Chapter 24
Chapter 24
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 24
Chapter Title: Re-creation
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A moment later.
The situation was quickly sorted out.
"Evacuate the wounded first!"
"The rest of you, secure the perimeter!"
Under Elena Sobkov's command, the remaining troops moved with crisp efficiency.
The wounded Max and Jillian had already been carried away.
"Huu..."
Right there in the center, Damian caught his breath in ragged gasps.
Gulp! Gulp!
He pulled a stamina recovery potion from his pouch and downed it in one go.
The bitter medicine burned down his throat.
'Finally... feeling alive again.'
Vitality surged through his exhausted body.
His aching muscles regained their strength.
"Hup!"
He'd rested enough.
Damian sprang to his feet.
His gaze naturally drifted to one spot.
The enemy he'd just fought with his life on the line.
'Troll Berserker.'
It lay there in its gruesome final form, roaring until the very end.
But to Damian's eyes, it was nothing more than loot.
'Gotta grab what I can.'
Without hesitation, he strode toward the corpse.
'Molars first.'
The first thing that caught his eye: massive molars.
They'd fetch a good price at the exchange office.
Crack!
He yanked out the right one with a swift tug.
A heavy weight settled in his grip.
'Next, the shield.'
The troll's enormous shield came into view.
'Not even a scratch from my One Flash.'
The lack of damage on the shield had nothing to do with the troll berserker's toughness.
It meant the shield itself was extraordinarily special.
'Can't use it as is.'
It was made for a hulking troll.
Far too big for Damian.
'Gotta repurpose it as material.'
His buckler had been smashed anyway.
He needed a new one.
Perfect timing.
'Anything else?'
He checked the pouch at its waist.
Even the inside of the crude iron armor.
But nothing else worthwhile.
'That's it, huh.'
Just as disappointment set in.
"Sir Damian."
A voice from behind.
It was Mikhail's daughter, Elena Sobkov.
She looked at him with complex eyes.
"First off, thank you sincerely. Thanks to you, we saved two new knights and countless territory folk."
Genuine gratitude.
But her expression remained grave.
"That said, this incident is far from trivial. A high-tier entity like a troll berserker crossing the mountains isn't common."
"So I heard. Especially pushing this far into the rear..."
"It's one of the rarest events in Sobkov history."
Something ominous was afoot.
"So, I'd like to hear the details once we're back."
No reason to refuse.
'Hunt's over anyway, and I've got plenty to do.'
Test the new abilities.
Repair broken weapons and gear.
Craft a new buckler from the troll shield.
And settle the pile of molars and totems.
"Sure thing."
Damian nodded.
The day that had brushed death faded into dusk.
"Rest up. I have matters to discuss with Father first."
"Got it."
Protocol mattered.
Damian nodded readily.
Though rest wasn't on his mind, as she'd said.
'Thanks to the troll's regeneration? Body feels light.'
Of course, human flesh had limits.
Especially monster traits like brute strength or regeneration.
But even a fraction was plenty.
Hadn't he recovered fully already?
Injuries and stamina, all of it.
'Could test right now.'
Damian's steps led to the training grounds.
He wanted to try out the new power.
'User, Expert, Master.'
That's how people classified sword realms.
Sense and wield mana: Sword User.
Perfectly fuse it into swordsmanship: Expert.
Beyond that, transcendent: Sword Master.
But experiencing it firsthand, he knew.
'All meaningless distinctions.'
Just convenient labels.
Even among Sword Users, the differences were vastly subdivided and distinct.
The world of martial arts couldn't be boxed into such broad categories. He'd felt it keenly.
In that sense, he was exceptionally unique.
'Shaky foundation.'
Sensing and breathing techniques: low-grade.
Yet.
'Physicals and skills: abnormally high.'
Body honed by countless devourings.
Techniques and experience stolen from the strong.
They filled the gap in mana control.
'Definitely not normal.'
Weak base.
But the tower built atop it was grotesquely tall.
'That's why I need it even more.'
A solid foundation to bear this abnormal body.
'Primitive Mana Breathing.'
It might be the answer.
Damian closed his eyes and focused on his breath.
Exactly as the troll berserker had breathed.
'...!'
The difference hit immediately.
Fundamentally unlike lowest mana breathing.
'Rough.'
Not refined, stable human breath.
Crude, savage, violent beast's gasp.
Crunch!
Ambient mana was sucked into his body.
Forced in, churning through his veins.
'Primitive.'
True to its name.
Raw, unrefined power.
The moment it seeped into his flesh.
Astonishing changes began.
Crunch-crack!
Muscles swelled visibly across his body.
tendons tensed, joints locked tight.
'This is...'
Not mere enhancement.
Forcing his body beyond limits with explosive force.
'Let's test it.'
Damian grabbed a training sword from the corner of the grounds.
His eyes fixed on a straw dummy clad in dented iron armor.
A sturdy target built to mimic real combat.
'Here goes.'
Damian kicked off the ground.
Whoosh!
Explosive acceleration from Primitive Mana Breathing.
"Haaap!"
He swung the sword with full power.
Mana-boosted strength and speed loaded into the blunt blade.
Boom!
Only dust remained where the dummy had stood.
The iron armor crumpled, its innards shattered.
"Huuu..."
Damian exhaled slowly.
A thrilling buzz from the sword tip.
'Didn't expect this much.'
Ridiculous destructive power.
Even nimbler movements.
'Now I get it.'
Where that troll berserker's monstrous strength came from.
Of course, he couldn't unleash 100% of it, but it was satisfying enough.
'And the last one.'
Not just Primitive Mana Breathing.
One more.
'Berserk.'
The name gave it away.
The power that kept it moving even with a spear through its heart.
'Lose reason, driven by pure destruction instinct.'
Powerful, yet dangerous.
Might lose his mind forever.
'Only consider for dire need.'
No testing it.
Damian moved on.
Still much to do.
'Next up...'
The forge.
Plenty on the docket.
Repair weapons and gear, craft new buckler.
Didn't forget the troll shield loot.
Clang! Clang! Claaang!
Hammer echoes from afar.
Heat and metal scent wafting.
Damian entered the forge.
"Hey, mercenary."
The smith hammering at the anvil called out.
Coppery skin, muscled build.
Classic smith look.
"Here for repairs?"
"Mind if I use the forge?"
"...What?"
The smith blinked in disbelief.
Borrow the forge?
Not a commission?
"You gonna do it yourself?"
"That's right."
"Ha!"
The smith scoffed.
"This ain't for amateurs. Don't hurt yourself or ruin good gear. Just leave what needs fixing."
Damian didn't reply.
Instead, he placed something on the workbench.
Thud!
The troll berserker's massive shield.
And the perfectly restored Elven Sword.
"Too big for a mercenary, ain't it?"
"Making it a buckler."
"...Not repairs?"
No need to argue.
Let skill speak.
'Proficient Elf Blacksmithing.'
Absorbed in Free City Bern.
Time to shine.
'Core of Elf blacksmithing: heat control.'
Damian shoved the troll shield into the furnace.
Then bellows with bold strokes.
Whish, whish, wheeeesh...!
Not just blowing air.
Sensation from Jillian guided precise heat.
Finding the material's sweet spot temperature.
Roar!
How long until optimal heat?
Flames in the furnace tinged blue.
"That flame..."
Beyond human craft.
Elven fire, purity to the extreme.
"How... Elf blacksmithing...?"
"Never even seen in the capital..."
As Sobkov smiths gawked.
The glowing blue-hot shield moved to the anvil.
Now for hammering.
Bang!
Unhesitating strike.
The crude shield's edge sheared off.
Trimmed to buckler size, excess discarded ruthlessly.
Clang! Clang!
Hammering resumed.
Clang! Clang! Claaang!
A clear, ringing tone filled the forge.
Unlike brute human pounding.
Reading the metal's grain, striking along its flow. Precision.
Delicacy like weaving silk from steel.
Clang! Clang! Claaang!
Relentless hammering.
Each blow reshaped the screaming metal.
'Re-creation.'
The rough troll slab.
Taking elegant new form.
Silver buckler, perfect for Damian's frame.
'Tougher, lighter.'
Essence of Elf blacksmithing condensed in that small shield.
Clang!
Final strike done.
Now the last step.
'Quenching.'
Damian plunged the still-hot buckler into coolant.
Sssshhhh!
Steam erupted violently.
Yet a strange coolness emanated.
'Pull at this point...'
As steam cleared.
Damian lifted the buckler.
'Perfect.'
Subtle sheen on the surface.
Natural leaf-grain patterns.
Undeniably Elven masterpiece.
"I-Incredible..."
The smiths muttered in awe.
"How can a human wield Elf blacksmithing? So perfectly...!"
"Mercenary, what are you? Where'd you learn this?"
"Work that'd take two days minimum, in mere hours...?"
Admiration and questions poured.
Damian stayed silent.
Just repaired Dawn and Elven Sword too.
"Thanks for the use."
Soon after.
Damian left the forge.
With his first creation: Elven buckler.
Bwooo-!
Right then.
Advance base horn blared.
Bwoooo-!
Not once, but twice.
Bwooooo-!
'...Three times?'
Horns signaled importance.
Damian knew the meaning.
'Something's happened.'
Right here.
In Sobkov Territory.
"Everyone! To Lament's Spine!"
"Hurry! Move!"
Troops mobilized as one.
Damian followed.
He was Sobkov-affiliated for now.
Lament's Spine.
The ravine marking Sobkov's eastern border.
As grim and desolate as its name.
"..."
Troops arrayed where the ravine met the advance base.
Sobkov's elite soldiers and knights.
At the forefront: one man.
'Mikhail Sobkov.'
Sobkov Territory's grand lord.
His face was stone-hard.
'The signal came.'
One reason for assembly.
A flare from the Great Jungle.
'Red flash flare.'
Alchemical special signal.
Its meaning: clear.
'Massive threat.'
Weeks ago.
Elite scout team sent to probe unnatural monster wave source.
That flare was their message.
'What the hell's going on?'
Great Jungle beasts rampaging wasn't new.
But this was different.
Scale, frequency, even their movements.
'Organized.'
Like under command.
'If Great Jungle savages and monsters move under unified command...'
Catastrophe.
As Mikhail gazed beyond the ravine.
Clop, clop, clop!
Hoofbeats from afar.
Echoing from within the ravine.
"Eyes front!"
With Elena's shout.
All troops battle-ready.
Tension thick.
"...Friendlies."
Mikhail murmured low.
One horse emerged far off.
Knight astride it.
Clear ally uniform.
"Alone...?"
Elena's eyes widened.
Ten-man scout team.
Only one survived.
And in dire state.
Thud!
The knight tumbled off, unable to hold on.
Even from afar, his body was wrecked.
"Damn!"
Mikhail rushed to support him.
Up close: even worse.
Already dying.
"What happened?"
"L-Lord...?"
Skilled scout team member.
Arnold struggled to open his eyes.
"Yes, it's me. What of the others?"
"All... dead."
Wiped out.
As expected, somewhat.
"I... barely escaped."
"What did you see? What's there...?"
"...Kingdom."
Knight Arnold reported through blood.
Terror laced his voice.
Deep terror.
"Monster... kingdom... inside."
"Kingdom...?"
"Th-this... Cough!"
Arnold pulled a letter from his pouch.
Couldn't continue.
Light faded from his eyes.
"Call the healers! Now!"
Mikhail bellowed.
"Don't let him die!"
"Yes, Grand Lord!"
Kingdom of monsters.
Change sweeping the Great Jungle.
The worst-case scenario had arrived.