“You… you are…”
“…May Elon embrace you.”
Garland pulled his sword from the body of the royal guard.
The guard died frozen in the posture of charging toward him.
Sssss…
The blood on the blade sizzled as if boiling, unable to withstand Elon’s light, and vanished.
The color was pure, almost like an aura.
Elon’s power protected Garland.
Now Garland had reached a realm equal to a swordmaster—the very thing his father had so desperately desired.
Through the same divine power.
“Are you alright, Annabella?”
“I’m fine. And you, Prince?”
“…You know I’m not a prince.”
“Do I?”
The ‘prince’ from Mosul saw Annabella’s power.
Her ability was to store and retrieve various objects within shadows—and to enter them herself.
It was similar to his own power.
Now she was a holy knight of the goddess Nyx, and he himself was a holy knight of Elon.
Not merely a title bestowed by the sect, but true holy knights who had accepted the genuine power of their gods.
In the underground of the colosseum.
Along the winding maze-like passages, soldiers who seemed half-mad swarmed without giving them a moment to breathe.
The royal guards, directly under the King of Bers, were no ordinary foes.
Though not on the level of the swordmaster Paramir, each one was already a weapon of war honed through slaughter.
“Block them!”
“Kill if you must!”
“Protect His Majesty! The ritual—urgh!”
The secret passage leading to the colosseum’s underground was tightly guarded by royal guards loyal only to the King of Bers.
The secret underground was a labyrinth—twisting and complex, making it nearly impossible to determine the right path.
Dealing with the royal guards who ambushed them at every corner was one problem, but the real issue was finding the way.
The number of guards they had encountered countless times already proved that the hidden military strength of the Bers Kingdom far exceeded what the two of them had imagined.
“This way.”
Annabella spoke.
Using shadows to bypass blocked walls in the underground, she observed the surroundings at every fork and dead end to confirm the terrain.
They were getting closer to where the King of Bers was.
It wouldn’t be long.
Annabella had said that Red Stone intended to commit something horrific through the matches in the colosseum.
Neither Annabella nor the goddess Nyx who granted her power knew exactly what his purpose was, but one thing remained unchanged:
They had to stop it.
“Annabella?”
“Yes?”
Following behind the princess, Garland could no longer hold back and opened his mouth.
The shared resolve of the two who had sworn to kill the King of Bers had greatly helped each other.
But Garland had not realized.
That Annabella was as skilled—or even more skilled—at wielding a sword as he was.
“Lady Annabella? When did you learn swordsmanship? It doesn’t look like something you picked up in a day or two…”
He himself had become strong through Elon’s blessing and had undergone grueling knight training to wield it properly, so it wasn’t strange that he could defeat the royal guards easily.
Now he had even become a holy knight with Elon’s blessing.
But Annabella?
The princess plotting rebellion against her father, Annabella Stone, had never been knighted, never trained to fight anyone—she was truly just a ‘princess.’
Yet she was felling royal guards as skillfully as he did.
No—actually, she had taken down most of the enemies!
Her mysterious combat style, vanishing into the shadows of the underground maze and appearing from unexpected directions, was clearly not something she had practiced only once or twice.
At Garland’s question, Annabella flushed peach-pink as she had during their first meeting, looking embarrassed.
…Was this something to be embarrassed about?
“It’s… old. Inside Lady Nyx’s shadows, I can do anything. Well, not literally anything.”
“That alone doesn’t explain this level of strength.”
“My mother’s maiden name was Blackrose. Does that answer your question? This way.”
Blackrose!
The moment he heard his mother’s surname, Garland instantly understood why she was so strong.
He already knew the Bers royal family was the Stone family.
But Blackrose…
He had thought that bloodline had been extinguished, but apparently not.
Garland had studied imperial politics and knew more than most about the history of the ‘Black Lands’—even the now ‘forgotten’ history that ordinary people did not know.
Blackrose was one of the great old families, one of the seven families that had once been magnificent nobles.
They were believed to have vanished silently before any war could even begin, unable to withstand the passage of time…
Yet now, Garland realized that Annabella was a descendant of one of those ancient seven families, now recorded almost as myth or legend.
He nodded at her.
“We’re almost there, Garland. Ahead is—”
“Do not worry. By Elon’s will, the King of Bers dies today.”
Even though it meant ‘I will kill your father,’ Annabella’s expression did not change.
After all, she was the one who had first proposed this.
On the day they first met, inside the inner room, within the shadows granted by the goddess, Annabella had confessed the truth to Garland.
To her, the King of Bers was merely a father in name, nothing more than the enemy who had killed her mother for political gain.
“This is…”
They had finally arrived.
The two stood before a massive steel door.
“Lady Nyx was right. I can feel evil energy.”
Annabella placed her hand on the door inscribed with demonic script and sensed the energy within.
It was the same energy that permeated the entire labyrinthine underground and the colosseum.
Garland nodded.
The power of Elon enveloping him whispered to burn and purify this cursed place.
The underground of the colosseum.
Since it was a secret labyrinth presumed to have been built covertly, reaching the place where the King of Bers was expected to be did not take as long as expected.
The real problems were the intentionally confusing layout meant to make people lose their way, and the royal guards who ambushed them without warning.
But no one could stop two holy knights blessed by both Elon and Nyx.
Garland struck down the massive steel door engraved with patterns and demonic language that seemed to blaspheme both the heavenly gods and mortal beings on earth.
Normally impossible, but now Elon was with him.
Elon’s power had transformed the untalented Garland into a being capable of standing equal to a swordmaster.
The chains, locks, and blasphemous door were all severed at once, revealing the secret within.
“…So that was the noise. It was you, son-in-law.”
On the demonic magic circle, the King of Bers greeted them.
“Swordmaster! It’s a swordmaster! There’s no way Baimart can win now! More importantly, you fool! Where did that ‘curse’ you spoke of go?!”
Archduke Anastasia Greenwood tore into the black mage like a wild beast, clawing at his empty eye sockets.
Everyone in the colosseum had just witnessed it.
Surabar had grabbed the ceremonial sword in Baimart’s hand with his bare hand.
Blue light illuminated the arena covered in blood and filth.
It was aura.
Undeniable proof of a ‘swordmaster’—one who had transcended the limits of mortals!
In the midst of horrific chaos, Anastasia screamed at the black mage of her family.
“Calm yourself, Your Grace. Surely the power of my master is still gnawing at Surabar.”
“…Gnawing at him? Gnawing at him?! Don’t lie! If your stupid, immature spell worked, why hasn’t Baimart already taken that thing’s life?!”
“With all due respect, Surabar’s strength was far greater than Your Grace anticipated. Even now, my master’s power is eating away at his energy. My master’s power has not lost its effect.”
“Are you asking me to believe that right now?!”
Furious, Anastasia drew the hidden dagger from her bosom and aimed it at the black mage.
Her arm trembled along with the blade.
The old servant of the demon remained silent for a long moment before nodding heavily.
“Yes, it is so.”
“Damn it! I’ll see for myself! Hokhma!”
Anastasia turned and looked at the arena—more precisely, at Surabar, the monster-slaying mercenary from Mosul.
Her eyes, blessed by Hokhma, burned coldly as they began to pierce through Surabar’s essence.
Then Anastasia felt her eyes—and the soul within them—burning with unbearable pain.
He was a swordmaster!
Through Hokhma’s blessing that allowed her to see the true essence of others, she realized that Surabar had transcended his previous realm in this very life-or-death battle.
The power was so overwhelming, like an endlessly erupting volcano, that she could not endure even a single second and collapsed on the spot.
Blood flowed from her eyes.
Anastasia rolled on the floor in agony she had never experienced before.
The flame had devoured the soul of Anastasia, who had dared to look into it.
“AAHH! AAAAHH!”
“Your Grace! Oh no…! Someone—anyone!”
Even the pain of burning flesh is horrific, but how can one describe the agony of a soul being scorched?
The black mage hurriedly called servants and ordered them to bring buckets of water for his master.
Anastasia, whose soul had been burned for daring to peer into Surabar’s essence, only calmed after being doused more than twenty times.
But her eyes were already cooked red and could no longer see properly.
“Huff, huff…! Baimart—what happened to Baimart?!”
Staggering like a drenched rat, Anastasia barely managed to stand.
The servants watching her trembled in fear.
Something incomprehensible was happening.
Something beyond their understanding.
Something terrifying…
“Please calm yourself, Your Grace. First, your eyes must be—”
“I asked what happened to Baimart!”
At Anastasia’s shout, despite barely being able to hold herself upright, the black mage looked toward the arena with his hollow eyes.
Surabar, now awakened as a swordmaster, was once again pressing Baimart, but his body didn’t seem to move as he wished.
The servants could only bow their heads in fear of their master’s wrath, not daring to breathe.
“Ah… I can… I can see! I haven’t completely lost my sight—I can still see! These eyes are still working…!”
In the highest special seat of the colosseum, Anastasia forced her blurry but gradually returning vision to focus.
Even through the thick fog-like haze, she could tell that Baimart had not yet lost.
Baimart—the man she loved—was still standing, holding his own against the awakened tiger beastman swordmaster!
“Baimart! You’re still alive!”
Through her hazy eyes, Anastasia saw with relief that Baimart was alive, still standing against the swordmaster tiger beastman without falling.
Her mind instinctively searched for any way, any means, to help Baimart now that the match was reaching its climax.
No matter what, under no circumstances could he lose this match.
The contract between the former Archduke Greenwood and Baimart allowed not even a single defeat.
Even if Surabar won the match and did not take Baimart’s life, the fact of ‘defeat’ meant death for Baimart and his children who bore his blood.
‘Defeat’ was equal to ‘death.’
“You, come here.”
“…Your Grace, what you are thinking will never bring the result you desire.”
“I said come here!”
The black mage knew exactly what Anastasia—the new head of the family he served—was about to say.
Having served for many long years, he had seen this countless times.
Pitiably… the black mage knelt and approached the drenched, dignity-lost Archduke.
“If I offer my soul, can you save Baimart even if he loses?”
“…Yes, it is possible.”
The Archduke Greenwood smiled with her blood-flowing eyes closed.
If he lives, I will gladly do it.
***
“Ahh, aahh!”
“Hurry! More water! More cloths too! The bleeding is too much!”
Redron covered his ears with his hands and closed his eyes.
The midwives and women were rushing about madly, shouting.
The pained groans of Jasmine echoing from the inner room made Redron grit his teeth.
Labor had begun.
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