Chapter 121
Chapter 121
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 121
Chapter Title: Ron Arfold
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Ron Arfold.
Havel's meeting with him dated back to before the era of the Unification War.
Back then, the Banpellyon family wasn't all that prominent.
It was a house that barely scraped by managing a modest little territory, living hand to mouth.
'That was Banpellyon.'
Still, nothing beat the view of the dawn from that territory.
Havel still hadn't forgotten that dawn from those days.
And now, he could never see it again.
The Beltaron Empire.
After Enfold Beltaron XXIII seized the throne through a bloody purge and lost his mind.
Beltaron had launched a full-scale invasion war.
The empire's blade drawn against kingdoms across the land.
Plundering its own people to fuel the war, Beltaron pressed its invasions relentlessly.
Banpellyon's lands weren't far from Beltaron's border regions.
In the end, Banpellyon suffered a devastating invasion from Beltaron.
'And the territory was left in ruins.'
Beltaron lived up to its name as an empire.
Their armies seemed endless, and their knights were tough as nails.
Banpellyon was utterly crushed.
That was when Havel lost his father.
And before long, he lost his mother too, as she withered away in grief over her husband.
Havel had been eighteen at the time.
Just shy of adulthood at eighteen.
Gazing at his family's scorched territory, he felt an overwhelming sense of powerlessness.
And he realized that if he didn't stand up, no one would protect his house.
So he picked up a sword.
To reclaim his family and their lands. To crush Beltaron.
But reality was brutal.
Havel's first war.
Magic fire raining from the skies.
Knights cloaked in aura slashing through crowds indiscriminately.
Soldiers packed so thick it defied description—an endless tide.
It was hell on earth.
Kwaaang!
A Beltaron mage unleashed a flame spell that struck dead-on, igniting a roaring blaze.
"Kehk, kek!"
Havel was doubled over in front of it, clutching his throat and hacking up a storm.
A corpse burned beside him.
A Beltaron soldier who'd been unlucky enough to catch a stray spell.
The guy had been fighting Havel just moments ago.
If their positions had been reversed, it'd have been Havel taking the hit.
"Kuhehk, kek."
His mouth was filled with the scorching smoke from the burning body.
Even in his dazed state, Havel thrashed around, desperate to get back on his feet.
That was when he saw it.
A sword gleaming in the firelight caught Havel's eye.
Another soldier, drawn by the sight of Havel down.
"You bastard, you killed Nerra!"
His eyes burned with fury.
Havel realized the man was close with the soldier who'd just died in front of him.
From Havel's side, it felt utterly unfair.
Their own mage had fired blindly and killed him.
Yet here they were, pinning the blame on Havel.
But to that soldier, none of it mattered.
He swung his sword to avenge his fallen comrade.
Havel tried to haul himself up.
But his body wouldn't listen.
His stamina had run dry ages ago.
Inhaling all that smoke on top of it? Being able to move at all would be the real miracle.
"Guhk!"
With no strength left even to shout, Havel raised his sword in one final act of defiance.
'Like hell I'm dying here!'
He had zero intention of dying on this spot.
That was when it happened.
Whoosh! Clang!
"Krahk!"
The descending blade smashed the soldier—and his sword—into pieces.
A monstrous cleave.
Black hair flickered through the soldier's bisected body.
There stood a strikingly handsome middle-aged man.
Even in the chaos of battle, he looked impeccably neat.
As if he'd just stepped out for a leisurely stroll by himself.
Not a speck of dust on him, standing tall and proud.
Havel knew it the instant he laid eyes on him.
A true powerhouse.
"Meeting me means you've got one tough lifeline. You'll live a long time."
With those words, the man turned away casually.
But Havel couldn't let him slip away.
"Kuhehk, kek... sword!"
He shouted through the smoke-induced coughing fit.
"Teach me... the sword!"
Havel bellowed it out desperately.
The man glanced back at him.
"If you can keep following me to the end of this battlefield."
No sooner had he spoken than he kicked off the ground.
He moved like a man with barely any weight to his body.
His steps looked light as a stroll, yet each one propelled him visibly farther away.
Havel stared in disbelief.
But he dragged himself up anyway, determined to chase after him.
To survive this battlefield, he had to become that man's disciple.
That was all he could think.
'Looking back now, this guy pulled off something utterly insane.'
Havel squinted at the old man standing before him.
Even back then, he'd always been pulling absurd stunts.
'That war.'
The war Havel joined was the one where Beltaron was pushing back Arhan's borders.
Beltaron was fighting on multiple fronts at the time.
Morale was in shambles.
They absolutely had to score a victory against Arhan.
Naturally, they threw everything they had into it.
Countless elite knights and high-ranking mages flooded the field.
The battlefield turned into pure hell.
'And in a place like that, he tells some nobody who nearly got killed by a regular grunt, "Follow me if you wanna be my disciple"?'
No sane person would say that.
The problem was, Havel hadn't exactly been in his right mind either.
He'd chased that master all the way to the heart of Beltaron's lines, clinging on for dear life.
And somehow, he'd ended up as his disciple.
When the war ended and Ron saw that Havel had actually followed him all the way...
His master's face had been a sight to behold.
Havel still couldn't forget that expression.
"You look like hell."
Not expecting to ever see his master again, Havel spoke up.
He'd figured the man would've been dead long ago.
Aged beyond his years now, he even seemed to struggle just holding a sword.
Yet the energy radiating from his body was sharper than ever before.
"Wish your insides matched the outside for once. You're that old—how are you even stronger now?"
"I've told you a hundred times."
Somehow, he was already rummaging through his pocket.
"Settle into life, and you drop dead quick."
He pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.
Ron deftly plucked one out with one hand and stuck it in his mouth.
Then, mysteriously, the tip lit itself.
Didn't it know Havel and Ron went way back?
Ron didn't give a damn either way.
"Fuu."
After a long exhale of smoke, Ron held the cigarette leisurely between his fingers.
"Been wondering ever since I heard Banpellyon linked to Havel. Guess it's true. You really came out of the Demonic Palace."
"You climbed all the way here just to check?"
"Well, my one and only disciple comes back alive. Gotta move this heavy ass for that, right? *Kelk*."
He coughed while puffing away.
The smell alone told Havel it was some harsh stuff.
Havel shot him a what-the-hell-is-that look, and Ron tapped the ash off.
"Made from mana herbs. At my age, the body's creaking all over. Gotta have something like this."
Ron had already been middle-aged when the Unification War kicked off.
It had taken Havel a full century to clear the Demonic Palace.
Factoring that in, the man had lived an absurdly long time.
Havel's eyes narrowed to slits.
He already knew one guy who'd lived far beyond normal spans by tapping into calamity.
Hand Collector Baomet Tarim.
He'd become an apostle of the Whisperer, transcending lifespan itself.
Their eyes met, and Ron flicked the mana herb cigarette.
"I'm just gonna live out my natural years."
Havel stared at him, baffled.
Ron glanced down at the mana herb cig where Havel's gaze lingered, then muttered.
"...This is basically just lube.
Helps the body move smoother, but it doesn't extend your life."
"...I didn't say a word."
"Your eyes did."
Havel shook his head. If that was the case, the whole situation was even more ridiculous.
"No way you made it this far on pure natural lifespan, no calamity?"
"Why not?"
Havel eyed him like he'd grown a second head.
Just like how Havel had become immortal, calamities offered endless possibilities.
Aura required conscious upkeep to activate.
But calamity could sustain itself without a hint of awareness.
Swap out your body for a calamity vessel, and lifespan stretched forever.
Not just anyone could pull it off, of course.
But that's how Hand Collector Baomet had done it.
Ron, though? Hadn't touched calamity power for extra years.
This guy was still kicking on raw bodily vitality alone.
"...How the hell are you still alive?"
Average lifespan in this era hovered in the sixties.
Yet Ron was well past a hundred and fifty.
"Didn't do a thing. Just born with a long wick, I guess."
Even accounting for that, it was way too long.
But Ron was eyeing Havel right back, like he was the curiosity.
"Meanwhile, looks like you snagged something extra from the Demonic Palace."
He meant Havel's immortality.
"You've always dragged around the weirdest strokes of fortune."
He took one final drag.
"Now you even walk out as lord of the Demonic Palace."
Come to think of it, the Maggot-Eater had no clue Havel had cleared the Demonic Palace.
Ron, on the other hand, was from the same era as Havel.
Hell, as his master, he knew all about his reputation.
Including the fact that he'd entered the Demonic Palace.
"How's it feel, being master of the Three Great Calamities?"
"Eh, it's whatever."
Escaping had been a rush of joy at the time—finally out of the Demonic Palace.
Now? Not much thrill left.
Clearing the Tower had felt more exciting, honestly.
He'd chosen to enter the Tower himself, after all.
"I see. So you're planning to clear Labyrinth Island too, not just the Tower?"
Dante was on Labyrinth Island.
Just like Ron said, it might end up that way.
Havel didn't answer, but Ron took the silence as a yes and nodded.
"Good."
Ron stubbed out his cigarette on his wooden sword.
For a blade packed with gathered calamity, it got awfully shabby treatment.
"But first, since I'm meeting you."
His wooden sword brimmed with sharpness once more.
The sword intent cloaking it was downright ferocious.
Havel knew exactly what that meant.
"Least now you're still human enough for a proper scrap."
His reason for climbing the Tower hadn't changed.
A showdown with Havel.
Start to finish, that was the goal.
Havel was well aware.
That opening strike of his had been dead serious.
Havel let out a short sigh.
Same old, same old.
Dawn light gleamed along Havel's blade.
"Keep showing off at your age, and you'll drop dead."
Classic Havel comeback.
"Haha, looks like only a disciple would worry about his master."
Ron grinned wide.
"If we're doing this, go all out."
"Like always."
That was when their conversation ended.
Chaaaaeing!
Their swords crossed and clashed in perfect unison.
The resounding sword cry whipped up the air around them like a raging storm.
Havel's blade traced a cunning arc.
Afterimages bloomed in the dawn glow of his sword.
Ron swallowed a dry chuckle at the sight.
'Damn disciple. Told him to go all out, and he pulls this.'
Ron's signature: Double Slash.
Havel had learned Double Slash from Ron.
Then this genius bastard refined it further.
The sword art born from genius meeting genius.
The very technique that earned Havel the title of Sword Saint during the Unification War.
Banpellyon-style Dawn Swordsmanship
Phantom Dawn
Kagagagagang!
The clashes rang out in numbers that dwarfed their first exchange.
It felt like dozens of blades striking in rapid succession.
Yet their swords never actually touched.
The afterimages and dawn lights collided, birthing storms in their wake.
They trailed Havel's movements like scattering petals.
Dawn blades numbering in the dozens.
Every single one carried Havel's full power.
Relentless onslaught until the light faded—that was the hallmark of Dawn Swordsmanship.
And Havel's dawn burned like an unquenchable flame.
"Yeah."
In that instant, pitch-black clumps of calamity oozed thick from Ron's wooden sword.
At the same time, a fierce aura contrasting the calamity poured from his body.
"Let's have some fun before I kick it, disciple."
The Immortal and the specter raised their blades.