Chapter 221
Chapter 221
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 221
Chapter Title: The Black Darkness is the Harbinger of the Dawn Soon to Come (1)
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Kals Yulihi knew better than anyone the temperament of the man he served.
He was never one for many words.
He never volunteered what he wanted to do, what he was planning, or even what he was thinking, leaving his escort knight in a bind more than once.
The crown prince was that reticent.
Especially when gripping a sword.
If there was time for idle chatter, the crown prince was the type to swing his blade one more time instead.
Yet today, the crown prince was unusually talkative.
Kals knew the occasions when the crown prince spoke at length like this.
When imparting a lesson, or when publicly crushing an opponent.
The duel with the late Earl Ballerhard had been the former; the recent clash with the West's Greatest Swordsman, the latter.
Today seemed to fall into the latter category.
Kals glanced at the crown prince.
The crown prince haughtily tilted his chin upward, curling his lip at the so-called high elf.
Cold fury and hostility gleamed in his eyes.
The crown prince's expression made it clear he had fully designated the high elf as an enemy.
It was the signature arrogance he reserved for foes alone.
"I took a short nap, and it seems some amusing spectacle has been circulating."
At that moment, the crown prince channeled mana into his sword.
The mark of mastery, an aura blade, cloaked the weapon.
No matter how many times he witnessed it, Kals couldn't help but gasp in admiration at the brilliant, intense flash.
But right then,
Thump thump.
Kals's heart pounded fiercely. His mana ring throbbed wildly of its own accord, resonating uncontrollably.
Whoooong.
The crown prince's sword let out a changed hum at the same instant.
"Mana Chain."
It was mana resonance—a privilege granted only to those who stacked it in rings, forbidden to any who synthesized it in their hearts.
"This bastard may not know much, but his knack for syncing with others' mana is downright freakish."
And among those resonating waves was Kals's own.
Kals's eyes widened as he scanned his surroundings.
He saw the perplexed faces of several comrades.
All had served the crown prince for years, having weathered wars at his side.
They were the ones who had once poured their voices into the eerie battlefield song until their throats ached.
War Poem.
The miracle the crown prince wielded alongside heroic odes.
Only then did Kals realize his ring was responding to the War Poem.
It was hardly surprising.
Kals himself had experienced the War Poem countless times.
The sole difference was that back then, he had joined willingly; now, it dragged him in against his will—a trivial distinction.
Setting aside whether it was remotely acceptable to hijack others' mana resonance without consent.
Moreover, the crown prince hadn't spoken a single verse aloud.
Kals's face fell in exasperation.
Pretending shock now would be absurd; nothing in the crown prince's history of miracles had ever been ordinary.
At this point, even if he suddenly wielded magic, no one would bat an eye.
Regaining his composure, Kals turned back to the crown prince.
And it dawned on him.
Today's duel wasn't merely to trample the high elf.
The crown prince's eyes conveyed it clearly.
Watch closely.
How the elf fights. How I fight. How to face an elf.
The instant he met those eyes, Kals intuited it.
The crown prince had been preparing for war against the elves all alone.
The day of battle with them loomed near.
Kals inwardly berated himself.
It wasn't long ago that the crown prince had been carried bloodied into the kingdom's heart by elven hands. Nor since he had warned of their insidious treachery and peril.
Even granting their pretext of aiding the kingdom, forgetting that warning so swiftly was inexcusable.
He must have been dazzled by the angelic facade, duped by the apparent benevolence.
Otherwise, he wouldn't have dropped his guard so carelessly.
A keen blade rose sharp in Kals's heart.
In sync, the Royal Knight Order encircling the training ground sharpened their auras as one.
All grasped the crown prince's intent.
Whoooong.
As the knights' presence grew keener, the crown prince's sword hum sharpened too.
"Excellent."
The crown prince smiled in satisfaction.
He regripped his sword with both hands.
"Come."
The high elf dropped into stance, face rigid.
And in that instant,
Tap.
The elf vanished.
Or appeared to.
Clang!
Kals whipped his head toward the sharp metallic ring.
The elf, once at the training ground's edge, had closed in on the crown prince and was withdrawing his blade.
The elf's sword blurred.
Clang clang!
Metal clashed anew.
Only after the sound could one discern the thrust's target—an exquisite speed.
Tap tap.
The scrape of kicking off the training ground floor echoed. The elf's form blurred once more.
The crown prince pivoted in place, slashing backward.
Boom!
There stood the elf, somehow behind him.
His repelled sword arcing through the air, the elf thrust again.
Another metallic peal.
The elf had vanished anew.
Whoosh, swish.
Pale shadows flickered in and out around the crown prince.
A velocity defying the eye.
Yet the crown prince stood rooted, unmoving.
If the high elf was a raging gale, the crown prince was an immovable mountain.
The gale assailed as if to carve away the peak. The mountain endured, shedding and repelling the onslaught.
Swords shrieked, birthing ceaseless metallic cries. Flashes erupted; piercing whooshes rang without pause.
"So hasty. Whatever happened to that famed sword dance?"
Amid the unrelenting clashes, the crown prince sneered.
"Since Your Highness shows no cards, I follow your lead."
The first words rang from the front; the last, from behind.
Ssssh.
A silversheen flashed, like a serpent's tongue flick.
Until then ramrod straight, the crown prince abruptly bent at the waist, spinning half about.
Sapphire sword light swept the perimeter, shattering the training ground floor in an instant.
Stone shards flew; dust billowed.
From within burst a dozen metallic clashes.
Then, abruptly, silence.
Kals narrowed his eyes.
There, amid the dust, stood the crown prince tall.
He lowered his sword, gaze on his own shoulder.
Fwoosh.
His shoulder bloomed red.
Indifferently regarding it, the crown prince flicked his arm and faced forward once more.
As if the gash were beneath notice.
Save for the bloodied shoulder, he looked unchanged from the duel’s outset.
Not so the elf.
His once-neat braids hung wild and undone; his clerical uniform, torn to rags.
The initial poise utterly vanished—a pitiful wreck.
Swipe.
The elf touched his throat.
And winced.
His pristine glove drank blood, staining crimson. His collar already soaked.
"Your first wound, then."
So said the crown prince, eyeing the elf.
"High elves deem it disgraceful to spare unharmed the first foe to mark them."
The overt taunt iced the elf's face.
Then rendered it blank.
His aura shifted utterly.
No trace of the mystical, benevolent fey.
Only a spectral figure, ghostfire eyes glaring through tangled locks.
Wind swirled about the elf.
A阴森 gale, kin to valley mists.
Whoooaaaa.
A banshee wail, as of tomb shades, filled the training ground.
Gooseflesh prickled Kals's skin.
Unwittingly, he sought the crown prince.
Thankfully, even this fell momentum left the crown prince unruffled.
"So the Sword Guard 'Whispering Wind' lives up to its name. Just like grave breezes."
He seemed delighted, even.
And challenged it: let's hear the departed winds' whispers.
"From this moment, all that transpires is of Your Highness's own doing."
The high elf intoned.
A voice阴険 and spectral, matching his shift.
The crown prince twirled his blade tip in lieu of reply.
The elf glared, lowering his sword.
"Aaaah."
The elf took up a low hum.
Toeing forward with drags.
Ssssk, step ssssk, step.
Over the阴森 murmur layered foot-scrapes.
Karrgrrrk.
The sword's floor-rasp joined.
A mind-numbing cacophony.
Kals gripped his constricting heart, reeling.
"Urk."
Moans leaked from every quarter.
Each a nightmare's crush, laced with torment.
The elf's hum accelerated. Toe-drags tightened. Sword-scrapes hastened.
The Royal Knights wailed.
Kals gasped, moaning ceaselessly.
Then.
Whoooong.
A pure sword chime pierced his ears.
His ring resonated wildly, mana surging.
"Ah!"
Kals's fogged mind cleared sharp.
But fleetingly.
The elf's melody assailed anew.
Kals lifted hands to ears, mana churning to defy the dirge.
"Don't cover your ears!"
Only the crown prince's roar stayed him.
Endure the pain, he urged. A rare chance to hear a high elf's tune.
"Memorize this sensation."
Forget it not.
Before pondering what, his ring blared.
Whoooong!
The crown prince's sword song soared.
**
I clicked my tongue.
There before me, Royal Knights groaned beneath the high elf's pressure.
Led by Kals, they roused one by one to resist, but strain etched their faces.
The true sword dance hadn't begun; mere prelude hum.
At this rate, its onset would ensnare them in dance and devoured by melody.
I needed to halt him now.
And I could, effortlessly.
His might matched a tier-crippled overlord at best.
Will it, and mythic heroic odes like [Poem of True Pain] or [Poem of Genesis] need not stir; I could crush him.
Stilling this funeral march prelude? Trivial.
Yet I refrained.
It would end in mere personal triumph.
I sought vaster.
「Fairies to the forests, dwarves to the depths.」
The armistice oath had expired.
Sigrun's unbidden forest exodus to our realm, this high elf—proof.
Inevitable.
Mythic heroic odes forgotten as dirges,
Armistice vows mere fables unbelieved.
Taboos on wicked fey? Vanished.
Oath breach destined; war fated.
Then, humans must war fey anew, Great War style.
But unlike then.
Tier-transcenders gone; even that peerless Heaven-Rending Duke's heirs neared transcendence scarce.
Monsters like Sigrun rampaging? None to bar.
War now? Human rout.
Yet no decree bids meek death.
Heroic odes lost, new power graced humans.
Mana Chain.
Elf-melody kin, yet alien resonance.
From my heart, I wove freed mana into a modest ring.
Imitation crude—unstable, faint beside true—but heart-resonance sufficed.
Lacking? Borrowed from others.
Impossible sans War Poem awakening.
I eyed the high elf cur.
A race's aeons-honed enigma coalesced.
Mine? Fake ring and knights' chorus—raw, strength alone varying.
Yet,
"I am not mistaken."
Certainty filled me.
Not mine alone.
My uncle's unbidden ring-echo in my heroic ode birthed this insight,
Winter Castle rangers and knights charted the path.
Art myriad humans honed in my slumber, unified at last.
Mana Chain: humanity's sword post-heroic odes.
Step.
Then the fey swordsman lurched into sword dance.
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