Chapter 127
Chapter 127
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 127
Chapter Title: Beast Sword Marquis
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I hadn't misheard it.
Surprisingly, the ones who emerged from behind the fallen drake were a group of people.
A man shaking the blood from his serrated sword, which was drenched in blood—likely from slicing the drake's throat.
And a man and woman dressed in pristine white priestly robes embroidered with a golden lion, clearly high-ranking priests.
"Huh?"
We weren't the only ones who spotted each other. The woman in priestly robes tilted her head curiously as our eyes met.
"Why are there people in this neck of the woods? Hmm, that's odd. I never heard anything about reinforcements being sent from Ballista Fortress to Death Valley."
Their priestly attire.
And the mention of Ballista Fortress.
Those two clues alone were enough to figure out their affiliation.
Holy Empire!
"Who knows? Duke Kamil might've dispatched them in secret. They don't look like ordinary folk at first glance."
The other priest beside the woman replied.
Duke Kamil?
Another hint from the man's words.
The Three Dukes held absolute sway in the Empire. The imperial citizens didn't revere them with the political respect reserved for the Emperor or Pope; they admired and feared the martial prowess that had placed them upon their thrones.
Thus, within the Empire, only those in direct opposition dared omit honorifics when addressing them.
Moreover, the man's unusual serrated sword and the gold-embroidered priestly robes...
It wasn't hard to deduce their identities. I offered a polite greeting.
"What an honor to encounter the Empire's famed swordsman, Marquis Crank, in such a remote place."
"...You know me?"
At my words, wariness flashed across Marquis Crank's face and those of the priests.
"The serrated sword is a weapon favored by mercenaries and barbarians. Among master swordsmen, only the Beast Sword of the continent, Marquis Crank, wields such a brutal blade."
"...A young man with impressive knowledge."
Marquis Crank seemed genuinely surprised that I'd identified him from his sword alone, his voice laced with astonishment.
It was only natural for me.
In my previous life, I'd long since memorized the family trees of the Empire's key figures—the Twelve Archbishops, Three Dukes, Four Marquises, and more.
"So, young lord with such vast knowledge, what brings you to this perilous place?"
The woman in priestly robes asked with a beaming smile.
But her eyes, cold and probing, belied her smile as they scanned us for clues to our identities.
The golden lion on her robes was the mark of the Twelve Archbishops.
Marquis Crank belongs to the First Prince's faction. The woman priest with him must be Luna of the Virgin Palace.
That muscular brute of a man would then be Dingo of the Treasure Palace.
With their identities mostly sussed out, I concealed my thoughts and answered nonchalantly.
"We're monster hunters. Wyrm corpses fetch top dollar at the Magic Tower—nothing goes to waste."
"Monster hunters, huh..."
A scoff escaped Luna's lips, her expression one of utter disbelief.
Of course she'd react that way. I wouldn't buy it either.
Most monster hunters risked their lives hunting orcs or trolls near the entrance.
No sane hunter would dare venture into Death Valley.
Yet I brazened it out for one reason.
The Empire and the Alliance were in official ceasefire—a tense standoff. They couldn't wage open war, but beneath the surface, schemes and plots festered endlessly.
In this desolate spot, a knife fight wouldn't raise eyebrows. By openly hiding our identities, I was sending a clear message.
There's no point in wasting energy on a pointless brawl here. Let's mind our own business and go our separate ways.
They weren't fools; they'd know we weren't ordinary, having reached this hellhole.
Besides, they were First Prince faction.
Not Ibarella's crew—if it were them, a fight might be unavoidable. No gain in clashing with these guys.
As the saying goes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. If the First Prince's faction flexed their muscle, it might curb that madwoman Ibarella's rampage.
Grasping my implication, Luna—the one who'd scoffed—spoke up.
"Fine then. Happy hunting for those wyrms..."
"Hold on."
As Luna and I prepared to part ways, Marquis Crank called us back.
"Young ones, what monster are you hunting?"
"...Wyverns."
They were coming from north to south.
Wyvern habitats lay north, so our paths wouldn't overlap. No need to lie—I answered truthfully.
Marquis Crank's eyes gleamed at my response.
"...We need wyvern eggs too. Perfect. What say we team up while we're here?"
"Marquis?"
I wasn't the only one shocked by his unexpected proposal; Luna's voice rose in surprise.
...What’s he thinking?
Beast Sword Marquis Crank.
He lived up to his name as a savage warrior.
A man who'd volunteered for the central frontlines, where the Alliance concentrated its heaviest forces—no need to elaborate.
I'd figured avoiding a fight would be a blessing.
Yet here he was, suggesting an alliance.
No way.
Marquis Crank was ranked among the Four Marquises, yet in some ways, a thornier foe than even the Three Dukes.
Because of his superhuman senses.
In my past life, how many Alliance traps had he evaded thanks to that instinct alone?
This guy might've sensed Genos's corporeal soul.
A flurry of thoughts raced through my mind in an instant.
Take his hand? Or refuse?
"...Sounds good. Haha. We were after wyverns anyway. No reason for us to turn down a warrior like you, Marquis."
-Are you insane?!
-Young Master Jerome, have you lost your mind?!
Telepathy poured in from Saladin and Set.
To them, my choice must've seemed suicidal—not shunning the enemy kingdom's most dangerous figure, but allying with him.
But right now, joining hands was the right call.
-Poison can be medicine if used right.
I sent back calm telepathy to Saladin and Set.
If Genos's corporeal soul were weak, Crank wouldn't have made this move.
He'd have taken it out and pursued his own goals long ago.
For one of the Four Marquises to step back meant that even with Hun's aid in dealing with the corporeal soul, our group might suffer losses.
Use whatever I can.
Best case? The corporeal soul takes out Crank and the two archbishops with it.
Meanwhile, shaking hands, I eyed Marquis Crank. He smiled, but his gaze held icy rationality.
In other words, he had his own schemes.
We'll see who comes out on top.
If Marquis Crank thought he could backstab me easily because I looked young, he'd be sorely mistaken.
Hey, I'd run merchant caravans through hell and high water.
...The path of life has opened.
Marquis Crank felt his superhuman senses react sharply to these youths the moment he laid eyes on them.
Ever since his fallout with Marquis Shoph, the path of life—faintly, gradually reopening—had snapped wide open.
Judging by their attire... Alliance kids.
And from different nations, too—their uniforms varied.
When Archbishoress Luna tried sending them off, the reopening path slammed shut again.
That's why he intervened.
Not just for himself—these archbishops were vital assets to His Highness the First Prince.
They couldn't be sacrificed.
"...No reason for us to refuse."
But as this bold youth clasped his hand, another sense stirred.
This one's plotting something.
Separate from the path of life, he felt the stirrings of a path of death.
Daring to backstab one of the Four Marquises?
...Interesting.
Marquis Crank was the Beast Sword warrior.
No reason to decline a fight offered on a platter.
And so began the perilous fellowship between Jerome's group and the Holy Empire's First Prince faction. ◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Not far from where the Simaria had anchored, along the coast.
Regardless of its dangers, the untouched beauty—human hands unmarred—had vanished without a trace.
The beach sand had melted, splattered, and burned into craters. The crystal-clear sea now bubbled furiously.
Dead fish floated belly-up on the scalding waters.
In that devastated scene stood a lone old man, unflinching.
"Hoooooo..."
With the old man's long exhale, the mana hovering in his hand slowly settled.
"Not bad... you Holy Empire dogs."
The old man scanned the scattered corpses around him.
Throats slit, sides burst open, bodies charred black.
He gazed at the three floating bodies for a moment, then levitated smoothly.
"Now, which ones to deal with next?"
His detection magic, eyes closed, picked up three presences.
The nearest was feeble—crushable with a finger.
Those can wait.
The second was the large group he'd sensed earlier.
Still bickering with his "children," slowly heading toward his "creation."
Hm.
The last had merged—the core group with those who'd fled here.
They were racing toward his "creation" via a side path.
"...Better handle those first."
His other half at the "core" had diverged in purpose.
If that one schemed, it could become a real nuisance.
Besides, his "creation" lay undefended.
Decision made, the old man floated onward. ◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The sun plunged swiftly behind the dense canopy that seemed to scrape the sky.
Thus, the odd fellowship set up camp earlier than usual.
"Oh dear, it must be chilly. Take this at least."
Saladin handed Luna a spare sleeping bag after lighting the campfire.
"Oh my, thank you. May the Lord watch over you, hunter."
It looked heartwarming on the surface.
"No trouble at all. With your small group, you couldn't pack much. Even priests struggle in this cold without shelter."
"Hehe, is that consideration? Thank you. But we're fine on gear."
Luna smiled, pulling a sleeping bag from her extradimensional pouch.
"Oh, you have an extradimensional pouch."
"Hehe, essential for long trips."
-Tch, they're prepared.
Saladin sent telepathy with a click of his tongue.
He'd tried casually probing if they had more companions or their group's size while offering the bag, but they gave no openings.
Best time to strike?
Their backs turned, ideally.
Merging with Hatan, Brontes, and the Baucklarks boosts our forces massively. But same for them. And there might be more groups.
Land routes were locked down by Duke Kamil, so they'd likely entered the Dragon Mountains by sea.
Meaning ships from Prince Laurent's harbor in the First Prince's domain.
Worst case, the First Prince sent his own. If their strength matches... better take them out before linking up.
Outwardly cordial, inwardly poised to stab—such was their bizarre fellowship.
It shattered sooner than expected.
At dawn, heading back to the abyss cliffs.
"Found you, you rats."
He'd come for us.
Our target—the one whose senses had alarmed Marquis Crank.
Genos's corporeal soul.
The corporeal soul's gaze fixed on Luna and Dingo behind Marquis Crank.
"Same garb as those I croaked before... You're Holy Empire rats, no doubt."
More of them, as expected.
His words yielded intel.
First, Crank's group hadn't come alone.
Second, they'd split for some reason, and one or more subgroups had been wiped out.
"So you're the ones from the core?"
"!"
This time, Marquis Crank's eyes sharpened.
They've gleaned some info.
No matter.
We needed Hun's items to take down the corporeal soul anyway.
While facing off against Genos's corporeal soul, we'd wage an info war with Crank's crew.
Krzzzzzt!
Lightning crackled from the corporeal soul's hand.
"You lot eyeing my creation, and the Empire's lapdogs. I'll turn you all to ash."
I fiddled with the reagent in my pouch.
Using this would make short work of him.
But dropping the corporeal soul too easily might complicate backstabbing Crank.
Can't have that.
They needed to clash fiercely.
Across from me, Marquis Crank drew his serrated sword.
Alright then, let's see what you've got.