Chapter 64
Chapter 64
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 64
Chapter Title: Goddess of War
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The Goddess of War.
Or the Sword Queen.
Beyond that, the Blood Lioness, the Sword Fiend of the North, the Iron-Blooded Heir, the Valkyrie of Crimson Blossoms, and so on...
The epithets for Selena van Sigmund numbered in the dozens, from friend and foe alike.
This meant her martial prowess ranked within the top five in the North.
For someone like her to appear here at Bowden Fortress was highly unusual.
Why?
Because her rank was Brigadier General—a flag officer.
Moreover, she was the commander of the Chimera Brigade, renowned as one of the most elite fighting forces in the Decaron army.
Who would have expected a commander meant to lead an army on the front lines, far from this Blood-Soaked Land, to personally set foot in a small fortress like Bowden?
Especially when even the commander of the 2nd Army Command hadn’t shown his face.
“You must be the black magician, Crowley.”
Selena’s gaze fell upon him.
“How dare a young whelp like you speak my name so casually?”
Crowley snarled, but Selena didn’t even blink, as if accustomed to such insults.
In truth, anyone who had spent years rolling in the filth of the battlefield would become so.
How many curses had she endured from the barbarians in the years she'd spent on the battlefield since completing her succession ceremony?
She had heard every foul curse imaginable, things an ordinary person couldn't even fathom, making Crowley's snarl seem like nothing more than the yapping of a frightened mutt.
Of course, by now, most barbarians wouldn’t dare curse her to her face; they would turn tail and flee the moment they saw her.
“I, Selena van Sigmund, by order of His Grace, Grand Duke Guntram van Sigmund, Lord of Decaron, have come to execute the black magician Crowley. Surrender peacefully. If you do, I promise your death will at least not be a painful one.”
“You bitch! How dare you spout such nonsense!”
Crowley gripped his wand and snarled.
“You think being a Sigmund means you can do anything to me?”
As Crowley clutched his skull-shaped wand, portals to a subspace opened around him, and all manner of undead monsters poured out.
This was the terror of black magicians—or, more precisely, necromancers.
It was for good reason they were called one-man armies.
While they might appear to be alone, they could summon tens, even thousands, of undead monsters, making a confrontation with a single necromancer akin to facing an entire army.
“Ugh!”
“Th-there are too many!”
The soldiers of Bowden Fortress trembled in terror.
So many undead monsters had Crowley summoned that the cramped confines of Bowden Fortress were filled to bursting.
Despite this, Selena remained perfectly still.
She simply let Crowley do as he pleased…
*‘Fool.’*
Carlyle scoffed at Crowley for not fleeing.
*‘If it were me, I would’ve run the moment I saw her. Not that it would’ve saved me.’*
But Crowley, who had spent decades holed up in a dungeon researching black magic and quietly creating undead monsters, had no way of knowing who Selena was.
*‘First, I need to get up…’*
Just as Carlyle gritted his teeth and tried to use Grimungandr as a cane to stand…
“Dieeee!”
One of the Butcher Tribe’s centurions, a loyal subordinate of Jarkan, lunged at Carlyle.
*Crack!*
A wall suddenly shot up, blocking the barbarian warrior’s path.
*Thwack!*
The barbarian warrior slammed into the wall and was thrown back.
“Young Master!”
Evangeline, the earth spiritist, rushed to Carlyle’s side with incredible speed, gliding as if on ice.
She wasn’t alone.
“Young Master, have you finally achieved the Blood Seal Awakening? This old man is so overcome with emotion that tears cloud my vision.”
A white-haired old gentleman.
Once a legendary knight known as the Grim Reaper of the North, and now the butler of the Sigmund family, Maranello wiped his tears with a handkerchief.
It wasn't just Selena who had come to save Carlyle and Bowden Fortress.
* * *
*‘So the reply worked.’*
Carlyle realized why Selena, Evangeline, and Maranello had appeared at Bowden Fortress.
About ten days ago.
Carlyle had received letters from Evangeline and Maranello, and he had sent a reply.
- Please deliver this to Head Butler Maranello at the main estate. It is a very important letter, so it must be delivered as quickly as possible.
Carlyle had written about the black magician Crowley in the letter, but he hadn't held out much hope.
Who would believe a degenerate banished to the battlefield claiming to have spotted signs of a black magician’s activity?
*‘I’ve sent the letter, so there should be some kind of response. If not, there’s nothing I can do.’*
He had written it with a nothing-to-lose attitude, but who knew it would actually work?
“Who are you people?”
Jarkan snarled at Evangeline and Maranello.
“What right do a wench and an old geezer have to interfere in a sacred battle! As punishment for your audacity, I will tear off your limbs and gut you!”
“Hic!”
Startled, Evangeline hid behind Carlyle like a frightened rabbit.
Though a hardy northerner herself, she had no real combat experience and had never been to a battlefield. It was only natural for her to be frightened by the threats of a 4-Star barbarian warrior like Jarkan.
“Heh heh.”
Maranello chuckled softly.
“My dear barbarian chieftain. You should watch your tongue. Your vile threats have frightened our young lady.”
“What?”
Killing intent filled Jarkan’s eyes.
“A useless old mainlander running his mouth. I’ll tear your corpse to shreds and feed it to the monsters.”
“Your kind’s foul mouths never change, even after all these years.”
Maranello shook his head as if dealing with an incorrigible child.
“In my younger days, I would have taught you not to run that mouth of yours so carelessly. I suppose I truly have gotten old, seeing as I don't feel the urge to go that far.”
“You shameless old mainlander. Aren’t you ashamed to have lived so long? If you were any kind of warrior, you would have died on the battlefield before getting old…”
“Heh heh. This won’t do.”
Maranello slowly drew the feather duster hanging from his waist.
“It seems I’ll have to teach you some manners.”
“Shut up! You old—.”
Jarkan swung his axe at Maranello.
*Thwack!*
“Agh!”
Jarkan cried out and staggered.
The feather duster had struck him squarely on the crown of his head, and he seemed to be seeing stars.
“The problem is that mouth of yours, that foul maw.”
“Kugh!”
*Thwack, thwack!*
With each strike of the feather duster against Jarkan’s mouth, bloodied, yellow teeth rained down!
“N-no way!”
“How can he beat a barbarian chieftain with a feather duster…?”
The soldiers watched in disbelief as Maranello disciplined Jarkan.
While Maranello was a handsome and dignified gentleman, unlike most old men, he didn’t look strong at all.
Only Carlyle knew that if Maranello truly wished it, he could slaughter not just Jarkan, but every enemy present.
For the Grim Reaper of the North’s Succession Sword, [Grim Reaper], was not the butler Maranello’s feather duster, but a ruthless and cruel weapon that harvested death.
*Thwack, thwack!*
“Gak, keuk!”
“Well? Do you feel like speaking more politely now?”
“Sh-shut it, you old bast— Aaargh!”
“You people simply don't know the first thing about courtesy.”
“You son of a biiiiitch!”
Jarkan’s mouth was swollen to the point of bursting, and more than half his teeth were broken or missing, yet he refused to stop spewing curses.
True to his barbarian nature, it wasn't easy to instill manners in him with mere corporal punishment.
Of course, Maranello hadn't begun this physical lesson with any real expectation of Jarkan suddenly speaking politely.
Maranello was a legendary knight who had killed tens of thousands of barbarians over decades on the battlefield.
How could he not understand the ways of barbarians?
It was an undeniable fact that Maranello understood barbarians better than anyone else here.
Despite this, perhaps Maranello was beating Jarkan as a way to control himself, to keep from breaking his own vow not to kill.
“Let me help you, Young Master.”
“No, it’s fine. I can get up.”
“But…”
“I said I’m fine.”
Just as Carlyle finally managed to get to his feet on his own.
*Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii—!!!*
A sword wind.
Like a northern blizzard, Selena’s blade storm swept through Crowley’s minions.
*Fshhh, fshhh!*
Nearly a thousand undead monsters were reduced to ash in an instant.
A one-man army?
To Selena van Sigmund, an army of low-level undead was less than a swarm of gnats.
Selena’s strength, honed by daily battles against the highest-ranking barbarian warriors on the northern front, was enough to annihilate Crowley’s undead army with a single strike.
* * *
“N-no way! Th-this can’t be happening! It can’t be!”
Crowley clutched his head in agony, unable to believe it.
His undead army, which he had painstakingly collected one corpse at a time his entire life, had vanished in the blink of an eye. For him, it was like losing his entire fortune in an instant.
Moreover, given the nature of a black magician's life—spent always in hiding—it would be impossible for him to gather that many corpses again.
“Surrender peacefully. This is your last chance. If you resist further, then…”
“Wait.”
Carlyle suddenly approached Selena and spoke.
“I’ll do it.”
“What…?”
“I’ll kill him. That bastard.”
Selena looked quite surprised as Carlyle pointed at Crowley.
Beyond his desire to face Crowley, the fact that her degenerate brother had not only achieved the Blood Seal Awakening but had also been fighting valiantly in this difficult battle was a shock to Selena.
She just hadn’t shown it, given the circumstances…
“You’re going to kill him? That black magician?”
“I want to.”
“It won’t be easy.”
“I don’t care.”
“Hmm.”
Selena considered for a moment before speaking.
“I’m sorry, but capturing him alive is the priority.”
“No.”
“...?”
“I said no.”
Carlyle gripped Grimungandr tightly, showing he wouldn't back down.
“That bastard. I’m going to kill him.”
“Why are you being so stubborn?”
“I don’t know. I just want to kill him. With my own hands. So let me.”
“As I said, capturing a black magician alive is the prior—”
“Please.”
“What did you just say? Pl… what?”
Selena couldn’t believe her ears.
She doubted that such a word could have come from the mouth of her foul-tempered, degenerate little brother.
“I’m asking you, please.”
“Asking me?”
“Yeah, please.”
“Well, this is a first. Hearing you say ‘please.’”
“Come on.”
Carlyle scowled.
“Just grant my request. You’re just going to take him back and kill him anyway.”
“That’s true, but… hey.”
“...?”
“Is that any way to ask for a favor?”
“Well…”
For a moment, Carlyle was at a loss for words.