Chapter 40
Chapter 40
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 40
Chapter Title: Black-Haired Knight King
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Huff... huff...
The orc sergeant, his entire right arm severed, collapsed weakly to his knees.
He looked around in disbelief at the blood-soaked ground that had once been solid earth.
Countless orc warriors, once so valiant, now reduced to cold corpses.
His sergeant brothers, invincible in battle, their necks sliced clean by a single burst of aura.
Before the stockade, piled high with bodies, rivers of blood and regret flowed from his fallen kin.
And now, the last orc sergeant remaining lifted his head, eyes trembling.
There, a gray wolf approached, fixing him with cold, unyielding eyes.
"...Speak."
Everything had gone according to plan.
Three sergeants who could wield aura attacked the stockade alongside the orc main force,
while Tigr infiltrated the rear through the drainage ditch guided by the traitor.
The most vulnerable rear of the territory lay wide open.
No matter how elite the army, it was a fatal blow they could never overcome.
'For Mother North!'
But this man had turned the tide.
Upon hearing the rear had been breached, he charged alone, cutting down all the sergeants and the vanguard aiming for the main gate.
The living God of War incarnate.
The gray wolf, who had sacrificed one eye to defend the stockade, asked the sergeant once more.
"I'll ask again. How did you get in?"
Yet despite this glorious victory, the gray wolf felt no joy.
On the contrary, his fury deepened as he questioned the surviving sergeant.
The village drainage ditch was hidden at the base of the ravine—only a local would know of it.
But the orcs had slipped through that narrow entrance as if they knew the village layout by heart.
Evading the thick iron grates that should have blocked them and the watchful eyes of the sentries, no less.
What did this mean?
Someone inside the village had revealed the drainage entrance and guided them in. A filthy, treacherous betrayer who sold out family and brothers alike!
"If... if I talk, will you let me live?"
The war was lost, that much was clear.
But the orc warriors who fled into the forest were still out there, and the great Lord Tigr had surely escaped unscathed from the rear.
With assassins left alive, they could start anew.
Discarding all honor and pride, the one-armed orc sergeant begged for his life.
The gray wolf permitted it indifferently.
"Speak."
Elated at the thought of survival, the orc brightened.
Fearing his head might fly at any moment, he spilled everything he knew.
The identity of the administrator who revealed the drainage ditch's location and guided them, and the insider who opened the gate to let them in.
All the misfortunes and blunders had woven together into fate, now revealing its ugly truth.
The whole world held its breath.
The devastation was beyond words.
Drip... drop.
Hearing the full truth, the gray wolf shed tears like blood.
He gazed at the sky, where rain now began to fall, and lamented his life.
"...It was all for nothing."
The gray wolf raised his sword again.
Startled, the orc sergeant faced him as the blade hovered coldly by his neck.
Shing!
"Wait! That's not what we agreed!"
"Pathetic. Follow your fallen chieftain."
"What? Lord Tigr was definitely in the rear...!"
"The Sword Saint has already gone there."
The Sword Saint had gone to the rear.
Those words alone sealed Tigr's fate in the rear guard battle.
So it ends like this, after all.
The orc sergeant laughed hollowly.
With a light swing, his head parted from his body and tumbled onto the muddied pile of corpses.
Slash!
Thud.
Drip... drop.
The spring rain wept.
As if consoling the countless souls returned to Mother's embrace, the heavens sobbed.
How many had died?
With a hollow expression, the gray wolf sheathed his sword and squeezed his eyes shut beneath the pouring rain.
No matter his strength or aura, the dead could not be brought back.
As the war ended,
a profound emptiness gnawed at his soul.
This carnage was my doing—a sin I could never wash away in a lifetime.
"Milord! Milord!!"
"- - - - - - -?"
But in that moment, amid the stockade scarred by war's flames, an urgent cry rang out.
A messenger from the rear had arrived in haste. The young rider, tears streaming, delivered glad tidings to all atop the stockade.
"The shelter...! The shelter is safe! All the villagers are unharmed!"
"What?!"
"It's true!"
They had already suspected the rear shelter was attacked, from the rising smoke and the rushing messenger.
Yet amid that inferno and chaos, the shelter and every villager had survived unscathed.
Soldiers, hearts heavy with worry for their families, clenched their fists in disbelief.
The rain-lashed stockade instantly filled with hopeful cheers.
The spears they had gripped to protect kin and neighbors had borne fruit at last.
"...Snow-Covered."
But amid the jubilation, the gray wolf alone could not rejoice.
A warm spring breeze had brushed his mind, carrying a familiar name.
Whoosh...
The spring rain poured fiercely.
The chill weather made the raindrops lashing his face feel brutally heavy and sodden.
Yet I paid no heed to the downpour soaking me through and pulled my disciple into my arms.
In her tiny, frail hands, Snow-Covered still clutched the broken sword.
"...You didn't run."
My voice trembled.
No matter how I tried to hide it, the surging emotions tore at my heart, dulled by years.
Proud yet resentful,
sad yet joyful.
Just like the day we first met, Snow-Covered had stood firm to protect the people.
No matter that death loomed before her.
Snow-Covered smiled faintly and whispered softly.
"Master... it doesn't hurt..."
Snow-Covered's body bore no unmarred spot.
But in that moment of crisis, aura had come to her aid, sparing her a fatal wound.
It seemed the promised heavens had finally answered her desperate call.
"...Mother North paid a brief visit. I can feel it—your courage and honor."
Mother North had paid a brief visit.
Though now dispersed, traces of aura lingered around Snow-Covered.
Only then did the relieved child speak to me.
"I'm... sleepy..."
"It's alright. Everything's alright."
She had lost much blood battling the enemy.
I gently closed her forcibly opened eyes, murmuring that all was well.
With that, Snow-Covered, who had clung to consciousness, drifted to sleep with a smile.
Swish.
Squelch, squelch.
I lifted Snow-Covered into my arms.
Then, stepping past the enemies I had slain, I trudged forward.
Is greatness born of noble birth, only to fade away fleetingly? Or is it forged from the lowest origins, shining nobly till the end?
Snow-Covered!
Beneath that humble name, I saw the bearing of a king.
With the same heart I once held serving a king's procession, I walked the path cradling my disciple.
The spring rain from the heavens turned to blossoms, and the honor staked with her life became a crown.
"- - - - - - - -."
Along the road scarred by war and fire, villagers and soldiers gathered in throngs.
And as if sensing the king's passage, they parted like the Red Sea to either side.
Hearts swelling, eyes brimming with tears.
The people gazed with fervent eyes upon the "little king" cradled in my arms, Snow-Covered.
Who had protected them?
Who had never forsaken the weak?
A king's bloodline was not mere lineage, but the conviction that illuminated the world.
Behold, Snow-Covered—spring is coming.
As you, once huddled, now lift your head, the world at last meets your gaze.
Today is a new era, a new season.
The day of acclaim you so longed for.
Clop, clop, clop!
Far off, through the torrent of spring rain, the gray wolf came galloping belatedly.
But he boldly forsook lordship and heroism, halting among the villagers.
'My king, live long and prosper.'
The gray wolf paid his respects.
Then, as if on cue, the people bowed low along the path the king had passed.
The crowd rippled like waves.
As countless heads bowed in unison, as if by promise, the rain ceased as if by miracle.
The king's return—the sun broke through upon her face.
Thus ended the fierce war.
"Huff, huff!"
Barley Ear ran like a madman.
Desperate to flee farther, farther from the village he had set ablaze.
But no matter how he ran, the sin he committed clung to him like a shadow.
An indelible, grotesque original sin!
'That wasn't my intention!'
He had pretended to fall for the administrator's scheme, opening the drainage gate to let in the orcs.
All to leave Snow-Covered to die and salvage the situation.
But contrary to his plans, things spiraled into catastrophe, engulfing the village in flames.
Like water spilled on unyielding ground, there was nothing Barley Ear could recover, no matter how he tried.
So he fled.
To escape the sin of his greed- and jealousy-blinded "mistake,"
to turn a blind eye to the grotesque original sin that would haunt him forever.
But Mother North watched eternally from the unhideable heavens.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
"Gah!"
Someone stepped onto the path.
Startled, Barley Ear drew his sword and peered at the man blocking his way.
"B-Broken Sword."
His legs and sword trembled violently.
The courage to swing it shriveled like a whipped dog before the man's icy expression.
How did he know I'd come here?
Could the village really be safe?
Barley Ear backed away slowly, mind racing with excuses.
Grab!
But he could retreat no further.
Something had appeared behind him, blocking his escape.
"M-Master...?"
A massive sword, gray wolf pelt.
No matter how he rubbed his eyes, it was his master.
Barley Ear's face drained white as he stammered, collapsing to the ground.
Thud!
"I-It wasn't me...!"
"Why did you do it?"
To save his skin, Barley Ear opened his mouth.
But the gray wolf, already knowing all from evidence and the orc's testimony, asked.
Why did you do it?
Why must we, bound as master and disciple beneath the heavens, face each other like this?
The gray wolf's eyes, filled with profound sorrow, sought the reason.
"It was a m-mistake! A real mistake! If that devilish administrator hadn't tempted me, I never would have...!"
"................."
"Believe me, won't you? It's Barley Ear! The Barley Ear you promised to make a hero! Please, forgive me...!"
Please forgive me.
Overlook this one mistake.
Staring into his master's sorrowful eyes, Barley Ear desperately begged for life.
But instead of pardon, the gray wolf asked a question that tore at his own heart.
"Many died."
"That was...!"
"Were their deaths of lesser weight?"
This arrogant, vile wretch.
Even this unforgivable sin, he views as a mere youthful folly deserving pardon.
In Barley Ear's eyes, the gray wolf saw a foul, elitist arrogance.
Dark and twisted, utterly at odds with his handsome golden locks.
Shing!
The gray wolf drew his sword.
Seizing like an epileptic, Barley Ear began spewing snot and tears.
The mask of pretense he had worn for years finally shattered on this day of reckoning.
"It's different! They're different! How can I be the same as those lowly scum? I'm destined to be king! A king ruling over countless souls!"
"You bastard...!"
"You're the one at fault! For teaching aura to that worthless wench! I... I can't end here...!"
Clang!
Barley Ear finally drew his sword.
That shattered the gray wolf's composure entirely, tears flooding forth.
He had raised him to be a fine knight.
Hoped he would grow into a better man than himself, a great aid.
But jealousy and arrogance had devoured him, turning him into a villain who betrayed his own kind.
It was all my fault.
Taking him in, failing to look back.
"- - - - - - -!!"
Seizing the moment the wolf hesitated, Barley Ear lunged with lightning speed.
Aim: the heart.
The disciple struck without remorse at the master who had raised and taught him.
Slash!
"Guh...!"
But such a clumsy attack posed no threat.
With a sorrowful face, the gray wolf dodged, then gritted his teeth and swung.
A red diagonal slash appeared across Barley Ear's chest, blood oozing impossibly.
"Wha... what?"
Barley Ear dropped his sword.
Kneeling in disbelief, he clutched his bloodied chest.
Struck down? By my master?
His past life flashed before his eyes like a lantern show.
All that remained was thick regret.
"Cough!"
Barley Ear vomited blood.
Then he collapsed atop his own blood, soiling his once-golden hair.
The end of the greed that doomed so many.
In the end, only the wounded remained.
The gray wolf, who had slain his own disciple with his hand, could not lift his head for a long while.