Chapter 95
Chapter 95
Saint, You’re So Vulgar! – Chapter 95
Ashanta's warriors gasped in awe, then despaired.
The name Asher Terbion was a catastrophe more deeply etched into their minds than any other Holy Knight.
It wasn't just them.
"Asher...?"
"The young lion...?"
This was Baern. Asher's homeland, the land that had raised him and his mentors.
Not even ten years' time, his greatly matured appearance, or the divine power cloaking him could serve as a veil.
The entire force present here, beyond the Sandstorm mercenaries, realized in that instant who Asher Terbion was.
Boom!
He was alive.
The one who had inherited the will of the lion they thought dead.
"Ah...!"
"Aah...."
Only after knowing did they see it.
What was infused into the path of the straight sword Asher wielded.
"...It's Trevion's sword."
"It's the Captain's special technique...!"
Despair vanished in that moment.
For Lion Corps Trevion was an invincible symbol that couldn't be forgotten in a mere ten years.
All enemies fixed their gaze on Asher alone. Big Ten, who had suddenly halted the battle, stared at him blankly, overwhelmed by a surge of emotion.
Somewhere, Gester knelt, biting his lip hard.
The king strapped to his back, the old man who had been silently wasting away since that day, finally spoke.
"Ah...."
It was a dry, cracked voice, but the old man's tone carried emotion.
Gester held back tears and smiled.
Asher's combat evoked nostalgia buried somewhere in his memories.
The horizontal slash reminded him of the Captain's special technique. In the instant the sand rippled like waves in the sword wind, the Captain's figure overlapped with Asher's.
The following swift sword dance evoked the Vice-Captain's blade. The man who wielded two curved swords freely, dancing like waves, overlapped with Asher.
Then Hwalan, Windizer, Kyle, and Menton overlapped in turn.
And at the end, etched onto Gester's retinas, was Asher himself, who had inherited it all.
A swelling emotion rose. His voice trembled as it emerged.
"Yes... yes, Father."
Only now, after such a long, empty interim.
"Baern's lion has returned...!"
The true lion who would drive out the fox had come back to this land.
Slash!
Only then could Gester finally let go.
But was letting his guard down too soon?
Clang!
"...!"
[I knew from the start.]
"Asher!!!"
The Black Knight, Ghost, charged straight at Asher.
The two locked swords, glaring at each other.
Ghost's body swelled. Black divine power, just like Asher's, erupted from him like smoke.
[No matter how much you disguised yourself, I could tell. I knew you were alive. I never found your body, after all.]
Crack, crack.
Ghost thrust his head forward.
His voice, spreading in the form of vibrations, was laced with both ecstasy and rage.
[Thank you. For coming back. For letting me finish off Trevion with my own hands.]
The next instant,
Boom!
A massive explosion erupted with a roar.
* * *
Where did this loathsome fateful enmity begin?
If he rewound time again and again, it was twenty years ago, when Ghost was still one of Sandstorm's promising stars.
"Hey, friend! Mind pointing me in the right direction?"
It was a chance encounter. The man who would later be called the greatest lion was the first person Ghost met in Baern.
Ghost still remembered that day vividly.
A height of two meters, muscles packed like jagged boulders, a body scarred all over, hair like a lion's mane, a bold impression.
Baern was a place many greenhorn mercenaries flocked to, and from the moment he asked directions from a stranger, Ghost knew he was a newbie toobut his presence made him impossible to see as one.
Humans have an aura.
Gilius Trevion. That's exactly what that man had.
"Do you know which way to the Mercenary Guild? You seem quite familiar with the area."
For some reason, he was a man who made you shrink back.
Ghost had shown uncharacteristic kindness at that first meeting, all while keeping his eyes lowered.
It was a humiliating memory.
He could've just drowned his frustration in drink later.
That should have been it, but that encounter became the start of a tenacious bond.
Gilius Trevion quickly became the center of Baern.
Having come to this land alone, he swiftly gathered untapped mercenaries and formed the Trevion Mercenary Corps.
The corps broke through missions deemed impregnable, skyrocketing to fame in an instant, and before long, its name was etched among the Big Ten.
Sandstorm, which had lost the Lion Corps seat for about three generations, was on edge.
And the one they pinned their hopes on was Ghost.
"Those nobodies rolling in from who-knows-where as the next Lion Corps? What a joke."
"We've got Ghost!"
It wasn't that the expectations felt like pressure.
But he himself knew that the one he ultimately had to compete against was Gilius, and to surpass Trevion's achievements, he threw himself into missions with fervor.
Looking back, it was a time when he lived more diligently than ever.
If only he hadn't felt that inexplicable sense of defeat toward Gilius the whole time.
He ran until he was gasping for breath, chin to the limit.
Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was chasing him from behind.
He was slated to be Sandstorm's next captain, had smooth relations with the royals, and there was no rival in achievements or fameyet Ghost was always afraid.
He had to endure moments where it all felt like meaningless thrashing over and over.
It wasn't baseless anxiety.
He realized too late.
He already knew the reason for his anxiety; he just hadn't admitted it to himself.
"And the upset of upsets! The tournament's final winner is... the curly-haired Gilius!!!"
"Kahahaha! Announcer! If you get stabbed on the street, you'll know I did it!!!"
"Waaaaah!!!"
It was the time of the Lion Corps' generational shift.
In other words, the time when the royal throne was inherited.
The arena tournament, the event with the greatest influence on Lion Corps selection.
Ghost made it to the finals, where he fought and lost to Gilius.
It wasn't a close defeat.
No one knew how it looked from the outside, but that day's bout ended entirely on Gilius's terms.
From their first meeting, he'd felt uncomfortable around him. Felt intimidated.
There was one reason.
"Hey, that was fun. Ghost!"
He vaguely realized it was a wall he'd never surpass in his lifetime.
From the start, he'd felt that standing before him made him nothing more than an ordinary man.
A superhuman.
In Ghost's eyesand in all of Baern'sGilius Trevion was a superhuman.
A human who wrapped his entire body in radiant light, shining alone.
The sense of defeat strangled his throat the moment he admitted it to himself.
Every time he heard news of Trevion Mercenary Corps ascending to Lion Corps and continuing their glory, he felt like hanging himself.
Why him and not me?
When that thought escalated to "Why in the same era as that man?", he felt disgust toward himself.
Because raging at sharing an era meant admitting deep down that he'd lost to him.
The sense of defeat turned to hatred.
For him, who had lived his whole life as Sandstorm's designated master, the fact that he had to live out a runner-up life as the best was utterly despairing.
That was why he took the witch's hand.
"Power? I can give it to you if you want."
He knew she had ulterior motives.
He knew she meant to use him.
But it didn't matter.
"Not power."
"Then?"
"Can you make me a superhuman?"
"...Hehe, what an interesting child."
If he couldn't overcome this sense of defeat, even gaining power wouldn't let him hold his head high.
Strength. He needed even greater strength.
The strength to bring Gilius Trevion to his knees.
It was rebellion for that purpose.
But the outcome was different from what Ghost had imagined.
[He was one I'd tear apart. He didn't even swing his sword once to the end.]
He didn't resist.
With the laughable excuse of being Baern's guardian, he chose to die taking the mercenaries' blades with his body.
He had toppled the royals and become Lion Corps, but failing to settle the score with him left an eternal void.
It felt like Gilius Trevion's shadow was still strangling him from behind.
For that reason, the moment Ghost reunited with Asher, his heart raced again.
[I'm so glad to see you, Trevion.]
He could tell at a glance, despite the disguise.
Trevion. Gilius's adopted son, always perched on his shoulder.
The young lion who had inherited everything of his, and all of Trevion Mercenary Corps.
[I'll kill you with my own hands. Then I'll be perfect.]
Finally, he could call himself a perfect superhuman.
Ghost spewed Ashanta's divine power even more intensely.
That was when it happened.
"Nothing is as ugly as the tantrum of a loser."
[...!]
"Nothing is as vile as the stubbornness that refuses to admit defeat."
Crack. Ghost's sword was pushed back.
His strength had been overpowered.
His eyes widened in shock, nearly tearing.
That's what he saw beyond the helmet.
"We both need to cut ties."
A delicate face. None of Gilius's bold ruggedness; a refined appearance.
Yet,
"Let's end it. The grudge. And that ugly life."
In him, Ghost saw Gilius.