Chapter 253
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 253
Chapter Title: Clack, Roll.
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“Gah!”
From the moment Maia ordered self-harm,
to the moment Rimon pulled a carving knife from his pocket and plunged it into his own throat, collapsing with eyes bulging wide.
It all happened in the blink of an eye.
And then, silence.
Maia gazed at Rimon's sprawled form in the flower garden—like a rotten stump—with eyes sunken dark as a swamp.
“Is that the best a single scale weight can do?”
Was she satisfied?
Or disappointed?
Her murmur was low, its true intent hard to read.
Then she spoke coldly.
“How long do you plan to lie there?”
Right then.
Rimon, collapsed in the flower bed, snapped his eyes open.
“Didn't you want me to play dead?”
“If you wanted to mimic a corpse properly, you should've driven that knife three inches deeper.”
“Then I'd actually be dead.”
“A loyal slave should put his heart into the game, no?”
Rimon chuckled at Maia's razor-sharp retort and sprang up like a coiled spring.
He glanced at his wrist and shrugged.
“Why not use more scale weights? Two or three more, and this wouldn't have ended as a mere prank.”
“That was just a simple test.”
“You were checking if you could kill me?”
“Exactly.”
Maia stated it flatly.
Whether this Balance's compulsion was real.
Whether it held enough power to command suicide.
She wasn't naive or righteous enough to trust Rimon's oath without verifying such things.
Knowing that, Rimon wasn't fazed.
He asked innocently.
“Satisfied with the results?”
“You harm yourself on my order, then prattle on unscathed. Does that sound satisfying to you?”
“Yes.”
“...”
Maia fell silent.
Rimon smirked at her.
He pointed to the shallow cut on his neck and the single drop of blood beading on the carving knife's tip.
“You made me bleed with just a word.”
A lord-class player.
One of the Seven Dragon Society's seven princesses.
Ancient spirits or avatars aside.
No foe below Absolute-class could have scratched him.
Drawing even a single drop of his blood was remarkable.
Maia sneered at Rimon's shameless self-praise.
“Indeed, beyond expectations.”
She admitted it readily.
In history, only fellow Sword Masters—aside from the seven dragons—had ever slain one.
A mere drop or not, wounding Rimon with words alone was no small feat.
“Especially with six more weights left to me.”
One weight drew blood.
Command self-harm with all six.
Hand him a spear instead of a carving knife.
What results might that yield?
Rimon narrowed his eyes at Maia, who toyed with her wrist as if eager to test it now.
“Going to use them?”
“...Not yet.”
“Unexpected. I figured my master would try killing me right away.”
“Hmph. Don't play games with me.”
“Games? Me?”
As if to say, I was the one who nearly died.
Rimon widened his eyes innocently.
Maia glared at him with utter disgust, as if beholding the world's greatest con artist.
“Don't feign ignorance. You think I haven't noticed this Balance's risks?”
The scales now stood at 6:4.
From the original 7:3, her self-harm command had flipped one white weight to black.
Thus, she grasped the tattoo's fatal risk—and Rimon's subtle urging of more commands.
“If I exhaust my remaining weights and still fail to kill you, you'll hold all ten.”
She pointed to the black Balance tattoo on his wrist.
Each use of compulsion shifted a weight to the foe.
Unless she slew him outright.
Failure would hand him the chance to kill her—or worse.
A single weight yielded minor backlash.
Perfect low-risk, low-return. High-risk, high-return.
“The fixed number of ten is suspicious too.”
“Suspicious how?”
“Why cap it at ten?”
For fairness.
For quantifying compulsion.
More objectivity demands hundreds or thousands of weights.
Yet it's limited.
Maia smiled coldly and shared her theory.
“Because gathering all ten unlocks true omnipotent command, no?”
Like the gulf between 1 and 0 holding finite and infinite.
The Balance's real power manifests at full collection.
Rimon gave a short whistle of admiration at her conviction.
“Sharp deduction.”
“Admitting it's true?”
“Well, this is my first time using it too.”
“I want no vague dodges. Answer yes or no, like a proper slave.”
Her piercing gaze brooked no evasion.
Rimon shrugged.
“I don't know.”
Clack, roll.
“...”
Silence fell.
Rimon, who answered.
Maia, who heard it.
Both stared at their wrists, where one black weight rolled into white.
But their reactions diverged sharply.
“...Damn it.”
Rimon scowled, regretting his slip.
Maia twisted her lips into a smile, as if struck by unexpected fortune.
“Indeed. Now I see.”
The scales reverting to 7:3 revealed much.
Keep promises, weights accumulate.
Break them, forfeit to the foe.
Even Rimon didn't fully grasp the tattoo's power.
Most crucially.
“To kill you, I must first gather all ten weights.”
His 'unslave-like' lie to his master proved the ten held great meaning.
Rimon sighed at her sneering question.
“One slip of the tongue, and I've lost big.”
“Rest easy. Thanks to it, I've no urge to order self-harm now.”
“...How reassuring.”
Better if she commanded it now—just a little blood.
But her 'kindness' in vowing to collect ten and end him left him hollow.
Momentarily deflated, Rimon asked abruptly.
“Master, where'd you get that extra weight?”
Before commanding self-harm.
Why had his five whites jumped to seven?
Maia scoffed at his genuine curiosity.
“You know better than I.”
“I get you healed the sculptor, but how'd you accelerate it overnight?”
Rimon scratched his cheek.
Maia's reply was simple.
“Just some money and medicine.”
“Must've been pricey stuff.”
“Not really. Merely fed him an elixir of millennium snow ginseng, water of life, amrita, and golden apples.”
Rimon blinked, wondering if he'd misheard.
He double-checked.
“Isn't that the Golden Furnace Immortal Pill recipe?”
“Recognizing it from ingredients alone. Fitting for the famed Sword Duke.”
“You sure it's okay to give that away? From what I know, it's not handed to outsiders lightly.”
Rimon said hesitantly.
The Golden Furnace Immortal Pill he knew took decades to brew—one of the Green Dragon Clan's finest.
True to its name, it rejuvenated even commoners by a decade.
A Seven Dragon warrior gained one 사이오닉 limit break; a master, 200+ years of life.
Maia didn't bat an eye.
“If a pill worth under 50 billion reals secures a shot at killing you, it's a bargain. No reason not to.”
“...What an honor.”
Rimon roughly calculated the exchange to won—trillions—and gave up.
Worrying money with a Seven Dragon princess was absurd.
“That sculptor's lifespan must've jumped twenty years at least.”
Recalling Hermann's windfall, Rimon chuckled dryly.
Maia sneered coldly.
“Think it'll stop at twenty?”
“What now?”
“You imagine I have only one Golden Furnace pill?”
“Overdosing on premium elixirs isn't always good, y'know?”
Rimon asked warily.
Even the best medicine turns poison in excess.
Especially slamming multiple Golden Furnace pills in a day—suicidal.
“Who do you think I am?”
...Unless prescribed by Maia.
Any potent elixir, she could make him absorb.
To kill Rimon, hundreds wouldn't be spared.
Rimon inwardly clicked his tongue at her cold assurance.
This is the Green Dragon Clan for you.
He hadn't underestimated her, but he'd lowballed her vengeance obsession.
Not that he worried much.
No elixir flood heals Hermann overnight.
By then, he'd find Forest Guild's base and reclaim the weights.
Not instant either, but luckily, he had Li Chingwei's solid backup...
“One warning: No contact with Li Chingwei or the Black Dragon Clan from now on.”
“...Why?”
“This is Green Dragon Clan business.”
Revenge is theirs alone.
Using slave property was fine; borrowing other clans' power was shame.
Ignoring that for info or leaks? Betrayal.
Maia stated flatly, then added with a cold smile.
“Rest easy. Even if you can't find Forest Guild's lair, I won't punish your incompetence or sloth.”
Rimon felt deeply uneasy.
Defy orders? Unslave-like deed, lose a weight.
Fail them? Labeled inept slacker, lose a weight.
Either way, weights lost.
“You really want me dead bad.”
“As if our clan's grudge could be summed up as mere 'regret.'”
So she would have vengeance.
Maia's dark, sharp gaze pierced him.
Rimon thought.
I might actually die like this.
Half regret: Betting his life was reckless.
Half resolve: Insurance matters.
“Master, if I already know Forest Guild's location, does that exempt me from 'incompetent slave' status?”
“What nonsense...”
Clack, roll.
“...”
Maia froze at the now 5:5 scales.
Rimon recalled.
Yesterday, learning of ambrosia.
She'd grinned: “Just in case, here's Forest Guild's spot too.”
The Green Dragon princess, cunning beyond their venom.
Invaluable ally, cheeky fiancée-to-be.
He muttered.
The Black Dragon Clan stays true to form.