Chapter 165
Chapter 165
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 165
Chapter Title: Festival of the Sword (8)
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"I came to Parzan chasing that bastard from the start. If things continue like this, every participant will be in danger."
Russell's expression was deadly serious. Ronan just stared at him, dumbfounded. His head was spinning from the barrage of unfamiliar information.
Russell looked Ronan up and down and nodded approvingly.
"You're in. Honestly, you exceeded my expectations. If we had a few more talents like you, we might actually be able to stop him."
"...In?"
"Yeah. I saw the Empire's Rising Star and Lady Naviroje earlier. If you're on good terms with them, please convince them to join. We have to save people, right?"
He was acting like he was in charge. Apparently, dragging Ronan out here and spouting nonsense wasn't enough for him. Ronan let out a disbelieving chuckle.
'This guy's no good.'
Almost everything about him rubbed Ronan the wrong way, but what pissed him off most was how he kept emphasizing the need to save people. Regardless of whether the info was true, his habits needed fixing first. Ronan spat on the ground and stepped toward Russell.
"Fuck, this is ridiculous."
"Hm? You—"
Ronan gripped his sword hilt. He advanced steadily, pointing the tip at Russell. As the flustered Russell reached for his own sword, Ronan growled low.
"Draw it if you wanna die. I'll cut your head off right here."
"Wh-what the hell is this...?"
"Shut up."
Overwhelmed by Ronan's presence, Russell let go of his hilt. With every step Ronan took, Russell retreated one. They soon reached the cliff's edge. With nowhere left to back up, Russell stammered.
"Wh-what's the big idea?"
"You're talking nonsense, and I'm sick of it. A demon? Participants in danger? Fine, let's say it's all true."
"Gahk!"
It happened in an instant. Ronan shot out his arm and seized Russell's throat. As he slowly lifted his arm, Russell's feet left the ground. Ronan took two more steps forward. Feeling the void beneath him, Russell cried out in panic.
"H-hey! Wait—!"
"But using that as an excuse to save people after pulling that stunt? Isn't that a bit much, you piece of shit? Do you even know how many of those twenty-four could've gotten fucked up because of what you did in the arena?"
"I-I..."
"Lucky no one died or got hurt? You think you can just brush it off?"
Ronan thrust his face close, snarling. Even assuming everything Russell said was true, his actions were inexcusable. If Ronan had slipped even a little, a good chunk of those twenty-four would've been dead or crippled. The guy preaching about saving lives had endangered them all just to test skills. What a contradiction.
"I-I'll explain everything! Just let go...!"
Russell flailed desperately, but Ronan's iron grip didn't budge. It felt like a steel serpent coiled around his neck. Hearing that, Ronan's lips curled into a sneer.
"Oh, yeah? You want me to let go?"
"Guh...!"
Ronan released his hand. Russell's body plummeted. Ronan's figure rapidly receded. For a split second, the word "death" flashed before his eyes.
"Gaaaaah!"
Wind roared in his ears. Russell squeezed his eyes shut and screamed. Suddenly, something wrapped around him, halting the fall.
"Wh-what...?"
He slowly opened his eyes and gasped. Glowing roots like wooden vines supported his body. They climbed the cliff wall up to where Ronan stood. Snap. Ronan flicked his fingers, and the roots writhed like living things, depositing Russell on the cliff top. He collapsed at Ronan's feet, convulsing.
"Hah... hahh...!"
"Feeling sensible now?"
Having brushed death, Russell's face was ashen white. Ronan squatted in front of him. Bathed in sunset light, Ronan's face glowed red like a demon from hell. Russell nodded frantically. Instinct told him there'd be no second chance.
"S-sorry. Really sorry. It was my mistake. I got blinded by revenge and..."
"Yeah. Now that's a proper motive."
"...I won't hide that I tried to use you for personal gain. Putting so many at risk just to gauge your strength was my failing... I'll take responsibility to them."
Russell prostrated himself, confessing his sins. Fear was truly the best truth serum. As he sobbed and shook, he suddenly jerked his head up.
"But everything I told you is true! That demon threatens every participant!"
"Shit, you scared me."
His choking voice rang with sincerity. Tears streaming down his cheeks confirmed it. He seemed ready to talk properly now. Ronan sheathed his sword and spoke.
"Alright, spill it step by step, old man. Who's this demon, and why do you hate him so much?"
"...Easier to show you. Look at this."
Suddenly, Russell removed his hood. Ronan's eyes widened. Now he understood why Russell kept it on even covered in blood. Russell spoke apologetically.
"It's ugly, so bear with it. The wounds reopen if I leave it off too long anyway."
"This is..."
Ronan grimaced. It was gruesome. One corner of his scalp was sliced diagonally, exposing pale bone beneath blackened, dying skin.
Ronan noticed writing inside the hood. He'd seen it in magic books Asel read. Likely a spell preventing the wound from worsening while worn. Examining the injury, Ronan's eyes narrowed.
'This...?'
The clean cut of the blade felt familiar. He'd seen it somewhere before. Then, Russell's bitter voice emerged.
"A wound from that demon. It's been over three years, but it still torments me. The day I got this, I lost my mercenary company—family to me."
"Mercenaries? You were a merc?"
"Yes. Blue Arch Mercenary Corps... We were well-known in Daran Kingdom and nearby. Ancient history now."
Russell continued calmly. His Blue Arch specialized in unexplored ruins and dungeons. They'd been wiped out by the demon in one such unknown site.
"I remember it vividly. A white forest. Grass, trees—even the soil was pale white. In the forest's heart, that cursed ruin gaped open."
"That's where you met him?"
"Yes. Shortly after entering. We walked a corridor lined with smooth metal. None of us had seen such craftsmanship; we were all amazed."
Ronan raised an eyebrow. A metal-covered corridor? It reminded him of Daynhar's heart in the desert. Russell took a deep breath and went on.
"Suddenly, a young man approached from far down the hall. Stark naked, horrific condition. Skin flayed off his whole body, including his face. He limped—one leg crippled. Yet he carried a sword. We rushed to check if he was okay... That was the end."
Russell summarized briefly. The youth vanished from sight in an instant, and limbs flew into the air. No time even to scream. Describing the strewn corpses, he bit his lip.
"It wasn't a fight. A one-sided massacre. The company was annihilated in under three minutes. Everyone but me died."
"How'd you survive?"
"That... ah."
Suddenly, Russell clutched his head in agony. Likely the darkest part of that nightmare. After twitching his lips, he bowed his head.
"...He didn't kill everyone. For some reason, he left half alive. I used my aura on them. Bought time from my berserk comrades to escape the ruin."
"Fuck."
Ronan's brow furrowed. More horrific than imagined. He could see why Russell obsessed over killing the demon.
"I've devoted my life to hunting him since. Spotted him again a year ago—skin and leg perfectly healed, unbelievably."
"Even the leg?"
"Yes. It was beyond saving."
Russell listed the demon's atrocities since. All gruesome. Posing as a traveler in remote villages, slaughtering everyone before dawn—almost a hobby. Ronan clicked his tongue. Habitual killer, one of the dangerous types even among scum.
"Last saw him hunting monsters on the way to Parzan. Sliced a mountain ogre in one stroke. Far stronger than when he damned me to hell."
"...How were you gonna catch him?"
"Ambush the night before the final trial. To reach the holy site for the last test, qualifiers from Gran Parzan and Aran Parzan must join up. No way talents like you fail, and I can make it that far."
Russell explained the Festival of the Sword's final trial was fixed: qualifiers from the mountain's north village (Gran Parzan) and south (Aran Parzan) duel each other. Ronan nodded. Perfect timing.
"Anyway... That's my story. Sorry for the trouble."
Finished, Russell sighed and rewrapped his enchanted hood meticulously. Ronan stopped him abruptly.
"Hold on."
"Hm? What?"
"Take off the hood again. Any other wounds?"
"Uh...?"
"From him. Just the head?"
Russell tilted his head. Ronan's gaze lingered on his scalp. Definitely a familiar sword mark.
"There are others, but..."
"Show me."
Ronan's tone was firm. Puzzled, Russell stripped off his top. His well-trained body was covered in dozens of scars—marks of a long mercenary life.
"Here, on my back..."
"No need to say. Wait."
Ronan stopped Russell, who was about to point out the demon's wounds. He could tell without explanation. Such emotionless cuts were rare. Soon, he found a gash from left shoulder blade to waist. Tracing it with his finger, Ronan twisted his lips.
"Just as I thought..."
"Wh-what?"
Russell asked nervously, but Ronan didn't reply. He remembered where he'd seen this mark. Misty rain in a forest. Blood mixing with rainwater. A were-lion trembling in a pit.
He'd seen it on the Dawn Legionnaire corpses massacred recently. One of the three sword mark types. Recalling the terrified captain's words, Ronan spoke.
"Hey, old man."
"Yeah?"
"What's this demon look like?"
"Looks... Hm... Face is average..."
Russell hummed, struggling to summarize. Suddenly, a feature from before the skin healed flashed in mind. His mouth opened.
"...White hair, eyes a reddish yellow. Rare combo, stuck with me. Come to think of it, similar to yours."