Chapter 178
Chapter 178
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 178
Chapter Title: Festival of Swords (21)
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“Don't you think so, little brother?”
Darman's gaze was fixed on Ronan. His crimson eyes had fully shifted to a deep scarlet hue. His white hair fluttering in the wind looked just like a cluster of white bushes.
Shimmering mana was spreading over the shoulders of Darman, whose entire demeanor had changed. It was a clear sign of what was to come. The Torrent Sword hadn't been the end of it. Ronan's face twisted sharply at the word "little brother."
“...What?”
“I appreciated your help back in that forest. The memory seal hit me harder than expected, and I nearly got in real trouble. Thanks to you, the wound didn't even leave a scar.”
Darman stroked his cheek with the hand not holding his sword. It was the spot where he should have been beaten and scarred by the rookie hunters. Ronan furrowed his brow, recalling how he'd applied potion to the wound himself.
“You...”
He stood there dumbfounded for a moment, forgetting even his anger. He couldn't make sense of this nonsense. Fine, the hair and eye color change could be chalked up to a new feature of Nebula Klazie, but calling him "little brother" out of nowhere? Darman continued, chuckling as he looked at Ronan.
“I'm glad to have such a good little brother.”
At that instant, a vein bulged on Ronan's forehead. He felt like an idiot for even hesitating. He should've just chopped off the bastard's limbs first and figured it out later. Mana surged through Ronan's thighs, swelling them massively.
“Who the fuck is your little brother, you piece of shit.”
Boom! Ronan kicked off the ground again. Dirt and snow erupted violently from where he'd stood. Darman raised his sword with a leisurely smile. Clanggg—! An explosive clash echoed through the crater, impossible to believe came from mere blades. Darman muttered in admiration.
“Such overwhelming power. You haven't touched the sword spirits at all?”
“What...!”
Ronan gritted his teeth against the shock traveling through his bones. He realized something was wrong the moment their blades met.
Unlike the fight in the warehouse against the Torrent Sword, even though he was pouring everything into it from the start, Darman wasn't budging. The two crossed blades trembled fiercely, as if trying to devour each other. Darman continued calmly.
“Don't take the sudden change in attitude too personally. Until I ran into Zaifa, I really was the Darman you knew.”
Darman chuckled wickedly. There was no trace of his former weakness in that vile laugh. Suddenly recalling something from days ago, Ronan twisted his lips.
...This bastard came up here with his memories sealed too.
Lin had once explained it. The Torrent Sword had changed completely after encountering Naviroje as a turning point. Darman must have slipped through Farjan's barriers the same way. Taking a deep breath, Ronan spoke.
“...Is killing Zaifa your goal?”
“That was the biggest one. I got lucky. If it weren't for the sword-searching ritual, it would've been a real hassle.”
Darman explained that he'd barely managed to take down Zaifa. Ronan chewed his lower lip. As Darman said, if Zaifa and the elders had been in normal condition, they wouldn't have fallen so easily. Darman, scrutinizing Ronan's face, spoke in an intrigued tone.
“But... you really do look just like him. The blood can't lie, huh.”
“What?”
“You could be mistaken for the Leader in his youth. Except for that hair color, of course.”
“The Leader? What the hell are you—”
Ronan was about to retort when Darman's body suddenly swelled, his face beginning to change. His round eyes sharpened, and the last traces of baby fat melted away rapidly. Soon, the transformation stopped, leaving a face strikingly similar to someone Ronan knew. Darman smirked, lifting one corner of his mouth.
“Now do you believe we're brothers, little brother?”
****
“What... the hell is...”
Tir, vice-captain of the Sacred Spear Knights, was plunged into unprecedented chaos. It was like a bolt from the blue. They'd all but given up on finding the holy sword and were lying down in exhaustion when a boy appeared out of nowhere, slaughtering two elders and felling Zaifa.
The mysterious boy—participant number 44, Ronan—was locked in a furious swordfight. The metallic clashes rang out incessantly as blades collided.
The battle was so fast and intense that the other participants couldn't even dream of intervening. A few elders were chasing them, but it didn't look easy to catch.
“Za... Zaifa...”
Tir's gaze suddenly turned to Zaifa. Stabbed deep in the chest, he knelt on one knee, gasping for breath.
Blood still poured relentlessly from the wound on his chest. The pool of blood spreading beneath his feet widened rapidly. As Tir struggled to accept the surreal scene, hyperventilating, a familiar voice came from behind.
“Hello there.”
“You...”
Tir turned. The dark-eyed man he'd been talking to earlier stood there. Beside him, a woman holding a well-forged mace stood silently with arms crossed.
Recognizing the woman, Tir raised his eyebrows. It was Elena of the Mace, a renowned free mercenary from the eastern continent.
“Elena? Why is he here...?”
“He's a comrade who came up from Aran Farjan with me. It would've been tough for just us two to carry Zaifa, but this works out.”
“Wait, carry him? You mean...”
The dark-eyed man nodded. He explained he'd come to save Zaifa.
“It's a fatal amount of blood loss for a human, but since the Sword Saint is a were-tiger, he'll pull through somehow. Follow me.”
“W-Wait!”
The man and Elena started running toward Zaifa. Tir followed in a daze. Though a fair distance away, all three were seasoned warriors, closing the gap quickly.
“Grrrrr...”
“H-Hang in there, Sword Saint.”
Zaifa clutched his chest, growling like a wounded beast. As the dark-eyed man pulled out a potion, a shadow suddenly landed in front of them, blocking their path.
“Impressive. To think you'd wrap it all up like this.”
Tir's eyes widened. The shadow was an unfamiliar woman. With short hair like a man's, she had stark white hair and scarlet eyes just like Darman's. The dark-eyed man tilted his head.
“Hm? I don't think I've seen you before...”
In that instant, the woman's hand blurred and vanished. A red line appeared across the man's throat, and his head hit the ground. Tir and Elena's faces hardened instantly.
“What...!”
Neither had even noticed what happened. Twin daggers were now in the woman's hands. She licked the blood from the blades and grinned widely.
“Mmm. Human blood really is tastier than beastkin.”
“You bitch!”
Recognizing her as an enemy was easy. Tir and Elena charged simultaneously. The woman, calmly licking blood, didn't move until they were within a step.
Elena, arriving first, swung her mace horizontally. The mana-infused, accelerated strike was the silent technique that had built her fame.
But the woman dodged lightly by leaning back, keeping her legs planted. Elena, who'd been silent, finally spoke.
“You...!”
“You might've had a chance if you hadn't wasted energy on the sword search. What a shame.”
Giggling, the woman slashed with her dagger. Slash! A small arc traced across Elena's chest, blood spraying from her chest and mouth.
“Gahk.”
“Oops, messy.”
The woman backflipped away nimbly. Heart bisected, Elena collapsed. Seeing her now eternally silent, Tir recoiled in horror. The woman licked her dagger and eyed him.
“I like tasting, but hate getting it on me. Like honey, you know?”
“W-What the hell are you...?”
“You wouldn't know even if I told you. We're Lycophos. Name's Azego.”
“Lycophos...?”
The woman named Azego answered casually. Stammering at the unfamiliar word, Tir watched as she hurled the dagger she'd just licked.
“See? No clue.”
“Hiiiik!”
The dagger flew straight for Tir's forehead. Foreseeing his doom, he screamed in agony.
Just as the sharp tip pierced his brow—Clang! Something fast and sharp deflected it. It was the blade of a long, wide greatsword. Tir's eyes bulged at the woman stepping forward.
“N-Naviroje!”
“Tch.”
Naviroje swung her greatsword horizontally. Azego twisted her shoulder desperately; the blade grazed past her eyes by a hair. Glancing at Naviroje, Azego spoke intrigued.
“...You're still fresh?”
“What are you?”
Naviroje snapped coldly. Despite communing with dozens of sword spirits during the ritual, her eyes still burned with vitality. Azego smiled with her eyes.
“Makes sense why Crodin lost. Shouldn't have sent that idiot alone anyway.”
“I asked what you are.”
“Lycophos under Nebula Klazie. Want more? Earn it.”
“Fine.”
Azego leaped lightly, spinning into a dive. Her twin daggers stabbed like hornet stings. Clang! Sparks flew with each clash.
“She's strong.”
“Sloppy footwork...”
Naviroje frowned amid the exchanges. Her swordsmanship outclassed Azego's, but the woman's erratic, lightning-fast movements made landing a decisive blow hard.
She cartwheeled, handstood, even unleashed hidden poison needles from her shoes to attack Naviroje. Then, mid-cartwheel, she stepped on a rock, lost balance, and fell backward.
“Whoops.”
Naviroje seized the chance. Her verdant greatsword plummeted toward Azego's head. Just as the blade would cleave her skull—Clanggg! A deafening ring echoed. Azego sighed in relief.
“Phew, close.”
“This...”
Naviroje's face hardened. Her blade halted a finger's breadth from Azego's face, blocked by a rippling barrier like heat haze.
It was the same technique the Torrent Sword had used. Just like before, it wouldn't yield to force. Twirling her daggers showily, Azego spoke.
“Alright, let's get serious.”
Her expression turned icy. Murderous intent far beyond before surged from her shoulders. Naviroje gripped her hilt tighter.
****
“Damn it!”
Clang! The sword slipped from Ronan's hand. Lamancha spun in an arc and stabbed into the ground. Darman spoke with a mocking laugh.
“What's wrong, little brother? Your movements are noticeably slower.”
“Shut... up...!”
Darman's strikes gave no opening to retrieve the sword. Ronan drew the shortsword Imir and assumed a defensive stance. Boom! A downward arc smashed into Imir's flat.
“Ngh!”
“Shocked to learn you have a brother?”
The impact shot from wrist to knee. Since Darman's face changed, Ronan had been on the defensive. He couldn't focus on the fight.
Is it really true?
Darman's mug resembled his own eerily. Uglier, sure, but passable as twins. Bad enough, but something else shook Ronan. He knew who their "original" was.
The Leader, he said. Definitely.
Darman had said he resembled the Leader so much he was unrecognizable. That one phrase validated the disgusting hypothesis buried deep in his chest—the secret of his birth he'd always denied.
So my old man really is...
His head spun. He needed full focus just to keep up, and this was disastrous. As he steeled himself to refocus—Clang! Imir shattered defending against Darman's assault.
“What the fu—!”
“Too bad. That black blade was decent.”
Darman spun his sword and thrust. No dodging or blocking this range. Sensing death, Ronan gasped. As the white blade pierced his throat—something yanked his nape and blocked his front.
Thud! A oddly soft sound. Darman's sword halted, impaling the obstruction.
“What now?”
“Ahk.”
Ronan's eyes widened. Small shoulders convulsed. Stunned, a trembling voice escaped him.
“...Lin?”
The white blade protruded from Lin's back. Red blood spread over her clothes. Impaled, she turned her head. Her lips moved, but no sound came, unintelligible.
“Jeez, where'd this kid pop from?”
Darman frowned. Ronan's time stopped. Lin's face paled rapidly. Blood trickling from her small lips contrasted starkly with her snow-white hair, vivid red.
“You.”
Ronan reflexively yanked Lamancha from the ground. Darman flicked his sword, sending Lin's body tumbling silently—too light for sound. Ronan charged, gripping the hilt two-handed.
“Lover girl?”
Darman sneered. He raised his sword casually to defend. Ronan's full-force slash, rage-warped and predictable, was easily parried.
“You’ve got much to learn, little brother. I have work to do, so let's end this.”
Darman chuckled. But this time, it didn't end there. Clang! As the metallic ring spread, crimson Lamancha erupted in sword aura like splashing waves. Darman's face hardened. Sensing danger, he retreated hastily.
“Urk!”
But he couldn't fully evade. Clotted aura tore through his body. Slashhh! His left flank and right shoulder shredded like shark bites. Darman's leisurely face twisted in rage.
“You dare!”
Suddenly, swirling mana vortexed over Darman's shoulders, dwarfing even Terranil the bishop. But to Ronan now, it didn't matter. Correcting stance silently, he charged.
“Filthy beast...!”
Darman raised his right arm. Massive wings unfurled from his shoulder, unleashing gale-force winds—Gale of the Giants. Boom! Ronan was hurled far away.
“Gahk!”
The wind was compressed typhoon. Flying straight, Ronan slammed into the crater wall. Vertebrae-shattering impact spewed blood from his mouth. As he tried to pull free—Boom! Darman closed the gap in one leap, kicking his chest.
“......!”
No scream escaped. Another small crater formed around Ronan. Rumble! The wall crumbled, sending him plummeting down the mountain. Watching, Darman murmured lowly.
“Phew... Cool your head down there.”
He shook blood from his blade and turned. The wounds on his shoulder and side were deep. He'd nearly died.
Darman pulled emergency potion from his pouch and doused himself. Surveying the holy site, he tilted his head.
“...Hm?”
The body of the girl he'd just stabbed was gone.