Chapter 251
Chapter 251
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 251
Chapter Title: Clash (4)
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“Archbishop Alon Mondreira. It's time to put an end to your followers' recklessness.”
An elderly man who introduced himself as the archbishop stepped forward. His dark blue-gray beard and hair flowed down like water dredged from the deep sea. His sharp, cold eyes showed no softening despite the trials of time.
Standing ramrod straight as he glared at the two men, Alon exuded an innate nobility. His neatly trimmed eyebrows gave off a vibe remarkably similar to Schlieffen's.
Ronan, scanning him from head to toe, opened his mouth.
“...You look pretty tough.”
“Even I think I'm not too shabby.”
Alon glanced briefly at Schlieffen as he spoke. Letting out a faint sigh, he continued.
“Especially compared to you youngsters these days.”
“Wait. You...”
Suddenly, Schlieffen's eyes widened. His usually unflinching pupils were round with shock. At that moment, the followers gathered at the edge began to clamor.
“Your Excellency! There's no need for you to step in. We'll handle this...!”
“Is that why things have come to this? Because I didn't step in?”
Alon gestured to the corpses strewn about. The man who spoke fell silent.
It was too late to worry about face now, with so many losses. The red blood stood out starkly against their white robes. Alon clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“You're in the way, so get lost. Today is merely the day we welcome the first star. We still have time before the important day arrives.”
“Yes, sir! Understood!”
The followers clustered at the tower's edge began fleeing one by one. They looked just like rats scampering to safety, glancing nervously over their shoulders. Ronan let out an involuntary chuckle.
“Who sent you?”
Just when he thought he'd seen it all, they were treating people like roadside benches. Ronan yanked his sword hilt and unleashed a wide horizontal slash. Shwaaak! The crescent-shaped sword aura shattered into hundreds of scattering pellets.
“Huh, huuuh?!”
Each pellet flying toward their vitals was lethal. One of them raised his arm. A bizarrely rippling Star's Blessing rose like a wall.
But it was futile. Ronan's sword aura tore through the barrier and pressed in. The followers, facing death, opened their mouths to scream their final cries. In that instant, Alon's figure, which had vanished, appeared between the two men and the followers.
“What the...”
Ronan's eyes widened. In each of his hands, Alon gripped a bluish longsword. His arms blurred, and suddenly the sound of crashing waves echoed from somewhere. Shwaaak! The sword aura hurtling toward the followers exploded entirely in midair.
“Can't have that. Killing my subordinates without permission.”
“Fuck.”
Ronan spat a curse, momentarily frozen. This time, he saw it clearly. It wasn't sorcery that had stolen Schlieffen's sword.
Alon had burst in at superhuman speed and sliced all of Ronan's sword aura with his slash. He hadn't even seen the approach, much less been ambushed—it was just that the old bastard was filthy fast.
That swordsmanship... I've seen it somewhere.
But the strange thing was the inexplicable sense of familiarity from his sword technique that shredded the sword aura. Where have I seen that before? As Ronan pondered—
“Truly ignoring the Star's Blessing. Hard to believe even seeing it.”
“...What the hell are you?”
Ronan demanded. Even for an archbishop, that was too much. Was this guy a dragon too? Ignoring Ronan's question, Alon rambled on.
“But I'm grateful for your existence. You can instill vigilance in these followers who over-rely on the great star's power and neglect their training. Though it's probably too late in many ways.”
“I asked what you are.”
“How to put it... The powers like the Star's Blessing are ultimately just conveniences. For handling things quickly without hassle. There's nothing as unpleasant as cutting your finger on paper edges while sorting documents.”
“Paper?”
“Yes. No different from stiff paper in reality. Unnecessarily tough, a hassle to deal with, and if you let your guard down, it cuts you.”
A vein bulged on Ronan's forehead. He'd asked for his identity, but the bastard was just spouting bullshit. Seemed like the type worth killing first.
As he gripped his hilt tighter— Pop! Alon's figure suddenly distorted. Instinctively sensing the threat, Ronan raised his sword.
“Damn it, incoming!”
His silent charge resembled a ghostly wind. As Ronan and Schlieffen assumed defensive stances, the clash erupted. Kaang! A sharp metallic ring echoed across the tower top.
“Kuh!”
“Not completely useless, though.”
Ronan gritted his teeth. Alon raised an eyebrow in interest. The four blades hovered in midair, clashing fiercely. He was handling both Ronan and Schlieffen simultaneously with his two swords. Fuck, know your limits when looking down on us.
“You old geezer wiping shit with that beard!”
Ronan roared. His blade turned red. Schlieffen's sword morphed into wind form and vanished.
The intensified onslaught poured toward Alon. Kagagak! Sounds of blades colliding and wind slicing air exploded sporadically.
“Sharp indeed. Very keen.”
The duo's well-synced assault had almost no openings. Yet Alon dodged like a mosquito slipping through a crack.
Even as Ronan's horizontal cut grazed his forehead and Schlieffen's wind blade licked his cheek, he countered without losing composure. This must be how it feels fighting a giant mantis. The two longswords moved as freely as extensions of his body.
Shwaak! After hundreds of exchanges, the three momentarily pulled back. A few drops of blood hit the ground—all from Ronan and Schlieffen. Glancing alternately at them, Alon continued.
“But you're still too green.”
“Damn it.”
Not a drop of sweat on his face. Ptoo. Ronan spat blood-mixed saliva and readjusted his stance. His skill was impressive, but the fact he hadn't used Star's Blessing or Stormwind once hinted at his monstrous prowess.
Different from Zaifa. He wins with pure speed.
In the heavy silence— Schlieffen, who had been quiet, finally spoke.
“Ronan. Stay out of this fight.”
“Huh?”
“It's a grudge I must settle myself.”
Ronan couldn't make sense of it. Suddenly, Schlieffen stepped forward. Alon watched with a mix of curiosity and amusement. Raising his sword, Schlieffen pointed it at Alon.
“Weren't you supposed to be dead?”
“Quick on the uptake. My unworthy descendant.”
“Descendant?”
Ronan frowned. What was that about? Schlieffen replied without turning.
“Yes. That man's former name is Alon Sinivan de Grancia. A man who forgot honor and was erased from the family for allying with demons.”
Ronan's eyebrows shot up. A name he'd heard multiple times at Phileon. A Grancia genius who outshone all before Schlieffen's birth.
And one of the empire's most infamous traitors, counted among the top five.
Not a namesake, then.
A chill ran down his spine. The similarity to Schlieffen in looks and swordplay wasn't coincidence.
He didn't remember details, but Alon was said to have sparked the feud between the empire's two great houses, Acalusia and Grancia. Something about inviting rivals to a banquet and trying to slaughter their guests.
Erzsebet always trembled with rage, fists clenched, when telling the tale. Alon said,
“Don't be so harsh. You'll think like me when age catches up. My only sin was striving to fulfill a vague wish.”
“A wish?”
“Yes. Becoming stronger than anyone. A dream every Grancia warrior harbors, standing on their sword.”
Alon spoke calmly. Plausible if you ignored his ugly past. Schlieffen twisted his lips.
“So you stabbed your near-brother Acalusia in the back for that?”
“It was the condition for the power granted to me in exchange. And...”
Whoosh. Midway through, Alon's figure vanished from sight. Schlieffen's eyes widened. Enhancing his dynamic vision, he saw Alon already upon him, sword thrusting.
He saw it. But that was all. Even in slowed time from utmost focus, he couldn't match Alon's speed with his thrust.
“A fair trade, no?”
“Kuh...!”
“To think this is Grancia's future. Pathetic. Farewell.”
Alon finished. Schlieffen grimaced. Just as the blue blade tip neared his abdomen— Paaang! A sunset-like red glow flashed from behind, yanking Alon backward.
“What...”
“Didn't see that coming, huh, old man.”
Alon turned at the voice in his ear. Ronan, who had been over ten paces away, now stood before him.
His eyes bulged. Baffling, but no time to analyze.
Alon pivoted desperately as both swung. Shwaak! Blades crossed, air whistling. By a hair, Ramancha drew a red line across Alon's chest.
“Gahk!”
Alon gasped. Blood sprayed like a cough, soaking the floor. Ronan lunged at the opening, but Alon recoiled, foiling the finishing blow.
Still, significant damage was dealt.
“How's that paper cut feel, huh?”
“You...!”
Ronan smirked at Alon's glare. Severed beard fluttered down.
Hot blood surged from the gash. Alon's composed face twisted demonically.
Holding back aura for such a lapse wasn't bad. Wiping mouth blood, Alon nodded.
“Kuh... I must admit the blunder.”
“Save the bravado. You're done.”
Ronan spun his sword. Fights between skilled swordsmen ended in an instant.
This was no different. Through the tactile feedback, Ronan felt Ramancha's blade severing Alon's organs and bones—critical areas.
Suddenly, a stinging gaze pricked his cheek. Ronan said,
“Don't give me that look, man. That's not an opponent you beat alone.”
“......Hmph.”
Schlieffen wordlessly reset his stance. Without Ronan, he'd be a donut-holed corpse atop the followers' pile by now.
They advanced slowly but relentlessly, momentum building flawlessly toward Alon.
“Just offer your neck nicely. Don't know your age, but you've lived long enough.”
“...Troublesome.”
Alon muttered. He knew his current state couldn't handle both simultaneously.
Dragons' roars and flashes still shook the night sky. Tension peaked—
“Didn't want to resort to this.”
Alon smacked his lips, glaring. Schlieffen charged, swinging. A razor wind slash hurtled forth.
Decent strike even by Ronan's eyes. But it never reached Alon. Kaaang! A familiar clash rang out.
“That's...!”
Ronan and Schlieffen's eyes widened simultaneously. A bizarrely rippling force field enveloped Alon. The Star's Blessing they'd seen endlessly—dense as ever.
Alon said,
“Must deal with the rude descendant first.”
“What?”
Paaang! Alon's figure vanished. Ronan countered hastily, but the archbishop's target wasn't him. Alon—or rather, his Star's Blessing—barreled into Schlieffen at tremendous speed.