Chapter 69
Chapter 69
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 69
Chapter Title: Spear and Shield (1)
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The crows held their encirclement but didn’t rush in recklessly.
They were probably waiting for reinforcements.
A massive surge of energy was emanating from that direction.
At this level, it had to be the Special Task Force known as the Royal Knights.
The moment I finished tying the knot, I moved.
Boom!
My figure shot forward like an arrow and suddenly appeared before the crows.
“On guard!”
As someone shouted, the men flinched, their faces tense.
I kicked off the ground right in front of them.
Boom!
At the same time, my form soared through the air like a bird.
The crows’ heads snapped up in unison.
Rising into the air on a battlefield was a poor choice.
You became an easy target, and you couldn’t maneuver freely up there.
That’s what they must have thought.
Heavenly Spirit Divine Art, Lightness Skill Chapter.
Chapter 4: Flying Swallow.
My toes, which had been dancing through the empty air, stepped down as if on solid footing.
And then.
Boom!
My figure shot straight forward.
A graceful motion like a swallow gliding through the sky.
A transparent shockwave accompanied by a gust of wind swept in its wake.
Using air-stepping to leap over them in an instant, I once again put strength into my toes.
This time, the firm ground caught my body.
Heavenly Spirit Divine Art, Footwork Chapter.
Chapter 2: Pursuing Thunder.
Kaboom!
Another horizontal thunderbolt struck.
Before the enemies could react, a straight-line dash crossed the plaza.
I pierced through the crows’ encirclement in one go.
“Damn it! Grab him!”
“Chase him!”
Shouts scattered from behind.
I quickly climbed onto a building roof and scanned ahead.
Colorful rooftops spread out like a sea.
Stis City was one of Francia’s premier metropolises.
Far in the distance, the hazy city walls loomed like mountains.
The road ahead was long.
The entire city was a trap laid by Hallent.
I had to escape as quickly as possible.
Without hesitation, I kicked off the roof and leaped over buildings.
“Hup.”
The moment I accelerated, I heard a gulp from over my shoulder.
The sudden burst of speed was straining his body.
Even in the earlier chain of Flying Swallow and Pursuing Thunder, his body had taken quite a shock.
What felt like a gentle breeze to me was far from light for him.
At this rate, I couldn’t run freely.
Clicking my tongue, I slowed down—and arrows came flying from all directions as if they’d been waiting.
A net of arrows preaimed at my evasion paths, spread wide.
But their woven net was too loose to catch me.
As I put strength into my toes, my figure split apart like a fork.
The arrows, losing their target, clattered against buildings or embedded in random spots.
Then, the sound of hooves echoed from the alley below.
Thud thud thud thud!
While dodging the arrow barrage, mounted knights began closing in.
On top of that, soldiers were rising onto roofs from ahead.
Their encirclement layered the entire city around the execution platform.
That’s why no one expected me to appear, and Hallent must have figured if I could reach it, then come and get it.
Ever since the public execution date was announced a month ago, this situation had been all but inevitable.
Having prepared thoroughly over that time, they absolutely couldn’t let me slip away.
A clash between the spear seeking to pierce and the shield seeking to block.
A new beginning and downfall underlying Lordr’s death.
My foes and I stood at that crossroads.
Whether Francia’s last lifeline would be severed here, or new aspirations would rise from the White Lion—all hung on this battle.
At this moment, two opposing winds crossed and swirled fiercely.
Screee!
Then, something dark sliced through the air.
Dodging it, the building roof exploded and collapsed.
The dark shadow’s identity was a thick ink spear.
Enemies lined up everywhere hurled javelins at the roofs I’d land on.
Their aim: reduce my footing.
Kwarung!
Buildings crumbled helplessly under the barrage of dark spears.
Even so, I acrobatically leaped over the remaining frames and debris.
These bastards.
They weren’t even considering the civilians.
Property damage didn’t seem to register.
Grumbling, I dropped into an alley below the roofs.
Not just building damage—the scattered forces were gradually converging on me.
Roofs allowed fast movement, but my path was exposed nakedly to the enemy.
Flash!
I ran along the narrow street.
The streets were deserted, not a soul in sight.
Caw—caw—!
High above, crow messengers swam the skies, eyes bloodshot searching for me.
The enemy’s eyes were in the heavens.
Stealthy movement was impossible.
Everywhere in this city was their palm.
The longer it took to escape, the more forces would concentrate on me.
I needed to pick up speed.
* * *
“W-what do we do?”
Sarpe’s eyes trembled as he stared at the chaotic arena.
It had all happened in a flash.
The White Lion had suddenly appeared, hoisted Lordr, and vanished into the distance.
He’d succeeded in snatching Lordr, but Stis City was locked down tight now.
No way he could escape alone.
Ripord lit a cigarette and spoke.
“What do you mean ‘what’? We sit tight. I told you—stepping in now is suicide. That guy’s got eyes; he knew the empire’s forces blanketed the place. He jumped in because he’s confident.”
“...True, but still.”
Ripord was right.
There’d been no opening for them anyway.
Staying put was the only way to survive.
Moving to help him now would be like an egg striking a rock.
But what confidence did the White Lion have?
Did he really think escape was possible?
What scheme had he devised to choose this near-suicidal path?
Curiosity piled upon curiosity.
“He must really be a Sword Master.”
Reina spoke with a stiff expression, her mouth still slightly agape. The White Lion’s entrance had shocked her that much.
“That’s what I’m saying. It doesn’t make any sense no matter how you slice it.”
Ripord scratched his jaw irritably.
It was utterly incomprehensible.
A Sword Master in Francia?
As if.
How could such a being drop from the sky?
No Sword Master from another kingdom would come aid Francia.
Thus, the White Lion being a Sword Master was common-sense impossible.
So how do you explain that movement stepping through the air?
It was a feat only a Sword Master could achieve.
No—even if a Sword Master did it, he wouldn’t believe it.
Fuck. Stepping on air?
But it wasn’t magic or an artifact.
Then what the hell was it!
A total monster.
But.
“Even so, can the White Lion escape? I say no. What do you bet on?”
“He has to escape. For Francia’s sake!”
Sarpe said, eyes fierce.
His gaze sparkled like stars.
He couldn’t help directly, but his heart cheered fervently.
Ripord sighed deeply at him.
“Hey, idiot. You know his survival isn’t exactly great news for us, right?”
Sarpe shot him a horrified look—like how could you think such trash.
But Ripord meant it.
Circumstantially, the White Lion belonged to the North’s White Lion faction.
Up there was the Star of the North.
The one who’d risen to fame sweeping imperial forces with innovative strategies.
A Sword Master in that faction too?
The fragile balance among factions would tip hard.
If Francia gained independence, this land would rebirth under their lead.
Then.
“We could end up as sitting ducks.”
For ten years, independence fighters had staked lives from their posts.
For the nation they desired.
At first, they’d all wanted the same country.
The Francia they remembered and loved.
They’d wanted it back.
But after ten years, did the four factions want the same independence?
They dreamed of Francia’s freedom, but their visions of the new nation differed.
That’s why, same goal or not, they’d split into east, west, south, north factions.
Even driving out the empire could spark civil war.
They knew that.
If their new Francia clashed with his ideal?
If he became an obstacle?
War again.
A total clusterfuck.
“...We can’t go back to the old Francia.”
Reina said bitterly; Ripord nodded.
“Yeah. Francia can’t unite anymore.”
In a way, the Francia they yearned for was already gone.
Ever the skeptic, but this was plain fact.
Reina grinned mischievously at him.
“Still, I’m betting on the White Lion surviving.”
Sarpe nodded vigorously in agreement.
“Of course. Me too. He has to live!”
Ripord stuck out his lips at them.
“Damn, you bastards. Making me the villain. Always the bad guy. But fine—you’re right this time. Fuck it. Since it’s come to this, pray he escapes safely. Better any mess after independence, right?”
Independence was still a pipe dream for them.
Worrying post-independence was delusion. Priority one: boot the empire.
Chase out those fuckers, then divvy or tear it up.
Yet he pondered after because the White Lion’s power was that immense.
If he survived here.
Really.
Francia’s independence might become real.
“Fuck, independence. Just thinking makes my heart race.”
Ripord clutched his pounding chest, staring where the White Lion vanished.
Had he unknowingly given up on independence?
Else why was his heart leaping like this.
Faded hope bloomed anew.
He silently shouted it to the White Lion.
You damn bastard!
Since it’s come to this, survive!
Even if you die to a countryman’s blade, see independence first!
* * *
Kwaaang!
A powerful blast sent a heatwave surging.
The building I’d just passed was engulfed in flames, burning fiercely.
Shiiik!
Wind blades sliced the air toward me.
Blue mana bolts curved in from all sides.
Kwarung!
The narrow space erupted under concentrated attack magic; debris shattered and scattered everywhere.
Thick smoke obscured vision, and from it, a dark shadow burst with a long contrail.
“B-block it!”
Mages cried urgently at the sight.
But the shadow was already upon them.
Slash—!
A horizontal sword stroke sent their heads flying into the air.
After felling them in one breath, the moment my feet touched ground, I kicked off again.
Kwarung!
Magic storm ravaged my previous spot.
Rumble.
Buildings collapsed from the shockwave.
Were they all brain-dead? Indiscriminate attacks ignoring casualties and damage.
Empty streets didn’t mean empty buildings.
Screams erupted from homes where citizens huddled.
I knew their game.
They’d pin today’s chaos on me.
The governor-general’s power was absolute.
Then a dark shadow dropped, blocking my path.
Bang!
After the magic volley, knights charged in.
“How dare you try to flee!”
Faces unfamiliar, blades first.
Dodging the thrusting blade, I kicked the wall sideways, rebounded, and smashed my knee into the enemy’s face.
Crack!
“Gahk!”
He tumbled screaming, but I couldn’t advance.
A sword thrust from behind.
I dropped, spun back, swept his sword hand with a roundhouse, then whirled again to heel-smash his shoulder.
“Kyaak!”
Bones crunched; he wailed.
A pale sword gleam from my fingertips silenced him.
“Die!”
Another knight ambushed from the alley.
I parried his side stab, flicked up, and split his jaw.
Spurt!
Blood sprayed the air.
No breather—I moved on. Delay meant reinforcements swarming.
“...Ngh.”
A stifled groan over my shoulder.
My movements burdened Lordr.
Even restraining, shocks accumulated.
Minimize power yet maximize speed to escape.
The contradiction was grueling.
Then a heavy shadow loomed overhead.
Whoosh!
Looking up, a chunk of building flew whole.
Some mad fuck had uprooted and hurled it like a tree.
Kwaaaang!
Deafening crash; debris pulverized surroundings.
“Where do you think you’re scurrying off to.”
A leisurely voice blocked my path.
Unlike before, it carried composure.
Definitely different aura from the rabble.
Such figures began landing around me one by one.
Shadows encircled me before I knew it.
Their pressure crushed the space.
Air felt sunken.
Finally showing themselves.
Sharpened like blades, their auras razor-keen.
Unlike ragtag wolves, their uniforms—gold blade inverted on left chest—exuded disciplined knightly perfection.
I knew at once.
These were the Special Task Force, the ‘Royal Knights’.
Their captain stepped forward.
Moving with precise dignity amid ruins.
He spoke in a voice as rigid as his stance.
“From this moment, we execute your death sentence.”