Chapter 30
Chapter 30
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 30
Chapter Title: Black Magic Tower (4)
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He drove the axe into the wall with his left hand. He fixed his right foot on a protruding ledge and pulled the rope slung over his right shoulder to adjust the shield's position. Then he slammed the axe into the wall again with his left hand. He repeated the process.
The purpose of this outing was to shake off the frustration building in his chest. Ever since he'd hunted the Lord of the Night, he'd felt his growth stagnate for quite some time. A warrior with seven runes was the first in the entire history of the grasslands, where stars merely passed through. Even the great warriors of the past had only possessed six.
He instinctively knew that gaining more runes wouldn't be easy. He wasn't even properly handling the sixth and seventh ones he had now.
He couldn't devour Serath, so he only used half-baked cold energy, and the last time he'd used Dragon Word was on Wagner.
He needed to resolve at least one of them to reach a higher realm. That was all he could think about.
"I was wrong! Please spare me! I won't look down on you barbarians ever again! I'll give you all my money, food, and magic tools!"
Fortunately, climbing while sweating felt good. His mind was sharp. There was a reason Ur climbed massive rock mountains when he got bored. Even the noise from behind was drowned out by the fierce wind, bringing him peace.
An eagle-shaped magical beast approached. Was it greeting him? Its eyes sparkled brightly too. He paused to watch, and the screams grew louder.
"Ah, I get it! My mistake! I won't defy you again, miss! I overheard what you said to Wagner earlier! Kidnapping—no, taking her as your wife, right!? I'll cooperate! I'll keep praising Raggedfoot's good points, so please...!"
Still, it was chilly up high. Should he turn on the heat? The second rune faintly glowed. He had to be careful not to snap the rope holding the shield. The eagle licked its chops and perched on a nearby protruding window ledge. It seemed to like its prey roasted.
"Kyaaah! Hot! I-I'm not just talking! Look at this—it's an iron called the 'Short-lived Oath'! My retainers are forced to swallow it when entering Steelore, and if you break a promise spoken aloud like this, your lifespan halves!"
Anyway, the key was figuring out how to properly wield the runes. To grow even stronger than now. Even if he somehow got Serath to cooperate for the sixth rune, the lifespan issue seemed unavoidable...
"Eup, gulp."
No, wait. Then couldn't he just increase it?
His foot slipped in that instant. Plummeting dozens of meters with gravity, he barely halted the fall by embedding the axe. His heart raced. The fog in his thoughts cleared completely.
Right—if Dragon Word shortened his lifespan each time, he just needed to extend it by that much. He'd find a way somehow. With all these terminally ill young ladies tripping over his feet in those romance fantasies, there had to be a method. First, he'd head back and ask Aiter. As a shaman, she'd know about this stuff.
Speaking of which, how had he not thought of such a simple solution until now? Had he unconsciously picked up a hint from someone's words? The only thing beside him was the shield... no, Nerisa. She'd had a magic tool on her, so even with her hair torn out by the beast and a slight burn on her back, the tough girl was still alive.
"Whoa, almost fell there. You okay?"
"Hek, y-yes, I'm fine. But you won't kill me now, right? I just swallowed it. It's the opposite of what I swallowed before the family head, so my life thread is shortened by at least decades, aaah...!"
"Kill you? No idea what you're talking about. We're climbing fast from here on, so hold tight."
"Huh? Kyaaak!"
With the solution in hand, there was no reason to hesitate. He ascended the tower at a speed incomparable to before. Drawing on Ancestral Power, the outer wall crumbled where his feet touched, shaking the tower as if it might collapse. Eventually, he ran along the wall at nearly vertical angles.
Soon enough, he reached the top. It was a massive hall where the tower lord Belmor resided.
They were black mages who'd abandoned their humanity to pursue the pinnacle of magic. Still, in a one-on-one against a user of innate magic arts, his odds were slim.
That's why the Judiciary had dispatched his own daughter as executioner. Even without the 9th Legion's aid, Ivar agreed she could dismantle the Black Magic Tower single-handedly.
But when he slipped through the broken window... what he faced was the complete opposite of his expectations.
*
He fell. Nerisa with him.
A barbarian. She didn't even know his name beyond being called Raggedfoot, and there'd been no time to grow fond of him. Actions always preceded words, he had zero dignity, and he occasionally dropped a piercing remark that hit her right in the chest—an uncomfortable presence.
Yet when he was pushed off the tower by the black mages' spells, a voice echoed in Rubia's heart. One of her emotions spoke to her as if it were someone else.
—We shouldn't have let him die.
—We could've saved him.
No. It was better if he died. At their first meeting, he'd stolen her arrow of vigilance. Only her family's retainers should handle the enchanted arrows she crafted.
—Why?
—Can't we just give where our heart leads? It's your emotion.
No. Because this was power. One of the Empire's five supreme decision-making bodies—the Steelore family, who held the Judiciary, couldn't afford to lose it.
That's what she'd been taught. From childhood, relentlessly. By everyone around her. Not a single shred of emotion to waste—turn it all into weapons. That was her reason for existing.
The only one who'd told her differently was her mother, who bore her. An outsider. Originally the daughter of another noble house, she'd swallowed multiple 'Short-lived Oaths'.
Yet she opposed castrating Rubia's emotions so the next Judiciary wouldn't act as an individual but by the family's will. She defied the elders, including her father, and died young.
She'd barely seen the daughter she birthed her whole life, but she was allowed to be at her deathbed. A measure of the family's treatment. A cramped room that smelled musty yet oddly comforting. Rubia clearly remembered their brief exchange there.
"———."
"……."
She felt nothing. Except one thing: the Emperor's acknowledged Royal Consort command, interpreted not as a request but an order, had brought her here.
It wasn't her main goal, but it surely influenced her refusal of Serath's plea not to head north.
"The hunt ends, and the imperial house sends its dog."
"Hand over the intel on the Black Dragon's rampage."
"But do you know you're the same? To those at the pinnacle of power, loyalty to the throne and the Empire's glory mean nothing—it's the next thousand years that matter."
"Yeah, not handing it over, huh."
When she stood before Belmor, knowing talk was futile, she drew her strongest armament.
'Sword of Murderous Intent'. It erased all that touched its blade. More fittingly called a demonic sword than an enchanted one.
The weapon harbored killing intent, but she was detached. Thus, her strikes held no hesitation or tremor. Swordsmanship too refined for form or style sliced through Belmor's barrier in an instant. Beautiful.
"Kuh...!"
Cornered, Belmor unleashed black magic. Attacks that should have been lightly blocked by 'Armor of Chastity' and 'Shield of Protection' gradually accumulated damage. She was faltering. Not Rubia, but her emotions.
—I'm angry. At the family, and at you.
—A little more vigilance, and we could've saved him.
—Tried to talk, but Nerisa blocked it. Jealousy. She deserved to die anyway.
—But he was kind to me. Gave back the arrow. Generous hands. Want to feel them again.
Anger, vigilance, jealousy, and suddenly surging desire.
The black armors encasing her body began slipping control. No Alex or Nerisa to suppress the rampaging emotions. All she could do was repeat to herself: he's dead. A worthless barbarian with no skills couldn't survive that fall.
Rubia gritted her teeth and swung her sword again. She cornered Belmor while somehow reining in her emotions. The moment she spotted an opening for his neck...
Suddenly, the black mage before her morphed into a familiar woman's form.
"Rubia."
"……!"
It was her mother. The sword tip froze mid-air. The blade infused with her killing intent could never slay the parent who'd loved her. Suddenly, his words flashed in her mind.
—This place executes imperial justice. Especially tower lord Belmor—the master of black magic soul-summoning. Dangerous.
She'd said it herself and let her guard down. The result was disastrous. She took a bursting black orb to the face and collapsed on the cold floor. Knights rushed to aid but became the black mage's prey.
"Close call. Nearly lost my head."
"Cough, don't open your mouth in her form...!"
"What should I say then? Reading the dead's memories is child's play for me. This? Your last words..."
Boom——!
The tower shook. Amid a small dust cloud, a massive figure appeared. It was him. The supposedly dead barbarian stood there, carrying the disheveled maid upside down on his back—an incongruous sight.
"……Ugh!"
Belmor, locking eyes with the barbarian right before him, immediately cast black magic. The same as on Rubia. A ritual reading memories to summon the soul of the target's most cherished person.
The soul overlaid on flesh brought the deceased's memories and abilities intact. Belmor's body swelled, donning wolf pelt as it took a warrior's form.
"Ivar."
"Hm?"
"My proud son."
With a kind smile, a black orb flickered in his hidden hand. The same attack she'd suffered. Aiming to strike during her lapse.
As gasping Rubia tried to warn him in pain, something astonishing happened. The axe blade flashed, and blood sprayed.
"Gahk! H-how...!"
"Who are you?"
Belmor staggered back, chest deeply slashed. In utmost confusion, he read the summoned soul's memories. Then he spoke a name Rubia had never heard.
"W-Wolfhead Kashyrn...!"
"……?"
"You don't even recognize the parents who birthed you?!"
Meanwhile, Raggedfoot—no, Ivar, who should've known, remained calm. Hearing Kashyrn, he tilted his head, then spoke as if realizing something.
"Ah, forgot."
"You barbarian bastard!!"
As if he hadn't known it was his own parent.