Chapter 137
Chapter 137
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 137
Chapter Title: Spring, Come Forth (2)
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At the very least, three different techniques were layered and etched into it. He'd only seen it a few times, but he could never forget it. It was the swordsmanship of the Savior, the founder of Nebula Klazier.
'Why the hell is this here?'
Ronan's eyes widened in shock. It was impossible. He still remembered the Savior plummeting into a pit of fire, grievously wounded.
No way. Muttering to himself, Ronan began to examine the sword marks more closely. Before long, his brow furrowed faintly.
'...It's rough.'
The strokes themselves matched the Savior's perfectly, but the impression they gave was starkly different. It was as if the outward appearance was the same, but the intent behind them differed entirely. He couldn't believe they were made by the same person.
'Swinging with this much killing intent isn't easy.'
Sword wielders came in all types. The Savior he'd seen clearly swung his blade out of goodwill. Only to save or protect something.
Such marks never carried killing intent. If anything, they conveyed regret for the act of cutting. It was such a rare case that it stuck vividly in his memory.
But the sword marks carved into the ice were the complete opposite. Every single line seethed with the intent to kill the opponent no matter what. The closest was Zaifa's sword, but even that didn't reach this level.
The suspects narrowed down instantly. There were only two people who could replicate this swordsmanship to begin with. Ronan twisted his lips. A white-haired figure with sunset eyes just like his own flickered in his mind like an afterimage.
'...That bastard.'
The robe-wearing traitor who betrayed the Savior had wielded his sword just like this. Ronan touched his neck. The chilling sensation of the blade slicing across his throat bone was still vivid.
He had no idea what was going on. Copying the swordsmanship so blatantly felt like a provocation toward the Savior. He couldn't fathom the intent behind leaving these marks, but one thing was certain.
'He didn't cut on purpose.'
The marks were narrow in width but dug incredibly deep. If he'd wanted to, he could've shattered the ice pillar to pieces and dragged the witch out.
'What do you want?'
More questions kept popping up. But that wasn't what mattered right now. The moment Ronan raised his sword again, an intense energy slammed into his back, making his body tingle.
"...What the hell?"
It felt like it yanked every hair on his neck at once. Ronan slowly turned his head. The empty hallway was filled only with pitch-black darkness.
But apparently, he wasn't the only one who felt it. The murmurs from the crowd grew louder.
"W-what was that just now?"
"Damn it, did some monster break loose?"
Some even dropped what they were holding. Asel and Erzsebet stared toward the entrance, pale as ghosts. Violet mana swirled around Erzsebet's right hand. Tense, she lowered her voice.
"...Asel. You felt it too."
"Y-yeah."
Asel replied in a trembling voice. His gaze was fixed on the far end of the hallway too. That's when the sound of the entrance doors opening echoed from afar. Rumble... An inquisitor wearing a beak mask came running frantically.
"Huff... K-Karaka! He's here... Huff, Lord Itargand!"
The inquisitor reached the group in an instant, panting heavily. Karaka nodded with interest.
"Oh? He arrived sooner than expected. Any companions?"
"He came alone... Huff, said he didn't need any help..."
"That's a relief, at least."
Kataka nodded and cleared his throat. Turning to the crowd, he announced,
"Everyone, it seems we need to prepare to show some respect. Lord Itargand of the Flowing Flames has arrived."
"Itargand? T-that's today?"
Erzsebet's eyes widened. The crowd's faces stiffened. Ronan tilted his head.
"Who's Itargand to cause all this fuss?"
"He's from Lady Navardoje's clan. He was dispatched from Adren to wrap up this incident. This is unexpected—I thought for sure you all came today just to see Lord Itargand."
"I overslept a bit from my winter hibernation. Anyway, if he's from Navardoje's clan, that means dragon, right...?"
Suddenly, the massive ship he'd seen at the docks flashed in his mind. He'd wondered what bold bastard rode a vessel rivaling the emperor's flagship. Apparently, it was this Itargand dragon.
'A dragon I've never heard of in my past life.'
Ronan stroked his chin at the unfamiliar name. Come to think of it, Schlieffen had mentioned some deal between the emperor and Navardoje. As the murmurs grew again, a thunderous boom exploded from the hallway beyond the entrance.
-BOOM!
Everyone turned at once. Ronan, mid-yawn, bit his tongue and cursed.
"Damn it, what now?"
A brilliant light poured in. The massive doors stood wide open, creaking. The inquisitor who'd run up earlier shouted in astonishment.
"L-Lord Itargand!"
A young man stood there, hands in his pockets, looking their way. He was a strikingly androgynous beauty. Platinum hair swayed down to his shoulders.
His build was average, but his attire was extravagant. Over his uniformed jacket with epaulets hung a coat made from an entire lion pelt. The icy gale from the pillar whipped the coat around his unlinked arms.
In the freezing cold that would make even ice spirits curse, the youth remained unfazed. Ronan instinctively knew he was Itargand. The overwhelming presence alone was something you couldn't learn.
'He's still young.'
But Itargand reeked of youth. He couldn't be sure without seeing his true form, but his horns probably hadn't fully grown in yet.
Of course, as a red dragon, his strength went without saying, but Navardoje clearly saw this winter witch incident or even the emperor as beneath her. Itargand, scanning the crowd, spat irritably.
"I told you to clear out."
Ronan furrowed his brow at the voice that shook the space. The dry tone dripped with excessive draconic arrogance and condescension. The inquisitor stammered,
"W-we didn't expect you so soon... Just give us a moment, and we'll clear it right away!"
"Forget it. Move."
Itargand pulled his hands from his pockets. Locking eyes with the crowd, he crooked his index finger upward. Whumm! The hesitant people floated into the air.
"M-my body...!"
"What the hell is this shit?"
Ronan grimaced. Invisible hands gripped him.
But it wasn't gentle like Asel's Invisible Hand. It was mindless, like a kid excitedly squeezing a frog. The gripped people cried out in pain.
"Ack!"
"It hurts...!"
Asel and Erzsebet were among them. Ronan's face twisted sharply.
"You little lizard runt."
Ronan spun his sword to sever his own bindings. At the same time, he shot sword energy at the two.
Slash! Two small bursts cut the telekinetic hold on them. Ronan leaped high, wrapping his arms around the falling Asel and Erzsebet's waists.
"Eek?!"
"Lord Ronan...!"
Their eyes widened. The moment Ronan landed lightly, Itargand flicked his index finger like turning a page. Crash! The helpless people flew and piled up in a corner of the hallway.
"Gaaah!"
"G-get off me!"
Stacked like manure, they squirmed, crushing each other. Those unlucky enough to have skin stuck to the floor screamed miserably.
"Aaaah! G-get it off!"
Itargand's expression didn't change a bit regardless. Confirming the area around the witch was clear, he stepped forward. Exactly five steps in.
"Hey."
Something blocked his path. Itargand slowly raised his head. Meeting his gaze, Ronan growled low.
"Think you can act like a dick just 'cause you're a dragon?"
"...And who are you?"
"Don't care. Apologize to those guys right now."
Ronan thumbed toward Asel and Erzsebet. Asel, legs weak from shock, wobbled. Erzsebet, lifting people with telekinesis, covered her mouth with both hands.
"L-Lord Ronan...!"
"Hah."
Kataka let out a hollow laugh. The scrambling crowd froze. Itargand, looking up at Ronan, spoke.
"Do you know who you're talking to?"
"Dunno. Some hatchling obsessed with appearances?"
"I could turn trash like you to ash just by exhaling."
It was a threat with clear feasibility. Ronan spat on the floor in response. Ptoo! A faint wrinkle creased Itargand's perpetually dry brow.
"You... "
Killing intent began rising over Itargand's shoulders. Ronan didn't back down. Strangely, he didn't feel like he'd lose. The atmosphere among the onlookers hit new lows in real time.
"Haha, please calm down, both of you."
The situation was tense enough for one to breathe fire or draw a sword. Karaka stepped between them, flashing a friendly smile.
"Inquisitor Karaka here. Lord Itargand, let me apologize on his behalf..."
"Wanna die?"
Itargand scowled. Crunch! Karaka dropped to one knee, collapsing. An invisible force crushed him. Ronan reflexively went for his sword, but Karaka raised a hand to stop him.
"Karaka."
"...Please... forgive... my rudeness."
Kataka spoke haltingly. A squeezed voice leaked from his open lips.
"Shouldn't we... honor... Lady Navardoje... Mother of Flames... her command...?"
"...Tch."
Itargand flinched briefly and clicked his tongue. The pressure vanished. Karaka collapsed fully, coughing violently.
"Haaack...! Cough!"
"Shit, you okay?"
Ronan rushed over. Itargand, expressionless again, walked past them. Supporting Karaka, Ronan twisted his lips.
"Sorry. My fault."
"Don't say that. That was impressive."
Kataka chuckled softly. Luckily, no serious injuries. Adjusting his slipped mask, he looked at Ronan and continued.
"I'm serious. Never thought I'd see a human demand an apology from a dragon..."
Ronan grinned awkwardly in response. He didn't add that it was worth a shot. That immature dragon might overhear and cause a scene.
The most urgent task now was extracting the witch from the ice. Stopping before the pillar, Itargand spoke.
"Sort out the corpses yourselves."