Chapter 63
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 63
Chapter Title: You're Not the One Who Decides
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(3)
6.
It all happened before anyone could stop it.
The little white wolf leaped onto the shelf in one bound and came back down with a mana stone in its mouth. Then it stuck out its tongue and began licking the surface.
Just like it was savoring a piece of candy.
And then, something astonishing occurred.
Crunch! Creak!
Along with the sound of muscles and bones twisting.
Its small body began to grow larger. Its teeth and claws sharpened and thickened.
There was only one thing this change could mean.
It had absorbed mana.
'So it can absorb it just by licking, huh.'
He'd thought it had to chew and swallow it directly. As he watched the white wolf in wonder, a memory suddenly flashed through his mind.
Just five minutes ago.
「Especially the mana stones on the shelf—they're incredibly expensive, so you absolutely can't break them. Got it?」
It was Deplin's warning.
Right after recalling those words about not breaking them.
He glanced at the mana stone the white wolf was licking. Aside from being slathered in saliva, it looked mostly intact.
"It didn't break it, so it should be fine."
She'd only said not to break it—she hadn't said anything about absorbing the mana.
So it was probably okay.
Having jumped to that conclusion on his own.
Ullan watched the white wolf leisurely.
How much time passed like that?
"Yaaawn."
Ullan let out a yawn.
His face clearly showed boredom.
And it was no wonder. She'd said she'd be right back, but already twenty minutes had passed. Unable to bear the boredom any longer, he began wandering around.
Thinking he'd just look around a bit.
But it was still boring.
The hut was mostly filled with unidentified potions and materials.
As he let out his second yawn.
Suddenly, something caught his eye.
"Books?"
Dusty tomes.
To be precise, research journals.
The dates recorded on the covers were proof.
Bored enough to read a book?
Ullan pulled out a few research journals and set them on the desk. He dusted them off and opened one.
But he couldn't read it.
"What does this say?"
It wasn't Imperial script.
Strange, wriggling characters like earthworms.
Yet strangely, they looked familiar. Where had he seen them? As he furrowed his brow in thought.
"Ah."
He remembered. Where he'd seen them before.
Back in his previous life, traveling battlefields with his comrades. In dungeons and ruins swarming with abyssal monsters—the writing was identical.
Of course, that didn't mean he could read it. Lost in nostalgic memories, Ullan flipped through the pages rapidly.
But at that moment.
He froze!
His hand stopped turning the page.
Not just his hand.
His arm, shoulders, and torso halted as well. Like a statue. And his gaze fixed on the bottom of the page.
"This is..."
A single word he recognized emerged.
A word he'd seen so often in his past life that he'd memorized its meaning. It was very short, but he couldn't just gloss over it.
Its translation read as follows.
『Abyss Lord』
Ullan's eyes sharpened.
And with good reason.
The existence of a 'Lord' leading the abyssal monsters had only been confirmed three full years after the gate opened.
'How do they already know about it?'
When the Abyss Gate hasn't even opened yet?
The seed of doubt planted in an instant soon sprouted into suspicion. Just as it was about to grow wildly.
Boom!
A massive vibration suddenly shook the air.
Enough to rattle the hut for a moment. As Ullan snapped out of his thoughts.
Thud! Rumble―!
A second vibration hit.
Far more intense than the first. But this time, it wasn't just vibration. An intangible pressure surged in like waves.
'Spirit.'
Ullan's eyes narrowed.
And it wasn't an ordinary Spirit, either.
The pinnacle Spirit that only those who had stepped into the master realm could emit. And within it, he sensed fierce fighting spirit and battle intent.
There was only one meaning to this.
'A provocation.'
Spirit infused with the will to fight held the meaning of provocation on the battlefield.
It announced one's position to the enemy while daring them to come if they dared. Having spent half his previous life on battlefields, he knew it well.
"I don't know who it is, but..."
Someone itching for a fight.
Ullan grinned. Then he gripped his axe and headed out of the hut.
To answer the provocation. He'd never avoided a fight that came to him.
And it piqued his interest, too.
There had been no masters in Arsen Academy besides himself. So where had this Spirit-emitting master come from?
With a spark of curiosity.
Ullan stepped out.
Toward the source of the provocation.
Toward the entrance of the spring.
7.
The entrance to the Mana Spring.
The guards here were divided into three groups.
Arsen's security force, special task force, and inspection squad.
Known collectively as the 'Guardians,' they each fulfilled their roles—protecting the spring or reporting enemy raids.
And at this very moment.
Tension gripped the spring's entrance.
For one reason alone.
An unexpected intruder.
'...Isthan El Deorg.'
The empire's master, Count Deorg.
He had appeared out of nowhere and demanded entry to the Mana Spring. The guardians immediately blocked him, explaining that permission from Dean Deplin was required.
The count replied:
「Then I'll wait here.」
Until Dean Deplin arrived.
Since then, the count hadn't budged an inch. The entrance was wrapped in taut tension.
How much time passed?
The awaited reinforcements arrived.
"Long time no see, Sir Isthan."
A girl emerged from inside the spring.
Deplin Chernio. As the task force members' faces lit up at her appearance, Deplin spoke with her characteristic smile.
"Should I call you Count now?"
"Call me whatever suits you. You have the stature for it, Dean."
The count answered courteously.
He had reason to. He and Deplin had known each other since his days as the family heir.
They'd fought on the same battlefield and he'd received her help before. Thus, the count politely asked after her.
"How have you been?"
"Quite comfortably. Unlike the desert, water flows freely here—it's wonderful."
"That's fortunate."
The pleasantries ended there.
After a brief silence.
The count spoke again.
"I was planning to visit you anyway."
"Oh? For what?"
"To request permission to enter the Mana Spring."
Straight to the point.
Deplin sighed.
"Sigh, I'd love to grant it, but I can't just let anyone in. It's far too dangerous, and besides..."
"I'm looking for someone."
As she continued nonchalantly.
The count cut her off. His eyes gleamed as he stated his business.
"The barbarian, Ullan Bator. Arrange a meeting with him."
"I don't know where you heard that from, but I'm afraid that's difficult."
Deplin looked troubled.
The count asked curtly.
"Why?"
"He's on a mission."
"A mission?"
"You might not know, Count, but there was a disappearance at the Mana Spring. This is related to that investigation."
"...I see."
The count's gaze darkened.
After scattering an icy chill.
His voice grew colder.
"Now I understand."
"Understand what?"
"That you're a collaborator with the military."
"Who knows. I have no idea what you mean."
Deplin smiled brightly.
As if she were clueless.
But her sharp eyes didn't smile at all. As tension swirled again, the count suddenly let out a short sigh.
"No choice, then."
He slowly lifted his right leg.
Soon, a faint glow of light enveloped it.
The master's symbol: aura. As Deplin widened her eyes in realization.
"I'll make him come to me."
"...!"
Boom!
His foot slammed into the ground.
The resulting vibration and shockwave swept the area instantly.
Rumble! Crash!
The master's aura raged like a torrent.
The battle intent-laden aura spread everywhere. For one reason: to provoke the barbarian hiding inside and draw him out.
But then, interference came.
Flash!
A brilliantly glowing staff. Deplin had completed her spell. She aimed to stop the count by unleashing it immediately.
But she couldn't.
"Useless."
The count had closed in and seized her wrist. He even snatched her staff. All in an instant she hadn't perceived.
Deplin's brows trembled faintly.
"Seven paces away... how?"
"That was six years ago."
With a dry explanation.
The count whispered his answer.
"Now it's nine paces."
He referred to the master's domain.
The range where a sword could reach in a split second imperceptible even to the flow of time.
As if to prove it.
Thud! Thump!
The task force agents trying to stop him collapsed like felled wheat.
"Don't worry. They're not dead."
"... "
Deplin bit her lip hard.
Masters lived in a different timeframe from ordinary people.
Just look at the domain.
Even Deplin, at the grand mage level, couldn't perceive or sense what happened within a domain.
'If it had been nine paces away...'
She would have had the advantage.
Her magic would activate far faster than he could take a step.
But inside the domain? Certain defeat.
This was why masters were treated as strategic weapons. Only another master could face one.
Meanwhile.
The count continued emitting aura.
Probably to lure Ullan out. Seeing this, Deplin smiled faintly to herself.
'Ullan still won't come out.'
To be precise, he couldn't.
Anticipating something like this, she'd secretly grabbed his pants along with his coat.
No matter how shameless he was, he wouldn't parade around naked in public. That's what she believed. Then, the count withdrew his aura.
'Finally giving up, huh.'
She thought.
Until she heard the count's words.
"Finally came out."
A mutter into the empty air.
What? Came out—what?
As Deplin stared blankly for a moment, a massive shadow appeared in the distance.
'No way...'
Her wide eyes reflected a hulking man.
The barbarian Ullan, axes in both hands.
He strode toward them completely naked, without a stitch of clothing.
8.
Meanwhile.
Ullan arrived at the spring's entrance from the hut and tilted his head at the bizarre scene.
The task force lay collapsed as if unconscious.
Deplin, who'd said she'd be right back, was restrained by someone grabbing her wrist. And that man was glaring straight at him.
The moment their eyes met.
Ullan realized. That man was the master who'd called him here.
He was about to speak.
When a shout came first.
"Why the hell did you come out?!"
It was Deplin. She stared at Ullan with clear panic on her face.
"No, more importantly, how could you even think of coming out like that..."
"Is there a problem?"
"Of course there is! With all these eyes on you, you feel nothing? No shame or embarrassment...?"
"Feels liberating. Nice."
This won't do. He doesn't get it.
Deplin sighed deeply.
"Haa, fine. I don't care about the reason anymore—just put some clothes on first."
"No clothes to wear."
"They're right there."
Deplin pointed to the guard post.
Hanging there were his pants and greaves that she'd tossed earlier. Seeing them, Ullan tilted his head.
"Why are my clothes here?"
"Must've grabbed them absentmindedly with the coat. Anyway, hurry up and get dressed."
"Got it."
Ullan put on his pants haphazardly.
A moment later.
The count suddenly asked.
"I have a question for you."
"What is it?"
"Do you know Himmel Deorg?"
"Of course. A trash who knew no honor."
No sooner had he answered.
Than the count's brows furrowed. The onlookers' faces paled.
And with good reason.
It was like telling parents who'd rushed from afar for their injured son that their boy was trash.
As everyone stared at Ullan like he was mad.
"I've been remiss in introductions."
The count spoke again.
In a voice even chillier.
"I am Isthan El Deorg. Father to the honorless trash you mentioned."
"I see. I'm Ullan Bator."
Was he bold or just oblivious?
Even after learning he was Himmel's father, Ullan's demeanor didn't change. As he reacted plainly, the count spoke again.
"I partially agree with your words."
"Hm? What do you mean?"
"The part about him being honorless trash."
The words spat out bitterly.
Loathing dripped from his voice.
"Focused too much on teaching the sword, neglected everything else—and he turned into trash. Honor, mind, body—all of it."
"... "
"But trash or not, he's Deorg blood. If I back down now, everyone will mock the Deorg name. No face saved either. So..."
"What are you trying to say?"
Ullan cut in and asked.
At that moment, the count removed his glove. Then tossed it straight at Ullan.
"I challenge you to a duel."
"Understood. I accept."
An answer without a second's hesitation.
The count's brow twitched. He hadn't expected such ready acceptance.
Then Ullan explained.
"I've never dodged a fight that came to me."
A true barbarian warrior's mindset.
The count gripped his sword with a subtle expression.
Reason aside, the opponent had accepted—so he'd proceed with the duel.
But at that instant.
"Stop, Ullan!"
Deplin intervened.
Forcing herself between Ullan and the count, she warned sternly.
"Unauthorized duels are forbidden in the academy. Fighting Sir Isthan would violate the rules!"
"Can't stop it even then."
"Wh-what?"
As she asked in confusion.
Ullan looked at the count again.
"Knew it from the first glance."
"What do you mean, knew what?!"
"That man's eyes."
Dry as desert sand.
Obsessed, clinging gaze.
Ullan said lowly.
"Those are the eyes of someone mad for battle."
Just like himself in his past life.
And as that answer ended.
The count grinned. The first smile since arriving at the academy.
"Correct, barbarian."
At that moment, the count drew his sword.
No more need for words.
The duel was on. The count kicked off the ground immediately. But then.
"No, I can't allow the duel!"
A voice grabbed his foot.
A familiar one.
Dean Berge of the Military Science Department. He'd appeared unnoticed, face twisted in fury as he shouted.
"Duels for revenge are absolutely not permitted. This is a grave violation of academy rules!"
Desperate to halt the duel.
But the count didn't stop.
Or rather, had no intention to. As he ignored it to swing his sword.
Boom!
A deafening roar, and someone intruded.
As if splitting him and Ullan apart.
The count scowled at the new interrupter. But only briefly—upon seeing his identity, the count's eyes widened in shock.
Sea-blue hair.
A man appearing in his late forties.
The count muttered blankly.
"...Sir Seoric?"
"Long time no see, Sir Isthan."
A pleased smile creased his wrinkled lips.
As if they knew each other well. Meanwhile, the count stammered in confusion.
"Why are you here...?"
"The general called me, of course."
Seoric Al Gorfant.
One of the heroes who ended the war in the empire's western front six years ago, now called the military's sword—a master of the empire.
And this man was.
The identity of Berge's insurance policy.