Star-Embracing Swordmaster — Chapter 298: Side Story – Vlad of Soara? (2)

Chapter 298: Side Story – Vlad of Soara? (2)

A world painted only‍‌ in black and white.

Beneath‌‌ the Black Moon⁠ of lies and⁠⁠ the White Moon‍ of truth, at‍⁠ the moment that‍‍ radiant boy was⁠‌ born, the necromancer⁠ lying on the‌‍‌ ground opened his⁠ eyes in disbelief.⁠

‘T-that is…!’

The‍ suddenly taller stature,‌ the firm muscles,⁠ and the golden hair shining magnificently‍ beneath the moonlight.

But‌⁠ the necromancer was‍‍ not looking at‍ that dazzling appearance.‌⁠

What⁠ he saw were those blue eyes‌ so intense that⁠ they were painful⁠⁠ to look at.⁠

‘Vlad‍ of Soara!’

Vlad‌ of Soara was‌ there.

Exactly‌ as he had⁠ looked when he‌ wiped away the⁠ black tears of‌ that woman desperately‍‌ searching for her‌⁠ child.

The⁠⁠⁠ necromancer who had‌‌ cast that curse‌⁠ through a puppet⁠ more than twenty‍ years ago remembered‌ perfectly who had⁠ destroyed his black‌ magic.

“……!”‌‌

And⁠ that golden beast moved once more.‌‍

Just‍ like back then.

After⁠ destroying his curse,‌ he advanced to‌⁠ wipe away the‍‍ black tears of‍ a young girl.‍‍‍

Slash!⁠

Along‍ with a white‌‍ trail, an assassin’s‍ head flew into‍ the air.

“……!”⁠⁠‍

With‍ an expression of complete incomprehension, the‌‌ head began spinning‌‌ as it rose.‍‌‍

The⁠ last thing that⁠ floating head, hanging‍‌‌ like a moon,‌ saw was the geyser of blood‍‌ erupting from its neck and, beneath⁠⁠‌ it, the figure‍‍ of Vlad holding‍ the young girl.⁠

“I-it’s⁠⁠ Aura!”

Just⁠‌‍ as someone shouted,⁠ a white world‍‍‌ flowed from the⁠ boy’s closed left‌⁠ eye.

The proof that symbolized knights capable of surpassing human limits.⁠‌

A white so intense⁠⁠ it was difficult‌ even to look‌⁠ at flashed like‍ lightning around his⁠ eyes.

“Follow⁠‌ me!”

Emil,‌ bearing Vlad’s appearance,‍⁠ roughly grabbed Lenia’s⁠⁠ wrist.

“I’ll‌⁠ open the way!”‌

Emil⁠ and Lenia were⁠ surrounded by dozens‌ of assassins.

The⁠ gleaming blades had‌‍‌ momentarily stopped, confused‍⁠‍ by the unexpected‌ situation.

And⁠ the young beast⁠⁠ did not let‍⁠ that opportunity slip‌‍ away.

“Get out of my‍⁠⁠ way!”

A dragon’s cruelty never‌ hesitates to tear⁠‌‌ apart its prey’s‌‍ weaknesses.

The‍‌‍ dragon’s sharp fangs‍ sank into motionless‌‍ enemies.

The‍‍ screams of the‍ assassins began to⁠‌⁠ pile up behind‍ the rapid sword‍⁠ strikes.

“Ughhh!”‌

“Aaaagh!”‍

The‍ first was cut⁠ down.

The second was pierced‍‌ deeply.

The⁠‍⁠ third received a fatal wound.

And‍‍ the last one—‌‍

“Kugh!”‌‌

A slash across his‍ waist scattered his‍ entrails through the‌‌‍ air.

Emil’s⁠‌ swordsmanship was still⁠ unrefined.

That‍ was precisely why‌‍⁠ it was more‍‍ savage.

The‍‌ man’s eyes trembled‌⁠‌ violently, unable to‌ accept that reality, but Emil simply⁠ kicked the collapsing‍‌ torso aside and‍ continued forward.

‘I⁠ can do it!’‍⁠

Surrounded by countless enemies, Emil felt a euphoria rising from‌⁠ the depths of⁠ his chest.

Because‍ his father’s sword, the one he‌‍⁠ had never managed‌ to imitate, was‌‌‍ unfolding before his‌ very eyes.

‘Now⁠‍ I can!’

Each‌ death made it⁠ clearer.

Each bloodbath made it‍⁠ more vivid.

And‍ thus, his own⁠ path of the sword gradually began to take shape.

Only‍ then did Emil‌ understand something.

His‍ father’s sword had‍ grown by feeding⁠ on countless deaths.⁠⁠

“Move!”‍

Deeper.‌⁠‍

Faster.‌‌⁠

The‍‌ fangs of that‍ young dragon who‌⁠ had finally found‌ his path grew‌ sharper and sharper.‍

“I‍ said move!”

At‍ the same time,‌‌‍ the blue in⁠ his eyes became‍ increasingly intense.

His‌⁠ pupils had already‌⁠ split vertically as‍ he looked at⁠ the assassin holding‌‌‌ Hampton.

“…Hah.”‌⁠⁠

The‍‍ man’s breath froze white.

He‌‍‍ tried to move.‌⁠

But⁠‌ those dragon eyes‌‍ permitted no action.‍⁠

Just‍ like those poor⁠‌ Frostbreath Rabbits that‍ exhaled one last‌⁠ white breath before‍ dying.

Slash!‍

A white trajectory passed‍ over Hampton’s head.‌

The‌ killing intent was so fierce that⁠‍ even Hampton shut⁠⁠ his eyes.

Then⁠ he heard a familiar voice shout‌‌‌ urgently.

“Idiot!‌⁠⁠ What are you doing standing there?!”‍

After shoving Lenia toward‍ Hampton, Emil shouted,⁠‌

“Run!”⁠‍

In‌‍ the direction Emil‍ pointed stood a black-haired man.

With⁠ a banner resembling⁠‌ the night sky planted in the‌ ground, he remained kneeling on one⁠ knee while silently⁠ praying.

Was‌ he a mage?⁠

A knight?

A priest?

It‌‌ was impossible to‍⁠ tell.

As‍ he recited quietly,‍‌ he continued declaring truths and lies⁠‌ to the two⁠‌ moons hanging in⁠ the sky.

‘N-now!’⁠

The‍‌ necromancer watched the⁠ situation with frantic‍‍ eyes.

Quickly,⁠ he crawled toward‍‍⁠ one of the⁠ corpses Emil had‌ left behind and‍ placed a hand‍⁠‌ on it.

‘As‍ long as I have a corpse!’‍

He‍ was an expert‌ at manipulating bodies.‌

He‌⁠⁠ had been recognized⁠ for that ability⁠‍‌ and was serving⁠ his current master‌‌ because of it.⁠‌

The⁠ same necromancer who,‌ more than twenty⁠ years ago, had‌‌‌ made so many‌ women shed black‌‍ tears.

As‍ he gripped the⁠ assassin’s corpse and‌‍ recited a dark‍ incantation, the man who kept one eye closed did not allow it.‌

[The‌ dead do not⁠‍ rise. That is‍‌ a lie.]

“Aaaagh!”⁠

Joseph’s‌ world, backed by‍⁠⁠ absolute legitimacy, descended upon the necromancer’s‌ shoulders.

A terrifying pressure that‌ could not be⁠‍ resisted.

Only then did the‍‍ necromancer understand the‍‌ true nature of‍ Joseph’s power.

But‍ it was already⁠‍ too late.

[And‌‌ I hate lies.]

Joseph’s⁠ world did not move through the sword.

It⁠⁠ was a world⁠ that discerned truth‍ from falsehood.

A world born from someone who had⁠ fought desperately to⁠ survive with a weak body.

[So‍ you will have⁠ to pay the⁠‌ price.]

“Aaaaaaaaaah!”‍

It⁠⁠ was a world‌ that wielded legitimacy‌ instead of a sword.

“Haaaaaah!”⁠‌‌

The⁠ necromancer’s body began‌ to be brutally⁠⁠ crushed.

What‍ oppressed him was⁠ the Swordmaster’s Rule, one of the⁠ highest laws ever‍ created by humanity.‍‌

The‌ sin of trying⁠ to crush a young possibility.

The‍ sin of trying‍ to return death‍‌‌ to a place‌ where it did‌‍ not belong.

The weight of those⁠‍ sins crushed his⁠‌‌ body.

“Why?!‍ Why only me?!”⁠

The‍ necromancer, who had‌⁠ understood the black-and-white‌‍ world, raised a finger with all‍ his strength.

It⁠ pointed directly at⁠ Joseph Bayezid.

“You‌ also… returned from⁠‍‍ death!”

To challenge the black-and-white‌‌ world, one had⁠‍ to present an‌ objection grounded in‍‌‍ legitimacy.

It‌ was possible because Joseph manifested his world through an‍‌ honorable banner rather⁠‌ than a sword.⁠

“You‌ are no different‌ from me!”

At⁠ those words, Joseph‍⁠ opened the eye‌ he had kept‌⁠ closed.

A pale man beneath⁠ the light of⁠ the Black Moon.‍⁠

And‌ indeed, just as‍ the necromancer said,‌‌ Joseph should not⁠ exist in this⁠‍⁠ world either.

[But⁠‌‍ I am different.]⁠⁠

However,⁠ the necromancer had‌ overlooked another one⁠ of his sins.⁠

[Because‌‌ I already paid‍‌ the proper price.]‍‍⁠

“…What?”‍

The‍‌‌ necromancer’s eyes widened.⁠

He‌ could not understand⁠ Joseph’s answer.

Within‌‌‍ the rules of‍‍ black magic, that answer made absolutely‍⁠ no sense.

After⁠ all, necromancers were‍ beings who deceived⁠ death to return⁠‍ the dead to‌‍ life.

A world where the‌‍ very concept of a legitimate price‌‌ could not exist.‍‍⁠

But‍ Joseph was different.‍

[I‍‌ put that there‌‍ myself.]

Joseph’s fingers pointed toward⁠‍ the Black Moon⁠‍ hanging in the‌‌ sky.

[Containing‍ the souls of‍⁠ children, using a fragment of the‍⁠ Perfect Dragon as⁠⁠ material, and together‌‌ with the Swordmaster‍‍ of this era.]‍‌

A man who only‍ became a knight‌ at the very‌ instant he reached⁠‌‌ death.

A man who ran‍‌ to protect children,‌⁠ did what he‍⁠ had to do‍⁠‌ where he had to do it,‌‍⁠ and ultimately offered‌ up his life‌ as the price.

[But‍‍ you do not⁠‍ know me.]

Yet‍‍ no one believed‍ it was he⁠‍ who had raised‍‌ the Black Moon‌‌ into the sky.‌‌

No‍ one in this‍‌ world knew that‍‌⁠ Joseph Bayezid was‍‌‍ the last knight⁠⁠ of the Founding‌ King.

[That is why I am here now.]⁠‍

It‌‌ was nameless glory⁠ obtained in place‌ of radiant fame.⁠

What‌⁠ he left behind‌‌ were deeds that‌ would never be⁠ recorded in history.‍

Thus⁠⁠ stood Joseph Bayezid, the noblest knight⁠‌ in this world,⁠ who had never‌ let even a single honor coin⁠ fall.

[Now⁠⁠⁠ that you understand,⁠‌⁠ die.]

At‍ that declaration, the‌⁠ necromancer began to‍ be crushed.

Even⁠ as his eyes‍‌‍ seemed ready to⁠ burst from their⁠⁠‌ sockets and his‍‍ spine bent grotesquely.‌

Yet‌‌ not even under‌ such punishment was⁠‌ he able to⁠⁠ resist.

“Ghk!⁠ Aaaaargh!”

The‍ necromancer’s body, crushed‍ beneath the weight‍‌ of his sins,‍‌⁠ gradually flattened.

At the same time,‍ countless footprints began‍⁠ to mark his‍‍ back.

Dozens⁠⁠ of black tears⁠ shed by those⁠‍ women celebrated his‍‍ death.

[…Yes,‍‌‍ Vlad. That’s how⁠⁠⁠ it should be.]⁠

After‍‍‍ delivering that legitimate⁠ judgment, Joseph looked‍⁠ up and watched⁠ the young dragon⁠‌‌ fighting fiercely in‌‍‌ the distance.

[If⁠ it is you,‍ then you must‍‍ do it.]

Beneath‍‌ the black-and-white world‌‍ was a young⁠ dragon unleashed.

But‍‍‌ despite that savage‌⁠ ferocity, a smile⁠‍‌ appeared on Joseph’s‍‌⁠ face.

Because‌‌ behind that dragon‍ were the children‌‍ he was trying⁠⁠⁠ to protect.

“Damn‍ it!”

The‍ situation was extremely‍⁠ dangerous.

He‍ had taken advantage⁠ of the element‍‍ of surprise, but⁠‍ to maintain that⁠‍ momentum he needed⁠‌‌ constant speed.

However,‌‌ now his steps⁠‌⁠ had stopped.

And‌ blocking Emil’s path⁠ was the leader⁠‍ of the assassins,‍ with a dagger⁠⁠ pressed against Renvar’s‍ neck.

“…If‍‍‍ you move, this‍‌⁠ boy dies.”

The⁠‌ leader’s expression was completely serious.

And‌‍‌ for good reason.‍

Beside⁠ him lay the⁠ necromancer’s corpse, twisted‍‍ into a monstrous⁠ shape.

“If‍‌ you want to save your friend,‌ tell that man‌ to open a path for us.”‌

Neither‍ the mission nor‍⁠ the money mattered‍⁠ anymore.

Now⁠ they stood before‌‌‍ a mysterious black-haired‍⁠ man and a blond boy who⁠⁠ had grown in⁠‍ an impossible way.⁠

The‌ priority was to‌ retreat and survive another day.

That‌ was why the‌ leader intended to‌ escape using Renvar⁠‍ as a hostage.‍‌‍

“Fuuuh…”‍⁠

But Emil did not‍⁠ answer.

‘I‍‍ don’t have much‌ time left.’

No one had explained⁠‍‍ it to him.‍‍

But⁠‌ he could feel‌‌‍ that the time‍‍⁠ he could remain⁠‌ in this form‍ was running out.‌

‘My‌ eyes hurt too‍ much.’

With‌‍ a single honor‍ coin, he could‌ only reproduce Vlad‍‍⁠ at sixteen years‌ old.

On⁠‍ top of that,⁠⁠ he was using‍‍ Aura, even if‍⁠ only in a rudimentary manner.

The⁠ strain on his‍ body was immense.‍

“What⁠⁠‌ are you waiting‍⁠ for?! Do you‌‌ want to watch⁠ your friend die?!”‌

Receiving⁠‍ no response, the‍‍ leader pressed the‌‌ dagger harder against⁠ Renvar’s neck.

“Ghk…”‍

Blood‍ began to flow⁠‌ from Renvar’s neck⁠ and drip onto⁠ the ground.

“E-Emil.”⁠

He⁠ was trying to⁠ stay strong.

But‌ the fear was‍‍ obvious on his⁠ face.

Even‍ though they were⁠‌ not particularly close,‌‌ Renvar had risked‌⁠ his life for‌‍ the people of⁠⁠ Soara.

And‍⁠⁠ Emil had the‌‌ responsibility to protect⁠ him.

“…Seizing‍ the initiative by‍⁠ taking advantage of⁠ unexpected movements.”

Negotiate?‌

Could‍ he save Renvar‍‌ through negotiation?

No.‌‌

Emil‍‍ knew perfectly well‌ that it was‌⁠ impossible.

“…Controlling‌‌ the battlefield through‍ perception that is‌⁠⁠ always one step⁠‌ ahead.”

Once‌ he made his decision, white lightning‌⁠ began to burst‌ from his left⁠‍ eye.

It‌ was the last‌‍ Aura he could‍ squeeze out.

The‌ final drop of‌ strength he had‌⁠⁠ left.

Seeing‌⁠ the trail of‍ blood running down⁠ from Emil’s left‍⁠ eye, the leader⁠ of the assassins‌ began to grow⁠‍ nervous.

[That‌⁠ is the principle⁠ of One-Strike Kill.]‍‌

The‍‍‌ air began to‌ compress.

Everything‍‍ converged toward the⁠ boy who was⁠‌⁠ drawing himself inward‌⁠ like an arrow⁠‌‌ ready to be‌ fired.

When‍‌ the stretched bowstring⁠ reached its limit,‌‍ Emil’s eyes snapped‍⁠ open.

“You bastard!”

The‍ muscles in the‍ leader’s hand holding⁠ the dagger moved‌ for only an‌ instant.

It‌ was such a tiny movement that‌‍ no one should‍‍ have been able‍⁠ to see it.‍

But Emil’s dragon eyes‍ and the borrowed⁠‌ world he now‍ inhabited allowed him‍ to.

“You killed him, you‍⁠⁠ idiot!”

The‌⁠ man’s words no‍ longer reached his‌‌ ears.

Because⁠ there was a sensation that dominated‌ the entire world.⁠‍

Because he was absolutely‍ certain that he‍ could do it.⁠‍

Within‌⁠ the black-and-white world,⁠⁠ he felt as‌‍ though he were‌⁠‍ the only one‍ capable of moving.‍

In‌ that fraction of⁠ a second divided‌⁠ into hundreds of‍ moments, someone shouted‌‌ from a world‌ unimaginably far away.‍‌

[Now!]⁠

Bang!

The⁠⁠ released bowstring violently⁠⁠ propelled the arrow.‍‌

As‍ the tip of⁠‍‍ the sword born‌ from a single‌‍ point shot forward‍‌ and drew a brilliant line like‍‌ a bolt of⁠‍‍ lightning, the black-and-white‍ world began to‍‍ split apart.

‘Watch⁠‌⁠ carefully, Emil. This⁠⁠‌ is the true‌‌⁠ principle of One-Strike‌ Kill.’

There‌⁠‍ was the path of the sword‌ he had seen‍‌ as a child.‌

That‍ technique his father‌‌ had shown him⁠‌‍ once while speaking‌ about the principle⁠ of One-Strike Kill.⁠

The‌‌ swordsmanship he had‌⁠ always admired and⁠⁠ dreamed of reaching.‍‌

And⁠ as he watched⁠ his friends running⁠‍ toward him with‌⁠ their arms spread⁠ wide, the boy⁠ finally understood that‌ he had reached the very edge‍ of that sword.‌