Chapter 233
Chapter 233
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 233
Chapter Title: The Era of the Forged Hero (4)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Bernar hadn’t earned the title of Knight Captain through mere luck. He might not have reached the absolute pinnacle, but he was at least a swordsman solidly on that path, steadily advancing toward it.
Yet Demonica’s physique produced a level equal to that of a peak swordsman—
*Clang!*
“Guh... Ack!”
In terms of swordsmanship, Fernandez could never be called inexperienced. Not in slaying demons and monsters. This was the art of facing humans. The skill of clashing against the strong.
Darian’s spear, Kaharepeph’s sword, Eric’s axe. And even King Dane’s greatsword. Each one was a figure debated as the strongest of their era—
*Kwang!*
True swordsmanship was a monster fattened on the blood of the strong. Fernandez’s blade deflected Bernar’s longsword and slipped into the gap. Both raw power and the technique to wield it—the difference in capability was overwhelming.
“You... bastard!”
Veins bulged on Bernar’s neck. He was being toyed with. If the man wanted, he could end Bernar’s life in an instant. There had been countless opportunities. Every clash brought two or three crises at least, and with each exchange, his balance became fatally entangled.
His breath rose to his throat, making even breathing laborious. Bernar held his sword upright and retreated, panting. The man’s stance was high guard, his blade a standard longsword. The school of swordsmanship resembled that of the eastern kingdoms. But... the aura of the one wielding that blade felt like facing a beast.
“This is... all from a mere concubine?”
“I’m not fond of that title either.”
Fernandez chuckled softly. White teeth flashed from the shadows. It was like a starving beast baring its fangs, and Bernar felt himself shrink back.
“Do you need more time? Or are you waiting, thinking reinforcements will come?”
“......”
There had been at least ten clashes. It was absurd that no one had come despite all this noise. Bernar glanced anxiously beyond Fernandez’s shoulder.
The banquet hall’s clamor still echoed between the tents. Soldiers were not far off. If he could just reach there...
“If you kill me, you won’t get away unscathed! I’m the Revans Knight Captain. My liege is His Imperial Majesty the Emperor, and the Empire’s central government will punish you!”
“Stop disappointing me, Baron. Your value keeps dropping.”
“...Insolent cur!”
He bellowed and swung his sword, but the hand gripping the hilt only trembled faintly, refusing to advance. Bernar stared at his own hand and realized. This was the line of death. Crossing it meant certain demise. It was the instinct of a veteran knight who had survived countless battlefields.
He turned his gaze to the knight before him. Rude demeanor and relentless clashes aside, a noble yet somehow pallid appearance. A sturdy, large frame. Flawless stance and presence...
The position of Knight Captain wasn’t won purely by strength and skill. A knight order wasn’t some back-alley gang. It wasn’t the seat for the strongest knight in the order.
Service record, experience, achievements, respect. And politics. It was the sum of all those. Naturally, there were a few knights in the order stronger than the captain. But their presence felt different from this young man’s.
A gaze that treated lives as units. An arrogant attitude viewing combat merely as a path to victory. The eyes of one who had clawed through the mud and emerged as the strong.
Comparing the order’s powerhouses to this man, he might have a chance in pure swordsmanship. But the gap in experience, in “deeds,” was stark.
Those eyes didn’t belong to a knight in his twenties. Revans swallowed hard and slowly sheathed his sword as deliberately as possible.
“You’re not planning to kill me. What do you want?”
“Now you’re starting to look useful, Baron.”
Fernandez smirked. He leisurely sheathed his sword and waved his hand lightly. To Bernar, it almost looked like a spell gesture. Absurd, but somehow like casting magic...
*Crackle!*
A sudden burst came from the magic communication device he held. Bernar startled and stared at it. No way it was poorly made—why had it broken now?
“Hand it over.”
Fernandez snatched the device from Bernar’s hand and examined it briefly. Sturdily built, but no complex magic embedded.
“Fixed coordinates, text transmission only, receiver removed. It has a specific wavelength transmission circuit... and sacrificed other functions to extend the sensitivity range. Encryption yes, decryption no. Low speed, but not bad. Easy to hijack and use.”
“You studied mana engineering...? Do beastkin warriors learn that...? You’re not a mage...?”
“What are you talking about? Of course I’m a mage. What did I look like to you?”
It was mage humor. At least to mages. To Bernar, it was a nightmare masquerading as a joke. He’d heard of such beings before. Half-legendary, or from fairy tales to scare fussy children.
“D-Demon... A demon. That power. And magic! D-Duke Erb really... really joined hands with a demon...!!”
Fernandez paused briefly. This misunderstanding felt oddly familiar. And rather than clarify, he preferred to exploit such misconceptions.
“If you know my identity, you know what you must do?”
“I-I won’t sell my soul. Demon!”
*‘I wouldn’t take it even if offered.’* He almost said it, but paused. He had one spell left. After sensory amplification and noise suppression, one more for today.
And if he was using it anyway, something more dramatic would be better. Fernandez smiled faintly. More effective, leaving no thought of resistance.
“You think I can’t take it if you don’t give it?”
“W-What?”
His hand traced a gentle arc. Slowly, so the man could see clearly with both eyes. A rattling sound like chains, and mana extended from his wrist to coil around Bernar’s neck.
“Eek!!”
*Clatter!*
Bernar frantically raised his arms to block, but without anti-magic on his light armor, resistance was futile. Normally, such overt casting left traces and was avoided, but now it was perfect.
“Now your soul is mine, Baron.”
From the chain’s end, under the Adam’s apple to the solar plexus. A black tattoo etched in, leaving black magic’s afterglow. A blatant black spell, no effort to hide its presence. The Knight Captain swallowed as the domination rune sank into his skin, looking down at his body.
*Pop, bang!*
Fireworks burst. The sky lit briefly, casting long shadows. A black halo blazed with profane light. Bernar met the approaching youth’s eyes and slowly bowed his head. It was resignation.
* * *
‘Revans Knight Captain was easier than expected.’
*-Compared to our time, he’s nothing.*
In his past life, a nation’s knight captains were all peak warriors. Perhaps natural. War inevitably forges heroes. In this era with scant national conflicts, knight captains taking on bureaucratic roles wasn’t odd.
Fernandez gazed at the campfire in his tent, stroking his chin. Mana would recover soon, but not yet.
‘Rene Filipa’s forces should have entered Gur by now.’
*-With the Emperor’s gaze fixed on the west. Thrilling with consecutive victories, right? The 50 Years’ War goal right before their eyes.*
‘An enemy’s weakest moment is when they’re most jubilant.’
Fernandez set down the device he’d been fiddling with. Sturdy but simple, mass-produced magic tool. No high-end gear for close aides. Revans Duke was a discard.
‘Or perhaps he doesn’t value people beyond discard pawns.’
*-Rational mindset.*
‘Indeed. We should respect that. With all our effort.’
To the sole Emperor of the sacred Levintear Empire, reigning alone over millions. Time to offer the sweetest deadly poison. Fernandez tapped the device. Mana restored.
*Whoosh!*
In the dim tent, the small campfire flickered with gloomy green light. Brief noise, then Fernandez stretched out on the sofa, watching the flames.
[You called, my lord.]
“How much influence do you have over Cherad Blondetail?”
[The influence you hold over me is matched by his obedience to me.]
“If you ordered him to die, would he?”
[Would he?]
Partak cackled darkly in the flames.
[But if that young beastkin pup must die, he will.]
Fernandez smiled faintly. Soul or deadly poison—either way, a leash was on. And surely as vicious as what he’d imposed on Partak.
So it was a metaphorical threat: even if Fernandez ordered Partak to die, no obedient end. He liked that spirit. Fernandez nodded.
[Name the time.]
“After defeat in all battles.”
[Five fronts now. Three meaningless skirmishes aside, Ravirata’s skeletons and allied rebels remain intact. For total defeat, you’ll need to conquer Ravirata by force.]
“Not difficult. How many days?”
[All beastkin on other fronts routed in three days. What casualty level?]
“As many as possible. For Empire and beastkin alike.”
[Summoning a demon?]
At that, Fernandez stopped smiling and peered into the flames. Partak met his gaze calmly. Two with power and motive to summon demons, eyes locked.
“Wouldn’t the Emperor rejoice most?”
[Ravirata, demons, beastkin—all discards to you. Making a hero?]
“Wasn’t that your first question? One who slays monsters and demons deserves to be a hero. Let’s write a fairy tale.”
[It’ll be fun. Understood.]
Flames died. Fernandez toyed with his glass, thinking. The Empire—and Emperor—needed justification. In noble society, greater justification and face meant greater power.
Word of a demon appearing amid western wasteland beastkin warlords would force the Emperor’s hand. Publicize it, dig a trap for Libye.
Whatever. Say Libye Grand Duke’s propaganda hid secret deals with beastkin, costing imperial blood, birthing a demon. Evidence could be fabricated; demon cultists already reported in Libye Duchy.
“Rejoice.”
Hope he enjoys this. Scheming in the palace shadows leaves gaps when he acts eagerly.
War tempers heroes in soldiers’ blood. And Beitasser is the war god. Fernandez eyed the eastern front map.
A sweet night for liquor.