Chapter 126: Changes Left by the War (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 126: Changes Left by the War (1)
Hector's Star.
The people of his kingdom looked up to Edwin Hector, never doubting for a second that he was a peerless hero sent by the heavens to save their falling nation.
Perhaps that was why Edwin Hector had also believed in his own inevitable victory.
That is, until he crossed paths with Roman Dmitry.
Slash!
Blood sprayed into the air.
A phantom lunged from the darkness, cleaving through a Hector soldier in a single, brutal strike before vanishing back into the shadows. The surviving soldiers screamed, desperately searching for Roman. But the moment anyone strayed even a fraction from their formation, the hands of darkness seized them. One by one, their numbers dwindled.
Watching this slaughter unfold, Edwin Hector could do absolutely nothing. His consciousness seemed to float in the air, paralyzed and forced to watch his men die.
Only then did he realize he was trapped in a nightmare.
He needed to wake up. But no matter how hard he struggled, the massacre playing out before his eyes refused to end.
‘The only flaw in my plan was failing to anticipate an otherworldly anomaly like Roman Dmitry. If I could turn back time… would I have been able to crush the Southern Front and defeat him?’
No. It was impossible.
Looking back, Roman Dmitry had clearly evolved during the Great Warrior Battle compared to his initial clash with Butler. How such rapid growth was possible, Edwin couldn't fathom. What he did know was that Roman Dmitry’s limits were like the Abyss—bottomless and impossible to measure. Victory against him could never be guaranteed.
People had hailed Edwin as the continent's greatest talent. He had possessed absolute confidence, perhaps even arrogance. Yet, a single defeat had brought his entire world crashing down.
‘I have plunged my kingdom into the depths of despair.’
What if they had never started this war? Would the Hector Kingdom have bought themselves a little more time?
As Edwin's mind sank deeper into the abyss, the massacre looped endlessly. He didn't know how long he had been trapped here. His mind was fracturing, unable to bear the crushing weight of his defeat.
Then, he recognized the face of one of the fallen soldiers.
‘The royal family offered ample rations as compensation for the volunteers of this expedition. That soldier… he couldn't even wield a sword properly, but he volunteered just to feed his elderly mother. And he died a miserable death.’
His heart ached. He didn't blame Roman. Roman was simply enforcing his own brand of justice. This agonizing guilt was a burden Edwin alone had to bear as the loser.
That realization cleared his mind. From the very depths of his despair, he remembered the people he still had to protect.
‘The Hector Kingdom is facing its darkest hour. But we haven't fallen yet. As long as my people are looking to me, I must find a way for them to survive, no matter the cost.’
Whoosh.
The darkness receded. A blinding light flooded his vision.
"...How much time has passed?" Edwin Hector rasped as his eyes fluttered open.
* * *
It had been about a week.
A lot had happened in Hector while he was unconscious. Though the survivors of the expedition kept their mouths shut, the news arriving from Cairo was enough to plunge the entire Hector Kingdom into despair.
"Knight Commander Butler was slain by the Devil of Cairo."
"It was a complete and utter slaughter. The Devil of Cairo massacred thousands of our soldiers single-handedly. As if that wasn't enough, he cut down Knight Commander Butler and shattered the gates of the Rear Base. It was a war we were doomed to lose from the start. We thought Hector's Star was the greatest talent in the world, but the continent is crawling with monsters we knew nothing about."
"The Hector Kingdom is finished. We poured everything we had into this expedition, and we gained absolutely nothing."
Ominous rumors spread like wildfire.
Roman Dmitry. His name shook the entire continent. Because of his legendary exploits, people everywhere were buzzing about the birth of a truly magnificent swordsman in the Cairo Kingdom.
The problem was that the stepping stone for this glorious achievement was the Hector Kingdom.
Faced with his kingdom's despair, Edwin Hector summoned the leadership the moment he regained his senses and immediately sought an audience with the King.
"How is your body?" the King asked.
"I am fine."
"Foolish boy. I never asked you to risk your life. It is my own incompetence that burdened you with the weight of the royal family. I never wished to solve our nation's problems at the cost of my son's life."
"...I am sorry," Edwin Hector bowed his head.
It was the warm, genuine heart of a father. However, Edwin didn't have the luxury of indulging in personal emotions.
"Father. Have you read Jackson's report?"
"I have."
"Three days ago, an anomaly was discovered in one of our villages—the exact village where the famine first began. Reports state that the ground hasn't just dried up and crumbled; it has turned completely black, and all living things around it are withering away. It bears all the hallmarks of a Necromancer's curse."
A Necromancer's curse.
It was a terrifying revelation. The moment Edwin had received Jackson's report, his heart had plummeted.
"At first, we believed the famine striking Hector was a punishment from the heavens. But if this is truly a Necromancer's curse, it means the starvation plaguing our kingdom was artificially manufactured. And this is no ordinary Black Magic. They spent years meticulously weaving a curse powerful enough to suffocate all of Hector, and the moment our war ended, they revealed its true nature without hesitation."
"...Does that mean there was a hidden faction waiting for us to attack the Cairo Kingdom?" the King asked, his voice trembling.
"Yes."
He couldn't be absolutely certain, but all the evidence pointed to a third party intentionally pushing the Hector Kingdom to the edge of a cliff. After reviewing mountains of documents from his sickbed, Edwin had arrived at a single, chilling conclusion.
"All this time, we were nothing more than puppets dancing on someone else's strings. The Cairo Kingdom is no different. A mastermind hiding in the shadows intentionally pitted our two nations against each other to reap the benefits. But right now, we do not have the luxury of seeking revenge. We need time to resolve the immediate crisis threatening Hector, and then we can thoroughly uncover the identity of this mastermind."
"We do not have the time," the King sighed.
"I know."
Identifying the problem was one thing, but curing a massive Necromancer's curse was another entirely. If the curse had already spread across the nation, they would need the intervention of at least a High Priest to cleanse it. Since that level of divine power was far beyond Hector's current capabilities, they needed a drastic measure to turn the tide.
"When I was young, the Master of the Sky Magic Tower made me an offer," Edwin said, his gaze resolute. "He told me that if I gave up my title as a prince and dedicated my life to the Magic Tower, he would grant me anything I desired. I will sell my time to the Sky Magic Tower."
"...Edwin!"
The eyes of everyone in the room widened in shock. Edwin's words meant he was willingly forfeiting his right to the throne. They all tried to dissuade him, but his mind was already made up.
"Just one year. That is all I need. It is the only way to save our people."
They all knew the bitter truth. The moment a viable solution was presented, the Hector Kingdom had no choice but to take it if they wanted to survive.
And so, while the Cairo Kingdom celebrated its grand victory, the Hector Kingdom made the agonizing decision to send away its own hero.
* * *
Following the war's conclusion, people slowly returned to their everyday lives.
However, McBurney, the former instructor at the Southern Training Camp, was different. Ever since he arrived in the Capital, he had practically been living in taverns.
"Ahhh."
Thud.
He slammed the empty liquor bottle onto the wooden table. It was a vice he had given up a long time ago. Back at the Southern Training Camp, he had strictly avoided alcohol, believing a soldier always needed to maintain his edge. Now, he simply couldn't bear to face the world sober.
Having contributed to the war's victory, McBurney had received a massive payout during the ceremony of Rewards and Punishments Based on Merit. Frankly, if he lived frugally, it was enough coin to last him the rest of his life. But material wealth could not buy him peace of mind.
"Send you back to the front lines? McBurney, get a grip. You might be hailed as a war hero now thanks to Roman Dmitry, but you still failed to defend the Southern Training Camp and lost all your subordinates. It's proof of how useless a one-armed man like you is on the battlefield. Who would ever trust and follow you now? Just spend the rest of your days in comfort with the gold the royal family gave you. That is the only ending that suits you."
The harsh words of his superior officer echoed in his mind.
It was a cruel reality. He wasn't blind to his own physical limitations, but having the truth spat in his face left him with no solace but the bottom of a bottle.
Gulp! Gulp!
He chugged another glass. Strangely, no matter how much he drank, he couldn't get drunk; his mind only grew agonizingly clearer.
‘I belong on the battlefield. I must die on the battlefield.’
He had spent ten grueling years on the front lines. He had fought beside countless comrades, surviving desperately while watching them bleed out in the mud. At some point, people had started calling him a veteran warrior—a capable man who had climbed to the rank of Centurion despite his commoner blood.
But his mind was no longer whole. Worn down by a decade of continuous slaughter, his psyche simply couldn't adapt to a normal, peaceful life. He wanted to follow his fallen brothers and meet his end with a sword in hand. That was the only conclusion McBurney desired, yet the high command's absolute refusal to deploy him made him feel utterly pathetic.
‘They're right. What can a one-armed swordsman even do?’
Recently, rumors about Roman had been the talk of the Capital. Hailed as the hero of Cairo for his miracles on the Southern Front, Roman had also displayed overwhelming dominance in his recent clash with the Castro Family. He was an unfathomable existence. McBurney had respected him from the very beginning—ever since the noble had willingly trained in the dirt alongside common soldiers—but now, Roman had ascended to a height that was completely out of reach.
Suddenly, a bitter wave of envy washed over him. He envied Roman's subordinates. To serve a lord like Roman Dmitry and offer him blind, unwavering loyalty—that was the exact life McBurney had always yearned for.
‘Lord Roman Dmitry already has plenty of capable warriors under his banner. A crippled man who has lost his combat ability wouldn't even warrant a second glance. McBurney, face reality. You've lost your value as a warrior. If you want to avoid repeating the tragedy of the Southern Training Camp, you must accept this.’
His throat felt dry. He reached out for his drink again.
But just then—
Tap.
"It has been a while."
A man took the seat right next to him. When McBurney turned and realized the man was Roman Dmitry, he couldn't believe his own eyes.
* * *
His heart pounded against his ribs.
Roman Dmitry. His idol. Why was he here in a dingy Capital tavern?
As McBurney's mind spun in utter confusion, Roman cut straight to the chase.
"I need talented individuals for my future plans. McBurney, I believe you are exactly the kind of talent I am looking for. Let me ask you directly: do you have any intention of coming with me to Dmitry?"
Thump! Thump!
In that instant, his heart felt like it was going to burst from his chest. It was as if a golden lifeline had been lowered straight from the heavens. This was the exact scenario he had fantasized about, and there was absolutely no logical reason to refuse.
And yet...
"...It is an incredibly generous offer, my lord. But as you can see, I am a one-armed swordsman. Ever since I lost the arm I used to swing my blade, my value as a warrior has plummeted to zero. What could a cripple like me possibly do for you, Lord Roman Dmitry? I fear that someone like me, whose worth isn't even recognized by the Cairo Kingdom, will only drag you down."
He didn't want to say those words. In his heart, he had already screamed his acceptance a hundred times over. But he had no choice but to reject the offer.
When he had arrived in the Capital and been briefly assigned to a new unit, the soldiers there had sneered at him. They asked what a one-armed bastard could possibly contribute and told him to hurry up and take his discharge. That was the cold, hard reality. He was no hero. He had merely been lucky enough to survive the jaws of death; he hadn't actually accomplished anything of worth.
"For some reason, that doesn't sound like a rejection to my ears," Roman said smoothly. "Am I mistaken?"
"..."
McBurney was rendered entirely speechless.
This was a completely different world. Roman's standard for recruiting talent wasn't based on their present, broken state, but on their boundless future potential.
Roman looked at him intently and asked, "Have you ever heard of the Left-Handed Sword?"
From the deepest recesses of Baek Joong-hyuk's memories, Roman recalled a legendary martial arts master of the Murim—a one-armed swordsman who had once left an unforgettable, bloody impression on the world.