I have to kill Cedmos.
If not that, then at the very least I must defeat him or cripple him so badly that he can never chase us again.
We now know where Jasmine is.
But to rescue her, we absolutely have to shake off the interference of Bers’s Guardian Deity (another name for Cedmos Jaeger).
No exceptions.
Cedmos already knows why we, at the very least why I, a swordmaster, came to a foreign land.
He must also know that Jasmine is my reverse scale, my one and only weakness.
If I rush in desperation to save her, his blade will aim not at me, but at Jasmine.
He knows we value Jasmine more than our own lives.
What idiot would fail to strike an enemy’s weakness?
Unless there’s another bastard exactly like me… I can’t expect that from Cedmos, that insane swordmaster.
You might ask how I can predict with near-prophetic certainty that he’ll do exactly that.
Unfortunately, I have no grand rational or logical answer.
It’s just instinct screaming the warning: He will.
Surabar nodded at my words and acknowledged that I needed to become far stronger than I am now.
That is why I fight him with an exhausted body weighed down by iron chunks, using only the human knight techniques Sir Garland taught me.
Doubt raises its head again and stares straight at me.
It asks: what is the point of this training?
Will polishing these basic skills so late in the game raise my odds of winning the inevitable duel between swordmasters?
A perfectly reasonable question.
As before, I have no answer filled with certainty.
That is precisely why I must do it.
Cedmos is strong.
I will not deny an undeniable fact.
To gain even the slightest advantage against him, I have to fill the gaps in my fundamentals that I lack.
“I too have survived mortal danger countless times. Growing stronger through the brink of death is not something that usually happens. You can end up with wounds that never heal. But this I can declare with certainty: endure to the end. Fall and rise again; even if you break, grit your teeth and hold on. Then stand once more. That is the only way to win a fight everyone says is impossible.”
The captain is right.
I keep standing up no matter how many times I fall beneath his near-violent onslaught.
I am simply grateful for this absurd body that heals bruises and pain overnight.
Even when blood sprays and the world shakes, I stand again.
What I need is not some miraculous chance to become instantly stronger; I need to forge my will upright.
And so the day of Surabar versus Baimart, the match to decide the true champion of the colosseum, drew near.
Garland returned from speaking with the King of Bers at dawn, before the sun had even risen.
The king boasted that the match, watched by every citizen of the kingdom, would go down as legend in colosseum history.
“There’s no time! Get up, Pamir!”
“…Haaah!”
Compared to the first day, the training volume had increased tenfold.
After finishing even the light spar with Surabar, I finally faced Sir Garland for the last session.
Sir Garland’s teachings were, honestly, nothing extraordinary.
The techniques he knew were not swordsmanship meant for fighting monsters.
They were merely a handful of tricks, so basic they barely deserved the name “swordsmanship.”
Techniques designed for fighting humans.
Things I lacked.
Over the past seven days, I had absorbed everything from Sir Garland like a sponge.
Clang~!
Metal struck metal.
Sir Garland’s sword snapped, and he rolled across the blood-soaked sand.
“I… lost. Sir Pamir.”
The tip of Sir Garland’s sword pointed at empty air; the tip of mine rested against his throat.
A clear victory for me.
“Yesterday the odds were fifty-fifty; today it’s total victory.”
All four bouts, structured like real combat, ended in my win.
By the end, Sir Garland could barely follow my movements.
I might have unconsciously used swordmaster power.
But Surabar shook his head.
The captain said I had completely absorbed and made Sir Garland’s basic teachings my own, and that I had now surpassed him.
Encouraging.
The future I saw when Cedmos grabbed me from behind and defeated me seems to have changed.
“Tomorrow. We take Jasmine back.”
Surabar said.
Late that night, beneath the full moon, we finished all preparations.
***
Everything was perfect.
Red checked and double-checked every detail he could control for this final match that would crown the true champion of the colosseum.
At the king’s command, servants scrubbed every single seat—even the third-class stands used by commoners—until they gleamed; their groans filled the air.
Red had every reason to drive the underlings mercilessly to make this match flawless.
It would be the greatest stage ever, rendering all past fervor in the colosseum meaningless.
Hokhma.
The silver owl that strode the Milky Way delighted in drinking the blood of living sacrifices and the screams of their souls.
But what it loved even more were the raw emotions mortals released.
The gods of heaven sustained their immortality by feeding on the emotions mortals exhaled.
At least, that was confirmed for the silver owl of the Black Lands.
This time the scale would be different.
Red had long planned something enormous, something the prince from Mosul or the poisoned late Archduke Greenwood could never even dream of.
For that purpose, he had carved a black magic circle beneath the colosseum.
A delicate, exquisite spell array that would forcibly turn the silver owl’s gaze downward and pour the emotions of mortals straight into its maw.
It’s almost here. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I…!
Red confirmed the fragment of Hokhma’s blessing now in his grasp.
With this alone, he could place the Human Empire, the Demon King’s Army, and even the neighboring Tar Kingdom beneath his feet.
A divine blessing.
Do not think that a single tiny, pathetic crumb granted by a god is all you will cradle preciously until death.
He had fed it enough.
The now-heavy silver owl would inevitably be dragged down to earth.
He had worked tirelessly to make it inevitable.
Even the Emperor, who claimed dominion over the Armenial Continent, would be stunned by a god’s fall.
The final match would take place after sunset.
Until then, a few appetizers would be served to stoke the crowd’s excitement.
All of it calculated for maximum efficiency in the ritual toward Hokhma.
Even tomorrow’s colosseum admission was free.
Red had ordered every beggar and stray dog let inside without discrimination.
Medea knew things about black magic and the gods that ordinary people did not, and that knowledge had been an immense help in making Red king and keeping the throne.
It would continue to be so.
Standing at his side as queen.
A descended god and the woman of a god would rule this land forever.
Tomorrow it all depends on how wildly the crowd rages during Surabar and Baimart’s fight.
If the fools’ emotions fall short, I’ve prepared living sacrifices separately.
The tail-bearers dragged from Mosul were a great help. Excellent.
Red drew out the crystal orb hidden in silk.
He placed his hand on it and poured power in; soon her face appeared.
“Oh my, big brother. It’s been far too long. I was worried you’d died of grief or something.”
“Enough nonsense. Medea, tomorrow. Eternity will be in our hands…”
“My goodness, really? I’d completely forgotten. Is tomorrow the full moon? You never contacted me, so I didn’t know.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t reach out. I was busy; I never forgot you.”
“To think I’d live to hear an apology from you. Fine, I like it. I’ve been waiting too. What time? It has to be exact. Not even a hair off… you know that, right?”
“I know.”
Red explained every preparation in detail.
There could be no lies or deception in this matter.
Even though she only listened for a long time, Medea did not ask a single question.
“…That is everything. Is there anything else we should prepare for?”
Red, breathless from the long report, leaned back in his chair.
Creak…
The chair let out a faint scream under his increased weight.
After a long silence, Medea finally spoke.
“You already did everything on my list. It’s perfect. Nothing more is needed. There won’t be any problems.
If there is one thing…”
“The match itself? The two tail-bearers might fight half-heartedly and fail to stir the crowd’s emotions?”
“That’s nothing to worry about. We built devices to amplify the crowd’s emotions in the colosseum, remember? As you said, when beasts of that caliber fight, it’s impossible for people not to get excited.”
“Then?”
“…Not your side, our side. There’s still no movement. No troop mobilization, no secret envoys, nothing. If there were any sign, we should have seen it by now. That’s the only thing worrying me.”
“It’s nothing. Tomorrow you won’t need to worry about it at all. Just keep that idiot under control.”
“Got it. You know I love you, right?”
“Ending the call. Go to sleep. It’s late.”
“Big broo~”
Click.
Red cut the connection.
The crystal orb returned to dull gray, reflecting nothing.
Even if Medea was sulking in Mosul, it wouldn’t matter.
Tomorrow she would sit at the left hand of a god.
Red pictured himself ascended to godhood.
As always.
It was thrilling and magnificent.
“Very good. Very splendid…
Hokhma, I wonder how it feels to have immortality stolen by a mere mortal who never even glimpsed divine eternity.”
Watching a god dragged down to earth would be utterly delightful.
***
Redron was dumbfounded.
No matter how he looked at it, really? This would be enough?
She was a princess of the realm.
Soon to marry into Mosul and become queen.
Was it truly all right for a lady of such noble blood to be satisfied with this paltry jewel… no, fake jewel?
“I-It’s fine… O-Oppa… I-I want this one…”
“This is insane… Didn’t you hear the madam explain? This is a fake gem. It looks real, but it’s fake. Wanting a necklace made of fake black onyx? I truly cannot understand your taste.”
“I-I’m… happy. Because O-Oppa is buying it… for me.”
“That’s true, but… damn it! Madam. Wrap a genuine one too. I don’t know what kind of whim struck my sister, but I can’t let my pride allow this.”
“Understood, Your Highness.”
The boutique madam silently wrapped both the real jewel and the “fake” as the First Prince ordered.
I’m the one going crazy…
Redron felt dizzy watching his sister act as if her soul had been stolen by a mere fake gem.
No matter what he offered, no matter that he said he’d properly play the big brother role for once and buy her anything, Annabella stubbornly insisted on the fake black onyx necklace.
At least he saved some money, but money was just taxes squeezed from the masses anyway, right?
Watching the timid yet strangely resolute Annabella, so different from their childhood, Redron couldn’t decide whether to rejoice at his sister’s growth or worry about where she had gone astray.
In any case, Annabella wearing the fake black onyx necklace was breathtakingly beautiful.
Yes, the accessories didn’t matter; the original was a beauty, so it was fine.
“…Well, all right. Whether it’s fake or not, your beauty is real. For that much, you should thank your mother.”
“Th-thank you… O-Oppa…”
“Once you’re in Mosul, if you stop stuttering you’ll be adored by everyone. Have confidence!”
“Y-Yes…!”
Redron kneaded the shoulders of his sister who would marry into Mosul in a few days.
Ow, owww…!
As he massaged her shoulders to cheer her up despite her whining, Redron suddenly noticed something odd.
Annabella had lived curled up in the mansion like a corpse.
Yet for someone who never exercised, his sister’s shoulders were as hard as his own, which had only recently begun serious knight training.
Is it bad posture? She always hunches… I’ll have to fix her posture first. This is serious. I’ll have to force her to exercise.
Before leaving the boutique, Redron also bought Jasmine a matching hairpin and necklace.
There were plenty of fake black onyx pieces, so he could afford one for her too.
“Thank you, Redron.”
Heh, heh heh… uehehehehe…!
Thanks to Jasmine lightly kissing his cheek inside the carriage, the First Prince spent the entire day grinning like a fool.
Premium Chapter
Login to buy access to this Chapter.