Chapter 36
Chapter 36
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 36
Chapter Title: Cousin Zornik
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"Kallias? Is that really you, Kallias?"
I was out testing Roas's performance, wandering a bit further to hunt down some beasts, when I heard footsteps approaching.
I turned to see knights with black hair and ashen eyes heading my way.
‘Who are these guys?’
As I stood there puzzled, the one leading them burst into laughter and approached.
“No way I’d run into you here of all places. Kallias. Don’t tell me you don’t remember me? It’s me, Zornik. Surely you haven’t forgotten Herculean Zornik?”
Zornik.
The name rang a bell.
Kallias’s memories flashed through my mind like fluttering pages.
Zornik von Jerban.
A knight of House Jerban, famed from birth for his monstrous strength.
Kallias’s cousin.
A named character in most routes.
‘The guy who strangled Kallias to death.’
Zornik was three years older than Kallias. They’d grown up together, but he’d always harbored resentment over the divide between branch and main family lines.
He’d act friendly while subtly insulting or badmouthing Kallias.
He even had a history of breaking Kallias’s arm under the pretense of sparring, so their relationship was the worst.
Yet his reputation was polarized, leaving Kallias to suffer humiliation after humiliation.
‘Not my memories, but it pisses me off anyway.’
Maybe because he was like Kallias’s trauma incarnate, but my own mood soured.
My eyes kept dropping, and my heart pounded wildly.
These reactions came unbidden, beyond my control.
The instinctive aversion and fear ingrained in Kallias’s body.
“Long time no see. I was so disappointed when you left the family.”
“......”
Ignoring his outstretched hand, I rested my left hand on Roas’s hilt.
Behind him trailed a line of House Jerban knights.
About ten in total.
No mounts, and meeting them in the forest suggested they were on some separate mission.
“What do you want?”
“Haha, still prickly as ever. I’m here on the family head’s orders. Come on, no need to be so guarded. You and me, right?”
‘Creeps me out.’
Maybe it was Kallias’s body, but Zornik grated on me especially.
His fake friendliness and casual demeanor rubbed me the wrong way.
I wanted to draw Roas right then and turn him into mincemeat.
Snap his neck and dump him in a shithole.
“Tch.”
But war was at hand.
No gain in killing him.
Zornik was still green, but give him a little more time, and he’d become a sturdy knight for the North and Karpf.
Looking ahead, sparing him was the smarter play.
“It’s nothing major. As you know, things are rough, so the family head wants Bernard brought back ASAP.”
“Bernard?”
Were the family head and Bernard that close? First I’d heard of it.
I’d never seen a route where they got chummy. Guess the world didn’t run exactly like the game.
“You know where Bernard is.”
“Follow me.”
He was probably planning to take Bernard to Jaybarshu Castle.
No reason to hide it then.
Dealing with Zornik was uncomfortable, but who knew what dangers lay to Jaybarshu? Traveling with them was safer.
“Talk about lucky. We’d been tracking Bernard’s trail every which way, but it went cold in these mountains. And now we run into you...”
He stroked his chin, giving me a strange once-over.
His gaze scanned me from head to toe.
Gave me the chills.
“I heard you became a pilgrim... but your holy power hasn’t changed much since you were a kid.”
‘Must be the artifact.’
My grade-3 holy power was mostly siphoned by the bracelet, it seemed.
Otherwise, he’d have sensed it right away.
But there was a barb in his words.
Even as a pilgrim, he meant, it was no different from my childhood level.
Knights gauged strength easily by aura—holy power output, mostly.
In other words,
‘He’s looking down on me.’
That’s what it boiled down to.
Running into the kid he’d bullied forever, now a pilgrim, and sensing no real difference—what would he think?
Naturally, he’d treat me like an inferior, all casual.
“How’ve you been? You used to call me ‘bro’ all sweet back in the day. What happened to that warmth?”
Thud, thud. He lightly punched my shoulder.
But there’s a line between casual and rude.
I wasn’t about to let it slide.
So I twisted his wrist.
“Hey, hey, Kallias. That hurts, you punk.”
Zornik grinned, but his aura shifted sharply.
Eyes murderous, ready to draw, his presence needle-sharp.
Our steps halted on the forest path. His knights and Brans grew tense in sync.
Zornik’s men gripped their sword hilts; Brans clutched his dagger, eyes darting.
‘Kallias’s influence? Or the traits?’
Whatever it was, I was furious.
Kallias’s memories and emotions boiled in my head.
It’d been ages.
Felt like the wastrel days again.
So I didn’t hold back.
Kreeeing.
The sword’s vibration scraping its sheath.
Air currents.
Zornik’s pulse.
Time slowed, frozen.
My body moved on the optimal path, thrusting toward his throat.
Minimum target: carotid.
Maximum: his neck.
In that instant, my dantian’s explosive surge doubled my power, pure holy energy forging sword aura on Roas.
A bizarre aura like petals clustered tight.
Silver Wave Sword Aura—sharp enough to miss unless scrutinized, with destructive force to shatter an opponent’s own.
“Die.”
Chaaeng—!
A throbbing ache ran through my fingertips, twisting Kallias’s lips downward.
Aura shards fluttered around him like petals.
The sword was blocked.
Not by Zornik’s blade.
Unlike a red blade, this one roiled with blue lightning like a feral beast.
Thunderblue Sword—Rakan. Bernard’s sword.
“Kallias. Enough games. You’re not a child anymore.”
He’d drawn like lightning.
Yet Kallias’s Roas was halted before Zornik’s throat by Bernard.
Tch. Kallias clicked his tongue hard and spat a lame excuse.
“...I just wanted to test your skills.”
How the hell did this old man know to show up right then?
Druruk, tak.
Sheathing Roas, Kallias headed to the meal spot where meat aromas had ripened, interest apparently gone.
“You lot, come eat too. Plenty for a bowl each. Heh heh heh.”
Bernard couldn’t stifle a chuckle at the sweat beading on Zornik’s brow.
* * *
Near the cabin, knights bustled excitedly, grilling meat and brewing soup.
They carved wood into bowls and utensils, everyone pitching in busily.
“Sir Kallias! You’re back?”
“We’ve got your portion grilled already! Sit here!”
“Kallias! Where’ve you been? You didn’t even tell me!”
“Hm, Brans.”
“Right here, milord.”
“Don’t ignore me!”
Pushing aside Emily’s nagging, Kallias took knife and fork, eating the horsemeat with refinement.
“Not bad.”
Ignoring Emily’s endless chatter, Kallias drew a strange gaze from one man.
Zornik von Jerban of House Jerban.
‘The aura I felt is no different from before...’
That explosive draw lingered vividly in his mind.
Zornik sipped soup one-handed, rubbing his neck.
‘If Bernard hadn’t blocked...’
Gulp.
His hairs still stood on end.
And that initial wrist twist.
The raw strength was worlds apart.
Had the pampered brat truly become a full-fledged swordsman?
‘But in a real fight, I’d win.’
He was Herculean Zornik. He’d been caught off-guard by the sudden draw, sure. But head-on, could Kallias handle his power?
Born with monstrous strength, he’d overcome countless crises with it.
Zornik prided himself on it. And as Jerban blood, his swordsmanship too.
If they clashed again...
His eyes narrowed.
His sword, propped against a tree stump—a middling longsword and greatsword.
Blades he favored for his famed might.
Heavy hitters to crumple most swords.
Ones he’d normally boast about, but...
‘Kallias’s sword. Red blade with strange patterns, for sure.’
An odd dao, but definitely crimson.
A pilgrim wouldn’t carry it for show.
‘Spirit Sword...’
A red blade meant a spirit awakened.
Greed flickered in Zornik’s eyes.
***
“Old man.”
“Call me master.”
After the meal, as Kallias and Bernard trekked through the forest, they gossiped about Zornik leading ahead.
“That punk eyed my sword with greed.”
“I know. But any sword-handler would. Didn’t you covet my Rakan?”
“Rakan’s mine.”
“You mad bastard...”
Bernard shook his head, tongue clicking.
“Well... can’t be helped. Things have changed a lot from before.”
The road to Jaybarshu Castle would differ sharply now.
Orc hordes blocking passes—mess up, and they’d be snared, at their mercy.
More numbers were better, and Zornik’s mission to fetch Bernard came from the family head.
Count Jerban’s orders—no sending them back, no reason to.
“And in this mess, you think he’d steal your sword? He knows what’s smarter than flinging blades like a killer—only you’d do that.”
“Taking his side?”
“Means your temper’s rotten.”
Kallias partly conceded, though it irked. Old memories resurfaced, hard to suppress.
‘Won’t end like this at Jaybarshu...’
Jaybarshu Castle, embedded with Kallias’s trauma. Mix in wastrel and noble traits, and it’d amplify, not lessen.
Influenced by traits and trauma, he’d truly revert to wastrel.
Kallias hated Jaybarshu.
“Old man.”
“What, kid?”
“What if a wastrel gets strong too?”
“Then he’s no wastrel.”
Not a wastrel, then what?
“What is he?”
“An idol.”
Idol?
“You gone senile? A strong wastrel becomes an idol how?”
“Listen, punk. Slice a couple throats, you’re a murderer. But if your blade claims hundreds, thousands—what then?”
“Killer demon.”
“Nah. Murderer gets stoned. Killer demon inspires fear. Fear alone makes power, earns awe.”
Extend that, and killer demon becomes legend.
“Then if that killer demon turns on a common foe, he’s no demon—he’s a hero. Most war heroes started that way.”
So.
“Become a hero too. Then killing Zornik and a few hundred like him...”
No one would complain.
“You my master? Sounds like you’re pushing your disciple to kill.”
“Clam-spitting punk, that’s my advice...”
Kallias rarely grinned, satisfied.
“Don’t care what you’re thinking—save it for after.”
The North’s war was just beginning.
“Yes. Will do.”
Exactly four days later.
Kallias beheaded Zornik.