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.‌‌