Chapter 112
Chapter 112
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 112
Chapter Title: The Hero's Sword and the Demon Sword
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“…I am but a humble monster hunter.”
Drake the monster hunter replied.
“As for the sword's value, whatever price Viscount Sachsen names would be more accurate.”
He said, feigning indifference.
“Where did you acquire this sword?”
“I was merely fortunate enough to come across it.”
“…”
Dale suppressed a brief, incredulous laugh.
‘Fortunate? Unlikely.’
As the S-rank adventurer ‘Faceless’, he remembered when the man had brought this demonic sword.
The way he casually held an artifact of darkness that even a 5th-circle black magician couldn't handle.
Feigning modesty, he was careful not to reveal his true self.
The greatest monster hunter on the continent, one who used no mana.
In many ways, he was no ordinary man.
“I will send someone to the Adventurers' Guild to deliver payment to Lord Drake.”
Dale continued, pulling the hilt of ‘Hunger’ from where it was embedded upright in the floor.
“If the amount is not to your liking, please do not hesitate to tell me.”
“That won't be necessary.”
Drake the monster hunter bowed politely.
“That Viscount Sachsen is pleased with it is honor enough for me.”
“…”
After a few more brief exchanges, Dale turned away.
Leaving behind the awe befitting the ruler of the Demon Lord's territory, Viscount Sachsen, the ‘Black Prince’.
In Dale's hand was the hilt of the demonic sword of starvation… ‘Hunger’.
***
That night.
Dale was in his castle office, reviewing the territory's affairs late into the evening.
“Dale.”
With a knock, a woman of crystalline, cool beauty appeared.
A 6th-circle elven mage with pointed ears peeking through sapphire-colored hair.
“Master.”
“You're working so late.”
At Sephia's concerned voice, Dale smiled in the dim lamplight.
“Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all.”
Dale shook his head.
A brief silence fell, after which Sephia spoke.
“You've grown into such a fine young man.”
As the years passed, the childishness he had when she first met him had all but vanished.
“Thank you, Master.”
Dale smiled silently at Sephia's undisguised pleasure.
“Have I become a man worthy of you now?”
He asked, smiling playfully.
“Th-that's what still makes you a child.”
In the darkness, Sephia's cheeks flushed a momentary peach.
“Still… I'm glad.”
Pushing past her embarrassment, Sephia continued.
“When I first saw you at nine, and when I realized the nature of your talent.”
The form of Dale's talent, the greatest genius in the Empire.
Sephia could still never forget the first ‘Ice Bolt’ Dale had shown her.
A lethality surpassing what those who spent their entire lives on the battlefield could achieve, the golden ratio of military formula.
A talent for killing.
“In you, I saw the overlapping shadow of a certain ‘monster’ I once knew.”
“…”
“Do you know of the Hero from Another World?”
At her words, Dale momentarily held his breath.
“Dragged to a world he didn't know, raised as the Empire's hound for his entire life—”
After swallowing, Dale answered.
“I know that much—that he was discarded like a dog once the hunt was over.”
“Yes.”
Sephia didn't deny it, simply nodding.
“He was a truly pitiful monster.”
“!”
Sephia's next words were an unexpected expression of sympathy that even Dale hadn't anticipated.
“At the same time, he was unquestionably a ‘god of massacre’.”
A god of massacre.
“I still cannot forget the hellscape he created.”
Dale didn't answer right away.
“Why did you see his shadow in me?”
After a moment of silence, he asked, as if speaking of someone else.
“I wonder.”
Sephia trailed off, not answering directly.
A talent for killing.
While it sounded grand, the number of people in this world with a ‘talent for slaughter’ was surprisingly countless.
Weren't knights honing their swords for the very purpose of killing people more effectively?
In that context, Charlotte's talent with the sword was not so different.
“He possessed a ‘special quality’ that set him apart from other powerful individuals.”
Sephia said.
A special quality that set him apart from other powerful individuals.
“I find it difficult to explain exactly what that was.”
“…”
“I simply felt that same ‘special quality’ in your talent.”
Dale drew a sharp, surprised breath.
“But now, I am certain.”
Having said that, Sephia smiled as if to say there was nothing to worry about.
“That you, at least, will not misuse that ‘special quality’ as that man once did.”
The urge to reveal his identity rose in his throat.
But Dale didn't. No, he couldn't.
“That's because you were by my side, Sephia.”
Dale replied.
“…Didn't I promise I would stay by your side?”
Sephia smiled shyly, and Dale returned it with a silent smile of his own.
“Thank you.”
He suppressed the desire to spring up and embrace her.
In the dim light of the lamp, he recalled that white and dark winter night.
***
Not long after Dale acquired his new artifact and favored sword, ‘Hunger’.
An unimaginably important figure paid a visit to the northern Demon Lord's territory.
The castle of Viscount Sachsen, ruler of the Demon Lord's territory.
“It is a great pleasure to see you again.”
In the grand hall, an unforgettable, handsome blond man bowed politely.
“Mikhail of Lancaster greets the ‘Black Prince’… no, Viscount Sachsen.”
His golden surcoat, emblazoned with the white-and-red rose sigil of House Lancaster, fluttered.
A cruel nobility.
“Lord Mikhail.”
Dale rose from his throne and also bowed politely.
“You have come a long way.”
“Not at all.”
Mikhail of Lancaster smiled.
He rested a hand on the hilt of the sword hanging at an angle from his belt.
But before Mikhail could even draw his sword.
“!”
The two female knights flanking Dale rushed forward.
Lady Black, the Sword Maiden Charlotte.
The top disciple of the Mad Sword, Lord Helmut Blackbear, and daughter of the Divine Sword, a knightess whose talent was now in full bloom.
Lady Shadow, the Holy Maiden Orelia.
A knightess who, under the tutelage of the Killing Sword, Master Baro, had cast aside ‘chivalry’ and been reborn with the deadly blade of an assassin.
The two knightesses, clad in black armor, gave Mikhail no time to draw his weapon, aiming their blades at his throat and chest.
Charlotte's jet-black aura blade and Orelia's crimson one.
“Both of you, lower your swords.”
But Dale quickly raised an arm, halting the two knightesses.
“You have some very dependable knights.”
Mikhail remained unperturbed, not even flinching, merely smiling.
“I still cannot forget my defeat at the Fight Club that day.”
Mikhail continued with a smile.
“After that loss, I endlessly honed my blade… waiting for the day I would face your sword and magic again.”
*Shing.*
“May I once again ask for a lesson from you, Viscount Sachsen?”
Mikhail drew his sword.
A seemingly unremarkable knight's sword gave off a pale, sharp gleam.
“!”
At the same time, Dale gasped at the sight of the blade.
How could he ever forget?
This was no mere imitation, a projection of memory and thought.
The undeniable original was right there.
The Peacemaker.
The Hero's beloved sword, Peacemaker… gleamed in Mikhail Lancaster's hand.
“It seems you know of this sword.”
Noticing Dale's reaction, Mikhail replied with a hint of surprise.
“It would be quicker to find someone who *doesn't* know of this sword's fame.”
Dale answered, feigning ignorance.
How did this sword end up in this man's hands? No, the answer wasn't hard to find.
House Lancaster, the Archduchy that had sworn loyalty to the Empire long before its ambitions were laid bare.
It wouldn't be strange for the ‘hound's sword’ to be bestowed upon the Heavenly Sword, Archduke Lancaster, one of the Empire's war heroes, and for his son to now possess it.
“This is perfect timing.”
Rising from the throne in Viscount Sachsen's castle, Dale smiled.
He accepted Mikhail's challenge on the spot.
“I, too, have just acquired a new favorite sword.”
“Oh?”
The jet-black demonic sword he'd obtained after stopping the artifact's rampage that day.
Dale drew the hilt of ‘Hunger’ from where it hung at an angle on his sword belt.
Reminiscent of the black sword of House Sachsen, the jet-black blade emanated a dark and sinister aura.
The ‘Shadow Cloak’, disguised as a black surcoat, began to flap wildly.
Dale had been the victor at the Fight Club that day.
Strictly speaking, however, it wasn't a victory won on pure skill alone.
And how much time had passed since then?
Dale wasn't the only one who had grown. But though each day was the same for everyone, it didn't mean their rate of growth was the same.
Therefore.
He looked up, leaving his two worried knightesses who seemed about to stop him behind.
“You had best prepare yourself.”
Dale readjusted his grip on the hilt of ‘Hunger’.
This duel would unfold as mere entertainment, without deploying an avatar or a world of thought like last time.
But a duel between two powerhouses of their caliber was never a simple sparring match.
It was a true battle where a moment's carelessness could lead to death.
“It seems you've recovered the arm you lost that day.”
Mikhail commented, glancing at the arm Dale used to hold his sword.
“Ah, not quite.”
But Dale shook his head and smiled at the remark.
The arm he had sacrificed to secure victory in the Fight Club finals.
Unlike what most people thought, losing a limb or two was not a big deal, at least by the ‘standards of the Black Magic Tower’.
Restoring a few body parts with the Black Magic Tower's technology was a simple matter.
And yet.
“I, too, have not forgotten the wound from that day.”
“!”
Dale's arm, gripping ‘Hunger’, began to take on a black light, as if synchronizing with the sword's darkness.
An arm of shadow.
If he wished, it wouldn't be difficult to restore his arm with the Black Magic Tower's technology.
But he hadn't.
It wasn't that he couldn't.
Rather, it was because he had come to understand the true value of the ‘shadow prosthesis’ that had become a part of his body during his time in Guild City.
Dale's shadow prosthesis began to synchronize with the demonic sword ‘Hunger’, scattering darkness.
In Mikhail Lancaster's hand, Dale's former beloved sword, Peacemaker, emitted a light of peace.
Not an imitation that mimicked its power by projecting memories and thoughts, but the true might dwelling within the original.
In the grand hall of Viscount Sachsen's castle, Mikhail Lancaster kicked off the ground.
Simultaneously, Dale's ‘Shadow Cloak’ billowed, submerging the area in a lake of darkness.