Her expression had already calmed. If she hadn't asked for proof, Isaac might have been disappointed. Instead, he explained smoothly.
"Did you see the nearby villages? They live in relative abundance, but their appearances tell a different story."
"Mm. Their skin was uniformly dark and thin, stretched taut over bones."
"That's the evidence. My guess is—"
"Shamanism?"
The Great Master finished his sentence with a question. He nodded, and she let out a short, sharp breath.
"You know all sorts of things. Transcendent shamanism isn't something you stumble upon easily."
"I encountered it during my dispatch to the North."
Of course, I'd known about it even before that.
'It's not a lie.'
Isaac believed the reason Black Hand's citizens looked haggard despite their prosperous lives was a form of shamanism. The Great Master nodded without long deliberation.
"That makes sense. As you say, there's a high chance the mansion has some shamanic device."
Arandel's presence would make it ignorable, but without him, they had to consider the possibility. Isaac knew all too well the transcendents' hatred and viscous malice toward humans. They would never simply retreat.
"Since you're a fellow disciple's student, I'll naturally help. But then you'll have to meet my conditions as well, yes?"
Straightening slowly, the Great Master smiled as she asked. "Tell me—who was your master? And where is my fellow disciple?"
"……."
Isaac closed his eyes tightly.
[Hoh? You're from Helmont, you say?]
From their first meeting, she had methodically pieced it together.
[Sword talent comes in many forms. It's not as simple as just swinging a blade.]
She had reached out to him when he was lost in gloom and despair.
And more than that, she was the great master who had first recognized his talent.
[What a pity. Such a shame. If only your leg hadn't held you back, you surely would have achieved greatness.]
[Disciple, pour me a drink.]
[Ah, got it. I won't smoke either! But I just can't understand why you have to quit just because your disciple did?!]
They had laughed together, and grieved together.
No matter what, the Great Master had supported so much of who he was.
[My dream, you say?]
[Hah, what does it matter now?]
The reason she had remained his master, which he never fully heard to the end.
The seat beside her, which he could never reach.
[Disciple, I'm sorry.]
In the end, even as she crumbled under the transcendents' final assault, she had apologized to him.
While everyone chased their dreams, she had sacrificed her own to push others forward.
'If I had to tell this secret to anyone...'
It would be her first.
Isaac smiled like that and honestly poured out his story.
About thirty minutes passed. The Great Master, eyes wide, slowly lifted her great taedo.
Bam!
She brought the sheathed blade down on Isaac's head in reply.
"Where do you get off toying with an elder like that?"
"……."
The next day, before setting out for the mansion.
Isaac was checking the Great Master's attire. He pulled the hood over her robe, but she kept shaking her head, annoyed, and pulling it off.
"This is rough. I hate it."
"You have to wear it because of your ears. Can't you fold them down further?"
"I can, but it's uncomfortable. Feels like walking on tiptoes."
Her pointed ears folded downward. With the hood on top, her features were completely hidden.
"Hah, what kind of mess is this—Ack! The ears are sensitive! Pull gently!"
She snapped as he pressed the hood deep to cover her face fully. Her tail was decently tucked into her pants, though stray hairs peeked out.
"Leave the great taedo behind. Pick it up after we're done."
"Where does a swordmaster go without her own blade?"
"Didn't you promise to help? Carrying that will give you away instantly."
Instead, Isaac handed her a blunt shortsword like those used by regular soldiers.
"What kind of barbaric thing is this?"
"I'll give you mine if needed. Just bear with it."
"Hoo, I don't know whose disciple you are, but your master will get a beating from me."
"……."
The Great Master never believed Isaac's story to the end. He had tried to share believable details, but tales of the future were meaningless to her since she didn't know them, and mentions of the past just earned complaints that he was fabricating a nonexistent master.
'Maybe it's a bit forced to expect her to believe it.'
Isaac sighed, feeling conflicted. He'd mustered the courage to reveal his secret, only to be shot down—it stung.
"I'll help since your sword tells me you're my fellow disciple's student—but."
Stepping out of the tent, the Great Master grumbled on. "I'll make it clear: yesterday's tall tale? I'll chalk it up to you not trusting me yet."
"……."
Was it lack of trust? Or unwillingness to believe?
Isaac felt a sudden doubt watching her emphasize it, but it didn't linger.
"Isaac! Hurry up—Ong?"
Sharen, running up as he emerged, tilted her head at the woman beside him. He worried she'd caught on, but fortunately, she lacked that insight.
"What's this?"
"Ran into her on the way. She looked familiar, so we chatted, and turns out she was an old customer of mine."
"Customer? Oh, the ferryman!"
Sharen grinned innocently and let it slide. Simple as she was, it was a relief. Silberna joined soon after, but Sharen's excited explanation preempted any issues.
Thus, the Black Hand mansion assault team formed. Isaac took the vanguard with Roengreen's Helmont knights.
The Great Master followed as his "pack mule."
"Isaac, be careful. Got it? Don't charge in following the Helmonts recklessly."
Just before departure, Clarice grabbed him with a warning. She saw him as a promising sword of the kingdom's next generation and didn't want him hurt needlessly.
"Isaac, Isaac! Look at this!"
Sharen, beside him in the vanguard, unleashed red aura from her hand. She swung it around, compressing it into a ball.
"Cool, right?!"
"……What are you going to do with that?"
"Huh? Th-this?"
Sharen stared blankly at it, then pouted and yelled, "Crimson Flame Orb!"
She hurled it at Isaac, but it only stirred a faint breeze—no impact.
"Hoh?"
The Great Master behind him eyed Sharen with interest.
Sharen stomped off in a huff. Watching her back, Isaac quietly asked the Great Master, "Why the interest?"
"No, isn't it fascinating? Reducing the revered red aura to child's play."
"……."
"Amusing. Not all of Arandel's spawn are monsters."
Hearing it from her, Isaac saw it differently too. Red aura typically amplified raw power, but Sharen had stripped out all impact.
'Sharen might have a unique talent for red aura after all.'
As he nodded, a cool, chilling scent wafted from beside him—Silberna.
"Isaac, any plans after the subjugation?"
He hesitated at her question, as if scouting fun spots.
"Uhmm."
He'd planned to head to the rocky mountains to meet the Great Master, but with her here, that was off.
"Not sure."
"Then come to Evergard with me."
"Evergard?"
The capital of Albion Kingdom.
"I heard they have a knight officer training academy there. In the North, training was sporadic due to the hordes, and even after, it wasn't ideal."
True enough. His sword training so far had felt secondary amid other events. She meant diving deep into the sword properly. Isaac was intrigued.
'I'm winning with technique and knowledge now, but my physical limits are real.'
Just yesterday, Sharen had overpowered and dragged him.
"And... we can naturally stop by the underground prison."
"……!"
Isaac's eyes widened at her smile—this was the real point. Alois was imprisoned there.
"Worried? I saw you asking the princess about it last time. But going without cause might look bad."
"……Yeah. Thanks."
A faint smile formed. Her consideration eased one of his anxieties.
"If you're grateful, buy dessert there! I want to try egg muffins—you can't get them in the North!"
"Ha, sure. Got it."
Silberna beamed at his reply. Seeing her so openly happy stirred something odd in him.
"She fetches a high price for that face, eh?"
Without the Great Master's whisper, he'd have chatted more. Then the vanguard moved.
Vanguard or not, the mansion's layout meant only elites—the main force—could enter fully. Most soldiers encircled it outside with shield walls.
"Helmont—!"
At the main gate, Roengreen strode ahead, raising his greatsword skyward. Helmont knights behind mirrored him, condensing red aura around him into a massive orb.
"Glory to great Helmont—!"
He swung long toward the sky; the aura shot straight at the mansion.
"Truly barbaric."
"Outrageous!"
Even Silberna and the Great Master gaped. It showed how much Roengreen had schemed last night. Not underestimating transcendents, he'd planned to demolish the whole place.
The red aura shattered the mansion instantly. Half-collapsed, its interior lay exposed—dead humans and a few transcendent corpses strewn about. Like a giant bite taken from it.
Surviving transcendents inside stared at Roengreen, dazed.
"Th-this! Hah! It's! Helmont! Hah! Hah!"
Exhausted but effective. Isaac hadn't expected this much from Roengreen—solid results.
Arrows rained from behind the shield walls—no need to close on cornered foes.
"This... might not need us?"
Isaac nodded to Silberna, but the Great Master's hood twitched.
Her eyes widened; she tugged his clothes and whispered, "Stay sharp. It won't end so easily."
"……."
He didn't question her. The arrow barrage halted abruptly, as if blocked—falling in scattered halves, sliced differently.
Someone had cut them.
Central stairs of the exposed Black Hand mansion. A man descended with serpentine eyes, forked tongue, blood-red skin—like forged in flames. Yet his clothes evoked nobility: crisp uniform. Horns protruded from his head, tail swaying. And finally—a great taedo larger than a man in his grip.
"That one...!"
Silberna glanced at Isaac instinctively. He bit his lip, steadying his breath.
"You know."
That sword was theirs originally. He'd guessed this wasn't an ordinary transcendent; the somber Great Master behind confirmed it.
"A primordial bloodline."
Primordial. The first transcendents. Ordinary ones could slay knights effortlessly; primordials warped battlefields like calamities.
In his past life, he'd fled them countless times, watched allied morale plummet at their appearance.
And the Great Master's end... had been by their hands.