Chapter 49: The Bers Kingdom (26)

‘…What is this?’

Cedmos stopped his attack and widened the distance from Paramir.

The duel between two swordmasters atop the colosseum roof had been a repeated cycle of one side maintaining an overwhelmingly advantageous position.

Paramir had grown stronger over the past few days, but not as threateningly or dramatically as Cedmos had hoped.

That was exactly the problem.

At any moment, even right now, he should have been able to sever Paramir’s neck or pierce his heart.

Yet the fight was not over.

Bleeding, panting, staggering like an exhausted and wounded beast, Paramir was still ‘alive.’

Cedmos could not comprehend it.

Yet there before his eyes, Paramir—bleeding, flesh torn away, armor reduced to rags—was still breathing.

He was still aiming for an impossible victory.

‘I lack nothing against him. Strength. Speed. Stamina. Experience. Everything is superior to him. So… how is he still alive? How is his life clinging on in that state?’

He had already drawn out everything Paramir had to offer long ago.

His interest had waned, and he had judged that the boy could no longer threaten his life.

Why drag out a fight he already knew he would win, prolonging only pain?

No.

Except for the very beginning, Cedmos had fought with full force to kill Paramir.

No—was that not quite accurate?

Perhaps not full force, but he had certainly exerted enough power to take the life of the young swordmaster from Mosul.

That much was beyond doubt or confusion.

“What trick are you playing?”

“Huff, huff… Trick? What trick…?”

Paramir answered, panting, dark blood-mixed saliva dripping from his mouth.

That could not be an act or deception.

Cedmos had killed so many people he had lost count, and he had tortured plenty.

This was not an act or a trick…

“I asked what trick you’re using to still be standing in front of me. I swung my sword to kill you. Yet you’re still alive. That’s the problem. I don’t understand.”

“Well? Maybe you’re not as strong as you thought. If you can’t even properly kill a brat like me…”

“You bastard!”

A dying brat’s provocation.

It wasn’t even a trap.

The amount of blood he had shed should have killed him already.

Cedmos thrust his sword only at instantly lethal points and attacked with his entire body.

Yet still, Paramir dodged by the narrowest margins or threw away what remained of his armor to endure.

“You son of a bitch… Let’s see how long you can hold out!”

Was he still standing because of some misguided affection for that tail-chaser woman, or was this just a ploy to ruin Cedmos’s mood until the very last moment?

Cedmos didn’t know, nor did he care.

The moment he eased up a little, did this body think he was easy prey?

Once his head was separated from his torso, such thoughts wouldn’t even arise…

The Guardian Deity of Bers, the one-eyed swordmaster, swung at lightning speed to behead him.

Yes.

He had swung to behead.

“You bastard…?!”

Sparks flew.

No—more precisely, the lava-hot aura, almost identical in mass to real molten rock, erupted in every direction.

The molten flecks grazed his face, burning his hair, gauntlets, armor, and cloak scraps before sizzling out.

A chill ran down his spine.

Normally, this would be impossible.

To be cut by one’s own aura?

Not spitting in one’s sleep, but a swordmaster injuring himself with his own aura, Cedmos had never heard of such a thing, never even imagined it.

Yet it happened.

Cedmos’s eyes widened in shock as he saw his own blazing aura on the ‘brat’s’ sword.

Crimson, lava-like aura surged from Paramir’s blade.

“How did you—!”

“Well… After taking a few hits, I figured out how to use it. Maybe I’m… more ‘talented’ than you.”

“I’ll kill you!”

Blood rushed to his head.

Even knowing his own aura was burning his bare skin, Cedmos clashed blades with Paramir in a contest of strength.

Lava-like auras tore into each other’s flesh and bone, melting them.

‘What trick is this…!’

He knew it was just the mockery of a dying man, yet Cedmos fought with everything he had.

Clearly, the vivid crimson light of his own aura was blazing on Paramir’s sword.

It was no illusion or phantom magic.

The boy’s aura was exactly the same as his own.

He had to find out how the boy had stolen a secret technique that even swordmasters could only acquire after years of bone-grinding, blood-vomiting training.

Cedmos realized he must kill the young swordmaster before him—and somehow keep him alive long enough to extract the secret of how he stole his aura.

And then?

…No matter what it took, he had to kill him.

If this boy escaped alive…

Paramir, this young swordmaster of genius talent, would become a nightmare for every swordmaster.

A swordmaster who steals others’ techniques…

Impossible!

But he had made it real.

If he did not end him here and now, one day this boy would return as a monster capable of facing the continent’s swordmasters alone.

He could not allow that.

This boy was an aberration, a freak!

Genius among geniuses. Monster among monsters.

Every swordmaster had been called a genius or monster in their own circles, but Cedmos felt that Paramir was the true monster.

This time it might only be ‘luck’—stealing only his technique and not others’.

But the talent that had elevated Cedmos to superhuman heights warned him.

If left alone, one day he would grow into an unstoppable monster that would devour the entire continent.

“For the peace of the world! I cannot let you leave this place alive!”

“…Peace? I only want to reclaim Jasmine. You’re just someone standing in my way.”

“Enough games. You will die here and now… What? What are you looking at?!”

“…What is that?”

‘A trap?’

The thought crossed his mind, but his instincts warned otherwise.

Something far more terrifying than the ‘young monster’ before him was right above his head.

Cedmos felt again the fear of death he had experienced only once in his life—the sensation of standing before an overwhelmingly powerful being he could never oppose.

In terror, his already paralyzed mind lifted.

And then.

“Hoo―ooong”

A being with wings made of the Milky Way.

One who gazes down upon the world with eyes of twinkling stars.

One who savors the dreams and hopes of mortals.

“Hokhma…”

A beak formed of sparkling silver stars engulfed Cedmos.

“So it was you, my precious son-in-law and beloved daughter. Dressed in flashy shadows of light… Elon and Nyx, is it? I wondered what scheme you were plotting, but it turns out you’re Elon’s servant. Well then, why have you come all the way here instead of staying quietly in the colosseum? Annabella? You’re not suddenly longing to be held in your father’s arms, are you?”

“Didn’t we already know each other, Your Majesty Red Stone? Stop the act. You are not my father.”

“Uhu hu… So you knew. I’m truly delighted, my daughter.”

Though Garland maintained a serious expression, his heart nearly burst at their conversation.

Was Annabella not the biological daughter of the King of Bers?

If Red Stone was not her real father, then who was?

Could that be why he massacred her mother and her family?

A whirlwind of thoughts spun in his mind, but soon Garland refocused.

Whatever the circumstances between them, whatever grudge bound them, right now they had to kill the King of Bers.

And destroy that suspicious demonic magic circle.

By any means necessary.

The power Elon had granted him kept urging that he could not tolerate the thing’s existence.

Ignoring the King of Bers’s sly voice, Garland raised his sword and charged.

“In the name of Elon! King of Bers, Red Stone! Today you die here—”

Thud—!

Garland, still in the posture of charging with sword raised, was comically knocked back by something invisible and rolled across the floor.

…What was this?

An invisible barrier protected the magic circle and Red Stone.

Even when stabbed and hammered with a sword infused with Elon’s power, the invisible barrier showed not a single crack.

Annabella joined in, thrusting a shadow-wreathed sword at the barrier, but it had no effect.

The King of Bers mocked the two young people before a wall that neither the power of Elon nor Nyx could pierce.

Nyx… I think I understand now. Was that blood fake too? Deceiving your father—how heartbreaking, daughter.

“…You are not my father. You never were. You are the enemy who killed my mother. You are a villain who ignored the laws of the old families. A murderer. You will pay for the blood you spilled.”

“What adorable words, my beloved daughter. If your mother could see how you’ve grown, she would be so proud.”

“I’ll kill you!”

“How fiery! Annabella! You remind me so much of your mother—it makes your father very happy! Haha!!”

The King of Bers laughed heartily at the sight of his ‘daughter’ twisted with rage.

Even with the blessing of a goddess and the blood of Blackrose flowing through her, Annabella was still young.

Sixteen years old.

Garland recalled how difficult his own days had been at that age, training as a knight while studying imperial politics.

An age when one wants to act like an adult and become one, but is not yet an adult.

A vague in-between period, neither child nor grown-up.

Instead of the parental love and attention she should have received, Annabella had grown up under the inhuman protection of Nyx, the goddess of night and shadows.

She herself might say it was enough, but to Garland, Annabella was like a fragile sprout that had struggled to bloom in barren, harsh soil.

Her cries of wanting to kill her ‘father’ resembled the street children Garland had often seen in Mosul—children desperate for someone else’s affection.

“Lady Annabella. Please calm yourself. Acting rashly will ruin everything.”

“…Yes, I understand.”

At his words, Annabella finally steadied herself and stepped back from the barrier.

Yet the young princess’s eyes remained fixed on her so-called ‘father.’

“What a perfect pair of lovers you make. Garland Hamilton, son of my old friend. Was my beloved daughter’s skin soft? Surely that blood on the cloth isn’t just chicken blood squeezed from a wrung neck, is it?”

“…Trying to disturb our minds won’t work. Annabella, calm down and remember why we’re here. What did Lady Nyx ask of you? Why did you pick up a sword?”

The situation was urgent, but Garland maintained his composure.

The King of Bers standing on the magic circle could not harm them, just as they could not harm him.

For now, the priority was to calm Annabella’s agitation.

“I… I…”

Avoiding Garland’s gaze, Annabella eventually gathered her resolve and answered.

“To stop Red Stone’s plan… that is why, Garland.”

“Good. Now, shall we break this invisible thing together?”

“Oh, what a beautiful moment. Truly lovely. But… it’s already too late.”

The King of Bers spoke.

Kwaaaaaang—!!

A collapsing sound and the screams of people rang out.

The sand of the colosseum arena poured downward as the ground began to cave in.

“Tonight, I become a god.”

Above the collapsing colosseum, a silver owl made of stars and the Milky Way appeared.