Chapter 234
Chapter 234
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 234
Chapter Title: The Black Man (2)
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“Yeah... ugh, where's Navardoje?”
The black man said. His tongue was slurring from all the drinking. Ronan lightly gripped the hilt of his sword and opened his mouth.
“What?”
“No use pretending... I know you've received that woman's power. Ugh... at first I thought it was just an imprint, but looking closely, you've actually inherited the embers themselves.”
Ronan's eyes widened. He was straight-up advertising that he was connected to Navardoje.
As he tried to respond, he hurriedly scanned the surroundings. Fortunately, the tavern was noisy enough that their voices didn't carry.
'What the hell is this guy?'
But one person had overheard their conversation. The owner, who had been silently polishing a cup, suddenly started rummaging through the ingredient shelf. After inspecting it for a long time, he gave an awkward smile.
“Oh no, we're out of Radian cheese. I'll go out and buy some real quick.”
“Just stay put, old timer. I'm gonna drink more.”
“It's our bestseller side dish—no helping it. I'll be right back. Here's the whole bottle, so pour yourselves freely.”
There was no chance to stop him. The owner placed a bottle of brandy on the bar counter and left the tavern. Ronan chewed his lower lip.
'Damn it.'
He was clearly heading off to report after eavesdropping. Probably to alert them that one of Navardoje's associates had shown up. Ronan shot to his feet and said to the black man,
“You seem pretty wasted—I have no idea what you're talking about. I've got urgent business too, so I'm out.”
“Ugh... c'mon, sit. We've still got this much booze left.”
“I said it's urgent. Cut the drunken bullshit...”
Suddenly, the man's voice changed. Intimidating pressure erupted like wildfire, bearing down on his shoulders. Ronan's brow furrowed sharply.
“This motherfucker, thinks he can push me around.”
Shing! Reflexively drawing his sword, Ronan pointed it at the man's throat. It was a speed so fast no ordinary thug could even perceive. The tip of Lamancha halted a sheet of paper's width from his Adam's apple. Lowering his gaze, the man tapped the blade with his index finger.
“Nice sword.”
“Where's a pretty boy like you get off acting all high and mighty? You wanna throw down?”
Ronan growled. He'd ignored him so far because he didn't want to cause a scene—not because the guy looked strong—but he had no intention of putting up with this shit any longer. After chuckling for a good while, the man finally spoke.
“You're a fun one. Ugh, pulling a sword on me. And ready to fight to boot...”
“Not kidding. Threaten me one more time. One of us is dying.”
“Kuku... I'm in a good mood right now, so I'll forgive the rudeness. Have a seat first.”
The black man nodded toward the chair with his chin. Ronan sat back down, reluctant. Thinking it over calmly, it might not hurt to play along a little.
'Crazy bastard. Might as well fish for some info.'
Ronan's mind raced. He needed to act rationally. Catching the owner now was impossible anyway, and since the guy was looking for Navardoje, he probably had his reasons.
Navardoje was also deeply tied to Adren, so there might be useful info to glean. With that in mind, Ronan grabbed a glass, poured some brandy, and slid it across like a shuffleboard puck.
“Fine. Let's chat.”
“That's the spirit.”
The black man took the glass. Ronan had been pondering it, but the vibe was totally different from what he'd seen at Aurora Skal. The type who transformed after a few drinks, huh. Taking a sip of brandy, the man let out a sigh of admiration.
“...This is good. Best thing I've had since coming here.”
“Glad you like it. When'd you arrive in Adren?”
“Came with you lot. Nice cozy ship.”
“What the fuck?”
Ronan scowled. The man drained his glass completely and wiped his mouth. He revealed he'd hidden aboard the Red Whirlwind.
“Goddamn, when'd you sneak on?”
“Who knows... anyway, I'm grateful to you. Got circumstances keeping me from entering Adren legally. Ugh.”
“What a weirdo.”
He couldn't get a read on what kind of guy would get himself banned from entry. Time to cut to the chase. Refilling his glass, Ronan pressed on.
“Navardoje, Navardoje... why you so hung up on that married woman? If you're banned from entry, you can't be one of the Dragon King's lackeys.”
“Don't even know who the Dragon King is. Don't care. Probably some no-name runt anyway.”
“Then why?”
“To kill her. What else?”
The man spat it out flatly. A brief silence fell, making the surrounding noise feel amplified. Ronan's mouth slowly fell open.
“Kill her? Navardoje?”
“Why repeat yourself? To kill her, plain and simple. She's the biggest roadblock to my goal.”
“...You really think that's possible? You ever even seen Navardoje up close?”
He couldn't stifle a hollow laugh—maybe the booze. What the hell was this guy on about?
Ronan was certain. The drunk in front of him looked plenty strong, but he was no match for Navardoje. That big sis was some out-of-spec existence like Cain or Abel. The black man shook his head.
“Not yet, but I did kill one of her clan. Name was... Gargarrens, I think.”
“Gargarrens?”
Ronan's eyes went wide. He definitely remembered the name. The red dragon he'd seen while traversing Savior Cain's memories. One of Navardoje's blood kin—the pathetic one who'd gotten his horns lopped off by the Savior and fled.
“Yeah. Came at me looking for a fight, so I killed him. Hornless runt put up a decent struggle.”
“...No backlash?”
“Hmph. As if. I'd have killed anyone who showed up throwing threats.”
The black man emptied his glass. He had no idea why Navardoje—who cherished her clan—hadn't retaliated. Probably busy with Drimoor business or something.
'Bigger player than I thought.'
Still, taking down Gargarrens was seriously impressive. Even de-horned and crippled, a red was a red. Navardoje was another story, of course.
“You got some power, huh. Still can't beat Navardoje. For real, one of that woman's tits is bigger than you.”
“Won't know till we clash... ugh. I've got an ace up my sleeve.”
“Ace?”
“Yeah. You saw it.”
Ronan realized he meant the weapon he'd forged at Aurora Skal. The pillar-thick spear, right?
No clue where he'd stashed the massive thing, but it wasn't visible now. Suddenly, images of the two poison dragons slaughtered mercilessly flashed before his eyes.
“That ace of yours the thing that killed Drahabi and Landohidel?”
“Dra... who? Don't bother memorizing trash names.”
“Harsh. The two green ones.”
“...Ah, right. Tested the performance on them since they picked a fight. Not bad.”
The black man cackled. So he was the one who'd offed the poison dragon duo. Now Ronan was getting a little worried.
Drahabi and Navardoje's scale thickness were worlds apart, sure—but it was a weapon that pierced clean through dragon hide and flesh in one go. Ronan asked,
“So what's the deal—why kill Navardoje? What's your plan?”
“I'm going to destroy the Valon Empire.”
“...What?”
“More precisely, my goal is to hurl everyone lording over that land into a pit of fire. Took a long time. Navardoje's the empire's strongest ally, so I'm clearing her out first.”
Ronan was speechless. Felt like his head had been smashed by a battering ram. Arrogant attitude treating Navardoje like mere debris aside, the goal itself was way too out of left field.
“Why the empire all of a sudden...?”
“Personal grudge... ugh. And there's something that's been bugging me...”
Suddenly, the man chugged straight from the bottle. His Adam's apple bobbed once, and the contents vanished at a rapid clip. After exactly five gulps, he set it down and spoke.
“Puha... where'd you get that sword.”
“Sword? This one?”
Ronan held up Lamancha. The man slammed the bottle down hard on the table. Crash! Unable to withstand the force, it shattered, shards flying everywhere—but he paid it no mind.
“Yeah... hand it over.”
“Your attitude's rubbing me wrong.”
In an instant, the man's eyes turned vicious. Killing intent surged from his black coat, blanketing the tavern. It dwarfed the pressure from before.
“Gahk...!”
“H-Hey, snap out of it!”
A few customers couldn't withstand the pressure and foamed at the mouth before passing out. The entire tavern plunged into chaos. Ronan's expression hardened fiercely.
“What the hell you trying to pull?”
Ronan gripped the hilt, but the man wouldn't budge. The leaking killing intent had his bones tingling all over.
'What the fuck's his problem all of a sudden? Should I cut him?'
As Ronan agonized over it, customers around the tavern suddenly started rising. They could see the killing intent billowing from the man's shoulders too.
“Hey, you're going too far.”
“Sober now. If you're fighting, take it outside—what's this crap?”
They looked like seasoned brawlers sauntering over. Every one was big and bore flashy tattoos. Glancing at them, the black man growled low.
Ronan flinched. The man's demeanor was now indistinguishable from what he'd seen at Aurora Skal. The stunned patrons let out hollow laughs.
“Wha, mongrel dragon scraps? You dare call my lord Ravientera a mongrel?”
“Getting bold, huh. Looks like an outsider throwing his weight around.”
“Grab him! Let's beat his ass!”
It all went to hell. Furious patrons charged one after another. From every direction except straight ahead, they looked just like a stampeding herd of buffalo. The black man stared them down before speaking.
“Fucking lunatic.”
In that instant, the black man's hand blurred and vanished. Ronan spat a curse and yanked his hilt. Clanggg! A sharp metallic ring echoed. The eyes of the foremost charging man bulged like they might pop out.
“H-Huh, huuuk?!”
Lamancha and the black man's hand were locked right in front of him, grinding. The pale, ashen hand gripped the blade like a shark biting prey.
Thud. The man collapsed where he stood. Yellow piss leaked from between his slack legs. If this young guy hadn't blocked, he'd be dead for sure. The aurora-hued blade had dug shallow into the man's palm.
'Tough...!'
Ronan twisted his lips. It wasn't even this hard clashing with Schlieffen's mithril longsword. Staring at Lamancha, the black man spoke.
“...Who the hell are you?”
Ronan said in utter disbelief. He'd never mentioned it was a holy sword before. Intense curiosity welled up one piece at a time, but now wasn't the time to indulge it.
'Damn, not a pushover.'
Ronan ground his teeth. The blade caught in the man's grip wouldn't budge—like it was jammed in a rock crevice.
Avoiding a fight looked impossible. Ronan clenched the hilt, and the sword flushed crimson. Slash! He yanked his arm, and blood sprayed. The black man let out a short groan as he staggered back.
“I warned you. One of us was gonna die.”
Ronan growled. Blood dripped steadily from the black man's hand. A long gash ran across his palm.
The corner of the black man's mouth curled up. Despite the nasty wound, he showed no sign of pain.
The charging patrons froze in place like statues. As Ronan took a deep breath to prepare his next attack, suddenly a girl's voice echoed in his head.
[Run.]
“...Rin?”
Ronan's eyes widened. No mistaking it—the voice of his holy sword, Rin. First time since she'd ruined the mood at Aurora Skal.
[He's not an opponent you can beat right now. Hurry.]
Rin's tone felt almost rushed. No idea why she was suddenly like this after so long. That dangerous?
'Hold on.'
Suddenly, a certain being's name flashed through Ronan's mind. All the info fit perfectly. Freakish strength, black coat, hatred for the empire.
“You... no way...”
He could practically see the black man's true identity. The red eyes gleaming beneath his hair blazed with hatred. As Ronan started to continue,
Boom! The tavern's ceiling shattered, and a massive dragon claw burst through. The frozen patrons screamed.
“Gaaah! Wh-What?!”
“D-Dragon?!”
The hand covered in blue scales was huge enough to crush an ox. The taut tension snapped in an instant. The hand shot in like the wind and seized the black man.
The man ground his teeth. The massive hand clutched him tight and withdrew. Through the gaping hole, the majestic body of a blue dragon came into view.
“Fuck, what the hell just happened?”
Regaining his wits, Ronan bolted out of the tavern. Bang! He kicked the door open, and dozens of soldiers, three dragons, and the owner who'd gone for cheese came into sight. Making eye contact with Ronan, the owner shouted,
“Young man, you alright?!”
“What the hell is all this?”
“Ah, I hurried as fast as I could—glad you're safe. Never thought that bastard would come into our shop.”
The owner let out a sigh of relief. Turning his head, Ronan saw a blue dragon about Drahabi's size gripping the black man. The man in the blue talons was grinding his teeth to the max.
The blue dragon said calmly. Looking closer, it wasn't just the talons—three or four geometric magic circles bound the man like shackles. Seemed like restraint magic. Then, a white dragon stepped forward from behind the soldiers.
“Examiner?”
Ronan's eyes widened. The pure-white dragon's voice matched the old man who'd handled inspections. The highly tense soldiers aimed spears at the man. Returning to his true form, Banartie bellowed at the black man.