Chapter 38
Chapter 38
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 38
Chapter Title: Xenon Strugart
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A green pillar of fire illuminated the night sky over Byzantine. By now, there was no one unaware that the Emperor's illegitimate son had arrived in the south.
‘Damian Renekht!?’
Disbelief crossed Xenon Strugart's face for the first time.
He had considered the possibility that Eric Hilton was connected to the imperial family.
But to think it was Damian. What reason could he have for hiding his identity and coming to the south?
Roooar! There was no time for deep thought. The green flames that had shattered the corpse barrier were now targeting him.
Gurgle, gurgle. Xenon manipulated the chunks of flesh clinging to the building rubble, forming a firewall.
KABOOM!!! The flames couldn't melt the building debris, but the shock caused gaps to form bit by bit.
Each time, Xenon finely controlled the flesh to seal off any chance for the fire to seep inside.
After dozens of seconds of standoff, as the heat faded, Xenon opened a gap in the barrier to face Damian.
“Could we talk for a moment?”
Xenon bowed at the waist. His demeanor was incomparably more polite than before.
Though Damian was a bastard, he was still the brother of the 1st Prince Michael. Basic courtesy was in order.
“I am Xenon Strugart. As you mentioned, I serve the 1st Prince Michael.”
“...”
“I won’t ask why you’re here or why you’ve started this mess. It’s not important.”
Xenon fully dismantled the barrier. A clear sign he had no intent to fight.
“By any chance, are you aligned with the Empress?”
What nonsense. Damian barely swallowed the reflexive retort.
It sounded absurd to him, but it was a reasonable inference for Xenon.
Xenon followed Michael. Damian knew that. Yet here he was, treating Damian as an enemy.
That left only one faction Damian could belong to.
Publicly, Abigail treated her own children and Damian equally.
The heartwarming tale of the Empress personally going out of her way to fix Damian's pitiful talent was famous nationwide.
“It’s all a facade. Does the Empress truly see you as her child? Hardly. She’s just fattening a pig for slaughter.”
It wasn’t wrong. If one of her sons became Emperor, Abigail would naturally wield power from the shadows.
“If one of her children ascends to the throne, there’ll be no place left for you in the Empire.”
She would vent her rage at the Emperor's lover on Damian. Far more viciously than before.
She wouldn’t let him die easily. The Empress's fury toward Damian's mother burned hotter than hellfire.
“So I’ll offer you one more chance. Follow Michael. It’s the only way you survive in the Empire. Sticking with the Empress leads only to betrayal.”
Damian gave a wry smile at those words. The real betrayal had come from Michael, after all.
“If Eric Hilton is you, Damian, that’s even better. Michael has taken an interest in you.”
Ha. Knowing the true nature of that ‘interest,’ Damian could only smile bitterly.
A disposable pawn, good for discarding. Nothing more.
Still, the fact that Michael was paying attention wasn’t bad. It proved his growth.
“In the new Empire he’ll create, there’ll be a place for you too…”
“Let me correct a few things.”
Damian, who had been listening silently, finally spoke.
“I’m not moving according to the Empress Abigail’s will.”
“Then why…?”
Not with the Empress, yet hostile to 1st Prince Michael. Xenon couldn’t comprehend Damian’s words.
Wasn’t it essentially turning the entire Empire against him?
“…No way?”
A sinister thought suddenly struck Xenon.
No. Impossible. How dare a mere bastard entertain such delusions.
“A-are you claiming the throne? For yourself?”
Xenon’s face twisted grotesquely. He could hardly believe his own words.
“Puhahaha! Uhahaha!!!”
Xenon’s mad laughter echoed through the ruins. Anyone hearing it would think he was possessed.
“W-what insane nonsense! Know your place! That seat isn’t your right.”
Xenon’s reaction wasn’t surprising. Even with Damian’s recent fame, claiming the throne would provoke this from anyone.
Anna and Felix would reluctantly smile bitterly too, wondering how to change his mind.
For now, at least.
“You’re right. Not now. But if circumstances change, that’s another story.”
“What the hell!!”
Xenon’s eyes bulged as he bellowed. He could tolerate the earlier talk, but this crossed the line.
There were currently four princes. With no other male heirs in the imperial line, they were all.
If those four died or renounced succession, the turn would inevitably fall to Damian.
Even with half lowly blood, the other half was the Empire’s greatest lineage.
“How… how… how DARE you!!”
The plan to recruit Damian for Michael was scrapped. Such insolence could only be repaid with death.
Pop! Xenon’s subspace pouch exploded in midair, spilling undead that piled up like mountains around them.
“Rise.”
Clasping his hands in prayer, the undead responded to the necromancer’s call.
Dull light filled their slack eyes as they rose one by one, emitting eerie groans.
-Kreeee.
-Kweeeeh.
-Uuuuugh.
Patchwork flesh, mottled brownish skin, glimpses of bone and muscle fibers. Venom dripping between sharp fangs.
Ghouls.
The most basic undead, yet overwhelming in numbers—the core of necromancy.
Around fifty of them. They swiftly encircled Damian at Xenon’s signal.
But that wasn’t all.
-KRAAAAA!!!
A new vial shattered on the ground, birthing an undead far larger than the corpse barrier.
The size of three grown men combined, with a bloated body supported by log-thick legs.
Five arms, each wielding bone-and-flesh hooks, saw, hammer, sickle, and axe.
Corpse Golem.
A living siege weapon—each step shook the earth.
“You made it from Imur.”
“Even in death, serving Michael would please him, I’m sure.”
The corpse golem’s head was Imur’s. Prepped in advance, finished with his corpse.
The guy who’d obsessed over his height finally overcame it in death. The thought drew an involuntary chuckle.
“Knocking down one corpse barrier and you get cocky? You couldn’t even beat me—how do you plan to surpass Michael?”
Xenon, floating in the sky, looked down at Damian.
“Burn these with your fancy green flames. The moment one reaches you, your pathetic life ends.”
Undead moved, but they were fundamentally corpses. They felt no pain even if destroyed.
Even wreathed in flames, at Xenon’s command, they’d charge Damian.
“Don’t worry. I’ll kill you slowly. Savor each agony and realize your mistake.”
“…One question.”
“Deathbed theatrics? Fine. Ask away.”
“Where’d you get all the corpses for your undead so far?”
Before regression, it hadn’t mattered. It was wartime; bodies littered the ground.
Allies couldn’t even be buried properly—enemy corpses were irrelevant.
He’d even gathered them for Xenon to boost forces.
But not now.
One ghoul needed about three bodies. Corpse barriers or golems took dozens at least.
And these weren’t all Xenon had.
Plus years of necromancy practice— the total was immense.
“What, that? Just spread plague in a village or two.”
“Aren’t they Empire citizens too? If Michael becomes Emperor, he’s supposed to protect them.”
“You’ve got it wrong. The Empire exists because of the Emperor. Sacrificing worthless lives for him gives them value.”
Even in civil war, Xenon massacred civilians in enemy lands indiscriminately.
In peacetime, he wasn’t much different. Just more discreet.
Did Michael know? Probably, and turned a blind eye. It served him, after all.
Damian had expected it, but hearing it firsthand boiled disgust from within.
“You really should die as soon as possible—for the world’s sake.”
“Enough games. Attack!!”
The undead horde surged at Damian. Their overwhelming numbers blotted out the moonlight.
In that shadow, Damian held an ancient tome in his hand: the Book of Hell—He.
[Ah, I’ve been waiting. Finally my turn. My power’s superior to that pervert Molech’s, anyway.]
Black Magic—Stone Scales’ drawback was reduced mobility proportional to hardness. Damian used the Book of Hell to negate it temporarily.
Crack! Maximum-strength stone scales enveloped Damian’s body. He resembled a monster more than a man.
-Kweeehk!!
A ghoul bit his forearm but failed to pierce the scales—its fangs snapped instead.
Damian grabbed the ghoul’s head with his other hand.
Crushing the skull with a fist, he ignited the remains with hellfire. To prevent Xenon’s control.
No longer prey, Damian proactively crushed and burned the ghouls.
It took less than ten minutes for the eerie cries to fall silent.
“Th-this can’t be…”
Xenon could only watch from the air. The scene defied his common sense.
Damian’s movements especially. Slaughtering the horde like a berserk knight.
But Damian wasn’t a knight. He had zero aura talent.
Yet he moved like that. Pure physical prowess.
“M-move!!”
Xenon activated the Imur corpse golem.
His prized creation—even seasoned knights couldn’t solo it.
The five-weaponed golem blocked Damian’s path.
‘Recall that sensation as much as possible.’
Crack! Crack! Even as the golem’s weapons battered him, Damian focused on the next strike.
He couldn’t yet replicate the Mountain Elder fight. So he repeated. Beyond training, in real combat. It felt necessary.
Slash! Damian twisted his waist, sweeping the flaming sword horizontally.
The golem’s midsection cleaved in two; green flames erupted from the cut.
“Explode!!”
With even the golem down, Xenon resorted to his final technique.
Corpse Explosion. Necromancy maximizing fallen undead.
Much was lost to green flames, but the power remained.
Bam-bam-bam!! Flesh and bone shards became projectiles, shrouding everything in bloody mist.
“Guh!!”
Indiscriminate, it caught Xenon too.
No time for a mana barrier. Even flight spell failed.
Splat. Xenon hit the ground, groaning. Ankle seemed broken, but a smile crept across his face.
No apology obtained, but confirming Damian’s corpse meant partial success.
“Dogshit to the end.”
Thud! Damian burst through the blood mist, slamming Xenon’s gut.
The stone scale armor disassembled piece by piece, exhausted. The Book of Hell’s power spent.
“Gaaaaah!”
Sword plunged into his shoulder; Xenon screamed pathetically.
All undead gone, mana depleted. Clear defeat for Xenon.
Yet even then, he thought of Michael. Scheming maximum aid.
‘D-Damian Renekht… He’s dangerous.’
More than just strong—a massive variable.
At the fight’s start, Damian had been inferior. No sign of hidden power.
He clearly had a way to spike strength instantly. Dubious if even magic.
Plus physical power and skill beyond Xenon’s comprehension.
Aura and magic—fundamental measures of human potential. Damian’s defied them.
Must report to Michael. Last resort.
“Gaaaaah!!!”
Sword in shoulder, Xenon forced himself up.
Wrung mana into his hands like squeezing a rag. Any spell. Just distract.
“Where.”
Crunch! Damian crushed something crawling from Xenon’s pocket.
Corpse Rat.
No combat ability, but records and relays info.
Unexpected, it might’ve slipped; prepared, it was easy.
Defeating Xenon aside, Michael couldn’t learn of this.
He’d demanded restricted access to the area as condition for council deal.
Not yet ready for open war with Michael.
“One last question.”
All options failed; life faded from Xenon’s eyes. Damian yanked his hair, forcing eye contact.
“What exactly do you like about Michael to pledge such blind loyalty?”
Many reformers followed Michael, swayed by charisma. Rubia too.
He rewarded them, but his human appeal was greater.
Damian couldn’t grasp it.
He felt Michael’s strength firsthand, but no allure to inspire loyalty.
“Pffft. As if a filthy bastard like you could fathom his depths.”
“Don’t wanna say? Fine. I have other ways.”
Black Magic—Absorption. Whatever his loyalty, Xenon’s knowledge would prove useful.
-----!!!!
Failure. Xenon’s breath stopped abruptly. Mana reversed, bursting his heart.
Like deliberately holding breath to suicide.
Unsure of Damian’s actions, but sensed his survival harmed Michael. Madness beyond desert zealots.
“Crazy bastard.”
Such a man ultimately betrayed Michael. Damian couldn’t understand that either.