Chapter 64
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 64
Chapter Title: It's Not for You to Decide
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(1)
1.
A man with blue hair.
With Theo Ric Al Gorfant's sudden intrusion, the room fell into a hush.
Ullan looked at him quizzically, while Count Deorg simply stared at Theo Ric in silence. After a stretch of eerie quiet...
"I've heard the whole story."
Theo Ric's lips moved.
His words carried a deep, resonant baritone.
"But this kind of revenge isn't right. Regain your composure and make a rational judgment."
A calm, admonishing tone.
Yet the count's expression didn't change. After exhaling briefly, he replied with a dry face.
"This isn't revenge."
"...What?"
"It's a formal duel application."
A duel, huh. Theo Ric chuckled softly.
No matter how nicely they dressed it up in words, it was obvious the real intent lay elsewhere.
So he probed.
"A duel for what purpose?"
"To restore the honor of the son who sullied the Deorg name, in my capacity as head of House Deorg."
The response was, as expected, nonsense.
A knight should restore his own tarnished honor himself. In other words, it all boiled down to revenge.
Having reached that conclusion, Theo Ric moved to counter immediately. But then the count suddenly let out a chuckle.
"I originally planned to use that as the pretext and push the duel through right away. But since you've arrived, Sir Theo Ric, I can be frank."
"What? What do you mean...?"
"Truth be told, I couldn't care less if Himmel's honor ends up in the gutter."
With that abrupt declaration...
The room fell silent once more.
It directly contradicted the reason for the duel he'd just given.
Theo Ric was just as baffled.
He furrowed his brow instantly.
"Then why...?"
"Allow me a few questions, sir."
But he couldn't finish.
The count spoke first.
"Do you believe an Expert can unilaterally overwhelm and assault someone at the senior knight level?"
"It depends on the situation..."
"What about shattering a sword barehanded and closing the distance so fast no one notices?"
"..."
Theo Ric said nothing.
Even an Expert couldn't break a sword with bare hands.
Nor close in without anyone noticing. That was talk of the 'Master realm,' not Expert.
"What's your point?"
There had to be a reason for the out-of-left-field questions.
As Theo Ric pressed, the count gazed skyward wordlessly and murmured.
"I broke through the wall eight years ago."
Like recalling a distant memory.
With a wistful glint in his eyes.
"Stepping over heretic corpses to reach the front lines, I barely clawed my way to the Master realm. It was pure ecstasy."
Theo Ric agreed.
He'd never forget the moment he first stepped into the Master realm either. The most rapturous instant of his life.
But then...
The count's face darkened.
"...That was it, though."
A gaze of weary resignation.
With a voice drained of all emotion, he gave a self-mocking smile.
"After reaching the Master realm, I've never fully enjoyed a fight again. It felt like the driving force that sustained me, the very reason for my existence, had been forcibly stripped away."
Ash heap syndrome.
This affliction strikes those freshly arrived in the Master realm—a kind of curse.
It arises from no longer feeling the thrill of clashing with the strong, growing through battle, dancing on the edge of life and death.
First come negative emotions.
Emptiness, hollowness, loss.
Then profound lethargy. Finally, resignation and acceptance of reality. Emotions fade bit by bit.
Like burning everything to ashes.
Hence the name: ash heap syndrome.
Of course, some might say: If you can't fight the strong, just spar with fellow Masters.
Short answer: impossible.
"My power grew stronger than ever, but so did the shackles binding me."
Fights between Masters were strictly forbidden by law. Sparring, duels, even minor scuffles.
Naturally so. No nation wants dents in its strategic weapons.
"I understand your feelings completely. I've been through the same."
Theo Ric nodded.
He too had suffered ash heap syndrome, yearning for worthy foes.
"But it's just a fleeting phase. Once you accept reality, the pain fades."
"No. I'm fine now."
As Theo Ric advised, the count shook his head. His face somehow relieved, he replied.
"An exception appeared."
"Hm? An exception?"
"A Master from a neutral faction, unaffiliated with the Empire or any other nation."
The count's eyes gleamed as he fell silent.
His gaze fixed on Ullan across the way, yawning. Theo Ric caught on immediately and frowned.
"But that barbarian is an Expert..."
"No, a Master."
The count cut in firmly.
His voice brimming with conviction.
He explained to the puzzled Theo Ric.
"If he were truly an Expert, he'd have charged in without reacting when you intruded."
"...!"
Theo Ric's eyes widened.
The count was right.
An Expert wouldn't sense the domain and would barrel ahead, stopping only upon registering Theo Ric's presence.
'But...'
The barbarian hadn't. Ullan halted the instant Theo Ric entered, as if sensing his domain.
His eyes trembled fiercely.
Then the count grinned.
"Exactly, Sir Theo Ric."
A smile laced with ecstasy.
The count gripped his sword tightly.
"He's in the same realm as us."
Only a fellow Master can sense another's domain.
Realizing this truth belatedly, Theo Ric whipped around to Berje.
"Your Excellency, is Sir Istan telling the truth?"
"..."
No answer came.
Just no denial. Berje wore the flustered look of one hit dead center.
The moment he realized it...
Theo Ric's eyes changed.
"Ha, haha."
His dignified expression vanished.
A feral smile bloomed on his lips.
The suppressed battle lust and fervor of years past writhed like they might explode.
Like a wild stallion before the charge.
At that moment...
"This is boring as hell."
A voice shattered the tension.
Ullan yawned lazily, scratching his head vigorously, eyes narrowing.
"So, we fighting or not?"
Of course they were.
He wanted to shout it.
But everything had procedures, especially outside a battlefield.
The count stared at Berje.
Not just him. Theo Ric eyed him too, silently demanding. Under the two Masters' gazes, Berje sighed deeply.
"This is why I hoped we wouldn't meet."
He'd anticipated this mess.
Himmel's honor being irrelevant was surprising, though. Still, the duel loomed unchanged. Sighing again...
"Your Excellency, I request it too."
Theo Ric bowed politely.
His eyes ablaze with battle intent.
"Permit their duel."
"..."
He'd brought Theo Ric as insurance, only for his stance to flip the moment Ullan was revealed as a Master.
Berje's instinct kicked in.
No stopping this now.
"Don't do anything reckless."
"Of course."
The count nodded eagerly.
But the warnings weren't over.
"Minor wounds are fine, but no severed limbs."
"I promise."
"Swear it on your house."
"I swear."
No hesitation.
Theo Ric chimed in.
"It's fine. I'm here."
Confident eyes.
He grinned.
"I'll watch and intervene if it gets dangerous."
Sincerity dripped from his words.
His eyes burned with desperate eagerness. Berje sighed repeatedly.
'These bastards, all of them.'
Masters were all battle-mad. With a troubled look, Berje finally parted his tight lips.
"Very well. I permit the duel."
The instant permission dropped...
A perimeter lockdown was issued immediately.
To prevent foreign professors or students from witnessing and spreading rumors.
As the unofficial duel prepared...
The count caught Ullan in his sight, staring toward a nearby forest. Tilting his head, he asked.
"Something in those woods?"
"Nothing."
Ullan shook his head lightly.
Then abruptly spoke.
"One condition for the duel."
"Condition?"
"If I win, you clean up the trash that dirtied my friend's honor."
"What do you mean?"
"He insulted my friend's honor."
Ullan recounted the preliminary match.
Himmel's cowardly, vile words. Soon after, the count's face hardened.
A short while later...
"Understood. Apologizing for failing to raise my son right is a parent's duty."
Explanations done.
The count nodded stiffly.
"I promise. Regardless of the duel outcome, I'll take responsibility for his wrongs."
"That'll do."
Ullan shut his mouth.
No need for oaths.
The count's eyes differed from Himmel's.
They matched Berje's.
A warrior's eyes. Ones that felt the weight of words and actions, bearing responsibility.
Right after their talk ended...
"The duel will now commence."
All preparations complete.
The inspector serving as referee addressed Ullan and the count.
"Berje Erkazan, Theo Ric Al Gorfant, Deplin Chernio. These three are designated as witnesses. Do you consent?"
"I consent."
"I consent."
Count and Ullan replied together.
A businesslike voice followed.
"Killing the opponent is forbidden. Witnesses may halt the duel if they deem it dangerous."
After the formalities...
The inspector drew a silver coin.
"It hits the ground—that's the signal."
They assumed stances.
Ullan with his Monster Bloodstone axe, the count with his gleaming silver sword. Weapons aimed at each other...
Plop!
The coin hit dirt.
Both vanished simultaneously.
2.
Caaaang!
Axe and sword clashed ferociously.
But after one strike, they leaped back in unison. Not to avoid domains.
Questions first.
The count spoke.
"One thing I'm curious about."
"What?"
"Not using that axe?"
His gaze on Ullan's belt.
The axe there: Gula. Ullan replied flatly.
"You haven't drawn your sword either."
"What? My sword's right here."
The count slashed the air.
But that wasn't what Ullan meant. Shaking his head, he clarified.
"You're holding back your real power."
"..."
The count clamped his mouth shut.
Ullan eyed the sword silently.
Plain-looking weapon.
But it was a magic sword.
He knew from their first clash. His belted Gula had resonated faintly.
'And...'
For some reason, the count wasn't enhancing the sword's power with Spirit—in fact, suppressing it.
As if chaining himself.
So Ullan had met him with the Bloodstone axe instead of Gula. Meanwhile, the count spoke.
"When did you notice?"
"First clash."
"Impressive. Didn't think you'd spot it."
The count murmured with a smirk.
His tone seemed troubled, but his face beamed with uncontainable joy.
"It's a demon sword."
"Demon sword?"
"Yes. It freezes the unworthy and devours mana. I avoid using it off the battlefield."
And especially not now.
Too many conditions. No killing, no grievous wounds—so he'd sealed its power.
"You want to use it, though."
Obviously.
Facing a Master, he yearned to go all out. But oaths outweighed desire.
"Can't be helped. A promise is a promise."
No demon sword, then.
He readjusted his grip.
Ready to clash again.
But then, Ullan thumped his left chest with his fist.
"I'm right here."
"...Huh?"
"My heart beats here, arms and legs attached to this body. Not over there."
What the hell?
The count scowled, unable to grasp the intent.
"Only I hold rights to my life. Only I can be weighed on the scales."
"What are you...?"
"You never needed permission from them to begin with."
His crimson eyes turned outside the field.
To the witnesses—specifically, Dean Berje. The count's gaze followed.
"I permit it."
"...!"
The count's eyes bulged.
He finally got it. Ullan bared his teeth in a grin.
"Show me your sword."
All of it, without holding back!
His feral glare ignited the count's eyes similarly. He desperately wanted to oblige.
Yet lingering hesitation held him.
Did Ullan sense it?
He added,
"Don't worry."
"About what?"
"I'm not weak enough to lose an arm or leg to you."
The count's eyes rounded.
Moments later, his lips twisted, and laughter erupted uncontrollably.
"Pfft, hahaha!"
A booming laugh shaking the field.
Small wonder. No one had dared say that since he became a Master.
An unqualified fool would've been beheaded for the insult.
But...
'That barbarian qualifies.'
His relieved guffaw ended.
The count snapped his hesitation's chains.
He cast off the last mask too. Now only a battle-crazed swordsman remained.
"If you just testify after..."
Not breaking oaths—you permitted it. Say that, and he'd show House Deorg's sword right now.
As he started to say it...
Ullan beat him.
"Gladly."
No more words needed.
The count released the Spirit suppressing his sword; it unleashed its power instantly.
Krunch! Crackle!
The ground froze rapidly.
Eying the blue blade exhaling icy frost, Ullan seized Gula. He pushed his Spirit to the limit.
Familiar sensation spreading through his body.
Hair and eyes dyed scarlet in response. Face stripped of mirth, he stared at the count.
Step!
His domain expanded.
The moment the two domains met...
The Masters' true battle began.