The Seventh Ring

The instant Raon opened his eyes, a gleam like sunlight flashed through his pupils.

He laid a hand over the left side of his chest. Seven rings spinning fiercely around his heart told him that none of it had been a dream.

"It's finally complete…"

A new ring. The seventh ring, wrung out of him through sheer mental strain, now circled his heart.

It was a razor-thin margin.

Forging the sixth ring had been hard enough, but this time had been something else entirely. The hours themselves hadn't been that many, yet he'd soaked his whole body in cold sweat. If he'd failed, he would have been laid up for days.

A low, resonant hum rolled out from his heart. Raon listened to it and slowly let out a breath.

The aura first, then.

The seven rings began purifying the energy of the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames and Glacia inside his dantian even more thoroughly than before. He'd thought the purity was already perfect at six rings. Apparently there had still been somewhere higher to go.

My senses have changed too.

His five senses—sight and hearing among them—and the range of the aura-sense he felt through his energy had all climbed another full step. It felt as if the very flow of the world had shifted once more.

The foundation's gotten that much sturdier.

Raising his achievement in the Ring of Fire didn't instantly lift his martial realm, but it broadened and deepened the ground from which he could climb higher, and faster. It could become the foothold that carried him past Master and beyond. A smile rose to his lips of its own accord.

"It's strange, though."

Whenever he tried to forge a new ring, the Ring of Fire threw a vicious, territorial fit. But the moment the ring was complete, it welcomed the newcomer with warmth. Even now, the six older rings rang out in a clear, bright tone, as if greeting the seventh.

Raon smiled, savoring the resonance.

"At least it finished quickly. That's a relief."

He'd lost track of time in the middle of it, but he wasn't hungry and he wasn't sleepy, so it felt like only about two days had passed.

"Quickly?"

Wrath wriggled up from the ice-flower bracelet.

"You finished quiiiiickly?"

He shoved his face in close, grinding his teeth.

"You were sprawled out for a week and you dare call that fast?"

"A week?"

"That's right! You didn't so much as twitch from that spot for an entire week!"

"Is that so?"

He hadn't been taking elixirs or circulating aura. He'd only been refining the rings. He never would have guessed a full week had gone by.

So a person can concentrate that hard.

It was the first time he'd ever held his focus at that intensity. He'd clearly been underestimating human potential. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The discovery that there was still a path further up set his chest pounding.

"This King… This King…"

Wrath trembled, his round little fists shaking with outrage.

"This King didn't get to eat a single meal for a week! Not even one!"

"Ah…"

The words that burst out of Wrath didn't stray even a hair from what Raon had expected. He'd been feeling it all along, but this Demon Lord's gluttony was the real thing—not a shred of pretense in it. That only made it more astonishing.

"I kept every food promise I made to you, though…"

"Silence!"

Wrath lifted two fingers. It looked like a threat to gouge Raon's eyes out if he said one more word.

"Do you know this?"

"Know… what?"

"Your maids set food down in front of the door at every mealtime."

He pointed at the gap beneath the door, lips pressed tight.

"Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and two snacks in between! There were five meals a day sitting right behind that door, and This King missed every last one of them! Thirty-five meals vanished before This King's very eyes!"

Wrath clutched his head and started shaking it. Moisture seemed to well at the corners of his eyes.

"The sorrow of being hungry, of smelling food and being unable to eat it. Do you have any idea what that despair is like? Hell! Yes. It was hell itself!"

Hell is your house, though…

Ah, the Demon Realm? Well, hell and the Demon Realm are close enough.

Watching a Demon Lord wail over skipped meals, Raon couldn't help a dry laugh.

"You're laughing? You're laughing right now? You tortured the Lord of Wrath and now you're curling your lips?"

Wrath ground his teeth until they squeaked.

"This King has never been this furious. If This King couldn't see it, This King could have endured! But it was right there, and it smelled! For your information, yesterday was pineapple pizza! Pi. Ne. Ap. Ple!"

"Ah, sorry about that."

Raon raised both hands as if in prayer.

"There's something that's going to annoy you even more."

"Nonsense! There is nothing in this world that could make This King angrier than—"

Before Wrath could finish, a message bloomed in front of Raon's eyes.

The rewards for completing the Ring of Fire filled his vision.

"Guh—!"

The eyes of Wrath, who had just been muttering that nothing could make him angrier, bulged as if they might pop from his skull.

"I made some decent progress over the week. I figured these would show up, of course."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Raon smiled as he looked over the messages. Completing a new Ring of Fire had raised both his stats and the grades of his traits. He felt it every time, but Wrath himself was a walking treasure trove.

"Krrrgh…"

Veins stood out on Wrath's forehead, and frost coiled with rage began to blaze up over his shoulders.

Raon assumed the little Demon Lord would lunge, and he was about to set the now-seven rings in motion—but Wrath only bit his lip and didn't move.

"Don't tell me you're holding it in?"

"D-do not take This King lightly. This King will not do you any more favors!"

"Wrath has learned Patience."

"Silence!"

The moment Raon said it in the system's cadence, another vein crawled up Wrath's brow.

"No, that was the right call."

If he resonated all seven Rings of Fire at once, nothing Wrath did would mean a thing. If the Demon Lord had charged in the way he usually did, it would only have generated more stats.

Still, the irony of the Demon Lord of Wrath swallowing his own wrath was enough to make Raon laugh.

"If you have even a shred of conscience, go out this instant and eat a meal! Pizza, preferably. Pineapple and shrimp pizza would be best."

Wrath growled, even rattling off a detailed order. Truly a ridiculous creature.

"Sorry, but no."

Raon pointed at the window, where moonlight was pouring in.

"Everyone's asleep. I'd wake them."

"They're all your subordinates, are they not? Wake them!"

"They're not my subordinates, and I have no intention of waking them."

He waved Wrath ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠off, shooing him back.

"We'll eat something good as soon as the sun's up tomorrow. Just hold on a little longer."

"This King held on for a week! How is This King supposed to hold on any longer?"

"Then I've got a good method."

"It'll be more of your lunacy, hmph!"

Wrath snorted, as if to say don't even try to be funny.

"Even if it's a way to reclaim your lost week of meals?"

"R-reclaim a week's worth of meals? What method?"

The instant Raon mentioned reclaiming the week, Wrath bounced up like a rabbit.

Raon smiled and unwrapped the cloth bundle on the table. Seven round, well-baked brown loaves came into view.

"Nadin Bread. Eat just one and you're full for a whole day. Seven of these and you can reclaim that lost week."

"Hoooo…"

The light died in Wrath's eyes, and a pitch-black darkness began to seethe there.

"You are a human who should not exist in this world…"

He raised the rage and frost he had been holding down to a scale Raon had never seen, and charged.

"DIIIIIIE!"

That night, Raon's stats rose by an additional two points.

Soft moonlight spilled into the office of the Robert Clan Lord's Palace.

Derus Robert's hand, which had been processing documents with mechanical precision, came to a dead stop. His cold gaze dropped to the back of the hand holding the quill.

A bead of bright red blood welled from the sword-scar on the back of that seemingly frozen hand and dripped onto the papers. The blood spread across the white page, blotting out ink that had not yet dried.

"It's gotten… bigger?"

Derus narrowed his eyes at the wound. The mark left when the dog he'd raised had bitten him—a mark that had not faded in twenty years—seemed, ever so slightly, to have grown.

There's pain, too…

Until now, even when blood had fallen from it, he had felt no real pain. Today, a fairly sharp ache had risen with it.

They called it a curse.

To erase this wound he had seen priests, healers, mages, even shamans. Not one of them had been able to heal it. They had said a deep curse was lodged in it, that it would never fade in his lifetime, and that the only way to resolve it was to undo the grudge of the one who had placed it.

But the one who had laid that curse—Raon—was dead, and even the corpse had been burned. Derus had dismissed it, thinking a curse laid by something as paltry as a soul was meaningless. Today, for the first time, that wound had split open.

Has the curse grown stronger?

The last shaman he'd met had mentioned in passing that as a curse intensified, the wound might enlarge. It seemed the curse Raon had left in this scar had grown more venomous.

"Interesting. So the grudge ran deep enough to torment me even after death."

Derus licked the blood running from the sword-scar with his tongue and curled the corner of his mouth.

He laid a hand on the document. The white paper burned to ash in an instant—a curious trick that touched neither the desk nor the other papers, incinerating only the one the blood had stained.

"Matio."

At Derus's gesture, a black shadow surged up from the floor. It rippled like a moonlit lake, then shaped itself into a man in black night-clothes, his face hidden behind a mask. He prostrated himself before Derus without a word.

"What of the information on Raon Zieghart?"

"A line has been connected in the north. We are compiling intelligence from the Shadows along with what was observed at the Gazelle River and in Lohengrin's Dungeon."

"You said he ambushed the Fourth Apostle in Lohengrin's Dungeon and killed him, did you not?"

"He did not kill him, but he is said to have inflicted a fatal wound."

"Right. That's what it was. An ambush, was it…"

Derus nodded, a faint smile on his lips.

"Tell the Shadows in the north."

He looked at the wound on the back of his hand and curled his mouth.

"Treat intelligence on Raon Zieghart at the same grade as Glenn Zieghart."

"Th-the same grade as Glenn, my lord?"

"He is worth that much."

Raon Zieghart was a monster who, at eighteen, had taken the head of Tiller of the South-North Alliance and shattered the Fourth Apostle's heart. He was not some rumored prospect swollen with hearsay. He was a being who actually moved the balance of the continent, and that made gathering information on him worthwhile.

"Understood."

Matio bowed, then melted back into shadow the way he had appeared and vanished.

"Hrm."

Derus turned his chair and looked at the moonlight pouring through the window.

"Raon. What are you, really? A mere genius? Or…"

Raon packed away a lavish breakfast until Wrath's rage had more or less drained off, then headed for the training ground.

When he opened the door, the swordsmen of the Light Wind Squad were throwing themselves into morning drills.

"Huh?"

"Raon!"

"The acting squad leader's here!"

"Right on time. Exactly a week."

The moment they saw him, the members of the Light Wind Squad waved. From the smiles at the corners of their mouths, they all seemed confident in the progress they'd made.

"They've definitely…"

Raon met their eyes and smiled faintly.

They've earned that confidence.

They had trained themselves half to death. Every one of them was a different person from a week ago. They'd rested properly as well—their eyes were clear, and strength ran through their whole bodies. Not a single one of them was snarling like a mad dog.

Beating the Battle Demon Squad must have stoked their fire even hotter.

A week ago they'd been sleepless and exhausted, too addled to think. After resting, they would have realized they'd actually defeated the Battle Demon Squad, and the hunger would have taken hold. The joy of victory intoxicated the mind more thoroughly than any drug.

Raon savored the Light Wind Squad's fierce presence as he climbed onto the platform and took his place beside Dokoe.

"Chief Manager. Thank you for your hard work."

"They're a handful, but it wasn't bad."

Dokoe nodded, apparently having found the time reasonably satisfying himself.

"Where did the squad leader go?"

"No idea. Haven't seen so much as the tip of his nose."

"I see."

That was just the kind of man he was, so it wasn't even surprising. Raon nodded, figuring he was off gambling somewhere.

He stood at the edge of the platform and looked over the eyes of the Light Wind Squad's swordsmen. From those pupils, where a clean current of energy ran, he could feel a grave will and real strength.

"You've all done well. This is more than I expected."

"Wooooooo!"

When he smiled and nodded, the entire Light Wind Squad erupted in cheers.

"Raon's insanely handsome again."

Runaan let out a breath of relief, her vacant eyes half-lidded.

"So the bastard does have a conscience."

Marta snorted a laugh and laced her fingers behind her head. She was playing it cool, but a bead of sweat rolled down her brow—she'd been anxious after all.

"I-I'm still on the hook… right?"

Burren, who had been locked into extra training from the very start, hung his head, his face ashen.

"It's finally over!"

"Ahhh, we made it! We actually made it!"

"Worth not dying for."

"Ugh, I really thought I was going to die."

"Getting stronger is fine and all, but a person needs some rest."

The Light Wind Squad's swordsmen bloomed into smiles, convinced the hellish training was finished.

"Acting squad leader, what have you been doing?"

Dorian raised a hand, his complexion as bright as his hair. Sweet laughter sat on his lips; he clearly thought the training was all over.

"Good question."

Raon nodded at him.

"I didn't leave my room for a week."

"You didn't have to take the confinement that far."

"Right? You can walk around inside the Annex as much as you want."

"He's always so rigid."

The squad members shook their heads, calling him too by-the-book.

"That's not it. I was so focused on cultivation I lost all sense of time. A week passed, but it felt like not even a day. And because of that, I realized something."

Raon looked into each of their eyes in turn, the corners of his mouth lifting.

"That focus and stamina have no limit. That above the mountaintop you think is the end, there is always somewhere higher."

"Uh…"

"Hm?"

"That's…"

The Light Wind Squad rolled their eyes, sensing that something had gone terribly wrong.

"Fire only blazes high when the kindling is good. I failed to be proper firewood for you."

Raon closed his fist. He wanted the Light Wind Squad to feel the same extreme focus and exhilaration he had tasted while forging the Ring of Fire.

"D-do you not possess a human heart?"

Wrath caught Raon's intent first and started trembling at the jaw.

"Wh-what the hell is that bastard saying right now!"

"I-it sounds like he's saying we're training more?"

"Raon?"

Marta, Burren, and Runaan swallowed dryly at the chilling look in Raon's eyes.

"I promise you. From today, I will help you drag your limits to the extreme. Our goal is simple."

Raon raised his index finger straight up.

"Expert Low-Class to Mid-Class. Mid-Class to High-Class. High-Class to Peak. In the three months until the new year, you will break every limit you have."

"……"

Silence flooded the training ground. Even the air seemed to stop. Only ragged breathing leaked from here and there.

Then came the sound of swords leaving their scabbards. Not practice blades—thirty live swords drawn as one.

"Kill him. We have to kill him right now."

"If we don't kill him, we're the ones who die…"

"Three months? We'll be dried-up corpses in three days…"

"Grrrr…"

"Rrrgh!"

The Light Wind Squad glared up at Raon, their killing intent climbing. Plenty of them were snarling like beasts, as if they'd been thrown back a week.

The ground shuddered. Burren dropped into a Frostwind Sword stance. Marta hauled up her Titan aura at full force. The frost Runaan bloomed began to freeze the floor in silver.

"Aaaagh! I don't want to die!"

Dorian yanked a three-meter harpoon—the kind used for hunting large monsters—out of his belly pouch and set it up.

"Uwaaaaaah!"

"Kill him!"

"We have to kill him no matter what!"

Raon watched the Light Wind Squad scream and charge, and resonated all seven Rings of Fire. He smiled, nodding in satisfaction.

"Voluntary participation is always welcome."

Lohengrin's Dungeon, whose entrance and exit Raon had smashed so that no one could get in.

On the lowest floor, where Loengrin's white bones still remained, the hard click of dress shoes rang out.

Click. Click. Click.

With those sharp footsteps, a figure cloaked in a black robe came to a stop before the laboratory.

A snow-white hand rose, and the stone wall that could be opened only with Glacia vanished, revealing the laboratory beyond.

The robed figure stepped inside, drew a deep breath, and let it out. From within the robe that had been nothing but darkness, a pair of blue eyes gleamed.

"Wrath?"