Chapter 44
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 44
Chapter Title: Lingering Whispers
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‘What in the world is happening now!’
Ruyan snapped his eyes open and intently observed what was happening to him.
But something felt off.
‘It’s not ascension.’
The Ascension Gate hadn’t opened, nor had any radiant light descended.
Above all, his body was still seated on the floor, deep in meditation.
‘A dream? Or an illusion?’
It was an utterly bizarre experience.
It felt exactly like viewing himself from the outside through a mirror.
Soon, the memory of the moment his ascension had failed unfolded before Ruyan’s eyes.
And he finally confronted it—the moment he had fled even in his dreams.
So you took it?
Something you never even possessed!
The horrific voice that had once dragged him into Heart Demon Deviation now battered Ruyan’s ears.
Dizzying pain surged past his ears, flooding into his head and chest.
‘You think I’ll fall for that again!’
Ruyan gritted his teeth and faced the memory head-on.
He stared straight at it, refusing to look away.
By all rights, that should have been the end.
That was as far as Ruyan’s recollection went.
But no. The memory—its origin unknown—continued relentlessly.
Take it.
Didn’t you want it? Take it to your heart’s content.
“Hngh!”
With the voice echoing in his mind, Ruyan’s eyes flew open.
Was it possible to dream while meditating?
Ruyan remained in his room, cross-legged in the exact position he’d been in.
‘What do you want from me?’
Ruyan mulled it over briefly, but now wasn’t the time.
His sudden movement had shattered his meditation, sending his internal energy surging in reverse.
‘Whoa, that was dangerous.’
Ruyan quickly steadied his mind, reined in his internal energy, and properly concluded the session.
Take it.
Even after he finished, that single voice lingered in Ruyan’s ears.
The tone alone was unmistakably arrogant.
It sounded like a command.
Yet it wasn’t unpleasant.
For some reason, the impassive voice felt desperately pleading to Ruyan.
Looking back, it seemed less like a demand and more like a request.
‘Impossible to get a read on it.’
Knock, knock.
A knock echoed from beyond the door.
“Ruyan, I’m coming in.”
It was Alize.
She flung the door open with a curt announcement and strode inside.
“What’s the matter?”
“Word from the lord’s castle. They’ll pay the advance upfront for this job—special exception.”
What perfectly ironic timing.
A request dripping with suspicion, a voice shrouded in mystery.
No way it was coincidence.
Ruyan turned toward the window and quietly gazed at the sky.
“Ruyan? What’re you thinking about?”
“Nothing. I’ll head down soon.”
Ruyan replied calmly as he unbuttoned his shirt and began changing.
“O-okay. I’ll wait on the first floor!”
Alize flinched in surprise and hastily covered her eyes with her hands.
“Alize.”
“Y-yeah?”
“This isn’t the first floor.”
Her fingers—thinner than usual today—had more gaps than a sieve.
Viscount Piron Trvente stared quietly out the window at the breaking dawn.
In the distance, a mercenary group heading for the castle gates entered his view.
“They’re finally off.”
Just five—no, six now?—they’d risen to Trvente’s premier mercenary unit.
An elite few, regardless.
‘What a shame to lose them.’
Viscount Piron commanded dozens of knights and hundreds of soldiers.
Yet they balked at jobs this group breezed through.
It’d be a lie to claim their talent wasn’t wasted.
Strictly speaking, mercenaries weren’t village forces, but Viscount Piron saw it differently.
Everything in Trvente’s domain was his.
A cart horse on the street, a fumbling fifth-rank merc— all possessions.
Sending a prize unit to slaughter grated on Viscount Piron.
‘But necessary.’
To gain more, release some.
Viscount Piron had struck a deal.
“Satisfied now?”
He glanced back; a woman slinked over with a sultry moan and pressed against him.
Bewitching even in middle age.
Jule, master of the Reverse School.
“My thanks for your aid, my lord.”
“Ahem. Mobilizing one merc group? Trifling compared to your favor.”
“Oh, you overpraise me.”
Jule blushed demurely, dipping her head.
But the glint of murder in her eyes chilled the air.
Viscount Piron spotted it plainly.
He frowned fleetingly, then turned away as if blind.
“Keep your promise. Others be damned—return Alize whole.”
“Naturally. Perfect as she is now.”
Jule smiled silkily, peering out the window after the viscount’s gaze.
‘One little girl? Irrelevant.’
Her eyes skipped Alize.
They locked on the man trudging at the group’s rear.
‘That bastard! Him!’
The Alize Mercenary Corps should’ve been annihilated. No match for an orc lich.
Yet impossibly, all survived.
They’d trashed her prized specimens—and strutted on.
Jule’s overlooked variable: solely Ruyan.
‘You—I’ll claim you. Torment worse than death, eternally.’
Anger? Craving?
Jule’s gaze blazed.
The Alize Mercenary Corps marched in their usual mood.
No trace of fear, despite the risky job ahead.
Eric and Eddie’s banter especially never flagged.
“Whoa, five-gold payout? We’ll be loaded soon!”
“Dumbass. Savings make riches. You burned last pay in two days flat.”
“Think that was my money?”
“What? You little shit, no way…”
Bickering nonstop, they misjudged pace and thunked heads into Alize’s back.
“Ow!”
Eddie, forehead-smacked by the greatsword on her back, hopped dramatically.
“Alize! That savage hunk of metal, please… Huh?”
“Alize, new weapon?”
Noticing only post-collision—their eyes were abysmal.
“Damn! Bigger blade now?”
“Classic Alize! Obsessed with maxing brute vibes.”
Eric and Eddie ribbed her gleefully, slyly edging butts rearward.
Primed for flight.
Normally, Alize’d erupt—chaos ensuing.
Not today.
No rage. Just a long sigh.
“…Yeah, pretty much.”
Her listless tone bared melancholy in her eyes.
“Alize, what’s up?”
“Bad grub?”
Clueless twins swapped uneasy glances.
Mood-lightener flopped—panic inside.
Ruyan, watching from behind, shook his head.
‘Weapon with a story.’
Details unknown, but the grief? Relatable.
No warrior shrugs off losing a beloved blade.
Ruyan recalled the void after parting with his boyhood bow.
‘Another hurdle.’
Warrior’s path. Tuck past in heart, eyes front.
Past-bound see no future.
Eyes on Alize’s drooped shoulders, Ruyan accelerated to her side.
“Let me see.”
Short words; he yanked the greatsword from her back in a flash.
Shing.
So abrupt—Alize’s eyes bulged as she whipped around.
“Ruyan! What the hell!”
Too late. Blue energy spilled from his hand in threadlike strands.
“Moment.”
Casual reply; boldly, barehanded, he caressed the blade.
Perilously risky. Result? Astonishing.
Scraaaape.
Mere touch ground away the edge’s roughness.
Rough knead? No—precision incarnate.
Handiwork done, the greatsword mirrored her old one perfectly.
Tiny blade etchings included.
And more.
A wickedly honed edge gleamed icy-blue.
Ruyan spun it idly, chucked it to Alize, sauntered past.
“Usable.”
Caught off-guard, she stared blankly—then bowed, throat tight.
‘Ruyan… who are you?’
She knew the truth.
Mourn all she wanted—sword gone forever. Mimicry couldn’t replicate.
One unique treasure.
But value wasn’t specs or craft.
Memories woven in, time shared—that was the gem.
Ruyan conveyed it wordlessly.
—Move on. What you treasured endures.
Feigned indifference—world’s kindest balm.
‘Ruyan… thank you.’
Lip bitten raw, she cradled the blade tenderly.
Then Eric and Eddie piled on, hollering.
“Holy shit, how?!”
“Ruyan, badass!”
Gawking at the razor edge, twins gaped.
“My sword’s dullish…”
“Mine first! Ruyan, pleeease?”
Dueling to proffer twin blades.
Shared time diluted Ruyan dread.
‘Tch. Mistake?’
Ruyan eyed the clinging duo, sighed softly.
“Too thin. Could snap.”
Words barely out—blue energy coalesced, then erupted.
BOOM.
Worlds from prior delicate threading.
“If you dare, hand it over.”
Who’d risk a fave after that?
Twins jolted, stashed blades behind, whistled innocently.
“N-nice weather.”
“Day like this? Gotta sprint! Gerard, move it—run!”
Gerard blinked baffled; twins near-kidnapped him, fleeing Ruyan desperately.
‘Such ruckus… familiar now.’
When did it begin?
His world, no longer silent. Ruyan felt it keenly.
Departure loomed—how embrace this shift?
Wry smile twisting, Ruyan turned.
Cloyang caught his eye.
Thigh-dagger half-drawn—Cloyang flinched, resheathed.
“Haha, sheath slipped.”
“Cloyang.”
“Y-yeah?”
“Your thigh’s bleeding.”