Chapter 213
Chapter 213
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 213
Chapter Title: King of the North (7)
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Ronan narrowed his eyes as he peered into the parchment.
"This is... Zaifa's handwriting."
He had once seen a scribble Zaifa had jotted down while drinking together in Zaifa and Parjan. It was unmistakably Zaifa's handwriting.
'No doubt about it.'
All the parchments were letters addressed to Barca. In the bottom right corner of each letter, a date that seemed to indicate receipt was separately noted.
The letters, sorted chronologically, were worn to the point where the edges were frayed. Several, including the most recent one, were in especially poor condition, as if they had been torn to shreds and then glued back together with paste.
'He must have read them over and over. But was Barca telling the truth?'
Suddenly, Barca's words from the ice cave flashed through his mind. Zaifa had definitely mentioned his name in a letter.
'No way...'
A suspicion that had been dormant deep within reared its head. Adeshan tilted her head at Ronan's sudden halt.
"Ronan? What are you doing there?"
"Just... just a moment."
Ronan raised his hand to signal her to wait. He couldn't just pass this by. Like a man possessed, he began reading the letters. The first one was from eight years ago.
"Little brother. Is the preparation to gather soldiers going well... Even though I've made a pact with the Emperor... Fuck."
Ronan muttered the words as he read the letter, then spat out a curse. This was no exaggeration—it was a conspiracy to rebel. Below the main body listing tasks to be done, imperial army secrets were densely packed.
Jayger was wrong. He had said the Turgen brothers had completely fallen out after Zaifa surrendered, but that was completely false information. Zaifa had been in closer contact with Barca than anyone.
"That damn cat...!"
It felt like he'd been chopped on the foot by the very axe he trusted. Ronan quickly skimmed the next letters. The rebellious content continued unabated.
As recently as three years ago, Zaifa had been talking about liberating the North and reducing the Empire to ashes. Every single letter dripped with murderous intent. He could see why Naviroje had warned him so gravely about Zaifa's danger.
A tremendous sense of betrayal washed over him, but at the same time, he felt pity. He wondered what horrors from the past could twist a person this much. Occasional mentions of memories with his wife and children vaguely hinted at it.
'...He said his whole family was killed.'
Zaifa in the letters hated the Empire more than anyone. Nebula Clazier was mentioned at some point, but the main themes were always rage against the Empire and rallying the North. Ronan tore through dozens of letters in an instant and picked up the next one.
"Today, while carrying out an operation, I encountered a guy named Ronan... Huh?"
His eyes widened at the familiar name. The date showed it was written about two years ago. It described the day he, Asel, and Zaifa riding wyverns had dealt with Nebula Clazier.
"He was amusing... In terms of pure interest, he's on par with that Naviroje the swordsman I mentioned before... A kid who hasn't even lived twenty years yet, harboring a great cause..."
Ronan realized Zaifa had been watching him very closely. Apparently, the tiny speck standing against the massive organization Nebula Clazier had piqued his interest.
From that point, the tone of the letters began to change. The main content shifted from hatred of the Empire to countermeasures for the future, filling the margins.
"He's impressive. He even asked me to help the world, believe it or not?"
"I looked into that punk Ronan after hearing him out. They're far more dangerous than I thought... Little brother, beware of Nebula Clazier. This isn't the time for us to fight each other..."
From some point on, the letters no longer mentioned rebellion. The closer to the present date, the more the venom drained away, visibly so.
Simple updates dominated, along with assertions that now was not the time for rebellion and that they must unite to exterminate those fanatics. Barca must have gotten angry reading them, as every letter from around then showed signs of being torn and reattached.
"Two months ago, I drank with Ronan... We were ambushed by a guy named Darman at the top of Parjan..."
The final letter detailed the events at the Festival of Swords. Zaifa no longer referred to Ronan with contemptuous terms like "punk." It ended with a final plea for the North to unite against Nebula Clazier.
Reading all the letters took less than three minutes. Ronan chuckled dryly as he looked up from them.
"...The old man's been flip-flopping."
Zaifa was no traitor. The trusted axe hadn't chopped his foot. Ronan realized he himself had changed the man. This was the "difference from his previous life" he had been searching for so desperately.
Intentionally or not, meeting Ronan had made Zaifa forget his hatred and pursue another great cause. He could even understand why Barca hated his brother so much.
The outline of events began to take shape. Just as Ronan was about to resume the chase, a raspy voice came from beyond the door the blood needle pointed to.
"Did you... read that."
"Barca."
"Chasing me all the way here... You two are... persistent... huff, really persistent."
It was Barca. From his panting, his throat wound hadn't fully healed. Ronan flung the letters aside and shot sword energy at the door. Kwang! The entire wall blew away, revealing the space behind. A rush of foul stench enveloped them.
"Ugh...!"
"A laboratory?"
The space was larger than Jayger's office. The room, carved entirely from the ice sea, was filled with hundreds of shelves and countless experimental tools.
The spacious five-tiered shelves held neatly arranged specially treated corpses. Most of the stench emanated from them. The bizarre scene evoked a marketplace, wrinkling Ronan and Adeshan's noses.
"Come out!"
Repulsive as it was, they had no choice. The two plunged straight into the laboratory. Barca was nowhere to be seen, probably hiding behind a shelf. His voice echoed again.
"My brother and I... huff, we truly lost everything to the Empire."
"Fuck, where are you hiding?"
The vast, cluttered space made pursuit difficult. Even smashing everything in their path, following the blood needle straight was nearly impossible. Barca continued.
"I was better off with no wife or kids... huff, but Zaifa had his precious family slaughtered mercilessly by the Empire's pigs. Aren't you curious what happened...?"
"Shut up, you bastard. No emotional appeals."
"We brothers would have become hunters, as destined... cough, decades ago now..."
The pursuit remained stalled. Ignoring Ronan, Barca began recounting his past.
The tragedy from long before the Night of Fangs, when oppression of the North was at its peak. Barca, coughing fiercely, pressed on.
"It was an ordinary day like any other... The borderlands were chaotic, but our village was remote even in the North... No one could have foreseen it..."
The Turgen brothers had little interest in war originally. They hadn't even killed before that incident. Their only "friction" with the Empire was roughing up soldiers who harassed fellow northerners.
"All we wanted was a peaceful life... We scared off imperial troops unless they were total scum... huff, but they saw even that as an insult, like we'd raped them... The Empire's pigs formed a detachment just to retaliate against us brothers..."
The tragedy struck while the brothers were out hunting. The imperial army massacred the village in their absence.
What the brothers found upon return: a burning village, headless corpses strewn about, and villagers' heads brazenly displayed on the guardian stone at the village edge.
"The funny thing is, the revenge was taken on the villagers, not us... Among those wide-eyed heads were my parents and Zaifa's wife and kids."
Ronan twisted his lips at the clichéd yet horrific tale. Adeshan's face had been rigid throughout.
"When Zaifa ignited the Night of Fangs, he was a blazing black sun... Even after his false surrender to the Empire, he never forgot his hatred—my respectable brother... But then, the letters started getting weird... From the point you met him, Ronan."
"I didn't do anything."
"Probably... But Zaifa changed... He started trying to dissuade me, saying now wasn't the time to worry about the Empire. Spouting nonsense that our true enemy is elsewhere... That's when I cut ties with him."
Kwang! Ronan shoulder-charged a nearby shelf, toppling it. He thought he'd glimpsed a tail, but missed again. The blood needle spun wildly following Barca's movements.
"I hate the Empire... And now I hate Zaifa just as much for forgetting that hatred. That's why I took the name of a star. I'll use the power he fears so much to destroy the Empire..."
"You're fucking insane."
Ronan let out a hollow laugh. Barca had joined Nebula Clazier purely out of spite toward Zaifa. Ronan learned he had risen to the position of Northern Diocese Bishop in Nebula Clazier.
"So I learned necromancy and curses. Recently, I even developed a weapon to destroy both the Empire and Zaifa. It's..."
"Shut up already. Not interested."
Ronan cut him off. It wasn't worth hearing more. It was tragic, sure, but no excuse for evil. Countless people suffer misfortune, but not all become criminals.
Switching power sources, Ronan gripped his hilt and drew. The blade, covered in shimmering mana, emerged. He turned to Adeshan.
"Stick close to me. As close as possible."
"Okay."
She complied without question, sensing his intent. Adjusting his grip with the tip downward, he slammed the floor. Kwaaaang! An invisible shockwave erupted from Ronan.
"Kuh?!"
Barca's startled voice came from somewhere. It was the aura he'd stolen from Bishop Teranil long ago. Strengthened through repeated use, the shockwave obliterated nearby shelves, tools, and displayed corpses. Witnessing its fearsome power, Ronan muttered to himself.
"Should've done this sooner."
Nothing obstructed their view now. They looked where the blood needle pointed. Beyond the hazy dust cloud, in the center of the wrecked lab, stood Barca.
"Grrrrr..."
He growled lowly upon eye contact, his primal nature surfacing in desperation.
His severed limbs had regenerated. Massive swords gripped in both hands. Ronan pointed his blade at him.
"Nice swords. Any last words?"
"Wait, Ronan. Something's off."
Just as he was about to activate aura, Adeshan yanked his shoulder. He tilted his head.
"What?"
"That's... not Barca."
"Huh?"
Her baffling words furrowed his brow. Now that he looked and listened, something was indeed strange. Smaller build than Barca, far more intense aura. The similar essence had tricked him. Ronan tilted his head.
"...Then who is it?"
"I'm not sure. But this presence is definitely Zaifa's... No way."
Adeshan's face froze in an instant. Like someone realizing a horrifying truth too awful to imagine. Amid the awkward silence, the figure charged at them.
"Kraaaah!"
"What the, fuck...!"
Ronan gasped. Incredible speed, vanishing from sight. He hastily blocked Adeshan and raised his sword. Kaaang! A sharp metallic clang resounded.
"Grulk! Kraaaak!"
"This is...!"
Ronan's eyes widened. Three blades locked, growling like beasts devouring each other. A were-tiger boy covered in black fur was power-struggling with him.
"Kuhung!"
"Ngh!"
It took Baren's aura to barely hold against the monstrous strength. Far superior in speed and power to Barca. Where had this monster come from?
Deep scars encircled his thick neck. Each time the boy opened his mouth, a corpse rot stench wafted. Like Barca's other minions, a necromantic corpse warrior. The boy leaped back, then charged again.
"Kyaaak!"
"Damn it, what the hell are you?"
Kagak! Whirlwind sword strikes poured toward Ronan. The onslaught like a tidal wave showed no openings. Barca's voice echoed from the far lab.
"Allow me to introduce... huff, my masterpiece embodying my aspirations. Barely finished the antidote in time..."
"Barca!"
Both turned. This time, truly Barca. His wounds not fully healed.
Severed limbs crudely fitted with metal prosthetics. They wanted to rush him, but the monster blocked them.
"Damn it, get out of the way...!"
"Kralak!"
No matter the angle Ronan swung, the boy dodged or countered. Sparks flew on clashes. Among recent foes, top five caliber.
'What the hell is this guy really?'
Suddenly, Barca's earlier words resurfaced. Something about a weapon to destroy Zaifa and the Empire simultaneously. Matching the boy with it, Ronan's face hardened.
"You, don't tell me."
His grip tightened. He knew the boy's identity. Chills raced up his spine.
Unbelievable anyone could be this vile. Still boyish, but the facial contours matched someone he knew perfectly. Barca, catching his breath, spoke.
"Yes... Zaifa's son, Aradan Turgen."