Chapter 42
Chapter 42
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 41
Chapter Title: Recruitment Competition
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It wasn't particularly strange for Hana to come recruiting that ronin swordsman.
The mountain range where the swordsman resided marked the boundary between Sneria Territory and Providence Territory.
"They say that once this swordsman settled in the mountains, merchants could cross them without worry."
As they climbed together, Hana shared the information.
Even though she was marked with a crimson dot as a rival in the recruitment competition, to Rex, she was the only ally driven purely by goodwill rather than self-interest.
Thus, the faint hostility indicator merely signified friendly rivalry, never escalating to mind games.
Of course, the sidelong glances she cast toward Duke while explaining suggested she wasn't entirely free of personal motives.
"Not just merchants— he's famous among the locals too. Bandits used to come down from the mountains every winter, but they haven't been seen in recent years."
She gauged Rex's reaction.
Assuming, naturally, that he would already know such details.
But this was news to Rex.
"Bandits?"
"I can tell you haven't heard."
"Our citizens never mentioned bandits. Magical beasts, maybe."
This difference stemmed from terrain and rainfall patterns.
Even within the same range, climates divided living zones.
On Rex's side, with abundant water and lush vegetation, magical beasts thrived; on Sneria's gentler, drier slopes, bandits proliferated.
What a wondrous quirk of nature!
As leaders, Rex and Hana grasped the disparity from this brief exchange.
"Fascinating."
Hana only understood upon hearing Rex's elaboration,
"Huh? Does that matter?"
Jane, the elf who had lived over a century without family or education, couldn't comprehend even after the explanation.
And Duke...
"Hm."
As always, he crossed his arms and stayed silent, pretending to understand.
In any case, climatic differences led to varying intel on the swordsman from each side.
In Sneria Territory, he was a chivalrous hero maintaining order for a bottle of liquor;
in Providence Territory, an eccentric hunter slaying beasts for snacks.
The leaders, now sharing info, couldn't hide their dismay.
'Oh no. What a blunder. I thought wine would do the trick.'
'Huh? Did I mess up the strategy?'
Hana had hidden Sneria's famed wine in her shadow,
while Rex's inventory brimmed with exotic meats from transfer knowledge.
Both regretted their scant knowledge of the ronin swordsman.
But turning back now meant too much distance and time gifted to the rival.
With no choice, the two lords hastily devised scenarios from what they'd brought.
And Duke, roughly gauging their plights...
'Pointless anyway.'
No matter what they thought of this ronin swordsman, the one Duke knew was different.
His circumstances far more intricate...
"Hm?"
Duke halted his thoughts, stopping abruptly to gaze at the summit.
"Is something wrong? Are you unwell...?"
He waved off Hana's concern and dashed to the group's forefront.
No sooner had he drawn his greatsword from subspace than a bolt-like azure sword aura shot from the peak.
"My lord!"
"Everyone, into the shadows!"
As Ari and Hana shielded their comrades, Duke swung his greatsword to counter the azure aura.
Blue and silver sword energies clashed in a cross.
Duke emerged victorious.
The silver aura cleaved the blue one, soaring toward the clear sky.
As all stared, entranced by the ascending energy, Duke spoke.
"Your greeting is rather rude, Peter."
"Does a man who vanished for decades without word have the right to say that?"
Only then did the group look toward Duke.
An old man had appeared where none had stood moments before, crossing swords with Duke in reverse grip with his single-edged blade.
Yet their auras felt too subtle for outright enmity.
Though blades met, the old man's face was serene.
If anything, they resembled old comrades?
Unlike the old man, however, Duke appeared genuinely furious.
"You nearly swept up my liege."
"Oh. Surely not..."
The old man broke into cold sweat, eyeing the group behind Duke.
"That lady?"
He pointed at Hana.
Duke shook his head.
"Then her?"
Not Ari or Jane either.
"That slender woman...?"
"...He's a man."
"Must be senility setting in."
As Duke raised his clenched left fist, the old man hastily backpedaled.
"What sturdy bones!"
"You don't see them."
"I sense it!"
Duke sighed and sheathed his sword.
The old man returned his to its cane-like scabbard.
Turning his back to the old man, Duke faced Rex and introduced him.
"Allow me to introduce him. This is Peter."
"I've told you for centuries, human— my name isn't Peter."
The man dubbed Peter tapped Duke's boot with his cane and approached the group.
With eyes closed, probing the ground tap-tap with his staff, it was hard to believe this was the same one who'd unleashed that sword aura.
By some principle, the old man precisely oriented toward Rex and bowed.
"Greetings, liege of Duke. I am Perseverans Esperance Taidar Escarandis, Duke."
"Call me Peter. My lord."
"Gah!"
Ignoring the old man hollering and whacking his boot, Duke redonned his cloak.
The old man relented with a weary sigh.
"Fine. Just call me Peter. As atonement for my rudeness just now, may I invite you to my home?"
Rex nodded.
Hana, having overheard, quietly asked,
"Elder Peter. Might I join as well?"
"Aren't you with them?"
"Well..."
Hana glanced at Duke and Rex.
The old man guessed and nodded.
"This'll take a while. Very well. Come along."
The group followed the old man to the summit.
In that short time, Jane and Ari realized they were the weakest here.
Excluding Rex and Duke, the rest were Fourth Circle—at least on the surface.
Yet Hana and Elder Peter's ascent revealed tiers even among Fourth Circle.
'The difference in technique. Their upper bodies are so stable.'
'No mana leakage from the ankles.'
A typical Fourth Circle wouldn't notice such subtleties.
But honed by Duke's training, they felt their own inferiority acutely.
The thrill of sensing that gap—and their growth in perceiving it—shivered them.
Meanwhile, Rex thrilled toward the old man for another reason.
Question marks after so long.
Yet Rex's thrill held no fear or dread.
'Hm. As expected of Duke's acquaintance.'
His senses for strength long broken, Rex felt confident nothing about this old man would surprise him.
'View details...'
Impossible.
But like with Duke, a Blood Oath would fix it—he figured. Rex treated the old man lightly.
Thus, as the blind elder imprinted his prowess on the group, they arrived at his home.
By Duke and Rex's description: a modestly sized thatched cottage.
The blind old man turned, smiling.
"Humble abode, but please enter."
Rex and Hana, the representatives, led.
Before he could say, Rex—familiar with customs—slipped off his shoes and entered.
Hana, from the Eastern Alliance, followed suit effortlessly.
"Ho ho?"
The old man missed nothing.
Both earned +1.
Considering mutual judgment, no net gain—but his fondness rose anyway.
Then Duke...
"I've told you for centuries to ditch that helmet and cloak before entering."
"I removed my boots."
"Who enters another's home like that? Tch, tsk. Always so disagreeable."
The old man soon gave up and sat.
Rex -1.
No issue with the liege, but that knight...
Rex sat cross-legged like the old man; Hana knelt demurely.
At this point, etiquette scoring was moot.
"Hm. Low ceiling."
But Duke's immediate disparagement docked Rex another point.
"Didn't think you'd bring your beanpole self?"
"Every home you've lived in had low ceilings. I'd have gotten a bigger one if I knew you'd come."
"Tch."
Rex sweated at Duke's antics.
What's the point of his efforts?
Hana inwardly cheered.
Yet both puzzled over Duke's behavior.
'Why's Duke acting up?'
'He's not usually like this.'
The courteous, dignified knight turning rude before this old man felt off.
Especially after their ascent chat: the old man was refined, wise—befitting "aged gracefully."
Why, then, did Duke treat him so?
They shelved the mystery, refocusing.
Introductions done en route, they cut to the chase.
"Our territory's humble pride: wine."
"I heard you enjoy meat, so I prepared this."
Hana and Rex presented wine and meat skewers.
The old man's eyes gleamed (though blind, the vibe was there).
Casually popping the cork with a pop!, he...
"It's been ages. Until a century ago, this human and I drank like this daily."
Gazes turned to Duke.
He nodded, arms crossed.
"We often binge-drank. I'd haul him home when he passed out."
"Ah..."
The old man chuckled nostalgically, pouring.
Drinking before guests normally breached etiquette, but Superhumans were exempt.
No risk of drunken disgrace—they couldn't get drunk.
Thus, first-meeting toasts equaled tea.
"A glass?"
Both lords declined: Hana politely, Rex due to weak tolerance.
Praising their quality, Peter downed his.
As wine flowed down his throat, Duke sighed deeply.
"Hmmm..."
"Human! No sighing while drinking! Ruins the taste!"
Duke ignored him.
The old man nearly clicked his tongue but straightened before guests.
"Apologies for the unseemly display."
The lords waved it off.
Still, Duke's rudeness nagged.
What had this old man done?
Their questions didn't linger.
Emboldened by wine, he spilled the reason.
"As you heard, I called myself duke—but strictly, of a fallen empire. Now just a title-less elder."
Now it clicked: Duke's attitude.
Last decade.
Duke's detailed chronicles left no lies; Rex, retainers, and historians knew his past intimately.
Strength maxed at marquis;
duke required blood or royal pact.
Thus, Duke destroying the empire naturally bred mutual disdain with its imperial-blooded dukes...
"But lest you misunderstand: I harbor no grudge against that knight. Nor he me."
"?"
"Huh?"
No.
They'd been comrades since before the fall.
The old man even deemed the empire's end just.
"Those imperial folk deserved death a thousand times over."
"Then..."
He continued.
He'd watched his empire and house crumble.
Through it, Peter realized one truth.
"Court and dukes alike, bloated with arrogance and greed, distrusted even their children—devoured them if needed."
He poured solemnly.
"Such the end. Dreams shattered; the royals, once mocking the weak, now hunted by them."
Common tale.
New kingdoms claimed rule, branding old royals traitors for legitimacy.
"So I pondered their fall. And realized: they never entrusted dreams to successors."
They hoarded ladders.
Allowing offspring only to chin level, never beyond.
Mortal spans might've cycled generations naturally; immortality deepened successor suspicion.
Thus rotting, stagnating, self-sabotaging to doom.
"Hence, what matters most to the liege I serve."
Gulp.
The lords swallowed dryly.
What query?
Entrusting dreams to heirs?
Did they possess such resolve?
As they steeled, he wet his lips with wine and asked,
"Have you two had sex? Or someone to have it with?"
"...?"
"Huh?"
Undeterred, he pressed.
"Had sex, I mean."
Breath reeking of booze.
Now they understood Duke's demeanor.
This old man.
Thoroughly senile.