Chapter 39
Chapter 39
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 39
Chapter Title: A Teacher's Promise
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Lord Black's underground workshop.
Following Dale's hand, the corpse of a Night Raven Knight rose to its feet. The corpse of a subordinate knight who had fallen for Dale on the battlefield that day.
One who had been knighted, swearing to offer his body for House Sachsen even in death.
He had not reached the level to be called an ‘Aura Knight’. But Dale seized the knot of aura within the knight's body and infused it with his own mana.
*Fwoosh!*
The ‘black mana and aura’ merged, creating a synergy, which then became the aura of the dead and began to spread throughout its body.
The immortal knight wreathed its knightly sword in a jet-black aura blade.
The Black Sword of House Sachsen.
An undeniable Death Knight knelt before its master, plunging its sword vertically into the ground.
*Thud!*
Seeing this, Lord Black gasped in surprise.
*‘He's controlling its movements with unbelievable precision.’*
An Aura Knight whose prowess was several times greater than when it was alive, an immortal knight incomparable to those created by a mere necromancer.
A result made possible only because Dale possessed the fundamentals of the sword, the prowess and understanding of a knight.
Moving a knight's corpse without understanding the sword is nonsensical. In that regard, the Death Knight under Dale's command was no mere knight.
It was truly an 《Agent of the Sword》, fully projecting Dale's own prowess and understanding of the blade.
He imagined the sword dance that would unfold from the tip of that agent's blade. Something the necromancers of the Black Magic Tower, who knew nothing of the sword, could never even imagine. Perhaps not even the great Lord Black himself.
“I succeeded, Father.”
At Dale's words, Duke Sachsen remained silent, as if in shock.
Although he was unaware of *The Book of the Black Goat* that had rooted its jet-black tentacles in Dale's heart, he could not fail to notice the mana that had grown several times stronger through its power.
Black mana so potent that even the 8th-circle mage, Lord Black, could not hide his surprise.
“An unbelievably high concentration of mana has been refined.”
“It's because I'm learning from the best teacher.”
Dale replied, feigning innocence to the greatest black mage on the continent, the man who stood at the pinnacle of the Black Magic Tower.
“But like the knights of the ‘Death Order’ you showed me…”
A Death Knight cannot be sustained without a supply of mana from its caster.
“How is it done?”
“It is still too early for you to learn.”
Lord Black shook his head at Dale's question.
“What I will teach you now is simply how to utilize necromancy on the battlefield.”
The combat magic doctrine pursued by the Black Magic Tower, based on the ‘immortal knight’ Dale had raised from the dead.
“You must focus on your training in preparation for the coming battle.”
At his father's words, Dale silently nodded. After he did, Duke Sachsen snapped his fingers.
Toward the Death Knight under Dale's command, several goblin corpses in the workshop rose all at once.
*Crack, crack!*
Modified by Lord Black's mana, they had been reborn as undead soldiers, bearing no resemblance to their living forms. They were war machines that existed solely to slaughter the enemy.
Those very undead soldiers charged toward Dale's Death Knight, kicking off the ground in unison.
Facing the goblin undead soldiers swarming in from all sides, the Death Knight readjusted its grip on its hilt. It readjusted its grip and performed a sword dance. The knight's black sword swirled like a vortex, snapping the undead soldiers' bone blades like twigs.
The shadow of the blade scattered.
Beautifully and gracefully. Not mere exaggerated formalism, but an aesthetic of restraint born from absolute practicality. A killing sword that existed purely to take the opponent's life.
“...!”
Seeing the outrageous swordsmanship, Lord Black gasped in astonishment.
Not all Death Knights were the same. Just because one was resurrected as an immortal knight, just because it could use an aura blade, did not mean its swordsmanship was on par with its prowess in life.
Unless one used advanced black magic to manipulate the brain and revive memories from life… controlling a corpse was the necromancer's job, and they had no expertise with the sword.
For that reason, a Death Knight's swordsmanship was usually crude and clumsy.
But the swordsmanship Dale was projecting now… it was a level that far surpassed even that of a living Night Raven Knight.
*‘How on earth?’*
Lord Black was well aware that Dale did not neglect his sword training. And yet, for a 'mere mage,' not even a knight, to be projecting such a perfected sword form?
*‘Young Lord Dale’s talent with the sword is on a level that cannot be compared to anything I have ever experienced.’*
The words of Lord Helmut Blackbear came to mind unbidden. Dale's talent. Yes. In the end, it was talent again.
*‘Just what is this child's talent?’*
No, could this even be called talent in the first place?
In swordsmanship, in magic, in wisdom and strategy.
The greatest genius of the Empire, the prodigy of the ducal house.
That was Lord Black's son, the ‘Black Prince,’ Dale of Sachsen.
“...Father?”
Just then, he heard a voice calling him. Lord Black turned his head, breaking from his thoughts.
There stood Dale, silently looking his way, along with the Death Knight under his command. His son, without a doubt.
“You are my son, indeed.”
Therefore, Lord Black did not think on it any further.
“I am truly proud of you.”
“It is thanks to your teachings, Father.”
He simply smiled quietly at the sight of his son, and Dale bowed his head in response.
No matter what anyone said, this child was without a doubt his own.
* * *
Hearing of his student's daily, rapid growth, and of his great achievements echoing throughout the Empire.
As a teacher, what could bring more joy?
However, the heart of the elven mage Sephia was incredibly complex as she looked at Dale. Today, as she taught him water magic like any other day, was no exception.
“Miss Sephia?”
At Dale's cautious expression, Sephia gave a faint smile.
“...It's nothing.”
That day, when Dale had taken the tower's test and they had gone out into the night streets together.
*‘I like you, teacher.’*
She recalled Dale's confession to her. Immediately after, Dale had feigned the innocence of a child who knew nothing, but Sephia could tell. No, she could feel it.
The chilling cold, the indescribable darkness, and the desire held within 'Dale's world' that he had shown her that day. It was unmistakably the desire of a man craving affection.
A poignant yearning for a woman's loving touch amidst a bone-chilling solitude.
Immediately after realizing Dale's feelings, a great turmoil began to storm within Sephia's heart.
Like a pebble dropped onto the surface of a lake.
Because her student, who should have been nothing more than an eleven-year-old child, was worrisome and precarious. And so very endearing.
Her heart burned.
“...”
After a moment of thought, Sephia reached out her pale, slender hand toward the eleven-year-old's boyish cheek.
“T-Teacher?”
Dale's face flushed with surprise at her touch.
“...An elf's life is long.”
Sephia paid him no mind and began to speak, her voice as gentle and kind as always.
“Even when you become a fine man in the future...”
But with a charm she did not usually possess.
“I will likely look just as I do now.”
She herself couldn't understand why she was going this far for this child.
That day, when she heard the tale of how the ‘Black Prince’ had won a great victory in the Black and White Campaign and annihilated all his enemies.
Furthermore, when the people of the Empire chattered about the talent and notoriety of House Sachsen's young heir.
Sephia could not feel purely happy.
Human history is a history of blood and war. A history of slaughter, of killing and being killed. In that regard, Dale's talent could be called 'a talent that moves the wheels of history.'
A god of massacre.
Sephia was simply afraid of that fact. She did not want this child to walk such a path of slaughter.
“Until the day you realize your true feelings.”
She extended her pale, slender elven hand.
“I will be by your side.”
She caressed Dale's cheek and smiled faintly.
“At that time, not as a teacher, but purely as a woman.”
“...!”
Sephia said, her cheeks blushing shyly in a way unlike her.
“Therefore, you are not alone.”
Like a young girl confessing her heart, looking as if she didn't know what to do with her embarrassment. In a sense, that wasn't entirely wrong.
At Sephia's affectionate touch, Dale could only remain silent. A mature womanliness he had never consciously noticed before. It was only now that he keenly realized why elves were called the race of beauty.
A moment later, seeing Dale's stunned silence…
“H-Hmph.”
Sephia finally realized just how embarrassing her words had been and cleared her throat.
“W-Well then, shall we continue the lesson...”
It was at that moment.
“Thank you.”
After a silence, Dale smiled. Then he moved, burying himself in Sephia's embrace.
“...!”
Sephia gasped at his bold action, but she soon smiled and accepted him.
“I really do like you, Lady Sephia.”
Dale said, burying his face in her embrace.
“So please, wait for me.”
“...Alright.”
He surrendered himself to a warmth that made him forget even the chilling cold and solitude in his heart.
It was an unforgettable promise from his youth.
* * *
That night.
Dale's bedroom.
Sephia's confession(?) was something Dale had not expected in the slightest.
That day, during the tower's test in the Necropolis. Dale's agitation, his desire to escape the horizon of solitude… had allowed Sephia to peer into 'Dale's world.'
That act had created a resonance between their two worlds as mages, and Dale's emotions had flowed directly into Sephia.
Dale's world, a winter night's landscape stained with chilling cold and darkness.
Coincidentally, the water attribute they both shared had made it possible, and the 'chilling cold and solitude' raging in Dale's world had swallowed Sephia's. It was not something that even a 6th-circle elven mage could easily maintain her composure against.
It had been an impossible immaturity, and at the same time, the warmth of being understood for the first time filled his chest.
Sitting cross-legged on his bed, Dale silently gazed out the castle's glass window.
The three circles operating around his heart, and furthermore, the jet-black tentacles taking root between the circles and his heart.
He had thought he had nothing to lose.
But now, he had things to protect, things he wanted to cherish.
*‘I must become stronger.’*
Therefore, there was no reason to hesitate. No matter what price he had to pay for that power.
* * *
Some time after that.
In response to the great demon migration, the northern lords loyal to Duke Sachsen began to gather in the duchy.
Minor and major lords began to assemble under the command of the great lord, Duke Sachsen. Among them were ambitious nobles and their sons, who were no exception.
An ambition to prove their own existence by using Duke Sachsen and the Black Prince.