Chapter 74
Chapter 74
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 74
Chapter Title: Vile Bet
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"Yeah. Essence of Progenitor's Blood. With three of them, it's worth a shot, right?"
Silence fell. The tension unique to a gambling table hung in the air. Finally, Balzac snorted and spoke.
"Why should I?"
"You damn mosquito brat."
"I'll admit it's intriguing. But I don't think you have anything worth trading for the Essence of Progenitor's Blood."
"Who knows. Maybe not."
Suddenly, Ronan untied Lamancha from his waist and placed it on the table, sheath and all. Ophelia, who had been watching, went wide-eyed. A telepathic message rang in Ronan's head.
[Ronan, what... what are you doing right now?]
Ronan looked at Ophelia and winked. It meant not to worry. Ophelia tilted her head with a dubious expression. Balzac, intrigued and raising an eyebrow, approached the table.
"Hmm. You do have one."
"Not bad eye for a one-eyed freak."
"May I draw it?"
"Be my guest."
Surprisingly, Balzac asked for permission before touching the weapon. It wasn't a bad show of etiquette between swordsmen.
Shing! Lamancha slid from its sheath, revealing its true form. The straight blade was thin and dark, like the eyelid of night. Balzac frowned as he examined it closely.
"...A peculiar thing. Add some malice to it, and it'd be a demon sword without equal."
"What?"
"Well, it didn't seem ordinary from the start."
Balzac gripped the hilt. Suddenly, red energy welled up from the base, dyeing the black blade crimson.
"What the fuck."
Ronan's eyes widened. It was the first time he'd seen Lamancha like this while wielding it. Balzac turned and lightly swung the sword at the banquet hall wall.
Whoosh! A blood-red sword beam shot along a gentle arc. But not the usual crescent—it evoked the spray of a fan-shaped splash.
Boom boom boom! Chain explosions rocked the hall, shaking the mound. Dozens of stone-and-dust flowers bloomed. Seeing the devastated stone wall, Ronan cursed.
"Damn it, how'd you do that?"
"Fierce. I don't need something like this."
"How'd you do it?"
"Do I owe you an explanation? If there's nothing else to show, I'll be going."
Balzac shook his head and returned Lamancha. Ronan couldn't let him leave like this. He grabbed Cita from his shoulder and held it out.
"How about this? A thousand-year-old elf can't even identify it. Pretty face, fast, and warm to cuddle with at night."
"Pweh?"
"Ophelia, ruby shining in the snowfields. Until we meet again."
Cita's eyes went round. Balzac turned away without a word. Just as he was about to bid Ophelia farewell, Ronan leaped onto the table and called out.
"Wait up, you bastard."
Both vampires turned. Ronan glared at Balzac, hands in his pockets. Balzac frowned at the sudden antics.
"...What are you doing?"
"I'll bet myself."
"What?"
"I'm staking myself as the pot. If I lose, I'll become your familiar. That enough for you?"
"Ronan... what are you talking about?"
Ophelia finally asked aloud, unable to bear it. Ronan didn't answer. Balzac let out a hollow laugh.
"I don't waste blood making familiars. What do I gain from turning you?"
"Obviously. Even if I become a mosquito, I won't stop training."
"What do you mean?"
"If I'm your familiar, I'll fight you whenever you want. A sparring partner who transcends lifespan limits and keeps getting stronger. Won't you kill for that?"
Balzac's eyes widened. An arrogant yet tempting offer. In their brief clash, he'd glimpsed Ronan's thrilling potential. Maybe a second Zarodin. Stroking his chin, Balzac burst into mad laughter.
"Kuhahaha! Interesting. To think a mortal could come up with that."
"Won't happen, but if I lose and become your familiar, don't let your guard down. You'll lose your head to me in five years."
"Fine, I accept. Keep talking."
"Nothing much. I just want one Essence of Progenitor's Blood."
"What's the bet?"
"Already thought it through. We alternate attacks, one each."
Ronan explained the rules he'd prepared. Alternate single attacks. Dodge or block freely. But counterattacking or failing to rise within a minute after an attack counts as defeat.
That was it. No clauses obviously favoring Ronan. Balzac tilted his head like he'd heard nonsense.
"...You really think you can beat me with that?"
"Obviously."
Ronan nodded firmly. Balzac couldn't understand. Ronan surely knew their skill gap. Yet these conditions when he should be scheming? Balzac chuckled hollowly.
"You're overestimating yourself. Such bravado from those with fleeting lives."
"Long-lived mosquito's got a long tongue. Scared?"
"Insolent. I accept. If you become my familiar, I'll spend the first century teaching manners."
"Wise choice. Shall we draw up the contract?"
They wrote the contract in their own blood. Ophelia acted as witness. She kept sending telepathic pleas to stop, but Ronan just winked reassurance.
[...You're completely insane.]
The rules and stakes were listed in order. As they signed, the parchment crumbled and vanished. The blood letters floated up.
They lined up like chains and seeped into Ronan and Balzac's chests. The blood oath was sealed. Instinctively, Ronan knew he'd die if he broke it.
"Feels shitty."
"The oath's binding... wrapping around the heart."
Ophelia sighed. No turning back now. Thankfully, the unease faded soon. Ronan and Balzac took positions in the banquet hall center. Balzac spoke leisurely.
"I'll yield first strike. Make it count—your last."
"Thanks."
Ronan gripped the hilt. Ophelia refereed. Balzac smirked the whole wait.
He was confident. No doubt of victory. Holding back without killing was harder. Ophelia, fidgeting, finally whispered.
"...Begin."
Bam! Ronan charged. Darkness gathered around Balzac, forming armor from shadow magic. Tough as mithril.
Distance closed instantly. Ronan drew. Balzac shrugged at the incoming slash.
'Fast.'
Had to admit the speed. But that was it. A plain swing. He'd dodged before, but blocking was easy.
'Disappointing. Thought you'd have a trump card.'
Ronan was already screaming in his mind. Balzac smiled bitterly and braced. Slash! Lamancha sliced through the armor, carving Balzac's neck and limbs.
"Ah?"
Realization hit quick. Vision spun, pain overwhelming. A bone-chilling scream erupted.
"Kraaaaagh!!"
Limbs flew. Balzac's head rolled. From his low view, Ronan's hearty laugh echoed.
"Hahaha! Good game, Balzac. Take the Essence."
"H-how?!"
"No obligation to tell. Lie there thinking which of the three essences to cough up."
Balzac stared at his scattered limbs. Impossible. The mana-dense armor sliced like tofu.
"Ophelia. Count the minute right!"
Ronan shouted at stunned Ophelia. Balzac's armor was solid magic. The sticky feedback proved it.
But Ronan, who could cut mana, didn't care. He cackled mockingly at the crippled vampire.
"Regrow the firm, plump ones if you can. Like ripe watermelon."
"Grr... you think... I'll go down like this...!"
Balzac ground his teeth. Veins bulged on his face. After 20 seconds—crack! Four limbs exploded from the clean cuts. Ronan's brow furrowed.
"Fuck."
Balzac's body staggered up, grabbed his head. Tendrils writhed like living veins.
He jammed it back. The red line healed instantly. Crack! Twisting his neck, he glared.
"Hah... hahaha, fun... what trick did you pull?"
"Didn't see that coming."
"My turn anyway. Prepare."
His voice steady. Ridiculous regeneration. Even for vampires, limb loss took hours or days.
"Ronan..."
Ophelia's face paled like ice. Ronan gestured reassurance and returned. Balzac's face showed no leisure.
"No more underestimating you. Fake Zarodin. No, Ronan."
"Damn, just hurry up."
Balzac looked to Ophelia. She bit her lip, then whispered.
"......Begin."
Red and black energy sucked into Balzac's feet. Ambient mana dried up. Shadows everywhere rippled, beasts emerging. Ronan chuckled hollowly.
"This all one strike?"
"Even if torn apart, I'll fix you. Don't worry."
Balzac extended a hand. Blood from his nails formed long spears aimed at Ronan.
Five spears, each 3m, whirled overhead.
Snap! Beasts charged as spears rained. Ronan drew.
"Fine... let's go all out."
He lowered and slashed horizontally. Two shadow wolf heads flew. He felled three more, rolled aside. Boom! Shadow bear's paw smashed his spot.
Sliced the bear, looked up—spears incoming. Cursing at spears piercing beasts.
"Shit."
Slash! He spun, bisecting a spear. Beasts surrounded. He swung wide, firing beams. Dismembered beasts crumbled, gap forming.
No breather. Two spears filled it. Too late to think—instinct slashed vertically.
'Like back then.'
Ronan recalled Ahayute. Light spears wiping battalions. Monsters from feathers pushing knights. He'd cleaved through to reach him, trampling comrades.
Child's play now. But his immature body held him back.
Slash. He shredded a shadow lion clawing his thigh. Deep, but no pain. Mind sharpening, he danced the blade. Balzac admired sincerely.
"Impressive."
Now understood the bet format. Far better swordsman than thought. Hundreds of beasts felled unbelievably fast.
"But... still green."
Balzac shook his head. His 'one strike' continued. Exploiting the simple rule's flaw.
Gesture—all remaining beasts swarmed Ronan. Ophelia screamed, sensing it.
"Don't!"
Balzac ignored, snapped fingers. Barrier shielded him and Ophelia.
-Kraaagh!
-Groooar!
Beasts swelled like balloons. Spears pierced. Boom! Blood-and-shadow explosion devoured the hall. Ophelia gasped.
"Ah... aaa..."
"That's my attack done."
No survival possible. Barrier dropped. Expanded hall ruins visible. Dust blinded. Seconds later—cough from smoke.
"Cough."
"......!"
Vampires' eyes widened. Uneven footsteps neared. Ronan emerged; Balzac laughed hollowly.
"You survived that."
"Cough, heh... nearly died, you fuck..."
Ronan looked rag-dipped-in-blood. Wounds bled everywhere.
But no fatal cuts. Twice before: Ahayute, Schlieffen's storm sword. Flying Cita healed most.
"Pweht!"
"Thanks, Cita. Phew, feel alive now."
"Healing... with outside help...!"
"Contract didn't forbid it."
Balzac twisted lips. Mistake calling Ronan green. He'd exploited the contract slyer. Stretching, Ronan smirked.
"Now... my turn."
Ronan gripped Lamancha. Frozen Ophelia signaled. Balzac roared angrily.
"Think I'll fall twice?!"
Ronan's form vanished. Blood-fed Lamancha slashed faster, sharper.
Balzac heavier from regeneration drain. He tried absorbing blood and mana remnants.
"Hm...?"
Something wrong. No blood or mana from explosion.
Gaze to Ronan’s back— Cita, wings spread, sucking it all. Eye contact; Cita tilted head.
"Pweah?"
"You filthy...!"
Rigged from start. Realization—slashes poured.
Lamancha shredded armor again, carving dozens red lines on flesh. Fading vision heard Ronan.
"Sorry. You're just poorly taught."
Balzac blacked out.