Chapter 68
Chapter 68
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 68
Chapter Title: The Hegemon's Shadow
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Ian's complicated feelings aside.
As the person in charge of the Isabel Aslan princess assassination mission, dispatched to Bestrika by the Lang tribe, the warrior Bator found it increasingly difficult to suppress his growing impatience as time wore on.
Kwaooook!
The iron staff in Bator's hand shot toward Ian.
This trusty comrade that had crushed countless enemies before.
An iron staff swung hundreds, thousands, no, tens of thousands of times—it had become one with Bator himself.
It had always lived up to Bator's faith.
Yet why?
Never had his comrade felt so powerless as it did today.
Whoooosh!
It missed again by a single strand of hair.
Those sticky yet heavy, refreshing yet light footsteps dodged the staff by a hair's breadth, mocking Bator.
'What in the world is going on?'
Back at their first clash, when Ian had blocked Bator's iron staff with his sword, it hadn't been like this.
He'd thought the kid had solid fundamentals for his age, but in the end, he was just a frail human.
A frail human who couldn't even snap a log barehanded.
So there was no way such a human could block a Lang tribesman's iron staff.
That's why he'd figured it would end quickly.
And it wasn't just the difference in raw strength.
Beastkin had different builds from humans, different power, and even fundamentally different approaches to martial arts.
Thus, beastkin martial arts operated on entirely different principles from the ones humans had refined over long ages.
In other words, any human facing a beastkin for the first time would inevitably falter against those unfamiliar movements.
Let alone Bator himself—who was he?
Wasn't he the honorable warrior of the Lang tribe, the White Wave?
A mere human whelp should have been subdued in an instant, with time left over for interrogation.
That was the normal outcome.
But as if mocking Bator's expectations...
The human whelp began adapting to his iron staff, bit by bit.
Screeech!
The sharply thrusting staff clashed with the short black saber and veered powerlessly aside.
At first, the kid could only deflect it, but now he was casually glancing Bator's staff strikes aside with ease.
Thwack! Thwack!
Thud! Thunk! Thwack!
The lethal thrusts that had pierced building walls and floors like mud now couldn't even graze the whelp's clothes.
It was hard to believe.
But this young human was growing accustomed to Bator's staff at an alarming speed.
No, beyond mere familiarity.
"Oops, too much power there."
Before he knew it, he was analyzing and critiquing Bator's staff technique.
As if he'd already mastered the entirety of the tribe's staff arts.
Slash!
As the black saber glanced the staff aside, the white sword thrust toward Bator's brow.
Slash!
"...Guh!"
Blood flowed from the split skin, staining his vision red.
'Damn it! Where the hell did this monster come from?!'
As the flustered Bator staggered back, Ian continued.
"The Wolf Fang Staff Technique harmonizes sharpness and softness to unleash explosive destructive power. That's the core. It's not just about brute-forcing it with raw strength."
"......!"
It was hitting too close to home.
Ian's calm words echoed the very advice Bator's master had always given him.
"You... what the hell are you?"
Bator wiped the blood trickling from his brow and demanded of Ian.
Not only did he know the Lang tribe's secret art, the Wolf Fang Staff Technique—he'd pierced its essence.
"How does a human from the southern continent know about beastkin, let alone our tribe's martial arts?"
Ian didn't answer Bator's question.
He merely posed one of his own.
"How's Taerang doing?"
"Wh-what?! You...?!"
Bator's eyes widened more than when Ian had recognized the Wolf Fang Staff Technique.
Fluster, doubt, confusion.
Shrrrrk!
Toward those eyes swirling chaotically with emotions, the two serpents coiled atop Ian's hands began to move.
"Tch, some petty trick!"
Whip!
Bator spun his iron staff, batting away Ian's Twin-Headed Blood Serpents.
Clang! Clang!
The serpents bounced off weakly.
But Ian's true martial art began right there.
"We'll see. Why don't we check from now on whether it's really just a trick...?"
Chiriririring!
The chains linking the flung sword and saber fragments whipped back toward Bator.
Kang!
The chain bounced off once more, then hurtled at Bator again.
Kang! Kang!
Again, again, again.
Faster and faster, thirstier for blood, the Twin-Headed Blood Serpents soon dominated the entire space around them, menacing Bator.
Blood Demon Iron Chain Art, Third Form: Blood Chaos.
Not the abbreviated version with swords he'd used against Attila—this was true Blood Chaos unleashed.
Kang! Kang! Kakakakakang!
"Th-this is?!"
Bator's eyes bulged as he parried Ian's Twin-Headed Blood Serpents with his staff.
The more fiercely he resisted, the tighter it constricted.
Stab! Stab! Stab!
Faster, stronger.
Soon, the rampaging serpents grew too wild to fend off with his staff alone, and wounds multiplied uncontrollably across Bator's body.
Blood from countless gashes sprayed the area in a dizzying mess.
It was a gruesome martial art, no doubt.
Bator knew of someone who wielded such a technique.
Back in his childhood, long before he'd risen to White Wave rank among the Lang tribe warriors.
The man who had visited their king Taerang to share a brother's cup—and demonstrated this exact art in a spar with him.
Even as a child, that man's technique had burned itself into Bator's memory like a brand.
The dazzling, perilous art wielded by that figure.
"Lu-Lucas Alexei's martial art! You're his successor, the Hegemon's heir!!"
In shock, Bator uttered the name of the human who'd crossed hands with Taerang.
Slash! Slaaash!
Even as Bator cried out in surprise, Ian's Twin-Headed Blood Serpents danced ever more spectacularly.
Splaaash!
"...Guh!"
Bator yanked his left arm back from the agony.
The serpent's fangs had torn into the muscle at his shoulder, leaving the skin dangling in a long gash.
But instead of countering, Bator hurled his iron staff at Ian.
Kaaang!
His lifelong comrade was pitifully blocked by Ian's sword and saber, but Bator felt no regret.
He hadn't thrown it to attack anyway.
Smack!
The tiny opening created as Ian blocked the staff with his Twin-Headed Blood Serpents.
Bator seized it without hesitation and bolted into flight.
For a warrior to discard his weapon was the ultimate shame.
On top of that humiliation, he'd be branded a deserter of the Isabel assassination orders from above.
But Bator didn't care about any of it.
The assassination of Isabel Aslan no longer held meaning.
'That young human has mastered nearly the complete Hegemon's arts.'
For a split second, the living shadow of the Hegemon himself had flickered before his eyes.
If that human kept growing unchecked and attained power worthy of claiming the Hegemon's legacy.
And if word spread across the northern continent of Krohoka that a successor to Hegemon Lucas existed.
Countless talents who yearned for the Hegemon and had gone into hiding, defying the emperor's orders, might rise like wildfire.
And among them, surely...
'He' would be included.
'I have to report it.'
He had to return by any means necessary.
And spread the word.
If only to eliminate this young successor to the Hegemon.
"Think you can escape?"
Chiriririring!
Ian's chain instantly coiled around Bator's fleeing left arm.
He yanked to halt the warrior's flight, but...
Slash!
Bator, claws suddenly bared, severed his own arm without a shred of hesitation and kept running.
Ian clicked his tongue regretfully at the dangling chunk of meat now caught on the chain's end.
"...Tch. Slipped away."
Beastkin feet, especially the Lang tribe's, were famed for their speed.
In the past, maybe—but in his current immature state, with only three chains of the Solar Meridian Blockage undone, chasing a determined Lang warrior was a fool's errand.
"Shame. I wanted to hear what the beastkin have been up to."
Ian was curious.
Why had they chosen submission under the enemy who'd betrayed their friend—not Hegemon Lucas.
Did they crave their dream that badly?
He had mountains of questions, but Bator's form had shrunk to a dot.
Twirl!
"Well, nothing for it."
Ian turned away without lingering.
Dwelling on what was lost was foolish.
Besides, other beastkin remained.
"Hope they're handling things properly, like those guys said... Yeah, they'll manage."
Swoosh!
Ian retracted his Twin-Headed Blood Serpents and leaped slowly into motion.
Toward where his squad was fighting.
Kwaook!
He twisted his head, narrowly dodging the saber cleaving toward him.
He felt the fine hairs sliced where the saber grazed.
A saber strike loaded with full power.
No excess in the cut, no hesitation in the intent to bisect the foe.
For the wielder's age, it was downright impressive.
However.
Such praise only mattered in sparring.
On a battlefield where lives hung in the balance, only slaying the enemy truly counted.
"Not bad, but..."
Grr!
Adam slipped past the missed saber and unleashed a straight punch.
Baaam!
"...Guh!"
Ryu An's head snapped back from the jaw shot.
"You won't catch me with that level. All that big talk, and this is all you've got?"
Adam reached to crush Ryu An's wobbling head as his knees buckled, but...
"Ryu An!"
Peeeng!
Sylvia's urgently thrown dagger halted Adam.
Adam casually withdrew his hand, dodging the dagger, and smirked.
"Yeah, I figured you'd toss support fire right about now."
"......!!"
"Your moves are starting to feel predictable. If that's all you've got... you're dead soon."
Sylvia had no retort to Adam's taunt.
In truth, Ryu An up front was taking hits more and more often.
...They were being read.
'How so quickly?'
That's what Sylvia couldn't grasp.
Even if she and Ryu An hadn't practiced this formation long, it shouldn't unravel this easily.
Spotting her confusion...
"You thought you had us figured out, huh?"
Adam chuckled.
"If I can stab others, I can get stabbed too. You think we'd just sit back while you cooked up counters for us?"
Swoosh!
Adam sneered at Ryu An.
"Poison on blades? Pointless if they don't hit. If you thought I'd fear some petty edge, you're dead wrong."
Bearkin were vulnerable to poison.
No one knew that better than they did.
So they'd studied it.
How foes who knew their weaknesses targeted them.
Poison on weapons was the most classic, common method.
Thus, bearkin grew up playing games dodging blades.
To eradicate any fear of them.
In that environment, Adam harbored zero dread of edged weapons.
"That yawn-worthy saber won't touch me. Why not give up quietly?"
"......"
Swoosh!
Ryu An steadied his rattled brain, gripped his saber anew, and gritted his teeth at the sneering Adam.
"Tsk tsk. If you insist on playing cripple... fine by me."
Even as Adam spoke coldly, Ryu An had no time to listen.
'What was it... he said about choosing the saber?'
Ian's words from the tavern resurfaced in Ryu An's mind.
—That Adam guy... probably won't be easy.
—Boss, thanks for the worry, but I've grown a lot conquering the Ordeal Gate. Especially with the counters you told me...
—No, don't take it lightly... or you might die.
—......!
Ian had spoken of his death so matter-of-factly.
Rebellion flared.
He'd passed the Ordeal Gate, won his duel against the Red Death Squad.
Held his own against Black Rock Trolls in the birch woods.
Ian was the monster—not him. He was growing fast among his peers, or so he'd thought.
But look at now.
'Arrogant fool.'
Without Sylvia, he'd have been in peril countless times.
Ryu An reflected bitterly, recalling his talk with Ian.
—...So what do I do?
He'd asked, swallowing his irritation.
—Simple.
Ian had answered in one sentence.
—Forget you're the vanguard.