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.