The Requiem Sword Rings Out

"This is seriously too much!"

Dorian let out a long, indignant snort.

"You forgot I even existed!"

"Sorry. The mood was just right for a cool goodbye. I forgot you were there."

"Guh... so that's how little presence I have..."

Dorian's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"You still got a good sword out of it. That's what matters."

Raon pointed to the second blade hanging at Dorian's waist. In the end, Dorian had managed to receive a sword forged by Kuberad and walk out of the workshop with it.

"Well, that's true, but..."

"Still, you and I both have swords hanging off us everywhere. We look a bit ridiculous."

Raon was currently wearing the sword issued by House Zieghart, Kuberad's blade, and the Requiem Sword. Dorian had two swords of his own strapped on. Anyone who didn't know better would click their tongue and call it pretentious.

Hmph. You understand well. The hallmark of the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠weak is draping themselves in weapons. When This King was in the Demon Realm, This King would conquer an entire region with nothing but two bare hands...

Wrath was still scattering frost in every direction, apparently still fuming over the parasite remark from earlier. At any rate, he was getting long-winded, so Raon ignored him.

"Ah, well. It looks kind of cool, like we use dual swords. Huh?"

"Hm?"

Just as they were heading for Camelun's main gate, they came face-to-face with a knight order in silver armor. A lion emblem was emblazoned across each breastplate. The knights of Owen.

"Oh! We keep running into each other."

The blond-haired man at the head of the order waved cheerfully. It was Grier de Owen, Third Prince of Owen.

"So we do."

Raon clasped the hand Grier offered with a bright smile.

"Thanks to you, I was able to obtain an excellent sword. You have my thanks."

"Thank you as well!"

Dorian twisted at the waist so the sword he'd just acquired would show to better advantage.

"Looks like you found a decent blade."

The prince seemed amused by the display, and a gentle smile touched his mouth.

"Yes. I found a sword I'm quite pleased with. I never dreamed someone like him would be in a place like that."

"Indeed. Even if you'd grabbed him by the pants and tried to stop him, he still would have gone and set up shop there."

Grier glanced at the sword at his own waist and muttered that it was a shame.

"That aside, it went exactly as I expected."

"Pardon?"

"That man isn't the type to hand over a sword just because I recommended someone. He gave you that blade because he took a liking to you. You know how fierce a craftsman's pride can be."

Grier went on about how remarkable it was, how Raon was a swordsman he himself had acknowledged, his fingers twitching all the while. His body seemed to itch for a fight.

"Where are you headed?"

"North, for now."

"Then shall we travel together? We need to head north for a day ourselves."

He gestured at the knights behind him. Aside from Setun, who had once fought Burren to a draw, they were all unfamiliar faces.

"Very well."

It wasn't as if they were heading home, so it shouldn't matter—and since he'd obtained the Requiem Sword thanks to Grier, Raon wanted to share at least some of the story.

"A fine decision! The road won't be dull, then!"

"Your Highness."

A red-haired knight who had been watching from behind stepped up beside Grier.

"We are in the middle of a mission. Casually adding companions is..."

"This friend here is Raon. Raon Zieghart! He'll be a help if anything. There won't be any trouble."

"Hm? Raon?"

At the name Raon Zieghart, the knights' eyes changed. Gazes swept over his entire body the way a reptile sizes up its prey.

Raon met those looks without a flicker of expression. With the knights' abilities, they wouldn't be able to gauge his true martial power. At best, they'd put him at the peak of Sword User.

He, on the other hand, had read every one of their skill levels at a glance. Grier was a peak Sword User. The rest of the knights sat at the mid-to-low Expert level.

A faint disappointment flickered through the knights' eyes.

Just as I expected.

They clearly hadn't grasped his true strength, and had decided he was less than they'd heard.

Judging by appearances alone and not even hiding their expressions—they are unworthy of the name of knight.

They're still young. They'll change with more experience.

You aren't merely young—you're a child.

I'm a bit different.

You think yourself special? Special is a word for beings like This King. Born an Absolute, living as an Absolute—noble, elegant...

Haa.

No matter the situation, no matter the circumstances, Wrath couldn't rest until he'd sung his own praises. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Listening to it, Raon could only sigh.

"Then let us be off. Tell me how you received a sword from him, would you? I sent you there ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and found myself wondering about it ever since."

Grier beckoned them forward. Raon gave a short laugh and clapped Dorian on the shoulder.

"Let's go."

The VIP room on the fourth basement level of the black market—a place only high nobles, royalty, or renowned figures of the continent were permitted to enter.

Beneath muted lighting, a woman of aloof, elegant beauty sat with her legs crossed in a black dress. It was Jayna, princess of Valkar.

She was tapping the table with a fingertip, looking thoroughly bored, when the door opened and a woman with narrow eyes and violet hair cascading to her waist stepped inside.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

"For Lady Orien, the power behind Black Cloud, a wait like this is nothing."

Black Cloud was an information organization with branches stretching across the entire continent. Their reach was so extraordinary it was said that even the gods did not know what they did not know.

"The power behind it? Not at all."

The woman called Orien narrowed her eyes further and shook her head. She lowered her chin slightly and continued.

"Then I shall deliver the information you requested. Would you prefer I speak it here, or in writing...?"

"Tell me here, please."

"Understood."

Orien nodded and squared her shoulders.

"The direct descendant you named—Raon Zieghart—does not exist in this world."

"What?"

Jayna was so startled the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠informal speech slipped out before she could stop it.

"To put it another way: there is no one named Raon among Zieghart's direct line."

"Th-that can't be right."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Is this information accurate?"

She was so shaken she had forgotten even the speech a princess was supposed to maintain.

"It is."

Orien didn't so much as flinch. She only blinked.

"Zieghart is an extremely closed society, so we don't have a great deal of information—but we have identified the names and faces of the direct line, the high-ranking collaterals, and the vassal houses. There is no direct descendant named Raon in Zieghart."

"That's impossible. It doesn't make any sense!"

Jayna slammed her fist on the table and surged to her feet.

Was I bewitched?

Raon had radiated a domineering aura worthy of Zieghart's direct line, and he had demonstrated a friendship with Grier, the Third Prince of Owen.

What on earth happened?

Grier would not have lied. Even before meeting Raon, he had gone on and on about how the boy was Zieghart's divine prodigy, a genius of the sword, the one who would one day become family head.

Then he has to be a direct descendant. He definitely said he was a—wait?

Jayna swallowed dryly.

He didn't. Come to think of it, neither of them ever actually said he was a direct descendant!

They had simply let the atmosphere imply it. Not once had the words been spoken. It was so absurd a hollow laugh burst out of her.

Damn it all! He was a collateral!

That was the only explanation for this bizarre situation.

"Ha!"

The thought that she had bowed her head and apologized to a mere collateral made her breath come short. She wanted to grab him that instant and force him to his knees.

Jayna ground her teeth and glared at Orien sitting across from her.

That was the problem with Black Cloud. They never answered anything beyond the question you asked. They had surely known Raon was a collateral.

"One more question."

"That'll cost extra."

"I don't care."

Orien spread her hand as if to say, go on.

"Information on a collateral of Zieghart named Raon."

"Age fifteen. As you said, of collateral origin, currently serving as the trainee representative of Zieghart's 5th Training Ground. He defeated Grier de Owen, Third Prince of the Owen Kingdom, in a spar, and once suppressed a band of mountain bandits called the Snow Tiger Stronghold who were attempting to join the South-North Alliance. And..."

She offered a handful of lesser details besides, but from her lips not a single word about Eden emerged.

"Hoo..."

Jayna listened to all of it with a face gone flushed, then rose from her seat. She pulled a pouch of gold coins from her robes, tossed it onto the table, and smiled a cold little smile.

"You run quite the business."

"Thank you."

Orien accepted the sarcasm as a compliment and smiled sweetly.

"Hmph."

Jayna left the room and slammed the door hard enough to boom.

From far down the corridor, her voice came back, thick with rage.

"Fuuuuuck!"

"A collateral of Zieghart who played the treasured princess of Valkar... how interesting."

Orien flicked her fingers, and the black shadow beneath the lamplight rippled.

Her crimson lips traced a line as graceful as a crescent moon.

"This one actually feels like the real deal. It's been a while."

A low hill a day's distance from Camelun.

Raon, Grier, and Dorian sat before a campfire that melted the chilly night air.

With the knights gone on patrol, Raon judged the moment right and told Grier he had obtained a demonic sword.

He only got the first sentence out. Dorian did the rest of the talking.

"I saw it with my own eyes and still couldn't believe it. Red demonic energy unfurled from the sword like octopus tentacles..."

"Ohh. That must have been something."

"You should have seen it yourself. The master craftsman and I were so startled we fell over backward. I'd only ever heard of demonic swords—I'd never seen one."

"Hah..."

Raon shook his head. Dorian had been eating snacks the whole time—what was there to be surprised about?

"And at the end, when Young Master said, 'Come with me!', the sword let out this ringing cry—it was like a scene from a painting!"

"Whoa!"

Grier's eyes lit up and a gasp of wonder slipped out of him. As expected, that man was better suited to being a knight or a hero than a prince.

"An extraordinary experience. I find myself envious."

Grier's gaze shone as it fell on the Requiem Sword hanging behind Raon's waist. He didn't carelessly ask to see it, though. He was a man who knew courtesy, that much was certain.

"Though it's a sorrowful tale as well. The White Blood Cult's wickedness is spreading across the entire continent."

"It is."

Raon nodded. Given the nature of religious organizations, they spread quickly—there was hardly a place on the continent without their followers.

"In truth, our mission is related to the White Blood Cult as well."

Grier tapped the lion-emblazoned sword at his side.

"Pardon?"

"We're transporting an item that was in a White Blood Cult branch back to our kingdom. That's why the knights are out there..."

"Hold on."

Raon cut Grier off and rose to his feet. Dozens of presences were approaching from the distance.

"Wh-what is it?"

"Someone is coming this way."

"I-it isn't the knights?"

Already terrified, Dorian's pupils swung like pendulums.

"The numbers are different. And the knights have sensed it too—they're on their way back. Your Highness. Arm yourself."

"Understood."

Grier seemed to trust him; he pulled on his helmet at once and stood.

"Your Highness!"

"We're in trouble! The White Blood Cult is—wait?"

The knights who arrived a moment later rounded their eyes at the sight of Raon and the prince already prepared for battle.

"Huh? You knew an attack was coming?"

"Raon informed me. Is it the White Blood Cult?"

"Ah—yes."

The knights stared at Raon, dumbfounded, their faces plainly wondering how he had known.

"There are over fifty cultists, five priests, and one bishop!"

"Mm..."

Grier listened to the eerie sound of the entire forest seeming to move, and set his hand on his sword hilt.

"All hands, prepare for battle!"

"Prepare for battle!"

The knights roared their acknowledgment and formed a wall in front of the prince.

"I'm sorry about this. Had I known, I wouldn't have asked you to come along."

Grier turned back to Raon and Dorian and let out a sigh.

"I never imagined they would dare strike within Camelun and Owen's sphere of influence."

"It's fine."

Raon shook his head and stepped up into line with the knights.

They're after the item, then.

The prince had said they were transporting something belonging to the White Blood Cult. The ones coming were after that object—there was no doubt.

A grotesque shuffle of footsteps, and White Blood Cultists in pitch-black coats that hung from head to toe burst from the forest.

Some of those black coats bore a single white stripe, others two. Priests and a bishop. Martial power far superior to ordinary cultists rolled off them.

"Gyaaaaah! I-it's actually them!"

Dorian screamed at the White Blood Cult's appearance. His teeth chattered, but somehow he didn't fall back.

"Hoo..."

Raon let out a thin breath and set his hand on the new sword he had obtained.

Didn't think I'd be keeping that promise this soon.

The world truly worked in mysterious ways, he thought, and was about to draw his blade when—

You want me to draw you?

The vibration intensified, as if to say that was exactly right.

You want to take your revenge with your own power...

Raon nodded. He himself had no intention of leaving his revenge against Derus Robert to anyone else. Feeling they understood each other perfectly, he drew the Requiem Sword.