A Sword Kinder Than a King

Raon narrowed his eyes as he read the message.

Purified blood energy, huh…

Not ordinary blood energy—purified blood energy. It seemed the Requiem Sword had consumed the sinister force clinging to that power and was offering him what remained: a concentrated, refined essence.

It's genuinely pure.

The energy the Requiem Sword had offered was of a higher purity than even the mana sealed inside a mana stone. An auspicious power that would do him no harm whatsoever.

I'll take it.

The moment he dropped the wall of aura he had been holding in place, the energy the Requiem Sword had offered began to seep into his body. A power as clear and clean as morning dew raced along his mana circuits and spread through every inch of him.

A cool, concentrated energy flooded his entire body. He clenched his fist at the rush of exhilaration that came with it.

But the messages were not finished.

A new window bloomed before his eyes, announcing the birth of a trait.

Raon's eyes lit up as he read the description.

Not bad at all.

Simply using a sword steeped in demonic energy had been draining his mental energy and aura at a vicious rate. With this trait, he would have a little more room to breathe whenever he fought with the Requiem Sword in hand.

"Hold it."

Just as Raon was nodding in satisfaction, Wrath shot up in front of his face. The eyes submerged in blue frost were twisted in outrage.

"Why has a trait come into being?"

You said it yourself before. The system moves in ways that benefit me. It made that trait for my sake, because I use the Requiem Sword.

"And how do you think that trait was forged? It was This King! It is obvious they siphoned the power from This King's true body!"

Probably. Why ask something so obvious?

"Grrrk!"

Wrath ground his teeth. Frost thick with rage crawled up over the blue flames that wreathed him.

No matter how I look at it, this is convenient.

As Raon closed the messages he had been reviewing, the Requiem Sword gave a faint vibration. It was a gentle motion, as if the blade were saying it looked forward to getting along from now on.

Asking me to take care of you, are you?

The Requiem Sword let out a clear, ringing hum, as if to say he had it right.

Unlike Parasite Number One, you actually help. I'll take back calling you Parasite Number Two. I look forward to working with you, too.

The Requiem Sword trembled, as if in thanks.

"Th-This King is Parasite Number One? You are the parasite! You are a leech who sucks This King's power down to the very marrow!"

I see.

"GRAAAAAH!"

Raon's slick reply sent Wrath howling, rage and frost exploding off him at once. A volcanic burst of blue cold came crashing down, fury riding on its back, and the wrath Raon had absorbed before flared up like banked coals, crushing down on his mind.

"Hhk…"

A vicious pain, as if thousands of needles were driving into every pore. Wrath was recovering his strength just as Raon himself was growing. Raon exhaled slowly against it and cycled the Ring of Fire and the Cultivation of Ten ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Thousand Flames.

As the caliber of his soul rose and heat swept through his entire body, the pain transmitted by Wrath's fury and frost began to ease, if only a little.

They're a perfect counter, no question.

The Ring of Fire and the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames were the only shield that could stand against Wrath, who wielded frost and rage like blades.

"Offer This King that body and that soul!"

Not a chance.

The pain-rending agony made the hair on his arms stand on end, but he smiled as if it were nothing. He was still enduring that savage pain, cold sweat running down his face, when a message appeared as if it had been waiting for exactly this.

Stats, rising as the price of weathering fury and frost.

"This damned—! This King's stats have been stolen again! Again!"

Wrath leapt in place and burst out of Raon's body, grinding his teeth as he glared at the message as if it were an affront to reason itself.

Not you.

Raon pretended to push his hair back and wiped the sweat that had run down his brow.

I still can't let my guard down.

For all the easy words, his back was soaked through. Wrath gave generously, yes—but the being's true body was a monarch of the Demon Realm. He could never afford to relax.

At first I thought you two were the same. I was wrong.

"What are you talking about?"

The Requiem Sword is far kinder than you.

Raon snorted at Wrath and carefully wiped the Requiem Sword's blade clean.

"Kinder? What about that thing is kind? It is a worm that tried to seize your flesh!"

It had a change of heart. That already makes it different from you, who still wants to swallow me whole however you can.

"That thing is no different. Had it been as strong as This King, it would never have given up. It would still be hunting you."

The Requiem Sword vibrated its blade as if to protest that this was not so.

It's telling you not to lump it in with you.

"Before long This King shall smash not only you, but that demonic sword as well."

Wrath poured out a vicious cold and glared down at the Requiem Sword.

If that means more stat points, I'll take them gladly.

"Nngh. Even without This King, you will not die a peaceful death. You are the sort of human who makes enemies wherever you go."

The only enemy I have is you.

There was a true enemy he had to kill no matter what—but he did not speak that name aloud.

"Swordsman Raon."

He had just finished wiping the Requiem Sword and was about to sheathe it when Grier approached, a black cloth bundle in his hands. He still did not look much like a prince. He smiled and bowed his head.

"I owe you my life. You have my thanks once more."

"Not at all. I had my own score to settle with those people."

"So you did."

When Raon showed him the Requiem Sword, Grier nodded.

"I thought it merely leaked a trickle of demonic energy, but it surpassed all common sense. I have never seen a sword like that."

"Neither have I. The grudges in it were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stronger than I expected."

"Will you be all right? I have heard that a demonic sword will bite even its own master…"

"It has fully accepted me as its master now."

"With power like that, I suppose it would. A martial might that commands admiration."

He grinned and said he would work even harder to catch up. A refreshingly straightforward man, as ever.

"Now that we are comrades, I suppose I can show you this."

From the black cloth he had brought, Grier drew a white orb about the size of a child's head.

"This is…"

"A relic of the White Blood Cult branch we were transporting. As you know, when the White Blood Cult raids a village, they drink half the people dry on the spot and abduct the rest. We believe they use this orb to move the kidnapped to the White Blood Cult's main headquarters."

His eyes were bright with expectation as he looked at the orb.

The Requiem Sword shuddered at Grier's words. It felt like a hunger for vengeance, and at the same time a hope that anyone who might still be alive would be saved.

Huh.

Raon looked at the Requiem Sword with a flicker of wonder.

That's something.

Even after becoming a demonic sword, it still wanted to save people. It was a glimpse of how warm-hearted the villagers of Siren must have been.

"Young Master."

Dorian, who had been staring blankly at the humming Requiem Sword, lifted his head.

"Where did you learn dagger techniques? I'd never seen you use them before, but that was no joke."

"Mm, true enough."

"It was a systematized dagger art."

At that, Grier ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and the knights turned as well. They looked curious about what swordsmanship it had been, and how he had learned it.

"…I learned it from Instructor Rimer."

"Ah!"

"That explains it."

"If it was him, that tracks."

Dorian, the prince, and the knights all accepted it without a ripple, agreeing that if it was Rimer, of course he would have learned dagger techniques as well.

This excuse works everywhere, too.

Raon gave a short huff of a laugh and fastened the Requiem Sword at the small of his back.

Noon the next day.

A blue-haired young man sat perched on a slender tree branch. His gaze was sharp, his mouth set in a firm line. He looked as if a pine tree had taken human form.

The man radiating a lofty presence like a single unsheathed blade was Borini Kitten, third team leader of the Owen Kingdom's Silver Knights, and a name listed among the Continental Twelve Stars.

His brown eyes caught Raon and Grier as they arrived at the fork in the road. The two exchanged farewells and went their separate ways.

"Hrm."

Borini's gaze followed not the third prince he was meant to protect, but Raon's back.

He had me figured out, no question.

Yesterday, when the White Blood Cultists had ambushed the third prince's party, Borini's energy had wavered for an instant—and Raon had not missed that fleeting moment. He had pinpointed Borini's position at once.

What a monster of a kid.

Once he had determined that Borini was not an enemy, Raon had poured all his focus into dealing with the White Blood Cult. It was the judgment and concentration of a veteran knight who had survived a great deal of real combat.

Even more astonishing were those dagger techniques.

The prince had told him that Raon Zieghart was a genius of the sword, but Borini had never imagined the boy had trained in daggers as well. And it had not been some clumsy, half-learned dagger work. The blade paths he had shown were as practiced as if he had cut them thousands—tens of thousands—of times.

That last strike was a masterpiece.

A sword stroke that condensed demonic energy and aura into a single cut. Its ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠power and its range had reached the level of Expert Peak-Class.

"And…"

The prince and the knights who had been standing there would not have known it, but Borini, watching from a distance, had felt it with certainty. The sword Raon Zieghart had unfolded was not a mere technique. It was a sword dance—art made with a blade. A dance both beautiful and sorrowful, so steeped in grudges that for a moment even Borini's chest had stirred.

"Raon Zieghart…"

When the third prince had called him a true genius, Borini had not particularly believed it. That assessment had not contained a shred of falsehood.

He had entered the Silver Knights, called the finest in the kingdom—no, the finest on the continent—and had seen people of every kind of talent. He had never seen a child like that.

"Heh."

Borini Kitten watched Raon's receding back and smiled, faintly.

"In a few years, another rising star may well be born in Zieghart."

After taking the dimensional gate, Raon and Dorian traveled for two weeks and arrived at Judian Forest, near Habun Castle.

One more day of travel from here, and they would be able to enter Habun Castle, known as one of the hells of the North.

"Urgh…"

Dorian lay on a folding cot he had pulled from his Belly Pouch, his teeth chattering. Even with the heat of the campfire and a thick blanket, the trembling would not stop.

"I-I'm gonna die. I'm really going to die!"

"You're not going to die."

Raon shook his head as he wiped down the Requiem Sword.

"If you do what you were taught and what you're capable of, it's a trial you can get through."

Rimer was not a man who assigned the impossible. The fact that he had sent them here meant it was a test they could overcome. Of course, there were exceptions—like the Blood-Crazed Demon.

"Right?"

The Requiem Sword rang out a clear note, as if in agreement. Over the course of two weeks, it had built a modest rapport not only with Raon but with Dorian as well.

"I know that, but I'm scared! What am I supposed to do about being scared!"

Dorian set a glow-lamp from his Belly Pouch by his pillow and burrowed into the blanket.

A bed and a glow-lamp on a camping trip—an outrageous luxury. Though thanks to that, Raon was sleeping comfortably too.

"Done."

Raon finished polishing the Requiem Sword and slid it back into its sheath.

"Ahem!"

Wrath popped out of the bracelet with a cough, as if something about all this sat poorly with him.

"Have you not been treating that worm too well of late?"

Treating it well?

"You have. You wipe it down once a day, and you speak to it at regular intervals."

Well. It helps.

Even when told it was unnecessary, the Requiem Sword used its demonic energy to find prey like deer, and it spotted bandits first and gave warning.

"Th-that much is something you could do yourself, is it not?"

Even so, it's grateful when something does it for me.

His own senses were sharper, that was true—but the fact that it handled those things on its own was more than enough to earn his thanks.

It's been teaching me how to use demonic energy, too.

The Requiem Sword had been showing him better ways to wield demonic energy, and how to adapt to it. When it was picking only the good deeds, wiping it down often and talking to it was only natural.

"Wield a paltry power like demonic energy and you only drop in rank."

Even if my rank drops, I still have to get stronger.

Raon smiled thinly and shoved Wrath aside as the demon king pouted.

It was not as if he were shutting Wrath out—but the more he talked with the Requiem Sword and the closer they became, the more restless Wrath grew.

The Requiem Sword burst into a ringing hum, as if mocking Wrath as he poured out frost.

"A worthless worm dares—!"

Don't.

The instant Wrath tried to crush the Requiem Sword under a wave of frost, Raon used the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames to block the demon king's energy.

"Why are you stopping This King!"

You picked the fight first.

"This King is a monarch of the Demon Realm! This King cannot simply stand by while a mere demonic sword dares to defy—"

I'm going to sleep. Be quiet.

"Ghk!"

Raon shoved Wrath forcibly back into the bracelet and lay down on the folding cot. He felt the softness, turned onto his side, and closed his eyes.

He was slowly evening his breath as if settling into sleep when Wrath popped out of the bracelet again. His presence was a little more deflated than before.

"Are you asleep?"

Not yet.

"Then…"

Wrath swallowed dryly and went on.

"Sh-shall This King teach you a little about how to use frost?"

Raon, still facing away, smiled faintly.

The monarch of the Demon Realm had taken the bait in just two weeks.