Chapter 153
Chapter 153
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 153
Chapter Title: Pafnir (3)
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The Mercenary King's declaration left the dragonkin in a state of profound shock.
It wasn't that anyone from Demian's side had backed down first—the Mercenary King himself had halted the trial.
To the dragonkin, it meant the Mercenary King was admitting they couldn't defeat Demian.
"Everyone, return and rest."
The Mercenary King immediately ordered them to disperse.
"And Demian Haksen, you stay. I need to speak with you."
The Mercenary King took Demian into a nearby tent.
It seemed to be set up for receiving guests, as a large table sat in the center.
Artworks were scattered throughout, varied enough to suggest they had been collected from nations across the continent.
"Pick any chair and sit."
The Mercenary King spoke without even looking at Demian. His slightly ragged breathing indicated his anger hadn't subsided.
Demian did as told, perching on a chair and leaning back against it as he awaited the Mercenary King's words.
"Ah~~~ What a splendid show you put on! What was that? Offering to fight them with the same weapon? I've seen countless brats strutting around claiming to be geniuses, but you're the first of your kind!"
Rage was plain on the Mercenary King's face.
It was only natural—his dragonkin, whom he prided himself on so greatly, had been utterly crushed by Demian.
'No, it's not anger over the dragonkin losing.'
The Mercenary King had immense pride in his bloodline.
That was why the dragonkin's defeat felt like a personal affront, fueling his fury.
"Your anger suggests my actions didn't sit well with you."
"What nonsense is this? Who's angry? I'm not angry at all!"
Yet the Mercenary King's eyes boiled like molten lava.
"My apologies."
Suddenly, Demian apologized from his seat. The Mercenary King looked utterly bewildered by the gesture.
"I lacked the discernment. I should have at least drawn my sword..."
At Demian's mockery, the Mercenary King's face flushed even redder.
"You... you arrogant bastard! Don't get cocky! The ones you fought aren't all the dragonkin!"
The Mercenary King bellowed, on the verge of exploding.
"The dragonkin you faced today are all my grandchildren! Mere second-generation with diluted blood! My children, the first-generation dragonkin, are several times superior!"
Demian had heard of this in his past life.
Even among the dragonkin the Mercenary King boasted about, there were ranks.
He called his children first-generation and grandchildren second-generation. The reason for this division was that the dragon blood thinned and weakened with each passing generation.
First-generation, being the Mercenary King's direct offspring, had far denser blood than second-generation, manifesting dragon traits far more strongly.
In fact, the core forces upholding the Pafnir Mercenary Group were mostly first-generation dragonkin.
"No matter how great you are, facing the first-generation will make you realize how insignificant you truly are!"
The Mercenary King spoke with utter confidence, convinced the first-generation surpassed Demian.
"So... you're saying you'll pit me against the first-generation?"
"Why? Scared?"
"I've heard first-generation are older than me, with even master-class mixed in... Surely not?"
"What the hell are you saying? Am I insane? Pairing a high-class with a master-class would have the whole world laughing at me!"
The Mercenary King roared in disbelief.
"There are plenty of first-generation around your age! All high-class, perfectly matched. They're out on commissions now... but they'll return soon, so you should brace yourself!"
Demian eyed the Mercenary King with a grimace. So he had children around the same age as his grandchildren.
Outwardly youthful, it was still shocking. Truly befitting his reputation as a notorious lecher.
"Understood. Now, about that promised century snow ginseng."
"You insolent brat. Interrupting while an adult speaks..."
The Mercenary King opened his subspace. From within, he retrieved a ginseng root smaller than his pinky finger.
Plain-looking despite its name, Demian accepted it without complaint.
Ginseng like this grew only in harsh environments, so even after a century, its size was naturally small.
From what Demian knew, only millennial snow ginseng grew to any notable size.
"Take it! The century snow ginseng as promised!"
"Thank you."
Demian snatched the century snow ginseng and stowed it in his subspace. The Mercenary King glared at him with vexation.
"I've called someone outside. He'll guide you to your tent. Go rest for today."
As if loath to see Demian's face any longer, the Mercenary King turned away sharply.
Demian couldn't say what he wanted to the Mercenary King—not yet.
Until now, Demian had no leverage. But after bruising the Mercenary King's pride so deeply, things were different.
"You offered the century snow ginseng as my hiring fee initially, and said you'd pay more based on my future exploits, right?"
"Indeed."
"I'd like to change those terms."
The Mercenary King turned back to Demian, his face screaming what nonsense this was.
"If I defeat every dragonkin here, give me azure spirit oil or an elixir of equal value."
* * *
"No."
The Mercenary King refused flatly.
"Azure spirit oil? An equivalent elixir? Do you know how precious that is? Why the hell would I give it to you?"
"Then I'll be on my way."
The Mercenary King's eyes bulged at Demian's words.
"What did you just say?"
"I'm going home."
"Ah, no—I mean, why leave? You've barely been here a day."
"I never promised to stay indefinitely... and the dragonkin were less impressive than expected, so I've lost interest."
Flames shot from the Mercenary King's eyes at Demian's words.
"You bastard! What do you mean the dragonkin are nothing? You haven't even seen the first-generation!"
"What would I gain from seeing them?"
"Aren't you curious? Who'd come out on top between you and them?"
"Not in the least."
Demian spoke with utter sincerity.
The gap in talent was obvious even without experiencing it firsthand.
No genius in this world surpassed Demian.
"You... And you call yourself a knight?"
"Then I guess not."
Demian rose from his chair. The Mercenary King blocked his path.
"You bastard! After humiliating me, you think you can just run?"
"Why make such a fuss, Mercenary King? Let me go."
"No! I won't!"
The two bickered for a while. In the end, the Mercenary King surrendered.
"You damnable brat... Fine! I accept your terms!"
"Really?"
"Yes! Really!"
"Then I have no choice. Since you're pleading so earnestly for me to stay, I'll remain here."
The Mercenary King glared at Demian in disbelief.
But soon, he grinned triumphantly, delighted.
"Kekeke... You arrogant fool. You'll regret not leaving soon enough. Once you meet the first-generation, even you will submit."
"Are the first-generation that strong?"
"Of course! They inherited my blood thickly, trained personally by me! Calling them my prized disciples is no exaggeration!"
The Mercenary King beamed with pride. Demian responded indifferently.
"Maybe. But I doubt it'll be anything special once we clash."
"Have you fought them? Huh? Have you?"
"Care for a wager then?"
Demian spoke slyly.
"As you said, if I submit to the first-generation dragonkin, I'll return the century snow ginseng and obey any command you give."
Demian added one more thing.
"But if the first-generation dragonkin submit to me, give me the elixir along with one of the mana cultivation methods you've collected."
The Mercenary King's hobby was collecting technique manuals.
His study overflowed with rare tomes gathered from across the continent.
"Kuhahaha! Your arrogance pierces the heavens! What? The first-generation submitting to you?"
The Mercenary King clutched his belly, laughing. He was utterly convinced it would never happen.
"Fine! We'll do it that way! Don't regret it later! Prepare to hand over everything you took!"
Demian smiled meaningfully.
"That won't happen."
***
Stepping out of the tent, Demian spotted a familiar face.
It was Cynthia, the woman who had shot arrows at him on the Mercenary King's orders that day.
Cynthia had a bow slung over her shoulder and a pipe clenched in her teeth.
"Follow me."
She spat the words curtly and led the way, not bothering to check if Demian followed.
Trailing her, Demian felt a strange mix of emotions.
'First time seeing an archery ghost this close.'
Cynthia, the Bow Ghost.
In his past life, she had been one of the Mercenary King's trusted retainers.
A mere human, not even dragonkin, Cynthia had earned that position for one simple reason.
She surpassed the dragonkin.
"You plan to make the first-generation dragonkin submit?"
Cynthia suddenly spoke, clearly having overheard Demian and the Mercenary King's conversation.
"That's a reckless bet."
Demian looked at her with interest.
Even in his past life, Cynthia had been remarkably taciturn.
She had gone to her death at Demian's hands without uttering a word.
For even such a stoic woman to speak up, Demian's wager must have seemed utterly absurd.
"The first-generation dragonkin are all geniuses. Half of them across history reached master-class."
Masters, which Apple Kingdom lacked entirely, were commonplace here.
The advantages of dragon blood were immense.
"The Mercenary King said the first-generation I'd face are high-class."
"You don't know anything. Do you know which first-generation the Mercenary King meant? There's one standout even talked about as successor."
Demian grew intrigued at Cynthia's words.
He could guess who that was.
The second Mercenary King.
After the Mercenary King fell to Demian, one of his children inherited everything and ascended to the throne.
Shockingly, she outdid her father, pushing back the undead legions.
Athena Hopper.
People called her the greater warrior who surpassed her great father.
'Generational leap, was it?'
The dragon blood, meant to weaken over generations, manifested even stronger in Athena Hopper.
She even possessed the ability to transform parts of her body into dragon form—something her father never showed.
Demian remembered struggling far more against her second-generation self than the first-generation.
"Didn't expect an outsider like me to get your concern."
"I can't ignore idiocy."
Cynthia's tone was stiff when the entrance area grew noisy. She glanced that way.
The distance to the entrance was vast, but to a master-class like her, it was no issue.
"Speak of the devil—she's back."
Cynthia turned to Demian.
"Want to go take a look?"