Chapter 291: Side Story – The Song of the Forgotten (3)

It is coming.

Boy, it is coming for you.

For you, who shine.

That thing that crawled up from the depths of the earth is coming for you.

***

ROOOOOOOAR—!

At that colossal roar that echoed from the edge of the sky, Emil covered his ears.

‘Ughhh…’

The only things leaving his mouth were screams, groans, and cries of pain.

Even now, the boy’s small heart was beating with such painful intensity that it felt ready to burst.

Run.

You have to run.

That thing has come to devour you.

‘It’s looking at me!’

A gaze descended from an unimaginably distant sky.

Dragons were beings born to attain perfection.

And what they needed to reach that perfection was potential.

Possibility.

In the nonexistent eyes of the Deathworm, a young dragon was reflected.

Bright.

Young.

Overflowing with possibilities.

‘I… have to run away.’

The gaze descending upon him was overwhelming.

The Deathworm’s world mercilessly pressed down upon the small dragon struggling below.

And beneath that unbearable weight, the world of a young dragon that had not even been given the chance to bloom was beginning to suffocate.

Flash!

Then a red line cut across the horizon.

From afar, it looked like nothing more than a thread.

But as it approached, it transformed into a blazing wave, as hot as molten magma.

“How dare you set foot on my land?!”

BOOOOOOOOM—!

A devastating slash.

Like a volcanic eruption exploding into existence.

Before that fierce and scorching strike, the most resilient dragon in the world let out a cry of pain.

ROOOOOOOAR—!

Fragments of shell and enormous chunks of flesh began breaking away and falling.

Wounds.

A concept that should never exist in the world of the most resilient dragon.

And all of it had been caused by the fury of a single man.

“This is the land of Bayezid!”

“This place is Sturma! The land of Rutiger Bayezid!”

The current Count Bayezid.

Rutiger Bayezid.

His aura-charged voice began pushing back the Deathworm’s world.

Grrrrrrrrr—

A world burning like a volcano expelled the most resilient world.

And when Rutiger’s presence spread throughout Sturma, Emil was finally able to breathe again.

“Capture those bastards!”

But Emil was not the only one freed from the Deathworm’s oppression.

“Kill Barbossa’s daughter!”

The assassins, who had remained motionless beneath that crushing presence, began moving again.

They rushed toward Emil and Tarenian.

Telsa raised her sword with determination to protect them.

But her body was already covered with countless stab wounds.

“Milady! You must run…!”

“Damn you!”

BOOM!

At the most desperate moment.

Just as Telsa closed her left eye in preparation for death.

The remains of a building slammed into the assassins.

“How dare you point your swords at them?!”

A hand emerged from the cloud of dust and seized an assassin by the throat.

It was an old hand.

So aged that it seemed as though the skin barely clung to the bones.

But the principles of Body Reinforcement contained within those fingertips still granted it strength comparable to steel.

“Bastards!”

Crack!

The assassin’s neck broke before he could even react.

But that was not enough.

Ramund charged straight into the center of the enemy ranks.

“In front of me!”

Using a corpse as a shield, he plowed through the assassins.

The swords descending from every direction were incapable of stopping the old knight’s charge.

“You laid your hands on my child!”

He caught a sword in midair and tore it from its owner’s grasp.

He drove the broken blade into another man’s throat.

He trapped a sword beneath his armpit and struck his enemy’s jaw with the palm of his hand.

Boom!

The head exploded.

Fragments of brain and blood rained down.

Everyone’s vision was covered by that sticky, nauseating shower.

But the demon named Ramund did not stop.

“Die! Die!”

On the battlefield, the vanguard must never stop.

Because if I stop, those behind me will die.

“How dare you lay your hands on children, you filthy vermin?!”

Ramund crushed the assassins while maintaining the speed and fury of his charge.

It was not elegant swordsmanship.

Nor was it refined technique.

It was pure violence.

Brutal movements that could only be born on a battlefield.

And those movements awakened a primitive fear in his enemies.

“Die! Die!”

He looked like a human battering ram created solely for killing.

Emil watched the scene with eyes completely captivated.

Until a voice came from the distance.

“Emil!”

“Uncle!”

At the sight of that enormous figure approaching, tears welled in Emil’s eyes.

Because the person descending through the rubble of the building was an adult he could trust.

His father’s friend.

Portly Kannor.

“Are you alright?! Are you alright?!”

Portly lifted Emil up like a doll and began frantically inspecting him.

“Damn bastards! They’ve torn his clothes to shreds!”

After quickly confirming that he had no serious injuries, he understood the situation and shouted to the men accompanying him.

“Protect the children! Take care of the wounded!”

Armed men immediately spread out.

They were mercenaries hired by the Kannor Trading Company for the festival’s security.

Portly had gathered them in a hurry.

“Emil! Are you alright?!”

“Hampton…”

Seeing a familiar face, the tension finally began leaving Emil’s body.

“What the hell is happening?”

“I don’t know…”

Leaning against Hampton, Emil blinked in confusion.

There was a blond boy standing behind him.

“…That fat old man dragged me here too.”

It was Renvar.

Although he spoke indifferently, it was obvious that he felt uncomfortable.

He knew perfectly well that in the middle of such chaos, it could not have been easy to worry about him as well.

“Good. Let’s return to the manor first. The knights will be there, and—”

“No.”

Portly attempted to suggest a retreat.

But Ramund, who had just returned, was staring at something in the distance.

And he spoke in a grave voice.

“Right now, that is the most dangerous place.”

Strengthening his vision with aura, Ramund looked toward the Sturma manor in the distance.

Along the hill road leading to the manor, countless masked men were advancing.

It seemed they had entered through the tunnel opened by the Deathworm.

The knights and Jager were holding back that mass that multiplied like a plague of cockroaches.

“They’re preparing a second strike.”

Behind the knights, Rutiger stood with his sword planted in the ground and his eyes closed, immersed in deep meditation.

Rutiger’s secret technique for drawing out a deeper world.

The Deathworm seemed to have sensed what was coming and was thrashing wildly, but countless magic circles surrounded the most resilient dragon in the world, preventing it from advancing.

It was the result of the mage Dorothea unleashing every magical formation she had accumulated over the years.

“Right now, the manor is the most dangerous battlefield. We cannot take the children there.”

He believed they would win.

But that did not mean he could take the children into the heart of the battle.

Ramund wiped the blood running down his chin and said to Portly,

“Let’s go to Soara. We need to leave Sturma for now.”

Thanks to the instincts he had honed over a lifetime on the battlefield, Ramund made the best decision possible.

Storms are not stopped.

They are avoided.

They needed a place to take shelter until the situation calmed down.

And Soara was the most obvious choice.

“Of the nearby cities, it’s the safest.”

Ramund wiped his sticky hand and patted Emil on the head.

The Rose of Soara.

The Scarlet Lady.

She would protect Emil and the other children even at the cost of her own life.

“Then let’s head to our trading company first. We can get a carriage there.”

Fortunately, the Kannor Trading Company building was not far away.

At Portly’s suggestion that they obtain horses and a carriage there, Ramund nodded wearily.

“Good, let’s move!”

A dozen mercenaries surrounded the children and began advancing toward the company.

Some carried the injured Telsa.

Others helped Ramund walk, as he had exhausted much of his strength.

As they cautiously made their way through burning streets and collapsed buildings, Emil frowned when he heard that strange voice in his ears once again.

“What is it, Emil? Are you hurt?”

Tarenian looked at him with concern.

But Emil could not answer.

‘Again.’

Accompanied by that stabbing sensation, the mysterious voice rang out once more.

He knew he had avoided danger thanks to it.

So he focused all of his senses on listening.

[……!]

But all he could hear was indistinct noise.

Nothing he could understand.

Because the city of Sturma was completely dominated by the presence of the Deathworm and Rutiger.

There was no room for another world to interfere.

“We’re here, sir! I can see the sign!”

But if Emil had been able to understand that voice.

If he had managed to reach it.

He would have heard.

[Don’t go in there!]

“Let’s go inside.”

The door opened with a creak.

The group entered the trading company building.

But perhaps it was because they finally felt safe.

Or perhaps because the chaos surrounding them had distracted them.

No one noticed that the floor beneath their feet was wet and sticky.

Nor did they notice the strange metallic smell hanging in the air.

“For now, here… Huh? Father!”

One side of the building had been destroyed and was shrouded in darkness.

From that dark area, the head of the Kannor family emerged.

“Grandfather!”

Olson Kannor.

Patriarch of the Kannor family and Portly’s father.

The moment he recognized that familiar face, Hampton was about to run toward him.

But a hand immediately stopped him.

“Don’t go!”

Emil’s hand gripped the back of his clothes so tightly that the fabric creaked.

Yet Hampton could not ask him to let go.

Because Emil’s eyes, fixed on the darkness, were trembling without end.

“That bastard really is smart.”

Olson Kannor walked out from the shadows.

Without a body.

Only a head being carried by someone.

Swaying weakly as it moved forward.

“He said you’d all end up coming here.”

The man holding Olson’s head stepped out of the darkness.

“That’s why I had no choice but to listen to him.”

Brown hair.

Thick eyebrows.

A sturdy physique.

But what stood out the most was the gigantic sword he carried.

As enormous as he was.

“So you’re Emil. Right?”

Thud.

Rolling across the floor, Olson Kannor’s head came to a stop at Emil’s feet.

Everything felt unreal.

Emil silently stared at the head of his friend’s grandfather.

“I don’t even need to ask to know.”

The man smiled.

“You’re Vlad’s son.”

Yes.

There was no need to ask.

Because the gaze with which he looked at him was exactly the same as his father’s.

That cursed shade of blue.

It was identical to Vlad’s.

“I’m glad to see those eyes again.”

That was why he wanted to ask that blue color.

Whether he could take it back now.

Whether the time had finally come to reclaim it.

“My name is Ishtvan Gaidar.”

The banner he carried bore an eagle, the symbol of the Wastelands.

“I’ve come to reclaim my sword.”

And beside the eagle was another coat of arms.

The emblem of a decapitated dragon.

Swaying in the blood-soaked wind, it stared directly at the boy.