Chapter 131
Chapter 131
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 131
Chapter Title: Great Clash (2)
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The blow from the Sword Sage had been incredibly intense.
It made sense—it was an attack from one of the continent's rare few Grandmasters.
Surviving without dying was a feat in itself.
Yet his body was recovering far faster than expected.
He'd thought he'd be lying there like a corpse, barely breathing, for days...
But the pain had eased as if he'd been tenderly nursed back to health for that entire time.
Thanks to that, sensation was returning to his body.
He felt like he was lying on an incredibly soft, plush pillow.
Following that comfort, he slowly cracked his eyes open.
The sight that greeted him was utterly extraordinary.
A woman's face, shadowed by the sun at her back.
Yet within that shadow shone sky-blue eyes, radiant as the heavens.
He knew the owner of those eyes.
Though half his face was buried in her warm, ample curves—like a mother's embrace—he could never forget that distinctive sullen gaze.
No, as his vision focused, it didn't feel sullen today.
Instead, it carried a tender, wistful warmth.
"Why did you go off alone like an idiot..."
Having regained his wits, he realized he was lying in Clea's lap.
Her black stockings must have torn during the fight, revealing swells of pure white skin through the gaps.
The nape of his neck rested there, warm with her body heat.
"Do you have some disease where you die if you can't handle everything alone?"
'As expected from my sharp-eyed vice warden.'
"Even if you try that hard, who's going to appreciate it..."
To let Clea continue her mumbling, he pretended to sleep a bit longer.
He only "woke" after she'd stroked his messy hair about ten times.
"Ugh..."
"You're awake?"
As he cautiously opened his eyes, Clea's pitiful gaze reverted to her usual Tibetan fox sharpness.
As if she'd never worried at all.
"How long was I out...?"
"Not long. Why would I stare at my reckless boss for too long?"
It had felt like over twenty minutes when he'd first stirred...
Considering her numb thigh, he slowly sat up.
Now he noticed the gash on his chest was expertly bandaged and stanched.
That explained the reduced pain—Clea must have treated the wound.
"How'd you get here? This deep in the forest, it should've been hard to find."
"I followed the massive clash of energies."
Hold on.
If even Clea sensed it, the other prisoners must have too.
"Don't tell me... this mess all around us is..."
"Yes, traces of the Sword Sage's battle with the prisoners."
Hearing they'd fought the East's strongest warrior, he bolted upright.
"Ugh... Is everyone okay? The opponent's a Grandmaster."
"Don't move too much. Your wounds haven't fully healed."
Clea supported him as he rose.
Thanks to her, he stood and took in the forest's devastation—more horrific than ever.
The stream was clawed with massive gashes like a beast's mauling.
Underground water gushed from them, turning the stream into a growing lake.
The once-dense trees lay felled in a straight line, carving out a vast avenue.
Walking that way slowly, he spotted a small figure slumped on the ground.
Mussed green hair and a cute little body.
Unmistakably the True Ancestor, Franca.
"Franca? What are you doing here?"
At his quiet question, Franca glanced back.
Tears glistened in her eyes.
"It's your fault my nails all broke!"
The girl thrust her hands toward him.
Her once-long nails were sliced clean, like with a knife.
They said the Vampire Queen's nails were harder than mithril.
Apparently, the Sword Sage had proven them wrong.
"Why'd you crawl into danger alone and make me deal with this hassle?"
Franca balled her fists and thumped his arm.
He knelt to meet her eye level.
"Wait, did you come to help because you were worried about me?"
Grinning, he asked.
Her flailing fists froze.
She rolled her pink eyes away, mumbling softly.
"...If you disappear, who'll give me bread!"
He brushed her messy bangs aside.
Her eyes, lonely from centuries underground, now sparkled with life in the sunlight.
Even if her body was battered.
"No one to brush my hair, or bring novels without any ulterior motives..."
Once, she'd had many black mage followers.
But she'd never opened her heart to any.
They sought her power, not her.
Thus, she'd endured centuries in solitude.
Knowing that, he'd shown her no selfish desires in this life.
He just wanted her to thrive here.
"..."
He gently stroked Franca's head after her honest words.
No more teasing questions.
"Anyway, you got me hurt, so carry me quick! It hurt so much and was so scary!"
Franca was always a bit spoiled, but she'd truly suffered today.
So he ended up piggybacking her.
Her feather-light body made him forget his injuries.
"You sure? I can carry her."
"Nah, she suffered because of me—I owe her."
He glanced at Clea, wondering if he should offer her too.
But seeing her torn black stockings and exposed skin, he decided against it.
"The Sword Sage and others went that way?"
"Yeah. Dawn sapped my strength, but the others fought to the end."
'They kept fighting until morning...?'
Insane.
Lucky the world didn't end.
He adjusted Franca on his back and walked with Clea.
About five minutes later, the next silhouette appeared.
Northern Commander Conan, purple-haired, sat on a fresh tree stump.
"Commander...?"
"Ah, you're up."
The woman in her tattered uniform stood.
She approached with an indifferent expression.
'What's this? She looks pissed.'
Her shadowed face gripped his shoulder.
Then she sighed deeply, reverting to normal.
"You... Don't try handling everything alone from now on."
"Sorry."
He apologized with contrite eyes.
Her superior's concern returned, calm now.
"Know how worried Camillia was? She looked ready to start a war on the Eastern Continent."
That would've birthed a new bad ending.
Good thing the forest wasn't ash—the fight ended peacefully.
"For big stuff ahead, at least report first."
"I'll try. But the prison isn't under military command..."
Caught off-guard, Conan slipped her hand off and scratched her cheek awkwardly.
"You keep worrying me..."
The Northern Commander stepped aside.
"Camillia and the other two prisoners are that way. Last clash with the Sword Sage was there."
"Thanks. I'll go assess."
He quickened his pace.
Conan and Clea followed slowly.
Passing the stump-lined path, a vast wasteland opened.
The closer he got to the prisoners, the chillier the wind grew.
Midsummer, yet his breath fogged like winter.
Still, he pressed on.
To avert a great war, he forged ahead resolutely.
And so, he...
...faced four women standing amid the wasteland.
The Sword Sage, her robes shredded to miniskirt length.
Opposite her: Camillia, Myoran, and Anje.
They'd pulled an all-nighter, yet remained in tense standoff.
"Everyone, stand down."
He handed Franca to Conan temporarily.
She accepted the girl with practiced ease, like a wife taking their daughter from her husband.
"The situation's already over. The Sword Sage won't fight us anymore!"
Clashing auras made his wounds throb.
Pushing through, he approached the four.
Myoran's icy chill gripped him.
But it soon fully dissipated.
"Derek...?"
Mid-blast of green energy at the Sword Sage.
The Moon Spirit spotted him standing unharmed.
In that instant.
She charged toward him at full speed.
Her bandages reddened as wounds reopened from the yin energy.
She threw herself atop him, hugging fiercely.
"Why'd you do that...!! Why face the Sword Sage alone!!"
All killing intent vanished at once.
That thick yin aura melted away.
The Sword Sage stared blankly as one man's arrival erased apocalypse's omen.
"...Sorry. I didn't call you because I feared you'd lose control clashing with her."
"With you right here, why would I rampage? Are you really that stupid?!"
The girl in his arms looked up with pitiful eyes.
As if he truly didn't know her heart.
"Hoo..."
"Good. Now that Derek's awake."
The Princess and Saintess dropped combat stances.
The Sword Sage alone looked stunned at the sudden resolution.
'Are these the same women trying to kill me moments ago...?'
She'd reigned supreme, leading countless souls.
Yet none truly trusted her deeply.
They sought only her teachings, her power—selfishly.
For one who'd lived so lonely, these women and the warden...
...made her life's pursuits feel utterly hollow.
"How in the..."
The Sword Sage clutched her left arm—slashed by Camillia—with her right, gashed by Myoran.
Anje's mental magic disrupted her focus, dotting her body with minor wounds.
But even that spell had vanished.
The once-fierce red Saintess now gazed with true saintly gentleness.
They all swarmed the warden, scolding him.
"Derek Minster. I'll punish you personally for last night's solo stunt."
"Who said a weakling like you could play hero? You should've told us."
Camillia and Anje chided relentlessly.
Myoran just buried her face in his bandaged chest.
"Sorry to worry you all. But there were reasons—hear me out."
With an awkward smile, he met each woman's eyes around him.
Thinking about it, this scene...
...resembled the animals cradling him in his dream.
"First, Your Highness. Let me explain why I didn't call you."
Even the battered Sword Sage focused intently.
Curious about the difference between him and her as leaders.
"You have that state council meeting with Prince Iban soon. You need to shine there—if you got hurt and missed it, that'd be trouble."
"........."
Camillia's glare halted abruptly.
She'd never mentioned the meeting to him.
Speechless that he'd tracked her schedule.
"Anje, same for you. With Holy See remnants targeting you, getting injured fighting the Sword Sage? I didn't want to see you hurt because of me."
"........."
The Saintess bit her red lip lightly.
Realizing he still watched the Holy See, protecting her.
"And Myoran... Sorry. I wanted to keep you from meeting her and possibly rampaging."
"........."
Myoran hugged his waist tighter, face in his chest.
Her usually cold body burned hot now.
As if all resentment toward the Eastern Continent had melted away.
The Sword Sage blankly watched the quieted women and warden.
At first, she thought they saw him as mere property to scold.
But their instant silence after his words enlightened her.
"Ah. So that's it."
The difference between her and the warden.
He earned respect without demanding it, showing genuine care to each one-on-one.
She'd unified them solely through overwhelming power.
Ignoring individuals' plights.
Derek Minster was different.
He truly wished well for all.
Approaching the women first with that heart.
"...Feels like I've finally suffered a true defeat."
The purple-haired woman relaxed her sword grip.
Ready to surrender sincerely at last.
A refreshing midsummer breeze returned.
He gazed up at the empty sky.
First step toward a happy ending.
But no complacency.
70% left to go.
'Plus, today's confirmed it.'
He must reach Grandmaster.
Every happy ending required it.
He glanced at the Sword Sage.
'Maybe she could mentor my training?'
But why that realm?
When would infinite Grandmaster stamina be needed?
He sighed amid the calming women.
They watched his back intently.
His grasp of their "neglected" schedules gladdened them inwardly.