Chapter 73
Chapter 73
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 73
Chapter Title: Balzac
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"Yeah. The ruler of the night world..."
Ophelia was just about to continue when boom! The floor exploded, and a man with a sack pulled over his head landed right in front of the two of them. A gloomy voice echoed out.
"Where is Jarodin?"
It was an overwhelming pressure. The man called Balzac didn't have a single scratch on his body. It was hard to believe he'd just taken Ophelia's magical barrage.
"This fucking..."
Ronan reflexively thrust the stake he was holding. Balzac twisted his body at an unnatural angle to dodge, then swung his hand blade toward Ronan's neck. Five sharp claws gleamed like knives.
"Ugh!"
Ronan leaned back at the waist. A pale palm barely grazed the bridge of his nose as it passed by. Whoosh! A delayed whoosh of air rang out. Ronan tossed the stake aside and drew Ramanche.
He's strong.
This was on a whole different level from those idiot blood golems or whatever. Like his fight with Brigia, victory would require exploiting a single opening. As they exchanged precarious blows, the nearby darkness rippled, and a pitch-black wolf leaped out.
"Kyaaah!"
"Damn it."
He'd thought it was pure martial arts, but apparently not. The shadow wolf bared its black fangs and charged straight at Ronan. Balzac was bearing down from the rear flank, where countering would be tough. Ronan spat a curse and gripped his sword hilt.
"Let's see what you've got."
Ronan spun toward Balzac and slashed. It was an ultra-high-speed thrust accelerated by the flow of mana. Slash! The moment the sword path was drawn, the wolf's upper jaw separated from its head and dissolved into formlessness. For the first time, a groan mixed with surprise leaked from inside the sack.
"What..."
Sensing danger, Balzac hurriedly pulled back. The distance between them opened just enough that their blades wouldn't touch—precariously so. There was a risk of counterattack if he pressed, but Ronan didn't stop. It has to work. Chanting it inwardly, Ronan swung his sword in a sweeping arc.
"Die!"
For an instant, a shock like an electric jolt overwhelmed Ronan. Whiiish! Sword energy manifested along the blade and shot toward Balzac's head. Unlike before, when it had been colorless, this was blood-red sword energy.
"Ngh!"
Balzac twisted his head in haste. But it wasn't a distance he could fully evade. Riiip! The sack tore diagonally, and blood sprayed. Seeing the revealed face, Ronan grinned.
"Surprisingly unscathed. I figured it'd be ugly as hell."
"You're... quite interesting."
Balzac's appearance was more handsome than expected. Judging by looks alone, he was maybe late twenties. His features were sharp, and his hair was a dull gray like an owl's.
The only flaws were his left eye, which had lost its light, and the wound from Ronan's sword energy. A deep gash ran from the right corner of his mouth to below his earlobe. Balzac licked the blood dripping from the wound and muttered.
"How long has it been since I bled against my will..."
But the second flaw vanished quickly. Seeing the wound heal in seconds, Ronan spat on the floor.
"Fucking monster bastard."
"Perfect timing. You'll fill this emptiness for me."
A smile like a crack spread across Balzac's face. Snap! He flicked his fingers in the air, and the darkness rippled as wolves like the previous ones appeared one by one. Ronan noticed growling from all corners of the banquet hall. The glowing eyes in the shadows numbered over twenty pairs easily.
"I wonder if you could become Jarodin?"
Balzac murmured in a mad voice. In his hand was a spear made of blood, far superior in craftsmanship to what the other mosquitoes had used. He was plenty annoying with just darkness magic, but he wielded blood magic well too.
"Talk about rotten luck..."
Ronan chuckled bitterly and steadied his stance. He'd realized Balzac wasn't even using half his power. Cita, perched on Ronan's shoulder, spread her wings and roared threateningly.
"Piyaaak!"
For a moment, he thought this might be the end. But there wasn't much he could do about it.
Bang! The two gripped their weapons and charged. The moment their black and red blades shot toward each other—
Ophelia suddenly appeared, blocking between them.
"Stop."
"Damn it!"
Ronan grabbed his own wrist to slam on the brakes. Balzac did the same. The two, staggering as if they might fall, regained their footing. Balzac's eyes widened.
"...Ophelia?"
"I wanted to stop you moderately, but no room to intervene. You two are too rough."
Ophelia sighed, looking back and forth between Ronan and Balzac. Balzac stammered like he'd seen a ghost, unable to speak properly.
The wolves preparing to leap sat down in unison. Ronan shouted in disbelief.
"Hey, what the hell are you doing? Run already!"
"It's fine."
"Didn't you say we couldn't handle him?"
"True, but..."
Ophelia trailed off, twisting her lips. Balzac spoke again.
"...Ophelia. Is that really you?"
"Yeah. Long time no see, Balzac."
Balzac finally seemed to register her presence. Not noticing amid all that chaos meant he'd been utterly focused on his duel with Ronan.
"I see. The magic that attacked me just now was yours... If I'd known, I would've welcomed it with open arms."
He muttered, stroking his chin. Ophelia's voice echoed in Ronan's head.
[This is why I didn't want to deal with him.]
Ronan nodded as their eyes met. Ophelia continued.
"Still crazy as ever. Can't you stop now, for my sake?"
"Sure. The fake Jarodin was more interesting than expected."
Suddenly, Balzac snapped his fingers. The wolves lurking in the darkness vanished. It was an anticlimactically easy end. Ophelia let out a sigh of relief and spoke.
"How've you been? It's been almost 80 years."
"Precisely 83. But what's with that cute form?"
"Had to attend a human school, so I adjusted temporarily. Can't draw attention."
"I see. Reminds me of when I stayed with your clan. Those were fun times."
"Yeah. We had those days."
"By the way, you calling my name..."
Balzac set down his spear and stepped toward Ophelia. She shook her head and held up her palm.
"Sorry. Don't come any closer."
"You still haven't forgiven me?"
"Yeah."
"I see. So be it."
Balzac stopped obediently. Ronan frowned at the compliant attitude. Hard to believe this was the guy who'd been fighting him moments ago.
Childhood friends or something?
They seemed close, yet she was drawing a line. It nagged at him. Ophelia continued.
"So, Balzac. Why are you here? You're beyond playing with these kids."
"To finish my unfinished duel with Jarodin Stonesong. All went wrong, though."
"You fought Jarodin too. Impressive both survived."
"He was one hell of a wizard. You can't imagine my despair when this fake drew a sword instead of chanting."
Balzac explained. More than any vampire, he craved strength—a peculiar mindset. Wandering the world, challenging the strong, drinking their blood—that was his reason for living.
The duel with Jarodin had happened on the continent's western fringe. A battle starting at dusk lasted until dawn the next day.
"The damn sun rose, forcing a draw. Haven't had an opponent like that in ages."
The site still had massive boulders from Jarodin's earth magic. Balzac continued bitterly.
"Couldn't find him anywhere, but these punks said they had a way to lure him out and even turn him into a familiar. They wanted prime blood essence, so I lent them one."
"What?"
Ronan, who'd been listening intently, widened his eyes. Lent what?
"Lent? What do you mean? That was something you could lend?"
"No one said you could join the conversation, fake Jarodin."
"Don't be like that, Balzac. He's a new friend after centuries."
"Come sit. Hard to hear from there."
Balzac tapped a stone chair. Ronan muttered under his breath as he approached.
"Fucking bastard..."
"Should've said so sooner. If I'd known you were Ophelia's friend, I wouldn't have gone so hard."
"My sword energy should've taken your lower jaw clean off."
His thrill for the strong, going soft for certain people—it reminded Ronan of Schlieffen in many ways. Balzac said.
"Exactly as I said. I have three essences."
"Damn, why so many? Didn't you say you had one, Ophelia?"
"Yeah. Most have zero or one. Balzac is the weird one."
Prime blood essence was a core formed by condensing a vampire's power in the body. Unlike mana cores formed through years of training, it took decades or centuries to form.
Balzac grumbled.
"These young punks didn't even have a spot for one. I completed my first at thirty."
"Told you, you're the weird one."
"Our lord has seven."
"Then you and the grand duke are weird."
Innate talent mattered, but increasing the number or size required relentless training and pushing limits. Balzac fulfilled all those conditions.
"Oh, almost forgot to reclaim it."
Snap! Suddenly, Balzac flicked his fingers. A wolf burst from the darkness and bit Zwei's scruff, who lay in the corner.
"H-heuaaak!"
He flailed his severed limbs in resistance, but to no avail. The wolf tossed him at Balzac's feet and vanished. Balzac grabbed Zwei's collar and lifted him.
"Plan failed, so time to take back the essence."
"W-wait! Hold on, we can still do it!"
Balzac didn't reply. Stab! His hand pierced Zwei's chest. A chilling scream echoed through the banquet hall.
"Kwaaaah!"
When Balzac pulled his hand out, he clutched Zwei's still-beating heart. Crimson mana from before pulsed faintly around it. Zwei stared at his own heart protruding from his chest.
"S-spare..."
Crunch! Balzac crushed the heart mercilessly. Stagnant blood sprayed everywhere as Zwei's body went limp. The prime blood essence was absorbed back into Balzac's body like returning home.
"Tch, worthless trash."
Balzac tossed Zwei's corpse aside like a dirty diaper. Ronan, pondering something, spoke up.
"Hey, wanna make a bet?"
"A bet?"
"Yeah. Prime blood essence on the line. With three, you can afford it, right?"
Balzac and Ophelia's eyes widened. Ronan pulled out an item he'd pocketed earlier and placed it on the table. Parchment made from mountain goat leather—for blood oaths.
Silence fell. The tension unique to a gamble hung in the air. Finally, Balzac scoffed.
"Why would I?"
"You fucking mosquito shit."