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Star-Embracing Swordmaster Chapter 293: Side Story – Black-haired Man (1)

Chapter 293: Side Story – Black-haired Man (1)

A sky where two​ moons shone.

Beneath‍ the thick darkness,‍ the roars of‌ dragons echoed.

KROOOOAAAR—!​

From‍ the glaciers of‌⁠⁠ the far north.‌⁠⁠

From​⁠ the desolate wastelands‍⁠⁠ of the distant⁠⁠ west.

From‍​​ beyond the deep‍‌ forests of the‌ far east.

From‌‌ the depths of‍⁠‌ the sea in‍ the far south.‍‍

And⁠​ also from here,⁠​ in the center​‌⁠ of the continent,‍ in the highest⁠ canyon of the‍‌ central region.

Brigantes.‌‍‍

The​‌​ capital of the⁠‍‌ Empire.

Upon​‌‍ the highest hill⁠⁠ of the city‌ stood a white‌‍‍ palace that seemed⁠‌ to float like‍ a moon.

The​ symbol of Brigantes.⁠⁠‌

The⁠‍‍ place that any‍ inhabitant of the‍ capital could see‌​​ no matter where‌‍ they were or⁠⁠‌ what time they​‍ looked up.

The​⁠​ beautiful imperial palace,‌⁠ Albarion.

However,​‌​ in that majestic‌‌ place, a man​‌​ hurried through the‌⁠‌ corridors.

“Haah…‍​​ hah…”

His⁠‍ face was naturally‍⁠ solemn.

But​​ the expression he‍ wore at that​ moment was far⁠ from it.

Probably⁠‍​ because of the⁠ telegram he held⁠ in his hand.‌‍

“…Lord‌​⁠ Razmael.”

The⁠⁠ man arrived at⁠‌ one of the⁠​​ deepest sections of‌ the palace.

The‍ place where the‌ only person allowed⁠‍ to enjoy Albarion⁠‌ after the Emperor​ resided.

The‍‌ office of Grand​⁠‌ Chamberlain Razmael.

“A⁠​⁠ telegram has arrived.”​‌

Although‍ he had run⁠‍⁠ all the way⁠ there without stopping,‍ the man forcibly​ suppressed his ragged⁠ breathing.

Because‍‌‍ the one who‌‌ occupied that office‍‌ was someone who⁠ valued silence.

“…What⁠ does it say?”‍⁠‌

He⁠‍​ was a long-haired​⁠ man.

His⁠⁠‍ hair was tied​ back with a simple ribbon, reaching‌‌​ his shoulders.

He‌‍‌ looked more like⁠​​ a priest than⁠‍⁠ a noble.

A young man with⁠‌ a serene appearance.⁠

“…Total‍ annihilation.”

The‍‍⁠ shoulder guard identifying‍ him as a member of the⁠ Imperial Guard trembled.⁠‌⁠

The‌⁠ absolute elite of⁠ the Empire.

Men‍ trained to remain​ calm at all​​‍ times.

Yet⁠⁠‍ the guard standing‍ before Razmael could‌‍ not hide his‌ pale face.

— Wyvern stampede.

— Forces stationed at‌‌‌ Vermos Canyon annihilated.‍​‌

— Urgent support requested.​‍

The‍ telegram he held​‍ was stained red.‍‍‌

“And‍‌​ it is not⁠​ only Vermos Canyon.‍‍‌ We are currently​‌ receiving reports of‌‍ damage caused by⁠ rampaging dragons all​ across the continent.”​‍‌

Even‍‍ excluding the north,‌​⁠ where magical communications‌​⁠ had collapsed, the‌‍ reports continued to‌‍ arrive without end.⁠⁠⁠

From‍ the west.

From​ the east.

Even‍⁠ from the distant‌‌​ Southern Archipelago.

Every‌‍ territory under imperial‍⁠ jurisdiction was desperately‌‍​ sending requests for⁠⁠ aid.

“…Where‍‌ is Sir Vlad​‍‌ Aureo currently located?”‌

With‍​ every telegram, dozens‌‍‍ of soldiers died.‍‌‌

The⁠⁠ situation was critical.‍​‍

Every​ second mattered.

Yet​ even in the‍⁠​ face of such‌⁠ urgency, Razmael remained⁠ calm as he​‌ looked at a tree beyond the⁠​ window.

“Still‍‍ no news from⁠​ the Arctic?”

In‌‍ the darkness of‍​ the night, flowers​ swayed outside.

White​​‍ magnolias dancing in‍⁠ the wind.

They‍ resembled candle flames⁠‍⁠ on the verge⁠⁠ of going out.‍‍

“Other⁠ than the Arctic,⁠‍‍ nearly all northern⁠⁠‌ territories have lost‍‌‍ magical communications, Lord‌​‍ Razmael.”

And‍⁠ among all those‍⁠‍ flowers, there was​⁠ one that particularly‍ caught his attention.​‍

The‍ largest.

The⁠‍ most beautiful.

The‌​ only one that⁠ remained standing despite‌​ the wind.

“…Even‍​⁠ after growing so⁠ much, he still​⁠‍ cannot protect anything.”​

“Pardon?”​⁠

For⁠‌ an instant, Razmael’s​‍‍ expression twisted slightly.​

It‍ was such a subtle change that​​ anyone could have‌​⁠ missed it.

But‌​‍ the guard who⁠‍‌ had served him‍⁠ for years noticed.​‍

“There‌​‍ is only one⁠‍​ Swordmaster. But the‌​⁠ calamities that have⁠⁠ emerged number in‍‌⁠ the dozens. We​‍ cannot continue waiting⁠ forever for Sir​‌ Vlad.”

With⁠ that, Razmael unfolded⁠‌ a sheet of‌‌‌ paper.

“Take​ this to the​ Protector of the⁠ Realm. Tell him‍‌ that both His‍‍ Majesty the Emperor⁠ and I, Razmael,⁠ have given our‌⁠‍ approval.”

The⁠‌ guard received the⁠‍ document and froze.​

Because‍ two seals were⁠⁠‍ stamped upon it.‌‌

The‍‍ emblem of the‌‍ Grand Chamberlain.

And‍‌ the exclusive symbol​ of the Emperor.‍‍

The​‍ Imperial Order of‌‍ the Golden Seal.​‌​

A decree issued by‌⁠‌ the ruler of‍​ the Empire and‍‌⁠ executed by his‍ right hand.

“We​ will restore the​‍ Dragonslayers.”

A single flower, no‌⁠ matter how brilliant,‌ cannot protect every‌ possibility.

The​‍​ winds blew from​⁠‍ every direction.

And‌​ the flowers continued‌​⁠ to fall one​⁠⁠ after another beneath‍‌⁠ the roars of‍​‍ maddened dragons.

“Transmit⁠ this to every⁠​ family and territory⁠​ that can still⁠​​ receive telegrams.”

Razmael’s⁠⁠ eyes shone with‍ unwavering determination.

“Let‍⁠ all knights who⁠​​ swore under the​‌ name of the⁠ founding king, Kihano⁠ Frausen, hear this.​​ From this moment‌‌ onward, all those​⁠‍ whose names are‌ recorded in the⁠​ Registry of the​⁠ Dragonslayers are to‍ proceed to Brigantes.‌​⁠ This is an‍⁠ imperial order issued⁠‍‌ by the Emperor⁠‌‍ of the Empire.”‍

They⁠⁠ did not need⁠ the brightest dragon.⁠⁠‍

Nor​‌‍ a Swordmaster who‍ could not even‍ be present.

What‍ the Empire needed⁠ now were not​⁠ legendary heroes.

But​‍​ human swords capable​ of protecting themselves.⁠

“From‌‍‌ this moment onward,​‍‌ we will kill‌​ the maddened dragons.”‍‌‍

This‌ world was filled​‌ with poison.

Poison⁠ left behind by‍⁠⁠ previous generations who⁠⁠‌ pursued nothing but​ prosperity and glory.​‌⁠

And‍ Razmael did not⁠ believe that poison​‌ existed only in‌‌‌ dark and forgotten‍⁠⁠ corners.

Perhaps⁠ the greatest and‍‍​ cruelest poison was‌⁠ hidden behind the​⁠ most glorious names.‌​​

“……”⁠​

The⁠​ Black Moon seemed​​‌ closer than ever.‌⁠‌

The⁠⁠‍ Black Moon created‍⁠ from a fragment‍​​ of the most​ perfect dragon and​ sent into the⁠‌ sky by the⁠​‍ Swordmaster of this⁠‍ era.

And⁠‌ Razmael knew one‍ thing very well.‌

The​‌​ closer that moon‌‌‌ came,

the​ louder the dragons’‌ roars became.

***‍⁠‍

On⁠ a northern prairie⁠‌ illuminated by the⁠⁠⁠ faint light of‌‍ the Black Moon.‌

In​ the middle of‌ that vast plain‌⁠⁠ where there was​⁠‍ no trace of‌⁠‍ human presence, a small campfire swayed​‍‌ gently.

“Snif…”​⁠‍

A dark-skinned girl cried⁠‌ as she stared⁠‌‌ blankly into the​‌​ flames.

She‍ had cried so‍⁠ much that the‌​ tear tracks reached‍​‍ all the way‍ down to her‌‌ chin.

And⁠‍ she was not​‌ the only one.​​

All​‍​ the children around​ her were the⁠‌ same.

“Telsha…‍ snif…”

“……”⁠‌

The⁠⁠‍ atmosphere was gloomy.⁠

No,‌‌ gloomy was not​ even enough to‍ describe it.

It‌ felt as though⁠‌ everyone wanted to‌‌ bury themselves underground.‍

And​​‌ the wrecked carriage⁠​‍ parked nearby only‌‍ made the scene​ even sadder.

“So,⁠ where exactly are‍⁠ we, Renvar?”

Emil⁠ asked with bloodshot​‍ eyes.

The​‍ cloth wrapped around⁠​ his head was⁠ stained red.

It​​ had been Tarenian​‌ who, through tears,‌​ had torn her​ own clothes to‍ improvise that bandage.​

“…I‍​⁠ don’t know that‌‌​ either.”

Renvar​⁠⁠ scratched his head‌‍‍ awkwardly.

Then⁠‍‌ he glanced at⁠​​ the yellow mole‍ as if asking​⁠ it for help.⁠​‌

But‌ the creature completely​‌ ignored him.

“I‍‌⁠ just followed the‍‌​ direction that thing​‍​ was pointing.”

The​‌ mole was sprawled⁠ across a broken⁠​ wheel as if​‌‌ it had exhausted⁠‌ all its energy.‌

During‌‍​ the desperate carriage‌⁠ escape, the creature⁠‍ had remained on⁠ top of Renvar’s​‍ head, constantly pointing⁠‍ the way.

And‍​⁠ considering that Renvar‍‍ had actually managed‍​ to guide them‍‌‍ by following those‌⁠ directions, that alone‍ was a miracle.⁠​‌

But⁠⁠ the problem was‌ that now none​‌ of them knew‍⁠‌ where they were.‍‌

“…It’s⁠​⁠ a prairie between​​‍ Sturma and Varna.‌ I know because⁠ I came here‌ with my father.”‌‌‌

Hampton,​​ who had remained‍‍‌ seated in silence‌ until then, spoke‌ as he wiped​‍ his nose.

“If⁠ you keep heading‌‍​ south from here,​​ you reach Varna.‍⁠⁠ That’s why my⁠ father and I used to come⁠ here often to…”⁠

He‍‍​ tried to hold​⁠‍ it back.

But​ one word remained⁠​‌ stuck in his​‍ throat.

“…to‌​‍ drive cattle and​ horses.”

Even‌‌‌ now, whenever he‍‌ closed his eyes,‌‍​ he felt like​​​ his father would⁠ appear in front​​⁠ of him.

He‌ could still see⁠⁠ him waving.

It​​​ felt like a dream.

But⁠‌​ the cold sensation‍​‌ of the brooch⁠‌ hanging around his‌⁠ neck reminded him‌ that it had​ all been real.‌

“Come‌​​ here, Hampton.”

“Snif…”‌⁠‍

Emil‍‍​ placed his hands‍​ on his friend’s‍‍‌ shoulders.

“I⁠‍ know too. I was there with‌​ you. Every summer​ we came here⁠ together, remember?”

“Uuuh…”⁠​

They​ had been happy‍‍‍ children.

Children⁠‍ who crossed those‍⁠⁠ prairies following their‍⁠⁠ fathers among cattle‍‍⁠ and horses.

Children‍‍​ who pitched tents⁠ at night and‌​ roasted meat.

And‍ who always ended⁠ their vacations fishing⁠ in Sir Ramund’s‍ vineyard.

“I⁠ promise you. I’ll​​ do it.”

Your‌​ father was like‌ my father.

And⁠‌​ my grandfather was⁠‍ like your grandfather.‌

That’s‍ why.

“I’m‌⁠ going to kill‍ him.”

The⁠⁠‍ man who had‍‍‍ returned from death.‌​‍

The​‍⁠ man who had‌ gone mad.

Ishtvan‌ Gaidar.

A blue light shone​ in Emil’s eyes‌‌‌ as he spoke⁠ those words.

Someday⁠ he would have‌ to overcome that​‌ wound.

But⁠‌ for now, the‌‍ mark Ishtvan had‌ left inside his‍ world was still‌​​ open and bleeding.​

“I’ll​‍ do it…”

Afraid‌‍ that the flame‍‌ burning inside his‌‌ chest might go‌⁠⁠ out, Emil buried​‌​ his face between​​‍ his knees.

And‌ as silence settled⁠​ over the children⁠⁠ once again, a voice spoke softly.⁠

[…But‌‍ Sir Ramund would⁠​ not want you‌‍ to seek revenge.]‌‌​

It​ was a calm‍ voice.

A voice trying to‌​‍ comfort a wounded⁠ young beast.

But‌​ Emil was too‍​​ busy feeding the‍⁠‍ fire burning inside‌ him.

“…Shut⁠ up.”

[I’m⁠‍ sure he would‌ rather you be​⁠‌ safe.]

The‍ voice continued speaking.‌‌

Unaware‍⁠⁠ of the boy’s‍​‍ pain.

“I⁠ told you to⁠ shut up, Renvar.”‌‌⁠

Growling,‍ Emil lifted his​ head.

Why‌‌‍ the hell do‍ you keep bothering​​ me, Renvar?!

But​‌ the words died‌⁠ in his throat.‍‍

“…Who​ are you?”

Because​​ the person sitting⁠ in front of‍⁠ him was not⁠ Renvar.

It‍​‍ was someone completely‌⁠​ unfamiliar.

[It’s‌ been a long‌ time, Emil.]

He‍⁠ was a black-haired‍‍‌ man.

Thin.‍‌

With‍ deep shadows beneath‌‌ his eyes.

But⁠ to Emil, his⁠ appearance was the​ least important thing.‌

“Huh?”‌⁠​

Because​⁠​ the man was‌‍‍ blurry.

So⁠ blurry that he​ could see Tarenian⁠‍ sitting behind him.‌‍⁠

“Huh?”‌​

Someone​‌ was sitting right​‍ in front of⁠⁠‌ him.

And‍⁠ yet he could⁠⁠‌ perfectly see the‌ person behind him.⁠⁠‍

Unable​​ to understand what​ was happening, Emil​​‍ stretched out a hand toward the⁠⁠‌ stranger.

Fwoosh—⁠‌

“……”‍‍

His‌ hand passed straight‌​ through the man’s‌‍‌ body without meeting​ any resistance.

It⁠⁠‍ continued forward and⁠⁠ ended up touching‍⁠ Tarenian’s cheek.

Emil⁠ slowly turned his‍​‌ head toward the⁠​ others.

“…Can⁠‍ you see him‍‌ too?”

Hampton​ nodded.

Renvar​⁠​ as well.

The‌​ yellow mole nodded‍​‌ too.

And‌‌ when all their‌ gazes met…

“AAAAAAAHHHH!!!”⁠​​

“KYAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”​‌​

“HIEEEEEK!!!”‌‌

“WHAT​ THE HELL IS​‍ THAT?!!!”

“Kyu!⁠​⁠ Kyu Kyu Kyu‌ Kyu!”

The‍‍⁠ children sprang from​‌‌ their spots like⁠‍ springs and began‌​⁠ screaming hysterically.

[Children,‌‍‍ please listen for‌ a moment…]

“IT’S‍‍‌ A GHOST!!!”

“Where’s⁠‍ my sword?! Get​‍​ me a sword⁠ right now!”

“Idiot!⁠‌⁠ How are you⁠‍​ going to stab‌ a ghost?”

“Moooom!!!​ Telsaaaaaa!!!”

The‌‍ children crowded together​⁠ on the other​‌​ side of the‍‌ campfire.

Pushing‍ each other.

Arguing‌‌ about who should​​⁠ stand in front.⁠‍​

The‍‍ shadows cast by‌⁠ the fire mixed‌⁠‍ chaotically.

And‍ in the end,​ Renvar, being the‍‌​ tallest of them‍ all, ended up⁠⁠ at the front.​​⁠

He​ crossed two fingers‍‌ into the shape⁠ of a cross‌⁠ and shouted.

“Back‌ off! Get away!⁠​ Get away!”

The‍‌ others hid behind‌ him as if‍⁠‍ he were a shield.

With‍‍ tear-streaked faces, they​​‍ barely peeked their⁠‍ heads out to⁠​ look at the⁠ stranger.

Seeing​⁠⁠ that, the black-haired⁠‍ man smiled awkwardly.⁠⁠

[Nice​ to meet you.⁠‍‌ My name is…]⁠‍‌

“Don’t‌‍⁠ listen to him!⁠ If we listen,‍ he’ll curse us!”⁠‌‌

“Bleeeeh!”​​‍

“Saint⁠ Justia of San⁠⁠ Rozino! Please save‌‍⁠ us!”

The​​‍ peaceful prairie filled‌ with desperate screams.‍⁠

And​‌ as he watched​ the children panic,‍ the semi-transparent man‍ scratched his head.‌⁠‍

[Children,⁠‍⁠ why don’t we​⁠‍ try calming down‌‌⁠ a little?]

Joseph.⁠​⁠

A man who understood⁠‍ all kinds of‍ strategies and conspiracies.‍​​

But‌ who had never‍‍‍ learned how to⁠‌ deal with children.‌

And​⁠ beneath the Black⁠‍‍ Moon, which seemed‌⁠ closer than ever,​ he could only⁠ wear an utterly‍​ helpless expression.

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