Chapter 49
Chapter 49
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 49
Chapter Title: Three Gates Open
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"W-What?!"
He didn't converse. He issued a declaration.
"Ian, Second Young Lord, you...?!"
Whoosh!
Ignoring Sophia's attempt to speak, Ian spun around.
He promptly raised the Twin-Headed Blood Serpent toward Attila.
"You're holding up remarkably well. Looks like that body's tougher than it seems."
Crack, crack!
Watching Attila pull himself from the wall and loosen up, Ian murmured in a low voice.
"Hahaha, quite sturdy, you say... Fine, we'll go with that. At the very least, it seems I can easily crush a frail human body like yours."
Was he dismissing Ian's words as the envious outburst of a weakling?
Attila sneered.
Sneering at Ian's recklessness in standing alone before him and his impudent remarks.
"I'll grant you skill in handling weapons. But... that's all there is to it. Your feeble attacks can't pierce my robust flesh."
The situation was different from before.
No more cheap shots targeting scars like the brand of his iron mask.
Such cowardly strikes aiming for weaknesses posed no threat to Attila anymore.
But Ian focused not on Attila's body, but his words.
"...'My' body, huh. That stirs up some filthy memories."
Swish!
"I swear upon the name of Ian Lichtenauer, direct lineage of the Lichtenauer Martial Clan."
Echoing Attila's words softly, Ian slowly straightened his stance.
"Black Rock King Attila. You will die right here."
Twenty years ago—no, far longer.
Long before the Alexandros Empire—one of the greatest in Agena's history—raised its banner high.
The northern continent of Crohoka was a barbaric land compared to the other three continents, roamed by nomadic minor tribes across the plains.
The concept of a 'nation' was foreign to them.
Yet even without a continental overlord,
power disparities existed among the tribes, and the largest held the greatest sway—a matter beyond question.
Alexis, meaning 'guardian' in the tongue of the northern continent.
The mightiest tribe claimed that glorious name for itself.
The Alexis tribe, wandering the vast central plains, boasted the strongest force among Crohoka's countless tribes.
Thirty years prior.
The Alexis tribe housed the next-generation heir, laden with expectations to become the greatest warrior of the plains,
and a supremely inept great chieftain whose incompetence shamed the honorable name of Alexis—even as other continents eyed the glorious land of Crohoka covetously.
An era where the tribe's most incompetent chieftain, shunned even by his own people, coexisted with the most capable heir, bearing all their hopes.
Perhaps it was inevitable for the chosen heir to grow arrogant and unruly.
It began with something trivial.
The young heir snatched a neighbor's dog.
The reason was simple.
He was stronger than the neighbor kid who owned it.
Thus, such a fine dog belonged by his side.
Growing a bit more, he stole a horse.
Again, simple.
That large, swift steed suited his own massive, powerful, brave frame.
From small beginnings, his wayward path spiraled into greater chaos.
Before long, it raged like an uncontrollable wildfire.
He plundered supplies from weak neighboring tribes, abducted their women—families and daughters alike—and mercilessly slew resisting warriors.
Yet followers flocked to him endlessly.
He was strong, and clinging to him brought sweet rewards.
The heir had a younger brother.
An incompetent one, reminiscent of the Alexis chieftain—woefully lacking compared to his sibling.
The brother watched the heir's tyranny for years, enduring it.
To halt him, the inept brother strove endlessly, and finally,
overthrew his brother—the heir—and ascended as the tribe's new king.
The newly crowned king beheaded the cowardly chieftain who had shirked his duties and his tyrannical brother who preyed greedily on neighbors.
Ten years later.
The northern continent of Crohoka welcomed its first great empire, unifying all tribes in history.
Krwooom!
A spear thrust from Attila's hand.
The spinning blade targeted Ian's heart precisely.
A simple, predictable strike.
Lacking any profound martial principles.
Yet the brute force overflowing within rendered it extraordinary.
Tsreeeng!
Ian crossed his long and short blades, deflecting and sliding the spear aside.
The blade veered from his heart.
But.
Krunch!
Though deflected by his swords, the spear's spin tore the skin from Ian's gripping hands.
Blood from his burst palms swiftly dyed the grips red.
Yet he did not yield.
BOOM!
Bracing his toes, Ian endured. From his hands flowed crimson aura—deeper red than the blood—rising from his blade tips.
Blood Demon Iron Chain Art, First Form: Blood Night
Worsens enemy's wounds
Chiriririt!
The two serpents in Ian's hands uncoiled viciously, wrapping Attila's spear.
With fangs bared, they targeted Attila's hand.
Blood-red venomous strikes honed in.
Blood Night amplified wounds with its power.
A weapon's might stemmed from its wielder's hand.
Even with his freakish body, damaging the hand gripping the spear would sap Attila's power.
That was the intent behind the strike.
But.
Kagagagaga!
Stone chunks from the cave floor instantly clung to Attila's hand, blocking the fangs.
Attila's sharp voodoo repelled Ian's attack utterly.
Blocking Ian's trump card, Attila mocked his shallow ploy.
"Is that all your tricks? Then die already."
Groooch!
Attila's left hand, hard as rock, seized Ian's coiling, serpentine blades.
He swung them toward the wall with immense force.
KABOOM!
Flung like an object on a string, Ian slammed into the cave wall, just as Sophia had.
"Kuhuk...!"
Intense pain surged as his sword-gripping right arm collided with the wall.
He knew without looking.
His right arm had just broken.
Hurk, hurk!
Blood and organ fragments soaked his chest.
"Weak. Pathetically so."
Step, step!
Attila approached slowly, spear over his shoulder.
His arrogant, twisted form evoked someone buried deep in Ian's—no, Lucas's—memories.
'...Damn memories surfacing.'
Painful, repulsive ones he never wanted to recall.
Deep furrows creased Ian's brow at the recollection.
Oblivious to Ian's thoughts, Attila loomed before him, head held high in arrogance.
"Not just weak, but stupid too. Had you teamed with that human wench or fled, you might've clung to life a bit longer."
The power gap between them was absolute.
Yet he sneered at the futile pride challenging an overwhelming foe.
"This grows tedious. Begone."
Swish!
The spear tip aimed at Ian's heart.
It looked as if his breath would end any moment.
As Attila tensed to thrust.
"...You wouldn't know."
Ian's bloodied lips parted.
"What?"
...Wrrrrrm!
Simultaneously, crimson aura rose like heat haze from Ian's gravely wounded body.
Red as the Blood Night aura he'd unleashed.
That ominous energy now poured thickly from his entire form, not just his blades.
"......!"
Sensing something amiss, Attila instinctively thrust his spear.
Thud!
The spear pierced Ian, pinned to the wall.
"Called me foolish, did you?"
No—not quite.
Ian had twisted aside, dodging the spear that gouged the wall.
In dire straits, he spoke calmly.
"No. I've defeated countless foes stronger than me, ones I deemed unbeatable. You're just another."
Ian—no, Lucas Alexei.
Before becoming emperor of the Alexandros Empire, he'd faced myriad enemies.
Most stronger than him.
"Yet I always triumphed. Know why?"
Ptoo!
He spat blood-mixed saliva at Attila's eyes.
Obviously, Attila wouldn't take such a thug's attack.
A slight head tilt evaded it; his brow twitched.
"Pathetic. Is that how you fight?"
But that brief moment sufficed for Ian to slip free.
Crack, pop!
'...Krrgh!'
Before answering, Ian forcibly reset his broken right arm.
Despite searing pain, he continued unfazed.
"The reason? I craved victory by any means, sparing no method."
Broken or shattered, he never stopped. Somehow, he pressed on, driving his blade into the foe's throat.
That was how Lucas Alexei forged a great empire on Crohoka's plains.
"And that craving manifested in the martial arts I later mastered."
Ironically,
he'd toppled countless powerhouses to become the Hegemon leading an empire, only to fall to weaker foes, losing all and vanishing into history.
'But that's not what matters now.'
Sentiment could wait.
Rooooar!
The rising aura solidified, swirling around Ian.
"What is this...?!"
Attila's eyes widened at Ian's surging power—far beyond the woman's earlier.
"Let me share something fun. Unlike monsters like you... humans have seven invisible gates. In the western continent, they're defined as the origin distinguishing humans from monsters."
Kreeeak! Kreel!
The vortexing aura gathered inward, audible only to Ian, flinging open those gates.
Lower spine core, then tailbone.
Finally, the third in his gut.
"Humans close these gates, gaining mental superiority over monsters... but at the cost of physical frailty. So."
Pop, pop, pop!
Like snapped chains, the three gates burst open within him.
As they did, his aura peaked.
Roooooooar!
"!"
That ferocious presence drew every life in the cave's gaze—even Attila's.
Ian's emanation commanded utter attention.
"Force them open, and humans surpass their limits."
Blood Demon Iron Chain Art, First Ultimate Art: Blood Gate - Three Gates Open
Surpasses human limits
Tash!
Ian closed the gap with Attila in an instant.
His speed defied belief for one so wounded.
"!"
Yet Attila ruled the vast birch forest.
Analysis yielded to instinct.
Pak!
His spear slashed diagonally at Ian.
A blow that burst hands on thrusts alone.
Now crashing full-force.
Should it connect, death was certain.
But Ian chose differently.
Click, click!
His whirling variable swords retracted to normal blades.
Shweeeee!
Ian's twin swords crossed the spear, breaching Attila's guard.