Chapter 42
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 42
Chapter Title: A Gift Never Given
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'Phew...'
Gilberton let out a ragged breath and readjusted his grip on the sword.
His blue aura flickered like a flame in the wind.
Everything around him was dark. Pitch black. It was hard to breathe.
'The Miasmic Realm...'
A Miasmic Realm, here in the North.
'These damn bastards...'
Gilberton ground his teeth. He had used too much aura, and his mind felt hazy. He shook his head and gripped his sword tightly.
"Are you alright over there?"
He turned his head to see the old man, Bellogrim, captain of the 7th Battalion.
"Yes, I'm fine."
"Fine? Your eyes are shot."
At Bellogrim's remark, Gilberton punched himself in the face.
*Thwack!* With a satisfying sound, his vision returned. Bellogrim’s astonished face came into sharp focus. It was fixed.
"Problem solved."
"...You'll make a fine knight."
"I already am a knight."
Bellogrim chuckled at Gilberton's reply.
"I have a question for you."
"Yes."
Gilberton nodded, catching his breath. Bellogrim spun his staff.
Bellogrim’s aura was faint. Hazy like mist, it seemed weak at first glance, but it was a refined softness.
A demon that appeared from behind was drawn in as if entangled by the staff. The demon's posture shifted, leaving it completely exposed.
Bellogrim’s staff shattered the demon's wide-open jaw.
Such skill. Gilberton was genuinely impressed.
"That 'knight' thing you do. Why do you do it?"
Bellogrim asked, shaking off his staff. His condition wasn't great, but that was due to his imprisonment. He hadn't been injured in the battle.
"You mean, 'Knight Gilberton!'?"
"Yes, that."
"My father taught me. That there's power in words."
"Power?"
"Yes. I wanted to be a knight ever since I was a child, so I kept shouting 'Knight—Gilberton!' until it became a habit."
"I see."
"Crater Explosion—!!"
Just then, Gwen's voice rang out. The space, darkened by thick ash, momentarily brightened.
Beyond it, a bloodshot-eyed Gwen was visible. A fireball shot from her hand.
*KABOOM!*
An even louder explosion than before erupted. Gwen's face was a mess of desperate tears and sweat.
Damian was in that direction. One of his arms was bent outwards at an unnatural angle, dangling as he rolled among the demons. He was smiling.
Gilberton spat on his palm—*spit*—and gripped his sword tightly.
"Knight—!"
He yelled with all his might, and his aura surged once more. His body, heavy as if soaked in water, began to move again.
To be a knight was an honor, and a heavy responsibility.
"Gilberton!"
His aura flared even stronger. Gilberton's muscles screamed with a tearing sound.
He kicked off the ground. His body slid forward.
A blue line was drawn across the demon targeting Damian.
The demon's back split open, spraying hot blood. Without closing his eyes, Gilberton twisted his waist. His sword drew another line.
The demon let out a long scream. Damian, who was beneath it, thrust his sword upward. A loud shriek erupted.
Another demon stabbed its sword at Damian. Gilberton clenched his jaw, grabbed Damian by the collar, and pulled.
*Crrrack—* His muscles screamed as if they were being torn apart.
The demon's sword sliced a long gash across Gilberton's shoulder. His grip loosened. Gilberton slammed his head forward.
*Thud!*
The demon staggered. Damian's sword tore at its neck, but without aura, the wound was shallow.
Damian's emotionless eyes stared at Gilberton.
'Damn brat—'
Gilberton muttered a low curse and took a step forward. The demon's attack struck him squarely in the chest.
Gritting his teeth, Gilberton held his ground and plunged his sword into the demon's head.
A spray of blood filled the air.
Only then did he let out the breath he'd been holding. The pain, pushed back by his heightened state, rushed in all at once.
As he struggled to control his breathing, Damian stared at him.
"How do you do that?"
"That?"
Damian's finger was pointing at Gilberton's aura.
"Aura?"
"Yes. It looks nice."
Aura was the ideal of all who wielded a sword, the symbol of a knight.
To say such an aura just 'looks nice.' It was absurd.
"Tsk, aura is—"
Gilberton stopped, about to explain. When he actually tried to put it into words, it was difficult.
He didn't want to say something cliché like, 'Aura is conviction.'
"Aura is conviction."
"Conviction?"
Bellogrim, who had appeared beside them, nodded.
Hearing the explanation, Damian frowned. He clearly didn't understand.
Gilberton clicked his tongue. Such a vague explanation wasn't going to help the kid.
"So, aura is—"
As he opened his mouth, all eyes naturally turned to him.
Gilberton raised the corners of his mouth and explained.
"It's like taking a shit with your hand when you don't even need to. You're shitting with your hands."
Gilberton kindly even demonstrated the hand motion. Gwen was horrified. Damian mimicked Gilberton, clenching and unclenching his hand.
"Of course, it's not something you can do just because I told you how."
Aura was not something every swordsman could achieve.
Gilberton said, readjusting his grip on his sword.
Just then, Damian's sword flickered for a moment.
'Huh... No way?!'
Gilberton hurriedly focused his eyes. There was nothing on Damian's sword.
'Of course not.'
He must have seen it wrong.
"Oh, right. Where'd the rookie go? That dumbass didn't go off and die somewhere, did he?"
Gilberton looked for Noad. She had disappeared somewhere earlier and was nowhere to be seen.
"She went with the Captain!"
"Damn it! The rookie's in danger—"
Gilberton clicked his tongue and readjusted his grip on his sword.
"Where are you headed?"
At Bellogrim's question, Gilberton pointed straight ahead.
Beyond the thick smoke, lightning flashed. A massive shadow became visible through the smoke.
...!!
It was a colossal size, something out of a legend.
To think this was the North, not the Miasmic Realm—
"The Captain will chew me out if I'm late."
"You intend to fight that thing now?"
"Yes."
Gilberton punched his loose right shoulder back into place.
He could still move, and he had a sword in his hand.
For Gilberton the knight, that was enough.
"Youth is a fine thing."
Bellogrim clicked his tongue and stood beside him.
Just then, a massive tentacle fell toward Gilberton.
It was so enormous that his fingertips tingled.
A tentacle that could shatter a castle with a mere graze.
In contrast, all Gilberton held was a single sword.
'It's enough.'
He didn't entertain weak thoughts.
Gilberton wasn't one for overthinking in the first place.
Gilberton simply acted like a knight.
"Knight—! Gilberton!"
He readjusted his grip on his sword.
His aura blazed to life.
'I'll cut it!'
As he finally swung his sword toward the massive tentacle—
"Step aside.”
A low command came from right behind him.
A voice like a beast hidden deep within a cave—
Gilberton instinctively stepped aside.
A massive frame, like a demon's. Despite the flesh-freezing cold of the North, his bare torso was covered in thick scars over muscles that writhed as if alive.
In his hand was nothing but a crude, oversized axe.
'...Your Grace, the Grand Duke?'
Gilberton bowed his head.
The Grand Duke spun the massive axe.
There was no aura.
No, it was more accurate to say he didn't need it.
That ridiculously large axe was an execution block for demons.
The Grand Duke raised the axe high.
His scar-covered muscles writhed, making a strange sound.
It was elation.
At the sight of the falling tentacle—
The Grand Duke was rejoicing with his entire being.
The Grand Duke swung the axe in a wide arc.
*K-thwack.*
It was a simple motion, but the result was anything but.
*KUUUUNG!*
The bisected tentacle lost its strength and collapsed.
With a heavy thud, the ground shook violently.
The Grand Duke swung his axe lightly a few more times.
The tentacle was cut into manageable pieces.
'...Manageable pieces?'
The Grand Duke picked one up and brought it straight to his mouth.
*Crunch—*
With a brutal sound, the Grand Duke's throat bobbed.
"Not bad."
As he spoke and smiled, Gilberton saw a hint of Galahad in him for some reason.
"Greetings to the Ruler of the North."
Bellogrim offered a deep, respectful bow.
Gilberton stared blankly at the Grand Duke before belatedly lowering his head.
****
'The first magician, hmm—'
Galahad stared at the magic circle carved into his forearm.
He had carved it in a hurry, so the bleeding hadn't stopped yet.
The magic circle, said to be left by the first magician, was certainly in a league of its own compared to others.
The way the circle was layered was quite crude, yet unique.
It was different from the methods used these days.
The most peculiar part was—
'It compresses mana with the heart.'
Mana naturally settled around the heart. The Egg of Pain was located next to the heart for the same reason.
However, the heart wasn't used to manipulate mana.
Mana was intangible in the first place.
The heart couldn't interfere with it.
But this magic circle, which they called the 'Choice,' made it possible.
This was just like—
'Isn't it just like the Egg of Pain?'
Galahad felt a deep sense of interest.
The method was similar to that of the Egg of Pain.
This magic circle used the heart as if it were the Egg of Pain.
The difference was that the Egg of Pain automatically extracted something from demon blood to provide mana, while this magic circle—
'Uses the caster's blood.'
It was a method similar to the Egg of Pain. It seemed to imitate the ability of a high-ranking demon, the source of the Egg.
It was a mere imitation.
'It compresses mana using the life force contained in the caster's blood.'
If mana were a virtual engine, this magic circle was like adding life force as oil.
To compress the mana even faster—
'Ah, so it was life force.'
Galahad realized that what the Egg of Pain had been siphoning from demon blood was life force.
*Thrum—* The Egg of Pain trembled slightly. So that was it.
Using life force for magic— It was somewhat unfamiliar to Galahad.
It was probably because it was magic from an older generation.
"You carved a magic circle in that short amount of time?"
A voice filled with astonishment broke Galahad's train of thought.
He looked up to see the man, the executive, staring at him with a horrified expression.
Galahad couldn't understand the man's confusion.
"Is there any reason carving a magic circle should take long?"
It was just a matter of seeing it and copying it. It stung a little, but the pain was momentary.
And this time, the magic circle was so interesting that he hadn't even felt the pain.
"Don't lie! This is an eight-layered magic circle! There's no way you could imitate it just by glancing at it! How much did that traitor tell you?!"
The executive shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. Galahad clicked his tongue softly.
"Ah, to be precise, I didn't just copy it. It's an old magic circle, so it had some unnecessary parts. Some questionable spots, too. So I made my own revisions."
Galahad kindly showed him his forearm.
On it was a magic circle similar to the man's, but a closer look revealed more differences than similarities.
It was certainly a fascinating magic circle, but it was a relic of a bygone era. Since he had the Egg of Pain, there was no need to use his heart, so he had altered the circle to his own liking.
"...Revisions? Shut up!"
The man shrieked as if having a seizure. There was no reasoning with him. Galahad clicked his tongue and looked away.
The thick ash scattered about was clearly a Miasmic Realm. To recreate a Miasmic Realm, which wasn't even the domain of the Demon Race. It was quite interesting.
"Let me ask you one thing. How did you manage to create a Miasmic Realm?"
"This is not a Miasmic Realm. It is a Sanctuary."
"Right, a Sanctuary."
At Galahad's question, the executive smiled. The corners of his mouth twitched as if forced.
"Do you think I'd tell you?"
The executive raised his staff high. The magic circle on his forearm emitted a brilliant light that flowed into the staff.
The mana stone-embedded staff supplied the mana, and the magic circle on his forearm compressed it using the caster's blood—
All the caster, this man, had to do was set the target for the magic and provide the blood.
It seemed convenient at first glance, but could you really call that a magician?
'Even Sir Gilberton could do that.'
Galahad felt a profound sense of disgust.
"Rain down!!"
The men holding staffs were looking this way, spewing something that couldn't even be called magic.
'Hmm—'
The Egg of Pain throbbed violently. It was beating as if it would leap out at any moment. With every beat, waves of elation surged.
Just then, the magic circle on Galahad's forearm erupted in a fiery light.
Galahad hadn't copied the first magician's circle exactly. He had the Egg of Pain to act in place of his heart.
Instead of the caster's blood, he planned to use the life force the Egg of Pain had siphoned from demon blood.
'It compresses the mana already compressed by the Egg of Pain one more time using life force.'
The first magician probably never even imagined such a method.
The Egg of Pain vibrated as if resonating with the magic circle. It shook vigorously, as if protesting. *Do you really have to take this, too?*
'If you catch that thing, something even more delicious will come out.'
Galahad whispered, referring to the massive presence behind them.
'One must always look at the bigger picture.'
Only then did the Egg of Pain seem to nod. It gave his heart a gentle, threatening bite. As if to say it wouldn't let him off if he was lying.
'I do not lie.'
The Egg of Pain throbbed in resonance. The light of the magic circle grew brighter. The mana swirled rapidly.
Ash-gray fireballs rained down.
"How dreadful."
Galahad felt a deep annoyance and flicked his finger.
****
'Foolish bastard—'
Deblian sneered at the man obscured by the fireballs.
The Mark of the Choice was on his forearm, but even so, he was alone.
Just then, a small breeze picked up.
'...What the—'
The downpour of fireballs instantly lost its power.
They lost their shape and fell, merely flickering like flames.
There was only one reason for mana to lose its power and dissipate.
When the opponent's mana density was higher.
'...His mana is denser than mine?'
Deblian was wielding a staff embedded with a high-grade mana stone and bore the Mark of the Choice left by the first magician. On top of that, he had opened the Sanctuary.
How could that man's mana density be higher than his—?
It was an impossible assumption.
Then.
Something flew through the flames. Its identity was invisible. All there was was a small sound.
*Thump.* The sound of something falling—
One of the magicians fell backward. There was a hole in the center of his neck.
Another *thump—*
Another one fell. A hole in the neck—in the exact same spot.
Red blood gushed out—like a warning.
"Cast a barrier!"
Deblian hastily chanted a defensive spell.
A translucent barrier instantly appeared in front of the magicians. The others gathered together, layering the barrier several times over. The fear of death made words unnecessary.
Then—
Another magician collapsed.
The multi-layered barrier had been easily pierced.
As if it were paper—
*Thump—*
Another one fell. There wasn't even a scream. Only the sound of swallowed breaths.
What in the world was—
Deblian couldn't begin to comprehend the situation.
Just then, the flames parted, and the man walked out.
The same relaxed face, the same neatly combed hair—
He looked just as he had when he entered the banquet hall.
The man flicked his finger.
*Thump—*
The last remaining magician fell backward.
Deblian's legs gave out, and he collapsed.
Hot blood soaked him.
The man approached at a pace that was neither rushed nor leisurely.
Soon, he stood right in front of Deblian and looked down at him.
Meeting the man's gaze, Deblian let out a scream filled with terror.
"A-Are... are you perhaps a demon?"
"Hmm, I'm sorry to say, but I'm human."
The man's voice was calm.
Impeccably clean, unfitting for the thick stench of blood.
"Ah, thank you for the gift."
A gift—
The man pointed to his own forearm.
On it, the Mark of the Choice was emitting a brilliant light.
Even brighter than the one Deblian had carved—
"I never gave you..."
Deblian's voice trailed off, unfinished.
****
"Thank you. I'll make good use of it."
Galahad expressed his thanks again and turned his head.
The giant tentacle was busy moving about, destroying the castle.
Beneath it, a white light shone, precarious yet noble.
Adrianna was facing that colossal monster all by herself.
It was a wondrous sight, but.
'It's not enough.'
Galahad frowned.
Adrianna was the one who would have to face the Demon King later.
Struggling against a creature that had been forcibly elevated from high-grade to highest-grade was somewhat lacking.
'She needs to grow.'
There was no better environment for growth than actual combat.
Just then—
...!!
The monster roared as if in pain.
To think that massive monster could feel pain.
The tentacles, writhing in agony, thrashed wildly, pushing away the ash.
For a moment, his view cleared.
Far in the distance—
There was a barbarian tearing at the tentacles as if they were octopus legs. A huge tentacle protruded from his bearded mouth, wriggling as if begging for its life.
The Grand Duke, drenched in red blood, pointed a finger at Galahad.
*Crrunch—*
It felt as though the brutal sound reached all the way to him.
'Hmm, this could be dangerous.'
Soon, the ash once again obscured the surroundings.
Galahad needlessly rubbed his cold neck.
"My lady!"
Galahad hurriedly made his way toward Adrianna.
It was said that no parent could win against their child.
And the Grand Duke was a parent.