Chapter 133
Chapter 133
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 133
>Chapter Title: Here, You're the Weakest
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Crackle, crackle—fsssh.
The bonfire blazing under Sion's aura swayed violently.
In the midsummer swelter that had been raging, the temperature plunged as if doused with thin ice.
No, the temperature hadn't actually dropped. It was merely the brain's illusion from that razor-sharp aura.
At this point, even Aster could tell his opponent wasn't some ordinary intruder.
Naturally, his own aura turned ferocious.
"Why don't you come at me?"
Perfect timing.
He'd been frustrated with just talking it out anyway.
He'd tried to slip away quietly since his position was shaky, but if the other guy was coming at him like this...
Amid the abruptly shifted mood, Parun—who'd been keeping silent—also readied himself.
"Not an ordinary foe. Be careful."
"Here, you're the weakest. Worry about yourself."
Twitch.
A vein bulged on Parun's otherwise expressionless forehead right then.
"Now that I think about it, we've never actually crossed swords, have we?"
"Need to? You'd lose to a parasite too?"
"Got a real mouth on you. Wonder if it'll keep flapping after I cut your tongue out."
"Curious? Go ahead and try."
The spark of battle between Sion and Aster quickly shifted to between Aster and Parun.
Once the two unleashed their auras in earnest, the scale dwarfed what Sion had put out alone.
Drip, drip!
Crack!
The clash of auras between them was so fierce that nearby branches snapped with tic-tic sounds.
Pffft—
It didn't take long for the already flickering bonfire to die out completely.
At the sight, Sion let out a 'ha!' of laughter.
'These bastards...'
Now he saw it—neither was a mere herb gatherer or bug catcher. They were mages.
Well, a herb gatherer and a bug catcher, but he hadn't fully bought those absurd excuses anyway.
"If you're hiding your identities, it can't be for anything proper. You two..."
Sion stepped forward, unleashing his full killing intent.
But then—
Clang!
"......?"
A cheap iron sword rising diagonally from below, blocking his chest.
'What the—?'
Sion's gaze naturally followed the blade. At its end was a short knight in jet-black armor.
But...
'...I didn't sense him?'
Even without killing intent, how had a sword gotten this close without his body reacting?
As Sion reeled in shock, the black-armored knight spoke without even glancing his way.
"Don't interfere. Things are just getting fun."
"......"
Not an ordinary powerhouse.
That was Sion's first thought upon gauging the knight's skill.
But regardless, the sheer absurdity of the situation was draining any sense of reality.
"Think your bones will set nicely? Huh? Though at your age, they probably don't heal so well anymore."
"Talks a lot for someone not fully grown. Even dogs know when to bark."
The two rat-like mages carried on their childish war of words as if he weren't even there.
"To the winner of you two, I'll grant a shot at me. Go wild."
The black-armored knight egged them on, looking amused.
When had Lortel's Young Patriarch ever been treated like this?
A refreshingly novel experience. But not exactly pleasant.
"Fine then..."
Grip.
Sion grabbed Shine's blade barehanded. Slash—blood trickled down the edge from his palm, but he ignored it.
He'd already been in a foul mood thanks to those revolting Decullans.
And now, here were these mages strutting about disgustingly, with a knight worth matching right in front.
"Want to give it a go?"
Sion flashed a grin.
"No reason not to."
Sling!
Releasing Shine's sword, Sion let his own hang loosely. Crackle! A terrifying aura erupted, incomparable to before.
Zzzzt—
As ether surged from his opponent, Shine assumed a stance.
"Fine. If you want a beating that bad, I'll oblige. Better brace yourself."
"Looking forward to it."
Heh.
A sinister smile curled on Sion's lips.
Shine chuckled back at the sight.
Perfect spot too. Flick Mountain was treacherous enough, and this slope was on the opposite side from Lortel lands.
"I'll yield the first move."
"No need to hold back."
Thud—!
Sion's shoulder twitched, and in an instant, his sharp sword tip lunged for Shine's chest.
A clean strike, utterly devoid of wasted motion.
Clang!
"Not a bad opener."
Shine parried the blade, then charged straight at Sion as he reeled from the rebound.
Boom...!
Sword met sword.
Kagagagagang!
Sparks flew.
As Shine and Sion's blades clashed at blinding speed, Aster glanced over and spoke up.
"Loser admits defeat clean, yeah?"
"You're one to talk..."
Clang!
A fist lunging mid-sentence. Parun hurriedly deployed a barrier to block.
"First strike wins."
"You're a real classless one."
Crackle, crackle.
As Aster's fist pressed the barrier, a 'hummm—' metallic orb floated into the air.
Eight Hearts.
With eight orbs circling in the air, Parun's eyes—now ready—gleamed with a 'whirr—'.
"No regrets."
Flash—
Kwarrrrrumble!
Countless icy blades stabbed into the ground.
Lightning crashed from the sky, and a skin-flaying gale devoured the midsummer mugginess.
And in the midst of it.
"Regrets? Not my style."
Aster, who had already retreated far back, kicked off the ground and leaped high.
Boom!
...The battle had begun.
* * *
The Third Sword, Zeke, sat cross-legged at the cliff's edge, eyes gently closed.
Chirrp, chirp.
The quiet mountain echoed with grasshopper cries.
It wasn't long before Zeke's closed eyes cracked open slightly.
"Hoo..."
A deep sigh escaped him.
"...What am I supposed to do?"
Zeke let out a frustrated sigh.
'...I'm a knight.'
But also Lortel's sword.
As a knight, he ought to uphold justice and protect the weak—but even if righteous, any act harming Lortel, even by a speck, should be avoided.
Yet.
—I'll yield the Infinite Chain Gun. But... I'd like your help too.
A plea for aid from the Young Patriarch.
His hatred for Decullan was as fierce as ever.
But this time was special.
The Young Patriarch had resolved to draw his blade himself!
Had it been just that, the Third Sword wouldn't be agonizing like this. It was bound to happen someday; it had simply arrived.
But the request stirred no small ripples in the Third Sword's heart.
For it pitted his conviction as 'Lortel's sword' against his conviction as a 'knight.'
—Isn't it strange?
—What do you mean?
—Why Eighth Elder was so desperate to accept Decullan's deal.
—What are you...
Eighth Elder was among the more open-minded of Lortel's elders.
As a Lortel man, he revered martial prowess all the same—but he was somewhat more receptive to magic.
So his stance wasn't entirely odd.
But the Young Patriarch's next words shocked Zeke.
—He took scraps from Decullan.
—...What do you mean?
—Collusion, perhaps. Or not quite that far yet. But...
...Eighth Elder's vote for the deal wasn't purely for Lortel's benefit.
Whether he'd truly sold out to Decullan or formed a temporary alliance for personal gain, he'd collaborated with them—that much was certain.
—That was the Young Patriarch's claim.
—Hard to believe, I know. I can show proof if you want.
—No, no. It's just...
Zeke couldn't find words for the unbelievable fact. But he didn't doubt the Young Patriarch's honesty.
He just needed time to sort his thoughts.
And soon after came the thunderbolt declaration.
—Eighth Elder.
—...
—I'm going to strike him down.
His resolve was firm. So there must be evidence warranting it. True or not...
'...It hardly matters.'
Even without the Decullan issue, Eighth Elder was practically the Young Patriarch's political rival.
The Young Patriarch's determination wouldn't waver.
So what he needed now was one thing alone.
—Be my sword.
A single urging word.
'Remain Lortel's sword... or the Young Patriarch's sword.'
Truth be told, the answer was set.
No—from the day he first met the Young Patriarch long ago.
Yet his heart churned because the moment had come too abruptly.
Or rather...
'...What is the right path for me?'
As the Young Patriarch's sword, striking Eighth Elder was proper.
The other Ten Swords aside, Zeke's Lortel belonged not to the 'current Patriarch' but the 'Young Patriarch'—and that was Lortel's will too.
But as a lone knight... no.
As Lortel's knight, not its sword, doubts lingered.
Was purging Eighth Elder truly beneficial for Lortel?
Or just venting hatred for Decullan, or knifing a political foe?
No certainty.
A chaotic time of choices with no easy answers.
In this turmoil, one thing alone was clear.
'The Young Patriarch's hatred for Decullan... has deepened.'
He'd hoped time might淡en it, but the loathing in those eyes only intensified.
'You still haven't forgotten.'
That day over a decade ago—the death of his close friend.
The pitiful child who'd followed a Decullan mage as apprentice, only to return a cold corpse.
A powerless commoner boy, buried by Lortel itself—and the Young Patriarch still carried that day in his heart.
Zeke hadn't forgotten either.
—How... how can Father be so heartless? A Lortel child is dead. The poor kid we swore to protect and guard!
—...
—Training accident? Look at this body... how is this proof of training!
The young Young Patriarch clutching his friend's cold body, shedding bloody tears.
The Young Patriarch wept endlessly, eyes brimming with unquenchable rage.
—I heard Decullan is the top mage clan on the Eastern Continent... So mages... are these sorts of scum?
Zeke too harbored seething fury toward mages, though unspoken.
Luring innocent children with slick tongues, then discarding them like rags upon death—is that what mages were?
The boy's bright smile upon becoming a Decullan mage's disciple lingered in his mind, yet he'd greeted the Young Patriarch as a cold corpse.
Even that body might not have been retrieved without the Young Patriarch's request—and Zeke fetching it from Decullan himself.
"Hoo..."
Recalling those days, the Third Sword sighed.
He closed his eyes again amid the lingering heart's ripples.
Then—
...Boom.
"......?"
A distant explosion echoed faintly.
Not just once or twice.
...Boom boom! Boom!
Zeke narrowed his eyes and tilted his head at the successive blasts.
'What in the...'
A battle?
Nothing else would cause such roars.
Zeke spread his senses wide to grasp the situation.
But the fight seemed far off; even at max, he detected nothing.
"...Hm."
Finally, Zeke heaved himself up.
Flick Mountain might be Lortel's forsaken fringe, but still within their domain.
He moved to investigate the commotion.
When he arrived at the scene, Zeke's eyes widened in shock.
'...Young Patriarch?'
Wild magic flew. Dazzling sword flashes arced through the air.
And amid the chaos, the Young Patriarch—who should have returned home—stood plain as day.