Chapter 148
Chapter 148
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 148
Chapter Title: Unsealing
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Hexagon.
The secret technique passed down only to the Shield Family's elite knights, which expanded their condensed mana channels in an instant to unleash several times greater power.
There was a reason they sealed this higher realm of power during normal times, even though they could access it.
The first was to hide the precise level of the Hexagon from the Empire's spies who prowled around Banten day and night.
The second was that expanding the condensed mana channels allowed them to temporarily produce power beyond their true realm.
Of course, the resulting shock to their bodies was unavoidable.
'End this as quickly as possible.'
For that reason, the moment Darcan released his seal, he stomped the ground.
If he ran into Bacchus or the other Hexagon members while suffering the rebound on his body, it would spell serious trouble.
Kaboom!
Even a simple stomp produced a sound like a shell exploding from the earth.
His target was Jerome's right waist.
The sword, still sheathed moments ago, bared its icy blade in an instant and closed in to cleave Jerome apart.
The old Darcan would have clamped down with his knee and elbow to trap the blade or attempted a parry with his gauntlet.
'Not this time.'
It was too fast. Too ferocious.
Just before Darcan's sword—cloaked in an ominous black aura that seemed to devour the light from everything around it—reached his waist, Jerome executed Moon Step, twisting his body inward.
He tried to use the rotational force to kick Darcan's shoulder, but the tip of Darcan's scabbard targeted his shin.
Even operating Steel, the scabbard—with its aura concentrated on a single point—posed a real threat.
He twisted his foot, shifting the target from the shoulder to the side of the scabbard.
Clang!
He stomped down on the downward-swinging scabbard and unleashed a straight punch.
Thwack!
He'd aimed to smash the face, but the sensation in his fist felt shallow.
Darcan had tilted his head at the perfect timing, deflecting most of the impact before the punch landed fully.
Truly, the second shield of the Hexagon.
His understanding of swordsmanship was extraordinary, but his body techniques were on another level too.
'On par with Marquis Crank.'
Unlike Marquis Crank, who moved like a beast on pure instinct, Darcan's movements were those of a knight honed through rigorous training.
Traitor or not, his skill after unsealing the first stage was the real deal.
Even if temporary, it was impressive that a mere count's family in the kingdom possessed six knights capable of master-level power.
That was how the Carviot count family had repelled the Empire's invasions for centuries.
Of course, Darcan being a cut above the other Hexagon members played a part too.
Shing!
Darcan's strike, lunging for Jerome's waist, twisted like a viper's fang toward his shoulder.
Kiiiiing!
Drawing up Steel and golden aura, Jerome deflected the incoming blade.
Sparks flew shallowly as Darcan's strike glanced aside.
Thud!
Darcan kicked Jerome's abdomen with his foot, widening the gap once more.
"Not bad, Third Young Master. I thought I'd finish you in an instant, but you're even counterattacking."
Darcan didn't know Jerome had defeated Marquis Crank, one of the Empire's four marquises.
He feigned calm on the surface, but his inner panic was plain to read.
'Last time, I barely won with Saladin's help. This time is different.'
After absorbing the wyvern's inner core, his mastery of Pankration and aura had deepened further.
This was his chance. A chance to break one of the Hexagon with his own hands.
And if he succeeded, Jerome could advance to an even higher stage.
"Is that all you've got? To betray the Carviot count family with such meager skill? Pathetic."
To draw out Darcan's true feelings, Jerome curled his lips at him.
"You insolent little...!"
Was betraying the family his reverse scale? Darcan's face twisted savagely.
"What do you even know, you brat?"
The aura cloaking Darcan's sword darkened further, as if devouring even the surrounding light.
"Do you know this despair? The kind where no matter how you struggle, you can never reach the top?!"
Kaboom!
Darcan closed the distance in a flash, his strike crashing head-on into Jerome's left arm.
The shock made his arm buzz, even with Iron Body and aura reinforcing it.
The moment the attack was blocked, Darcan spun like a top, his sword and kicks hammering at Jerome's body in succession.
"You couldn't understand! With your overwhelming talent, climbing from worm to heir candidate in just a few years!"
Darcan's shout brimmed with the resentment of a lifetime as the perennial second-in-command.
'So that's the reason.'
Darcan's betrayal, something no one in the Shield Family had foreseen.
The internal strife between the brothers had played a part in the family's hollow collapse, but Darcan's treachery had surely amplified it.
No one had ever doubted his loyalty.
Not even Jerome in his previous life.
Even in this reborn life, Jerome hadn't known why Darcan betrayed them.
He only knew it had happened because it had.
Now, he glimpsed the hidden truth.
Inferiority complex.
An inferiority complex toward Arandal, the Knight of Light.
The noble knight who had never once lost his seat as the Hexagon's leader, the Shield Family's greatest.
Darcan was a genius who never yielded anywhere, but Arandal was on another plane.
He was the one whose talent, in his youth, had been compared to their father's.
Kabooooom!
Unable to fully deflect Darcan's onslaught, Jerome's legs carved furrows in the ground as he was pushed back.
"We had nothing! No fortune, no honor! We were just called 'Hexagon'—no one knew the name Darcan! Except that damned Arandal!"
Arandal, the Knight of Light.
The Shield Family's strongest knight, known as Bacchus's sword—his name rang across the continent.
But Darcan and the other Hexagon were unknown outside the kingdom, recognized only as symbols of the Shield Family.
For Darcan, talented enough to lead any renowned knight order on the continent, that was unbearable.
"Brats like you, born into the chosen bloodline of the Shield Family with talent to boot—you couldn't understand. But I...!!"
"You're delusional."
Hummmm!
Blocking Darcan's fierce strike, Jerome condensed his golden aura.
The golden aura compressed and compressed until it turned inky black.
Like Darcan's, it was black—but distinctly different.
Darcan's aura was pitch-black, swallowing even surrounding light. Jerome's was black laced with gold, radiating brilliance outward.
"Talent? And you're saying that to me of all people."
His uniform strained against thighs swollen with aura-charged power. The condensed force exploded, propelling Jerome forward.
Kaboooooom!
The sound echoed far more violently than Darcan's earlier stomp.
"You mindless boar! Learn one Pankration technique and think you're invincible?!"
As if he'd been waiting for this, Darcan's wildly flailing sword shifted into a fluid, adaptive form to halt Jerome's advance.
Slash!
The deflected strike twisted like a viper, grazing Jerome's cheek.
Thud!
The scabbard from the opposite side stabbed precisely into his shoulder.
Even in his rage and the urgency of potential pursuers, the strikes were chillingly accurate.
Making a mockery of Jerome's Steel-clad body and Pankration training.
Yes, this was true talent.
'Me? Overwhelming talent?'
Jerome had never thought so, not once.
Not after witnessing his nation and family burn to ash.
Time and again, he'd wanted to give up, to abandon his will to live.
But whenever his resolve wavered, he gritted his teeth, recalling those who'd fallen beside him, and pressed on.
It had taken six months just to grasp the first stage of Heterogenous Power, Iron Fist.
Running the Stigma Mercenary Corps and Carlos Merchant Group had been trial after error.
Nothing had come easy.
Only because of those efforts did flowers bloom now, belatedly.
The mere fact he could bloom again was a miracle, and even that took countless hours.
Yet Darcan dismissed it all with one word: talent.
Jerome knew.
He knew how Arandal, witnessing their father perish against two of the Empire's three dukes, became a blood ghost and cut down countless imperial troops.
That desperate sword could never belong to one who relied solely on talent without effort.
Seeing Darcan blame everything on talent infuriated Jerome beyond measure.
For such a petty reason. That paltry excuse.
He'd abandoned the countless souls who'd guarded this kingdom.
Thud!
Darcan's scabbard pierced Jerome's guard, slamming into his solar plexus.
Slash!
Darcan's blade raked Jerome's arm in reverse, carving a long gash.
In those few steps closing on Darcan, Jerome's body had turned blood-red, like a blood-man.
If Darcan hadn't betrayed them and fought for the Shield Family, he might have handled one of the Empire's four marquises.
'With this talent...!'
Captured by such base inferiority, he'd made this pathetic choice.
Thud!
"Got you."
In the final step, Jerome closed to where Darcan could reach him with an outstretched hand.
"Think getting close wins it?!"
Darcan yanked back his scabbard, spun it, and shoved Jerome away with full force to create distance.
"Yeah, it does."
Grip!
Jerome's right hand clamped the scabbard tight. Adding the momentum of Darcan's thrust to the rotational force gathered from his toes, he loaded it into his left fist.
"Fair warning—my punches hurt."
Fixing Darcan's body to prevent any deflection, Jerome drove Vortex into his abdomen.
"Bite down hard."
Craaaaaack!
A sound like tearing steel rang out, and the back of Darcan's armor burst open.
"...Kuhuk!"
Blood sprayed from Darcan's mouth; he hadn't deflected Vortex and took it full-force.
Marquis Crank, the Empire's Beast Sword, would have swung again in this situation.
He'd survived endless skirmishes on the central front.
But for Darcan, such agony was a distant memory.
Duke Camille's imperial forces hadn't launched major assaults on Banten in ages, leaving only monster hunts in the Beast Forest and Dragon Mountains' spurs.
Darcan hadn't suffered life-threatening wounds in that environment.
"Strayed from the battlefield yourself, and you call it a talent gap?"
Grip!
Jerome seized Darcan's left hand—dropped from the abdominal agony—and yanked, closing the already short distance even further.
Thwack!
He kneed Darcan's hunched torso upward.
"You damn whelp!"
Blood staining his lips, Darcan wildly swung his sword late.
But it was futile.
The crude threat of a fangless beast held no fear.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
Enduring the blade with his body, Jerome unleashed Seriate at point-blank range, pulverizing Darcan's form.
From right shoulder joint to left leg's fibula.
Clunk!
Both hands struck Darcan's temples; his eyes rolled back.
He was out cold.
Thud.
As Darcan collapsed, Beskin appeared in the distance, sword drawn, poised to intervene if needed.
"Jeez. If you're here, jump in already, Sir Beskin."
Jerome, unsurprised as if he'd known all along, chided him.
"Impressive, Third Young Master. I didn't expect you'd already integrate your battle with Marquis Crank in Death Valley into real combat."
In truth, Beskin had arrived before Darcan even unsealed his first stage.
With all the explosive noise, it would have been weirder not to notice.
Beskin had intended to jump in immediately but changed his mind watching Jerome fight.
He instinctively knew.
His young lord, whom he'd sworn to follow, didn't want interference in this fight.
Flop!
Blood-soaked Jerome grumbled as he slumped to the ground.
"Whew, thought I was a goner for real."
Beskin watched the complaining Jerome with warm satisfaction, despite the sigh.
Unlike his sprawled, bleeding body, Jerome's eyes gleamed with accomplishment.
That gaze proved Beskin's judgment was right.
"I believed in you, Young Master. If the lord learns of this, how happy he'll—?!"
Beskin's pleased smile at the sprawled Jerome froze.
Hummmmmm!!
From Darcan's unconscious body surged a ferocious energy, making all before seem like child's play.
The Hexagon's once-in-a-lifetime desperate technique.
Second-stage unsealing.