Chapter 65
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 65
Chapter Title: Clash Between Ullan and the Count
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(2)
3.
Ullan and the count's clash.
The moment the distance between them closed.
The two vanished like mist evaporating into thin air.
Proof that a master's domain had unfolded. And the instant it did, ordinary folk weren't even permitted to lay eyes on it.
Clang!Scraaaape!Kang!
The clash of weapons could still be heard.
But that was as far as it went. Confirming it visually was impossible. It looked like they were fighting while teleporting around, so Berje furrowed his brow.
"...Can you make anything out?"
"No, not a thing."
Deplin shook her head.
No matter how great a mage she was, tracking a master's domain with the naked eye was out of the question.
"But I can feel it."
"Feel what?"
"The flows of mana are disrupted only at the centers of their domains—where Ullan and the count are fighting."
"Meaning?"
"It means mana so intense it's churning wildly enough to sever those flows. One wrong step into it, and you'd be half-dead."
In other words, it was that dangerous.
Berje stared back at the dueling grounds with a worried expression once more. Praying that Ullan emerged unscathed.
But that lasted only a moment.
He snapped out of his thoughts, thanks to Deplin who kept glancing his way.
"What have you been peeking at since earlier?"
"Heh heh, well..."
She let out an awkward laugh before slyly broaching the subject.
"Now that things have turned out like this, about getting Ullan's cooperation for my research..."
You'll naturally extend the timeframe, right?
That's what Deplin meant to ask. But Berje was thinking something entirely different.
"Obviously, we'll call the whole thing off. You couldn't prevent Knight Istaan and Ullan from crossing paths, could you?"
"Ahaha, you're joking, right?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
"..."
Not a trace of humor on his serious face.
Realizing the situation had gone south, Deplin promptly slumped her shoulders. Just then, inspectors approached from afar.
"Reporting to the chancellor."
"We've secured the suspicious individuals."
"Hm? What's that supposed to mean?"
"Two students were hiding in those woods, watching this place, so we apprehended them."
Students had been watching?
As he frowned at the unexpected news, an inspector held something out. Student IDs confiscated from the bound students.
【Year 1, Class 3: Noa Darshen】
【Year 1, Class 3: Ivela Elead】
"Class 3..."
The same class as Ullan.
He could roughly piece together the circumstances. As Berje's eyes narrowed, the inspectors cautiously asked.
"What should we do with them?"
"Sigh. Bring them here for now."
Shortly after Berje's response.
The two girls were dragged in, bound with ropes.
Their faces showed clear tension. Berje ordered the ropes untied, then addressed them.
"What's your reason for being here?"
"Well, you see..."
Noa stammered in panic.
She'd only followed Ivela here originally, but admitting that would pin the blame on her. So she came up with a new excuse.
"U-Ullan said he was coming here!"
"The special task force mentioned heading to the mana spring, so we got curious and came to check it out."
Once they'd finished, Berje made an "as expected" face and posed his second question.
"So, how much did you see?"
"Uh, that is..."
This required careful wording.
Noa hesitated, but Ivela was different. She had no intention of hiding this answer.
"Everything."
"What?"
"From start to finish, all of it."
The moment Ivela finished.
The atmosphere froze solid.
Noa felt the same. It was only natural. That response was practically the worst possible thing to say in this situation.
"Whew, no helping it then."
Berje sighed repeatedly.
His eyes sharpened.
"No choice but to do that."
"...!"
Was he planning to silence them?
Noa's face drained of color in an instant. But what came next was an unexpected reply.
"You'll have to sign nondisclosure oaths."
"N-Nondisclosure oaths?"
"Yes. Swearing not to divulge anything you saw here to the outside."
A far more reasonable response than expected.
As Noa stood there dazed, Berje instructed an inspector to fetch the oaths.
"It's to keep Ullan's true strength from leaking out, so I'd appreciate your cooperation."
"Y-Yes! We'll do it!"
She let out a sigh of relief.
Only then did she look around.
Among them, three figures immediately caught her eye. Noa's eyes widened and her jaw dropped.
'Berje Erkajan, Deplin Chernio, and even Knight Gorpant?!'
All named characters.
Seoric in particular was playable by users himself—the so-called oldest protagonist.
Famed for rising to the top of the imperial military and battling abyss monsters on a different front from the seven heroes.
'Nothing like this was in the original story.'
Berje and Deplin were chancellors of the military and magic departments, so encounters were plausible. But Seoric Al Gorpant was the exception.
That man was a hero of the western front.
At this point in time, he was focused on building his own forces and wouldn't visit the academy at all.
'But he's here because...'
This too was due to the variable named Ullan.
How far would the future twist? As she sighed inwardly, Ivela's voice suddenly rang out.
"...Chancellor."
Staring straight at Berje.
She asked in a trembling voice.
"Is Ullan really an expert?"
Her eyes shook as much as her voice.
Ivela's gaze shifted back to the dueling grounds.
"If so, how can he fight Count Deorg on equal footing? It's like..."
"Sign the oaths, and I'll answer."
The oaths had arrived just in time.
Ivela scrawled her signature without even reading it. As if such things didn't matter now.
"Please tell us now."
Such brazenness. Berje twitched an eyebrow.
But only briefly. After collecting the oaths, he nodded readily and confirmed it.
"Yes. Just as you suspect."
"Th-That means..."
"Ullan isn't an expert. He's a master."
"...!?"
The instant suspicion turned to certainty.
Shock and disbelief filled Ivela's eyes.
Sensing it, Berje added an explanation.
"Of course, it's hard to grasp by common sense. But you can't deny what's unfolding right before your eyes, can you?"
With that.
His wrinkled eyes turned to the dueling grounds.
The battle still impossible to follow visually. Pointing at the scenery permitted only to masters, he spoke calmly like advice.
"No more questions? Then watch closely.
Masters influence swordsmen just by swinging their blades. Imagine what it's like between two masters.
You won't see inside the domain, but for anyone walking the path of the sword, that fight will be immensely helpful."
"..."
But no advice was needed.
Before Berje even began, Ivela was already fixed on the dueling grounds.
Her instincts had told her. Even if invisible, she had to etch it into her eyes.
Noa was the same.
Though for entirely different reasons.
'...Ullan is a master?'
Her eyes swirled with confusion and shock.
It was only natural. Ullan wasn't supposed to reach master until after age twenty-seven.
'Impossible! Even with the hero's mark, that's insanely fast!'
No matter how exceptional Kazan’s talents were, it couldn't shorten ten years like that. So what variable could leapfrog those years?
Her gaze trembled in agitation.
Feeling anxiety that wouldn't settle, Noa bit her lip hard.
'This world really is...'
Is it truly the [Arsen Continent Chronicles] I knew?
With the sudden doubt.
Noa's eyes shook endlessly, like a candle flame flickering in the wind.
4.
Istaan El Deorg.
Known as Count Deorg.
He'd inherited the family at a rather late age.
The public reason was that he was a collateral branch, not direct lineage. But the true reason was different.
It stemmed from the family's long tradition.
"The head of Deorg must be a master without exception. Bloodline comes second."
At the time, no direct heir had even become an expert, let alone master. As a result, opportunity knocked for Istaan, who had become an imperial knight and roamed the front lines.
The family's sole expert, he received immense support as heir from then on and finally reached mastery.
'It was like a dream.'
The day he officially became lord of Deorg.
His life changed completely.
The sneers for his collateral origins vanished, and all the family's power and authority fell into his hands.
He even brought his mistress and daughter from outside the castle. He couldn't grant them official status in Deorg Castle, but that alone satisfied him.
'I thought it'd be happiness forever...'
Reality differed.
The sweet times were fleeting.
Returning to the front lines, Istaan faced tediously empty days.
'Ashes syndrome.'
It felt like growth had halted.
Not blocked by a martial wall, but by reality's own barrier. Killing heretics no longer quenched his thirst.
One solution only.
Fight peers or superiors of equal caliber. But reality's walls forbade it, and Istaan grew ever more isolated.
Eventually, all emotions faded.
He abandoned everything, living solely for the battlefield.
No returns to his county, no family care. Just a monster moving for combat like a golem.
Then came certain news.
Himmel had been injured—severely, they said. But Istaan showed no reaction.
'As long as he doesn't die.'
Defeat was fine fertilizer for growth.
He even felt odd envy. Defeat was a precious experience he craved but couldn't have now.
'But...'
Along with news of Himmel's injury.
Came intriguing reports.
The foe who subdued him unscathed, barehanded, snapping his sword.
Moving too fast for spectators or judges to perceive.
Istaan took interest here.
It resembled a master's domain.
'So I left the front.'
A perfect excuse to visit his wounded son. He promptly declared intent to visit Arsen Academy.
The day he arrived.
He saw Himmel first. Years apart, he wanted to check his growth.
'And...'
Immediate disappointment.
He'd expected expert threshold by now, but Himmel had barely knocked on advanced knight's door.
Talent far below expectations.
But disappointment was brief.
Arriving at the mana spring and facing Ullan, Istaan felt ecstasy.
And finally confirmed it.
This barbarian was a master!
Kaaaaang!
With the axe and sword's clash.
Istaan's reverie shattered.
In that instant, he and Ullan exchanged countless blows. Yet only they moved amid the surroundings.
The dueling grounds beyond stood unchanged.
As if time had stopped.
'Master's domain.'
The range a master perceives and interferes with—the distance to unleash full power.
Hence the saying.
Step into a master's domain against one, and the fight's already over.
'But...'
This applied only to masters versus non-masters. Not master-against-master.
Then weapons clashed again.
Kuduk!Kwaaaadruk!
Chill from the magic sword engulfed the area. Freezing earth, grass—even Ullan in a breath.
But only briefly.
Ullan twitched, and the ice encasing him shattered entirely. Like glass windows before a mighty roar.
Istaan twitched an eyebrow.
'No ordinary ice.'
Magical ice that wouldn't melt under desert sun. How'd he shatter it instantly? Without even aura?
"How'd you break the ice?"
"Tensed my body."
Ullan replied nonchalantly.
A disarmingly simple answer. As Istaan made a deflated face.
Uduk!Kwaaaadruk!
The magic sword spewed chill wildly. As if offended by the ice's shattering.
But he wouldn't fall for it twice.
Puuuung!
With a sound ripping the air.
Ullan's axe cleaved the ice in half.
In the process, Gula devoured every scrap of mana composing it.
And the result.
Gula grew far larger than before.
To where "hand axe" felt awkward. At the sight, Istaan's eyes gleamed.
"No ordinary axe."
"Indeed. Magic weapon."
Explaining why he hadn't drawn it first.
To fight on equal terms. Realizing Ullan's intent late, Istaan smiled wordlessly.
As if pleased.
And charged again.
Kwaduk!Kwaaaang!
The battle grew fiercer.
Craters pocked the dueling grounds here and there; mana flows roiled explosively.
A single mistake could cause grave injury. Yet the smile on Istaan's lips didn't fade.
'Worth coming this far.'
Each clash with Ullan's weapon.
Stirred emotions long lost. Teetering on death's edge now, Istaan finally felt alive.
'I hope it doesn't end.'
Vibrations traveling the sword.
Feeling thrill that shook his body, Istaan grinned in rapture.
'Forever, unending!'
His sword grew savage.
This was Deorg's sword.
The strongest in the South, overwhelming foes with a domineering momentum, tearing and crushing them.
Kwaaaang!Boom! Boom!Kwaang!
Ferocious explosions with each clash. Not just sound—actual blasts from aura and spirit colliding.
Soon shockwaves raged.
Kwagagagaga!
The dueling grounds and outer woods were ravaged into ruin. Power mad enough to turn intact forest to wasteland instantly.
Thankfully, Deplin's barrier spell prevented casualties.
In contrast to the devastated surroundings.
Ullan calmly parried Count Deorg's sword. Lost in thought, perhaps. Because it felt strangely familiar somehow.
Shortly after.
He realized why.
'It resembles Ivela's swordsmanship.'
Strip away the domineering momentum here, and it oddly matched Ivela’s current style.
The moment it clicked.
'Ah, right. Now I get it.'
Ullan's eyes sharpened.
As if grasping something.
'Imperial swordsmanship in vogue.'
A fair guess.
Both hailed from the empire, after all.
Ullan soon shook off distractions. Partly from concluding his guess, but mainly because Istaan's flurry of strikes had eased.
"Huuu."
Istaan regulating his breath.
Small wonder. Strikes delivered with domineering force consumed stamina in proportion. Calming his ragged breathing, he grinned.
"Solid. Feels like facing a shield."
"Your sword was impressive too."
Not quite future Ivela's level, of course.
Still, top among foes since his return. Then Istaan's lips moved suddenly.
"Where exactly did you hone such skill?"
A lingering question till now.
Istaan continued promptly.
"I've never heard of a battlefield fiercer than the southern front."
"Not yet, perhaps."
"What? What do you...?"
"No need to rush."
His crimson eyes calmed.
Memories of his past life. Recalling abyss battlefields, Ullan twisted his lips into a smile.
"You'll know soon enough."
A cryptic reply.
But Istaan couldn't retort. Ullan had suddenly kicked off the ground.
"My turn now."
Ullan's first initiative yet.
Istaan cleared his mind at once. To receive this barbarian's axe.
But it was a miscalculation. What Ullan showed wasn't the axe—but something else.
'Nine steps and a half.'
This was Istaan's domain.
His perceptual range, where absolute power reigned. Ullan's domain dwarfed it.
Up to twenty steps max.
Fruit of past life's experience and skill. One more thing. A technique known only to the seven heroes including Ullan.
'Transcendent domain.'
A new domain within the domain.
A fleeting gap craftable only by those who'd battled equals or superiors countless times and gained special insight.
Attacks through it slip domain boundaries, transcending space itself.
'However...'
It consumed vast spirit, burdening the body heavily.
Even then, at Ullan's current level, the transcendent domain spanned merely half a step.
'Doesn't matter.'
To this lonely swordsman who believed himself at world's end, showing scenery beyond would suffice.
Thud!
Thus, stepping half a pace forward.
Ullan's strike, transcending time and space, assailed Istaan with ferocious momentum.
Kwaaaaang!
With the ground cratering.
A massive pit formed.
Choking dust clouding vision. Ullan swung his axe, clearing it instantly.
The revealed scene.
Ullan was genuinely impressed.
"Splendid."
His crimson gaze fixed opposite.
At the edge of the pit, Istaan barely hanging on, teetering before falling.
The transcendent domain unfolded.
As Ullan's strike flew in that instant.
Istaan had frozen like a statue before reacting belatedly. Twisting his sword just in time to block.
Not perfectly, though.
Kwajik!Crackle crackle!
Cracks spiderwebbed the magic sword. It shattered like glass soon after.
Not all.
Istaan, barely enduring, spewed crimson blood. Absorbing the residual shock bodily as the sword broke.
"Hoo, haak!"
Heart pounding irregularly. Breath ragged.
Vision blurring, yet Istaan didn't fall. Couldn't fall.
Questions remained.
Spitting foam, he pressed on barely.
"...That just now, what... was it?"
"Domain within a domain."
Answered casually right after.
Istaan's expression twisted oddly.
Surprise, shock, awe.
Cycling emotions, he murmured with a relieved smile at last.
"I see. So beyond... there is... more..."
Trailing off fainter.
Istaan dropped to one knee.
All mana depleted blocking Ullan's strike. Then he collapsed like a straw doll in harsh wind.
And that moment.
Silence enveloped the arena.
An outcome none foresaw. Before the unforeseen scene, none of the three observers spoke.
But silence didn't linger.
"Next."
Ullan's voice broke it.
His gaze on the observers' spot.
Specifically, blankly staring Seoric.
"You not fighting?"
"...What?"
Seoric snapped to belatedly.
He rejoined with a strange look.
"You planning to face me too?"
"Your eyes seem to wish it."
Eyes craving battle.
Seoric grinned at Ullan's words.
"Appreciate it."
A fiercely belligerent smile. As if his prior composure was mere mask.
"Truth is, I've been itching since earlier."
Casting hesitation aside, he charged into the dueling grounds.
An unforeseen turn.
Berje tried intervening late, to no avail. Holding back till now was miracle enough.
Thus began an unplanned duel.
Kwaaaang!Kwaaang!
Two more craters formed.
Signaling the duel’s end.
That afternoon. Shockwaves rocked the imperial military.
Fierce Sword Istaan El Deorg.
Loyal Sword Seoric Al Gorpant.
News that the south and west's top swordsmen had fallen to the barbarian recently dubbed "0th Grade Management Target."
This staggering report went beyond military—to higher echelons.
The realm of noblest blood.
The imperial court itself.
Chapter 18. It's Not for You to Decide