Chapter 22
Chapter 22
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: The Darkest Hour is Just Before the Dawn (3)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
A chill wind brushed my nape. A bone-freezing cold seeped in.
My entire body bristled like a hedgehog's spines. Without thinking, I instinctively touched my neck.
Whether it was misfortune or a blessing, my neck was still firmly attached to my body.
'Why am I here? I must have led the cavalry into a raid on the enemy camp...'
Standing alone inside the walls. A scene so familiar it turned my stomach.
Did I die and come back? Or am I right on the verge of death? Confusion clouded my mind.
Even after dying endlessly, never once had death left me this disoriented.
'Something's wrong. It's like someone took an eraser to my brain, wiping it blank... Nothing comes to mind.'
Not only that—the bone-chilling cold still lingered.
This was a first. Even burned alive, the pain would vanish completely upon regression, like a lie.
But this time, the chill clung to me like it was etched into my very soul.
Still, what had to be done hadn't changed. Returning here meant I'd met my end after all.
Time rewound and began to flow once more, and I repeated the same process.
I explained the plan to the nobles and waited before the gates with the Ghost Cavalry.
When the moment was right, the gates opened, and we charged. Thunderous hoofbeats shattered the silence beneath the new moon.
'I remember up to this point. The trouble starts after.'
A sense of déjà vu. An inexplicable familiarity began to dominate my senses.
But instinct blared urgent alarms. No, not instinct.
I'd thought everything had been wiped clean and forgotten, but a faint echo remained. Its name was memory.
'...I succeeded in landing a critical blow. That let me finally face the princess head-on... and then...'
A shiver ran down my spine.
My body froze in the cold. At the same moment, I locked eyes with glowing blue pupils in the darkness. And right then.
A chill wind brushed my nape. A bone-freezing cold seeped in.
"...!!!"
When I opened my eyes again, I was still inside the walls. Then it all came flooding back.
Death approaching from beyond perception. The helpless end I'd met without lifting a finger.
No pain at all in that entire ordeal. That's what made the terror seep straight into my spine.
"...Uwaaaagh!!"
I couldn't hold it in—I vomited up everything inside. Damn it.
To deliver a terror so vast it blotted out even death itself. Utterly overwhelmed by an unimaginable abyss.
What the hell was that? Swordsmanship? Magic? How many died?
"I don't know a damn thing...!!"
I didn't know. Saw nothing. Only the chill remained.
In all my countless deaths, nothing like this had ever happened. Even Valentis wasn't this bad...!!
My overwhelmed limbs shook pitifully like aspen leaves.
"You expect me to fight again now? Against that monster I can't even identify?"
Terrifying. Part of me wanted to smash the gates and bolt.
But I couldn't. It wasn't just impossible.
I knew it now—people who'd trusted me, entrusted me with their lives... I couldn't turn my back on them.
[Those who seek to die shall live, those who seek to live shall die.]
A line I'd thrown out to boost the soldiers' morale came back to me.
I hadn't grasped it before, but now its weight hit like a hammer.
I gritted my teeth. The trembling stopped. No running anyway.
"...Fine. Let's die once more."
I repeated the endless deaths. Mounted up and charged toward death faster than anyone.
Couldn't even see it. The moment I crossed the line, the chill descended.
Then I'd open my eyes inside the walls again without fail. At least dying painlessly was some small comfort.
"Captain, is something bothering you?"
"Why?"
"Your face looks awful."
"I'm fine. Focus on the plan."
A commander's unease spreads to morale. Couldn't let it show.
I faced the fear head-on. Scared out of my mind, desperate to run—but I looked forward anyway.
Even though the attack was invisible, inaudible. Yet after endless deaths, I began tracing its path.
And at last, after repetitions verging on eternity, my body finally reacted.
The strike still unseen. But somehow I read its trajectory and barely dodged.
That let me witness it all clearly with my own eyes.
A blue slash laced with chill severed a hundred necks in a flash.
A hundred heads flying off at once was more gruesome than I could imagine.
As I rolled wretchedly on the ground, somehow surviving, a chilling voice reached my ears.
"Impressive. I never dreamed you'd evade my single strike."
The flat, emotionless voice raised goosebumps all over.
I knew without clashing. The overwhelming gap between that old man and me...
After endless deaths, I'd barely dodged one blow.
Despair clouded my vision.
Instinct screamed to flee.
No hope amid the darkness.
Yet I rose again and raised my sword.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Master.
If Expert is manifesting one's imagery, Master is a realm of creation.
Breaking free from the world's shell, it manifests a world of its own.
But few could reach such lofty heights.
Even the Empire, teeming with people and thus talent, had only about five Masters.
Of course, Master Grandel wasn't strictly a Master. But he was infinitely close.
He'd be the closest to Master in this world.
Just the fact that he guarded royalty—a role for Masters—showed he was treated as their equal.
So Grandel tilted his head. True, it wasn't his full power.
'I held back to avoid sweeping up Her Highness too... but he's still alive?'
Grandel eyed the youth with half admiration, half curiosity.
The black-haired, black-eyed young man trembled like aspen leaves. Overwhelmed, no doubt.
Not unreasonable. He'd faced a sword infinitely near Master.
'And yet he rises again. His courage, at least, is top-notch.'
That made it all the more regrettable. Grandel had instantly gauged the youth's limits.
Displaying such skill without a scrap of mana was impressive, but...
That was it. No trace of the chilling talent he'd sensed in his own disciples.
'Just the desperate thrashing of someone who refuses to lose.'
But mere desperate flailing couldn't claim victory.
Grandel swung again. The chill-infused slash beheaded the youth without a moment's hesitation.
This was Grandel's own mercy—sending the enemy off painlessly.
"It's over, Your Highness. No one stands in your way now."
"Thank you, Sir Grandel. I owe you my life."
She let out a sigh of relief, but her gaze stayed fixed on the severed head.
Grandel easily read the lingering attachment in her eyes.
Well, it wasn't surprising. Her greed for talent was unmatched.
"Your Highness, that man isn't worth your regret."
"Is he not? Still, with enough persuasion..."
"If he'd been born with Master potential, I'd agree fully. He's skilled, but not at that level."
Grandel stated it firmly. He understood the desire for talent.
But there were limits. If the man had Master qualities, persuasion would be essential.
Yet in his eyes, the youth simply lacked them.
"...I see. Your judgment wouldn't err, Sir Grandel..."
"My apologies, Your Highness."
"It's fine. My failing for blurring public duty and personal desire."
Her eyes, now free of regret, held no hesitation whatsoever.