Chapter 167
Chapter 167
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: The Coffin of Blood and Iron
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The Coffin of Blood and Iron
-...
The spirit of the coffin.
He had understood the situation long ago, but he still couldn't accept it.
-Me... defeated...? Why...?
There was no despair or humiliation from defeat.
From the start, even if he tried to feel it, he had no idea where it should come from.
The spirit simply let out a dazed, foolish voice.
That emotion, vivid in a different sense, slowly began to spread around him.
"...The coffin's open? What the hell happened?"
The legendary swordsmen.
Laughter ready to burst at the seams.
The swordsmen who had been eagerly enjoying the situation until moments ago began to murmur.
"Did you hear what that spirit just said?"
"From the way he's talking... looks like he lost the sword debate?"
"...Damn, why?"
"...Damn, how would we know."
Their gazes naturally converged on one spot.
On the sole man who knew the full story of what happened.
'What kind of mystical trick did he pull to open that coffin!?'
Rishir, bathed in everyone's attention and expectations.
He muttered while lost deep in thought.
"No way I could've won...?"
-What...?
The spirit and the others felt a strong sense of dissonance from Rishir's words.
If it seemed like the focus of his thoughts was somehow misaligned, was it just their imagination?
Rishir.
He was replaying the sword debate in his mind.
Very seriously.
His thoughts raced busily, as if painting the two swordsmen's battle across his retinas.
A moment later.
He turned to the spirit.
"Shall we go over the sword debate together? Or maybe reenact it?"
-...Go over it?
"Yeah. You never know. Doing it for real might reveal issues we missed just talking about."
This guy right now.
Is he mocking me?
The spirit had no choice but to interpret Rishir's obsession with reviewing that absurd sword debate—in the middle of all this—as pure mockery.
What good would reviewing that nonsense debate do?
From the start.
How do you even review something like that?
As the spirit opened his mouth to retort.
Somehow reading the silent spirit's reaction, Rishir began the review.
"To start with—"
Perfectly honestly.
Following the debate's opening move—
Activating Resonance and Blue Breathing simultaneously to elevate his mana rank.
From 6th rank to 7th, for starters.
That childish nonsense manifested into reality, unveiling the full truth of the matter.
When Rishir debated his sword in earnest, the spirit resorted to childish nonsense.
That was why the spirit lost the sword debate.
-Crazy bastard...
The spirit muttered the words in an entirely different sense now.
"Uahahahaha!!!"
Dray, who had watched the whole sequence while stifling his laughter over and over, finally exploded.
His choking guffaws didn't stop for quite a while.
"...So, basically, you pulled a power you couldn't handle into the debate and spouted nonsense? That's what made you lose?"
Rishir, having heard the full story from the spirit.
He spoke, unable to comprehend the spirit's actions.
"Then of course... you'd lose the sword debate...? Why would someone who knows better—"
-No...
His words were utterly reasonable.
So why did his chest feel so stuffy and irritating?
Was there anything more unjust than being asked if he had any common sense by the very man who demolished the wall of common sense without mercy, invading his world?
The spirit resented his position—he had so much to say, yet had to bite his tongue.
Then.
Unexpected reinforcements stepped in.
Dray. He spoke up from the spirit's viewpoint.
"Rishir. He figured you were obviously talking nonsense."
The prior scene must have amused him to no end; he still wore a grin.
"Which brings me to this, Rishir. Now I'm curious about your thinking. You just took that spirit at his word?"
"...Yeah?"
"Why? No, how?"
"He said he'd beaten the Gray Wolf in a sword debate, so I assumed he had abilities to match."
"Ah."
Dray and Rishir's companions nodded in sudden understanding.
Due to his innate respect for others, Rishir struggled with self-assessment despite his talents.
That made the phrase "beat the Gray Wolf in a sword debate" hit even harder for him.
For instance.
Rishir had taken the spirit's nonsense at face value out of respect for the Gray Wolf.
"...!"
The man with bold, heavy features.
Gorein, the Gray Wolf's disciple, widened his eyes in shock.
He sensed profound respect for his master in Rishir's words.
The legend who once commanded the entire continent wouldn't fade easily with time.
Gorein had spent years by the Gray Wolf's side, watching countless swordsmen pay their respects.
Eventually, he took it for granted, feeling nothing.
Yet now.
He felt immense pride in this man's respect for his master.
Overcome with emotion, Gorein rushed to Rishir and seized his hand fiercely.
"Rishir! No, Sir Rishir! That respect you showed my master... I'll never forget it...!"
"No need to make a big deal of it. Wasn't done for that specifically."
"That's precisely why it's so precious! Not some bootlicking line, but straight from the heart!"
"Haha, that how it is? Thanks for the kind words."
"If possible, I'd love to keep a good relationship going forward!"
"An honor on my end."
"The honor's mine!!! Where else do I connect with a freak like you!"
The swordsmen, having heard the tale, headed off to open the coffin.
Dray included.
They stared blankly at Gorein.
Gorein was said to have inherited not just the Gray Wolf's swordsmanship, but his personality too.
His stubborn, rigid nature made him notoriously hard to approach among swordsmen.
Yet such a Gorein—
Acting so chummy with someone.
A few swordsmen clicked their tongues or smacked their lips.
They'd aimed to crack the famed coffin and impress the Gray Wolf and his disciple, but ended up humiliated from the debate loss, gaining nothing.
Instead, maybe.
They eyed bonding with that approachable 'Rishir' fellow—
But with Gorein and the talent scout glued to his side.
No chance to approach.
In the end, they left with regrets.
Shortly after.
The room held only Rishir's group, Dray's group, and the coffin's owner, Gorein.
"Alright then."
Clap.
Dray clapped and spoke up.
"My friend Rishir opened the coffin, so now we check the prized contents, yeah?"
"Oh, so I'm friends with Sir Dray?"
"Yep. Barely held back from making you my brother."
Meanwhile.
Gorein approached the coffin, plunged both hands in, and pulled out the contents.
Everyone present, Gorein included, gaped in disbelief.
From a coffin the size of an adult man's torso,
A new one emerged, sized for a woman's upper body.
Click.
Click.
Naturally, the new coffin was locked tight.
"Unbelievable. Not even a joke."
Gorein glowered at the coffin, face fierce.
The ire of a man on sword master's threshold.
The room's air turned razor-sharp.
"Still, compared to the original—how to put it. More luxurious, right? Let's call that progress?"
Then Rishir tossed in a lighthearted nudge.
Gorein barked a laugh, fierce expression gone.
"Can't argue there. Definitely stirs more anticipation than the old one."
The original was a plain wooden box.
Rishir had wondered, 'Why bother opening this?'
The new one, though.
A true treasure chest.
Glossy premium wood.
Precious metals everywhere, red gem at center.
Together, it evoked treasure itself.
"By now—they've probably decided over there?"
Dray said.
"Over there?"
"Yeah. Duke Palag and Gray Wolf—no, Duke Torben are hashing out the coffin."
Dray directed his attendant Maisie.
She nestled the jeweled box in the wooden one and lifted it.
"First, let's hear from those lords."
Gus, master of the Golden Barley caravan.
He defined himself as a big shot wielding influence over countless cities.
An utterly objective assessment—
And indeed, he fit right in among heavyweight nobles and powerhouses at major gatherings.
The slyness unique to merchants.
A merchant backed by solid credentials—how bold could he get?
Gus embodied it perfectly.
"D-Duke Torben. Duke Palag. Please, calm down, at least here—"
"Now you're trying to school me too?"
"Gus. Do I seem uncalm to you? Does my view sound irrational?"
"Aigoo, not that...!"
Such a Gus—
Now drenched in cold sweat, fidgeting anxiously.
Former Magic Tower Lord, Frozen Breath Palag.
Former Swordmaster, Gray Wolf Torben.
Old warhorses.
Caught between two superhumans' stubborn clash, armed with vast experience—
No matter one's status, they'd end up a crushed shrimp.
The debate intensified.
The mood soured.
Their veteran ire alone could shave years off a normal lifespan.
By now—
Gus had abandoned any naive hope of mediating to impress these VIP guests.
Someone, anyone—back down.
End it, please.
This'll kill a merchant.
Ignoring the dazed merchant.
The two old superhumans pressed on undeterred.
"Palag. Doubting my sword now? Me, Torben, and my disciple Gorein—inferior to that spirit? How many times must I say it? No results yet just means we're not used to sword debates!"
"Torben. As I've repeated: you consulted me on the coffin. I'm merely investigating per your request and reporting findings."
"I asked about the coffin, not how to open it! I already said: opening it for us is just a matter of time!"
"Even so, I have a duty to share what I learn. How can I watch a friend lead himself astray?"
Slurp.
Palag downed tea chilled by his own aura.
"The contract and barriers guarding that coffin are more complex than expected. Winning the debate might not even be the key."
"The spirit's deceiving us? By my knowledge, magical contract agents can't lie."
"But deception's allowed. That debate might affect the next phase."
"Next phase?"
"Yes. The guarding power's multilayered. Blindly following the spirit's method could lead away from the best path."
"...So, destroy the magical power outright?"
"That's my proposal."
"Can you guarantee the contents' condition then?"
"No. Some damage inevitable."
"..."
"Something that crucial inside?"
"Unsure, but it might hold what 'he' sought."
"...Ideally, secure it as intact as possible."
"..."
"But think, Torben. Can't we decide after opening it first?"
Gray Wolf Torben.
Ex-Grand Knight Order captain, unyieldingly stubborn and rigid.
Yet.
Frozen Breath Palag.
Just as much.
This finicky, irascible mage never compromised in his domain.
Once decided on magic matters, no bending.
"Hoo."
The old knight, with neatly trimmed white hair and beard, sighed deeply.
The coffin's spirit debated swords—
But the coffin was unmistakably magical.
'Have to yield here.'
The veteran knight bent his will.
Bent his pride.
Truth be told.
He'd sensed it deep down.
Beating that spirit's "game" wouldn't be easy even for master and disciple.
It'd take no short time—maybe with nothing to show.
"Duke Palag. Duke Torben, still there?"
Then.
A knock, followed by a young noble's voice.
"Ah, yes! Both lords are still here!!!"
Saved!
The plump merchant, shrinking by the second, bounded to open the door.
'Perfect timing, just as we settled direction.'
Torben nodded at the coffin they carried.
"Hm?"
Then.
Torben stroked his stubble-covered chin thoughtfully.
His disciple Gorein.
The stubborn disciple's face looked unusually pleased.
Amid it, Dray spoke.
"Duke Palag. Duke Torben. Rejoice. Coffin's open. This friend here beat the spirit in debate."
"...!"
Torben shot up, stunned.
Setting aside a young punk beating the spirit he couldn't.
Torben recalled Palag's words.
'Following the coffin's method blindly might hinder opening it...!'
Above all, Torben knew his friend's temperament.
A peerless curmudgeon in magic, continent-wide.
His policy set on magic matters—ruined now!?
"Rishir, you...!"
Palag gawked at the young man.
"Wait, Palag—"
The Gray Wolf tried blocking Frozen Breath's wrath.
"Well done! As expected!"
"?"
Torben glared at Palag, dumbfounded.
"Wasn't following the coffin's way the worst move?"
"Ah. Circumstances changed."
"Senile?"