The Trail of Death
He was a man who wished to be a good mentor rather than a good parent. To me, that was who my father was. By now, he was probably reunited with my mother, living happily. He had carried such a heavy burden on his shoulders in the mortal realm; it wouldn't be so bad for him to finally let it all go in his place of rest. So rest easy and hold Mother's hand, Father. Your son is damnably resilient and strong. Perhaps even more so than you.
Scritch. Scritch.
Chains dragged along the ground, making a grim, metallic sound. It was rhythmic, yet the pace was far from slow, leaving a long trail in the dirt. The dragged markings were quickly swallowed by the darkness of the night. Like a ghost. We followed in its wake.
"Ah... ugh, ugh—argh!"
The ghost was draped in a gray robe. With a massive scythe slung across its back, its skeletal frame clung tightly to a man, forcing him forward. Whenever his pace faltered, the specter pressed a pale, bony hand against his face, eliciting a miserable groan.
Drip. Drip.
With every drop of blood that hit the dirt, the man's feet scrambled forward. His name was Rabotas Iklan. Once a loyal puppet of Marquis Eloran, he had now been reduced to our guide. As his wretched state clearly showed, this was hardly by his own choice.
Neither Sirien nor I possessed Isha's talent for stealth. Perhaps we could have managed in a bustling city, but we had no confidence in tailing Baron Iklan through the wilderness without being spotted. Thus, we had abandoned the idea of a stealthy pursuit from the very beginning. The moment the Baron made his move toward the Northern Mountain Range, we struck.
It hadn't taken long. The Baron's own martial skills were pathetic, and his retinue was equally unremarkable. In less than five minutes, we had cleared the field and begun our interrogation. Unfortunately for him, he was a far cry from the fanatical assassins we had previously encountered. The Baron possessed the exact information we required, and more importantly, he lacked the resolve to face pain or death. In short, he broke instantly under torture.
Sirien's divine magic still held him in its suffocating grasp. An agonizing, body-wrenching pain and the creeping terror of death repeatedly shattered his sanity.
"I promise you. I will make sure you get your revenge—absolutely. I swear it on my name. Even if it costs my life, I will chase them to the very depths of hell."
Sirien never made promises lightly. When she said "absolutely," she meant it in the most literal sense. It meant she would see it through even if the heavens split in two. And I, in turn, would do whatever it took to keep my promise to her. Naturally, Sirien kept her word. The two of us marched toward the demons alone. We had no need for companions; they would only get in the way. Having allies hovering around would do nothing but restrict my movements. A battlefield where I could unleash my full power without restraint was exactly what I desired.
How long had we been trekking behind Baron Iklan? The deeper we ventured, the denser the forests of the Northern Mountain Range became. Yet, in these midwinter woods, not a single bird chirped. The forest was as silent as the grave. Finally, the Baron halted before a seemingly unremarkable boulder.
"It's here... it's supposed to be here... Whenever I came here, the demons would appear..." his voice trembled with frantic desperation. The Baron's pupils dilated with sheer panic as his gaze darted between Sirien and me. Judging by his reaction, he wasn't lying. A man who had wept and begged after a mere "minor" adjustment to his fingers wouldn't dare deceive us now. If he had the spine to lie, he would have tried it much earlier.
"They're closer than I expected," I remarked. "I thought they'd be hiding deep within the mountain range."
"They probably crawled out because the Rangers have been quiet lately," Sirien replied calmly. "It's actually for the best. It'll make the return trip much shorter."
The absence of the demons could only mean one thing: they had spotted us long ago. They had either fled or laid a trap. It didn't matter. I knew Nezra wasn't the type to run from me. If there was a trap, I would simply smash it to pieces. Come on, Nezra. You said you were looking for me. Weren't you looking forward to this?
Death seeped into Sirien's lantern. I rested my greatsword against my shoulder, the heavy weight pressing against my black armor comforting. Just then, a presence stirred on a nearby ridge. There was no need to check who it was.
"Only the two of you? How disappointing."
As expected, Nezra was the first to show himself. He looked exactly as he had during our last encounter—a deceptively lean frame, a monstrously large greatsword gripped in his hand, and that same insufferable, aristocratic face.
"You should have brought everyone you could muster. At this rate, my anticipation will have been entirely in vain. Tell me, is this sheer arrogance, or simply a lack of capability?"
"Let's call it confidence," I replied.
"I am glad to see your spirit is unbroken. Since you say so, I shall take your word for now... though, unfortunately, I cannot afford to simply enjoy our duel today. This setup was not of my making."
He was still using magic beasts as meat shields, just like before. Out of the dark forest, beasts began to emerge, growling menacingly. A grotesque menagerie of wolves, bears, and avian monsters rushed toward us. It was a pathetic excuse for a welcoming party.
"Why were you not more cautious? Swordsmen of your caliber are exceedingly rare, and my expectations were high. Sending you to an early grave like this is not how I wished this to end."
"Why would I waste time overcomplicating things just to deal with a bastard like you?"
"Have you forgotten? I was the one who cut down your father."
"You didn't do it alone," I spat. "I used to wonder why you looked so thrilled to see me, but now I get it. It was because of my father, wasn't it?"
Back then, the reason Sirien had stopped me wasn't simply because the horde of magic beasts was too vast. It was because she couldn't protect Baron Isquente's entire party on her own. It had nothing to do with her inability to handle a few beasts. Hibras was the God of Rest and Death. His divine authority of repose and demise did not encompass protection or healing. Thus, the Saintess of Hibras only truly shone when she was unleashing rest and death upon her enemies.
"Did you develop some sort of inferiority complex? You almost died at my father's hands, didn't you? You only survived because your little friends stepped in to save your pathetic skin."
"...Heh. That man was a silent one, yet your tongue is remarkably sharp. I won't deny your words, but they are hardly pleasant to hear. Now, I certainly cannot afford to grant you an easy death."
"Cut the crap. You're terrified right now, which is why you're hiding behind these beasts to test the waters."
A wolf-like beast lunged straight for Sirien's throat. Before its fangs could reach her, a pale axe blade cleaved directly through its skull. In the ensuing silence, a beautiful yet chilling voice echoed through the clearing.
The moment her brief prayer ended, a wave of absolute death radiated outward from Sirien. The howling beasts fell silent in an instant. Their lifeless bodies collapsed in a perfect circle around her, their limp forms almost appearing to bow in worship of death itself. Amidst this explosive eruption of dark divinity, I was the only one left untouched.
"Go, Rajen," Sirien whispered. "I will clear away all the obstacles."
"Right. I'll be back."
Sword Qi began to bleed from my hands. Red lightning crackled sharply around my blade, and a pitch-black aura, darker than the deepest night, roared with violent intensity. Killing Intent. The Sword Qi, forged from the absolute, unyielding desire to slaughter, shrieked with bloodlust.
A single swing swept away the annoying swarm of beasts. Decades-old trees were sliced through like paper, collapsing to the forest floor. The shockwave generated by my slash tore through the woods, halted only when it clashed against Nezra's blade.
Nezra's eyes lit up with ecstatic joy.
"Sword Qi! Yes, I knew it! Such refined swordsmanship is impossible for anyone short of a Sword Master! Since you have shown your hand, it is only fitting that I return the favor with equal sincerity!"
A crimson, blood-like Sword Qi erupted from his blade. While it lacked the raw, untamed violence of my own, it oozed a thick, sickening malice. It was a repulsive aura. The fact that we shared even this similarity irritated me to no end. I have to kill him.
Amidst the storm of raging divinity, our two Sword Qis clashed.
"Exhilarating!"
As my pitch-black aura surged forward to swallow his crimson light, Nezra hastily pulled back his sword. I had no intention of letting him slip away. My greatsword battered his defenses in a relentless, crushing sequence. My Sword Qi was more destructive than any other in existence. By nature, Sword Qi is a highly refined, stable manifestation of martial mastery. Yet, the fact that this power placed a physical burden on my own body was sheer madness. As Edwin had once put it, no sane swordsman would ever want to face me in a direct clash of strength.
Suddenly, a surge of mana flared from Nezra's body. A barrage of spells forced me to step back and readjust my stance.
"And here I thought you'd never deign to use magic," I sneered. "You must be getting desperate."
"Heheh... Indeed. It is quite shameful of me," Nezra chuckled darkly. "But what choice do I have when you are this strong? I haven't felt this thrilled in ages!"
"We'll see if you're still singing that tune right before I take your life."