Chapter 367
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 367
Chapter Title: Black Dragon ■■■'s Preparation
A descendant of some long-destroyed ancient kingdom set out on a grueling adventure to reclaim what rightfully belonged to him. He crossed mountains, forded rivers, made countless friends and enemies, and lived desperately for his goal.
His saga could only be called a heroic epic. He'd already overcome unbeatable foes and insurmountable obstacles eight times over. The whole world sang praises of his unbreakable spirit.
They said the hero bearing the blood of that fallen kingdom wielded his sword like a specter! His blade was so ferocious it could slice through even what couldn't be cut!
"...Hahk, huff, heave."
But look at his final moments—so utterly pathetic. See how he's drenched in cold sweat, his face twisted in agony, trembling like an infant, helpless and lost.
This young man was the founder of the empire, who would one day far in the future be hailed as the Black Dragon Emperor.
He stood on the brink of his final wager with the Black Dragon.
How did that epic begin? Ah, yes—with betrayal. All stories start from betrayal.
His uncle, acting as the enemy kingdom's inside man, flung open the gates from within and severed the head of the kingdom's king—the heir's father—delivering it to the foe. The young heir could only watch it unfold with wide, unblinking eyes.
Why? That loyal servant brimming with faith—why did he turn traitor? It was unthinkable. No one saw it coming.
In the chaos, a servant cried out.
"Hurry, Your Highness! Escape this place now—preserve your life and live for revenge!"
Screams echoed from those who'd served the dynasty as blood sprayed everywhere. Thugs stomped muddied boots into the sacred palace, cutting down anyone who dared block their path.
"Find him! Find the prince!"
The heir managed to flee. But that was all. His hands empty, his feet torn by jagged stones and bleeding. What was this child supposed to do now? In the depths of despair, what path was he meant to see and follow?
He could only huddle by the riverbank, staring blankly at the burning palace. Contemplating the countless deaths unfolding amid those flames.
That's when a passing witch whispered to him.
"There's a dragon in this world that grants human wishes. It has black scales. And it loves wagers more than anything. Not just a fairy tale—I made a wish, and it came true!"
What did you wish for?
"I wished for this kingdom to fall! Hahaha! See? The rumors were true. A kingdom that sturdy, crumbling overnight!"
She cackled like a madwoman.
In that instant, the young prince found his purpose. Find the dragon. If it could be slain, kill it for revenge. If not, make a wish of his own.
The beginning of a long journey.
The beginning of a long game.
He overcame countless trials and tribulations. The trials came at just the right moments, the tribulations were always surmountable. Utterly contrived convenience, but no one—not even him—realized it.
And so? He failed at his original goal of finding the Black Dragon, but ironically achieved the reconstruction of the palace.
He took a beautiful maiden as his wife, fathered children. He bestowed titles and power on the friends he'd met adventuring. Ah, he was happy.
And gradually, he forgot the witch's tale of the Black Dragon.
But some fates cannot be escaped.
On a day when rain poured down as if to drown the world, the empire's founder ducked into a cave to escape the deluge... and at last encountered a black dragon.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
To be precise, it was an otherworldly abomination.
He'd sighted dragons before. An honorable beast with pristine white scales. A listless one dreaming with blue scales. But... the black dragon before him was different.
Two pairs of wings clung to its back like primate hands. Its forward limbs bore eerily slender fingers. No hind legs—just a serpentine tail trailing behind.
Traces of modification. The Black Dragon had kneaded and reshaped its own flesh countless times.
But its form didn't matter. He spoke. "Are you the Black Dragon from the tales? The one who grants wishes?"
So I replied. The question you should be asking is something else.
Aren't you curious? Why your one true loyalist uncle rebelled. Why your pursuers halted whenever you took a wound. Why your life flowed so smoothly.
I gifted you that splendid life. Because back then, you wished for it. I could hear it even unspoken. My ears are sharp.
If it can be killed, slay it for revenge. If not, wish to ascend the throne once more.
So I granted it. Satisfied? Did you savor that sweet existence? Now only two paths remain.
One: I restore your brilliant life. Forsake everything I gave you, revert to that empty-handed boy. I won't demand payment then.
The other: Wager with me. To keep my gifts, you must entertain me in equal measure.
Decided?
Yes.
A wise choice.
The first wager ended in his defeat. I proposed a simple condition: Go to the palace and kill your pregnant wife. Do that, and this life becomes truly yours.
But he couldn't.
"—This isn't fair!"
He looked so aggrieved. He shouted that I was arbitrarily dictating the terms. So I granted a second chance. Even let him choose the stakes.
"Let's wager on your scales. If I cut one, I win!"
I graciously allowed it.
Whoosh. Swish. Whoosh.
He swung. Again and again. But his blade caught nothing. Even collapsed in exhaustion, scales unscathed.
How could he slash an illusion that doesn't exist?
Yet again.
"This isn't fair!"
He screamed it. I laughed inwardly, feigning outrage. Why think that? I was utterly fair.
"I'm a mere human, lifespan laughably short compared to yours. My life is but a blink to a dragon. Had I your longevity, I'd have won!"
Hahaha.
I laughed generously.
True enough—not truly fair. My oversight. Very well. Your bravado and flailing amuse me so; I can't resist one more chance.
You'll relive your life. Infinitely. Age to decrepitude, then youth anew. Oscillating eternally between boy and elder, never to be buried. Rejoice—you've earned immortality with that tongue of yours.
The game: hide-and-seek.
In boundless time, within this cycle, find me and speak my name: your victory. Absurdly simple, yet perfectly clear, no?
He rejoiced at my proposal. How could I not laugh and wait at such obliviousness? From this moment, his entire existence was mine.
Living things aren't built to endure infinity. Not even I. To survive it, one must remake oneself from the core. As I have.
Ah, he'll lose himself dozens of times over.
Crushed by ages until his mind dies, only to bloom anew. Repeat eternally.
Perhaps even forget this wager.
Then drift forever in my palm, purposeless!
Truly...
Hilarious.
Creating new species, testing them, I deeply comprehended transcending life's limits. Now I can pluck out the heart, sever the soul—no death. Fruits of long research.
One day, freed from all constraints, reaching perfection—even the goddess above can't stand against me.
I've even mastered tilting worlds. Altering someone's tale is child's play now. So many games.
Meanwhile.
The Black Dragon Emperor, bearer of that glorious title, had his ego die and revive endlessly. Mad at times, reclaiming himself at others—but mere erosion.
Tormented by the immortality bestowed upon him, he sought the dragon to die. His once-brilliant life reduced to tatters by time's flow.
Around then, an amusing rumor circulated the empire.
For some reason... the "Empire's Sword," loyal to the imperial family, kept reappearing. When one generation died, the next inevitably emerged somewhere.
All the same man. The deranged Black Dragon Emperor, when his shell aged fully and reverted to boyhood, would appear anew and claim the mantle.
Some called it a divine blessing watching over the empire.
Not far wrong.
Also.
I observed a peculiar, entertaining phenomenon midway. Obsessed with finding me, the Black Dragon Emperor forgot his own name. Even mistook mine for his.
Then... I sensed him.
Connected.
I observed this "name-devourer" phenomenon with fascination, even experimented.
I could manipulate name-eaters directly. No tedious fate-weaving needed—like puppets on a shelf.
"Where... where are you...? End it, please!"
Behold—even manifesting right before him, the Black Dragon Emperor couldn't see me. A mere act of will warped his sight.
His odds of victory plummeted to 0%. He can never find the dragon, never end the wager.
Yes. Let's call them "Avatars."
I am ■■■, I,
name
gone.
The moment a rural village boy sealed the Black Dragon's spirit into his body.
The separated Black Dragon ■■■, bereft of its centralizing name, lost the connection and control. No consciousness left to command its power, body, or heart.
The dragon's "Avatars" fared the same.
The Black Dragon Emperor, shuttling between elder and youth for eons, had long claimed the dragon's name as his own. The erasure's backlash stripped his very essence alongside it.
Thus born the new ego: the boy knight.
A faint remnant of the founding emperor's awareness drove blind loyalty to the imperial family—and obsessive pursuit of the Black Dragon.
However.
Just before losing its name, the Black Dragon had cast a spell. Near-suicidal desperation, a delightful gamble. Success unknown. Outcome lay in the future.
Unnoticed by any—not even the name-thief. It declared three axioms.
That was all. Now, only waiting remained.
The Black Dragon had nudged the first domino. From the story's origin, one by one, step by step, it slowly tilted.
Advanced. Advanced further. And reached.
He's coming. The boy, bearing my heart and spirit—with access rights to unlock my power—comes to where my flesh resides. To the eastern front. There, now.
The Black Dragon prophesied it would reclaim its name.
Lion Era 453. The present.
Inside the eastern front gate.
『Nightmare Summon』
Fragment of consciousness restored.
Having recovered a mere sliver of awareness via Nightmare Summon, the Black Dragon lifted its massive eyelids and gazed upon the boy knight standing before it.
The "Lamb" asked in astonishment.
"How... did you notice an evil god dwells here, Sword Saint?"
"'Mad Sorcerer,' wasn't it? That young man was preparing to conquer the eastern front. Only a fool wouldn't grasp the implications. And I'm not that old."
Shing.
The boy knight drew his blade. He didn't know why he had to hunt this evil dragon. Only that an indelible hatred lingered in his chest.
For this, he'd swung his sword relentlessly, sparing no means or methods.
And at last, found it.
The boy born from the Black Dragon Emperor's flesh declared.
"Today, I achieve the feat of dragon-slaying. And put an end to this longing of mine..."
In response, the Black Dragon's incomplete flesh parted its maw.
Do you remember the wager?
"...What wager?"
Do you remember the win condition?
"Don't think your prattle can make me back down!"
You don't remember.
Then.
You're still going in circles.
"Sublimation—"
Before light erupted from the boy knight's sword, the Black Dragon's verdict rang out first.
Black turbid deluge. A dark tsunami shakes existence, raging through the boy knight's mind.
How can the nameless defy the name's true master?
Consciousness submerged in an instant. Control of the flesh lost.
Giggling laughter. The Black Dragon's long-term pawn had willingly returned to its grasp. Now, the Empire's Sword Saint would fight the empire—for the dragon.