Chapter 35
Chapter 35
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 35
Chapter Title: The Trial of the Inspector
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A cave exposed on the surface caught Damian's eye as he traversed the Sea of Sand.
'That looks suitable.'
There wasn't a single person or living creature in sight, but he needed a safe space just in case.
It was all because of the Book of Hell he had obtained in Maydiran. Even though people in this era were ignorant of demons and black magic, caution was still necessary.
[Haa... Molech, Haagenti. They're all so noisy.]
As he stored Gimel in his soul, Gremory's voice rang out.
She had watched the duel with the Mountain Old Man with great interest, but it seemed she had no desire to mingle with the other Lords of Hell.
[This time there was no need for my help, but I rather like that child. Keep her by your side.]
She was probably referring to Paruzan. Just like with Agnes, Gremory took a keen interest in Damian's relationships with women.
Unlike Rubia, however, she didn't show any hostility—in fact, she was quite favorable.
Whatever the reason, if this meant he could receive help from Gremory, it was a good thing for Damian.
Afterward, he stored He and Dalet, then placed the Book of Hell—Nun—on a flat rock.
'Calm down, calm down.'
The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. Separate from his revenge, pursuing ascension as a black magician was akin to instinct.
Knights and mages alike chased higher realms, but it was different for black magicians.
Aura and magic were ultimately realms of talent. No matter the effort, one reached a point that couldn't be overcome, and most settled there.
But black magicians didn't stop even upon sensing their limits. They simply contracted with more demons, stronger demons.
No, they had to. The obsession with power was a kind of sickness.
"Huu...."
Calming his excitement, Damian gently stroked the surface of Nun.
This time too, a Lord of Hell would respond. Without knowledge from his past life, however, he couldn't predict what conditions it would demand.
When a demon found an intriguing human, the contract conditions it proposed were generally one of two things: a trial or an offering.
Of course, succubi like Gremory had contracted with him unconditionally, but that was the exception.
'I'd prefer a trial, if possible.'
In Decarabia's case, his past life's knowledge had allowed him to prepare the offering in advance, but the chances of having whatever an unknown Lord of Hell desired on hand were slim.
In other words, using an entire Book of Hell—Nun—just to discover the required offering would be a massive waste, especially when he didn't know when he'd get another.
But if the condition was a trial, that was different.
Frankly, he was confident he could pass any trial a Lord of Hell threw at him.
Even something like enduring pain for a set time, like with Molech, was no issue. He had endured countless agonies from black magic in his past life, and now his tolerance was even greater.
A test of pure physical ability, like with Haagenti, was also fine. Two years of training and recent combat experience had Damian's body at its peak.
Evaluating him as a black magician would be even easier. He had contracted with four Lords of Hell. He hadn't reached the pinnacle yet, but he improved daily.
"□□□. □□. □□□□. □□. □□□□□□. □□. □...."
Damian's voice echoed through the narrow cave interior.
There had apparently been a few small beasts nearby; upon hearing the demonic tongue, they fled in terror out of the cave.
'Valkyrie... Inspector... Soul... And the Lord's name is...'
Shwaaaa. The Book of Hell turned into black smoke. It writhed like something alive, soon forming a massive sphere.
To be precise, it was six wings enveloping a body, resembling an egg.
[Yes, it took some time.]
With a eerie voice, the wings unfurled.
The demon's form was a massive mummy clad in rusted armor. Its sunken eye sockets seemed to suck in all life around it.
[A child blessed by Hell's favor. I've been awaiting the day you would call me.]
Damian had now made contracts with a total of four Lords of Hell.
Even in Hell, where they rarely interacted, rumors of Damian had evidently spread to some extent.
[The stagnant time accelerates because of you. A most welcome development. That is why I, Naberius, am here.]
Naberius.
The Inspector of Hell.
The progenitor of all Valkyries.
It had three heads, but only one voice emanated. Unlike its appearance, it seemed to possess a single ego.
"Master of the Valkyries, Naberius. I seek a contract with you. State your conditions."
Damian stared at the withered face and voiced his demand.
Naberius seemed pleased with his demeanor, its mouth corner lifting.
[Very well. I shall give you a trial.]
Fortune smiled upon him. Damian inwardly cheered.
No need to waste a precious Book of Hell.
"Tell me. What trial?"
[However, the time has not yet come.]
"What?"
At the unexpected words, Damian demanded an explanation, but Naberius's body gradually dissolved into smoke.
[Be not impatient. We shall meet again soon.]
With those words, Naberius vanished completely. In its place appeared a small gem.
'Some kind of token?'
In any case, it seemed he wouldn't need to acquire another Book of Hell—Nun—to summon Naberius.
With nothing more to do here, Damian pocketed the gem and exited the cave.
Perhaps due to Hell's lingering influence, the southern scorching sun felt more intense than ever.
As Damian prepared his sand skiff with Stone Scales to resume travel, the animals that had fled the cave finally returned to their spots.
* * *
The southern resort city of Dahappi.
Unlike surrounding cities, this place along a beautiful coastline featured pristine white buildings neatly aligned along the hills.
Famous as a resort, it bustled not with southerners but with diverse visitors from the central regions and across the continent.
Some spent leisurely days or months here, while others settled permanently after retirement.
Derek, once called the Iron Wolf and former imperial stable master, belonged to the latter.
Thanks to his final contract, he could afford a fine mansion, yet he chose a small house near the docks.
He lived alone anyway, and having spent his life in cramped spaces, a large house felt unnecessarily uncomfortable.
Even the imperial stables' modest quarters for horse keepers had been burdensome for him.
Fully retired, Derek's days were utterly laid-back.
He spent most of his time strolling the coastline, occasionally fishing when bored.
Whether he caught fish or not didn't matter. It wasn't for survival.
Recently, though, he'd gained a little pastime.
"You fools! How many times must this old man explain? Don't just use your shoulders—use your waist! Your waist!"
"""Yes, yes! Teacher Derek!"""
Teaching swordsmanship to the neighborhood kids.
One day, he'd given simple advice to a child swinging a stick, and word spread, gathering about ten kids.
He'd refused at first, but their persistence wore him down, and he relented.
Some had the makings of fine knights in the future, others barely fit for tavern bouncers, but Derek didn't mind much.
Teaching them anew, however, made him realize just how exceptional the talent of his last unofficial pupil had been.
With even a modicum of aura aptitude, that one would have surpassed Derek at his prime with ease.
"Huh, who're you?"
After sending the kids home and heading back, an unfamiliar man sat in the rocking chair by his door.
The man stood, revealing a sturdy build—likely a knight or mercenary.
Derek's hand naturally went to his waist. He'd gone to great lengths to hide his past, but he never let his guard down. Old grudges could return anytime.
"Why not live in a nicer house...? I gave you plenty of money."
A familiar voice, but no hostility. If anything, it carried warmth. As the man placed a hand on his face...
"Master Damian?"
The imperial bastard. The mage with the finest physique among those Derek had trained smiled brightly and offered a handshake.
"Long time no see, old man Derek."
No prying eyes around, but Damian reverted to Eric Hilton's face.
Dahappi had little noble influence from the south, but an unannounced imperial visit could stir complications.
"What brings such a busy lord here?"
Derek fetched another chair and asked.
Damian was well aware of the rumors. The duel with Fourth Prince Arkin, the Arnecian shipboard gala incident, the battle with the Hashashin.
He was no longer the frail bastard. He was a proper imperial figure drawing the empire's gaze.
"Do Felix and Anna know?"
"I believe they're in Byzantine."
Haha. Derek shook his head at that.
Incomprehensible young master, just like two years ago when he'd first asked to learn how to use his body.
"But why the sudden formal speech? Even if I taught you, Master Damian, I'm just a horse keeper. At best, a washed-up mercenary."
"...It felt right."
He'd learned much from Derek. Unintentionally, but his teachings had aided Damian in many ways.
They didn't call each other master and disciple, but Damian felt Derek deserved such respect. Hence the formal tone.
Derek said no more on it.
"You've grown even more."
It had been about half a year since Derek left the palace.
The Damian he'd last seen had already outgrown his state two years prior, and in this short time, he'd advanced further.
Likely due to the ordeals he'd faced, and he'd continue to grow.
Because his goals were clear.
"I have one thing I'd like to ask."
He'd originally planned just to check on Derek's well-being, but circumstances changed. Experiences from the duel with Agnes and the fight with the Mountain Old Man.
"The feeling of becoming one with the sword..."
According to the Mountain Old Man, the sword strike Damian had unleashed was a realm achievable only without relying on aura.
So perhaps Derek knew more about it.
"Could you show me once?"
At Derek's request, Damian drew his sword and assumed a stance.
Truth be told, he had no confidence. Only two experiences, and not consciously controlled.
Still, he recreated the moment as best he could and swung.
From above to below.
Clear and precise.
Shwaaak!
For an instant, the sound of cutting wind drowned out all else.
"It seems reproducing it is still difficult."
Unlike when he'd cleaved the embodied death of the Mountain Old Man, yet different from his prior swings.
'Have I grown?'
Separate from usefully applying Derek's techniques, he hadn't focused much on growth.
Damian's power stemmed from black magic, and swordsmanship without aura had clear limits.
He'd been content with the level from two years under Derek, so no extra time invested.
But this swing felt distinctly different.
Faster, heavier, sharper.
If Agnes were here, she'd react explosively—probably demand a spar on the spot.
"...."
Derek fell silent, seemingly entranced. When Damian had mentioned unity with the sword, he'd dismissed it as illusion.
But witnessing this strike changed his mind.
The last time he'd seen Damian's swordsmanship was before leaving the palace. In that brief period, Damian had shown clear progress.
As if he'd leaped invisible stairs through some profound experience.
"I still don't understand why heaven granted such talent in swordsmanship to you, who cannot become a knight."
With his current power and skill, aura at Derek's level would place him at the empire's pinnacle as a knight.
"No... perhaps it's precisely because you can't use aura that you possess such talent."
"What do you mean?"
"Long ago, around the empire's founding, there were those who fought excluding aura. They believed it corrupted human purity. Their holy site is somewhere in the northern mountains."
The northern mountains themselves weren't too perilous, but beyond them was the issue.
Known as the Land of Doom, mighty monster tribes there eyed the empire covetously.
Thus, much of the empire's forces guarded the northern border. Michael served there now too.
Damian would visit soon enough. He could seek that holy site then.
He wasn't devoting everything to the sword like Agnes, but he'd learn anything aiding his revenge.
Too few weapons could be a problem, but too many never was.
After reuniting with Derek, Damian headed back to Byzantine. All that remained was fetching Saliba and returning to the capital.
He thought his southern business concluded.
"What happened?"
Damian looked down at Saliba and asked.
"...."
"Th-that is..."
Lirian with a grim expression, Shay barely holding back tears. And Saliba, battered and lying in bed.
[Now, let the trial begin.]
At that moment, Naberius's voice emanated from his soul.