The pair of eyes gazing out from between the gap shifted. After having stopped on Eugene for a few seconds, the eyes turned to look at the rest of the people there. Then the eyes stopped once more on Kristina.
Eugene’s instinctive response to this unexpected appearance was to think, ‘What the hell is this?’
He had only met those eyes for a few moments, but Eugene could still feel a chill running down his spine.
Unconsciously, Eugene took a step forward. Even though that was all he had done, the prickling sensation coming from his skin in response to that movement was the first sign of the threat lying in front of him.
He sensed a terrifyingly sinister dark power coming from those eyes. So he was sure that this person was involved with black magic, but there was something else familiar about it.
Right at that moment, the pillar of soil that had risen up from the ground suddenly shattered apart as something leaped out from inside.
The explosion threw Eugene off guard for a few moments. No, rather than throwing him off guard — Eugene had actually been overwhelmed by the pressure, even if it was only for a few seconds.
Was it due to the figure’s strength? No, it wasn’t anything like that. Instead, what had overwhelmed Eugene was the figure’s terrible hatred and killing intent. This hatred and killing intent were so intense it felt like it wouldn’t stop even after killing everyone in this world, and it shot past Eugene before rushing at Kristina.
Kristina was neither a knight nor a warrior. Having been personally instructed by Raphael, she did possess a certain level of combat capability, but her role as a cleric meant she was someone who assisted the knights and the warriors from the rear. However, the truth was, even if she had been an exceptional knight or a warrior, she still wouldn’t have been able to react in time to this situation she was faced with.
Struck by a tide of bewilderment and distress, Kristina’s body was frozen stiff.
It wasn’t just Kristina. Even Anise, who also shared her body, was astonished and at a loss when she saw the same thing as Kristina.
The rage and killing intent of the figure were directed at Kristina’s neck. Its hand, which was swung like a blade, was about to tear out Kristina’s throat, but just then, Eugene barely managed to intervene.
Clang!
The collision took place right in front of Kristina. Instead of pulling Kristina away in order to protect her, Eugene had hastily pushed her backward.
“Ah…!”
As she staggered backward, Kristina let out a slightly belated scream. Had Eugene been even the slightest bit late with his intervention, that hand would have torn apart Kristina’s throat.
Eugene glared at the hand that he had just barely managed to catch. The hand he was holding was so cold it didn’t seem human. Eugene felt like he was holding onto a block of ice.
…So that was why the figure had seemed familiar.
This hand had calluses from the rough work it had been put to. The fingers were thick and knotted. And the back of the hand was crisscrossed with all kinds of scars.
“I had heard that she looked similar,” the owner of the hand said without looking at Eugene, who was blocking his way forward. His piercing eyes, in a face that had been twisted into a grimace, were fixed on Kristina, who was standing behind Eugene with her hands clasped over her mouth. “But they look so much alike that I couldn’t help throwing myself at her. You’re Kristina Rogeris, aren’t you? Could you truly be her?”
Eugene looked at the twisted grimace on the figure’s face.
He noted the ferocious eyes, the scar that ran diagonally across the face, and another one that cut across the bridge of his nose. There were also several other minor scars. Then came those eyes that were filled with the man’s murderous intent and hatred, his twisted smile, his shaggy bangs, and his hair at the back that had been casually tied up into a ponytail because it was too annoying to take care of.
“But that… would make no sense. No matter how you think about it, it shouldn’t be possible. It’s been three hundred years. That’s a whole three hundred years, after all. But now, after three hundred years have passed, how could you, Kristina Rogeris, the Saint of this era, have that face…? Why does your face so resemble Anise, that bitch who deserves to be torn to pieces over and over again?” the man said with a snark.
Eugene and Anise were very familiar with this man’s face. Kristina, who had seen Anise’s memories, also recognized his face.
The appearances of Sienna’s former comrades had been recorded in Aroth’s Royal Library of Akron, on the top floor, within Sienna’s Hall. Mer, who had been stationed there as Sienna’s familiar, and Lovellian, Melkith, and Balzac, who were all Tower Masters, also recognized who that face belonged to. Even Cyan, who had seen the statue of the man now erected at the Lionheart main estate, recognized who this man was.
“Could you actually be Anise?” the Death Knight that had been raised from Hamel’s corpse asked with a laugh.
Having realized who this was, Anise screamed from within Kristina’s head, [The Death Knight…!]
She had heard the story from Eugene some time ago. However, now that Anise saw him in person, she couldn’t help but let out such a cry. This Death Knight that had been raised from a corpse; three hundred years ago, Anise had seen countless such undead.
The wars of that era had been so terrible because even death could not guarantee one’s eternal rest. Many knights and warriors who had lost all hope of victory and had feared death had sold their dignity and souls to the black wizards and demonfolks. Those with poorer skills had become lowly undead once they had died, while those who had been publicly renowned as strong individuals became Death Knights after they died.
Death Knights were made by resurrecting a deceased body using black magic and tying the soul, which was being called to leave this world, back into the body.
Anise had heard that a Death Knight had been created from Haeml’s corpse. However, since Hamel’s soul had already been reincarnated and was here in a different body, just who on earth was the soul that had been implanted into the body of this Death Knight?
“...You…,” Eugene squeezed out as he tried to swallow back his nausea. He had already seen a Death Knight that had been made from his own corpse a few years back, so it was easier to regain his composure this time, “Who the hell are you?”
The Death Knight Eugene had met at that time had claimed himself to be the Stupid Hamel, but it was actually an imperfect imitation that had been made after settling on the soul of an unknown lycanthrope. Although it had been able to at least partially imitate the muscle memories that had been left in Hamel’s body, it had actually been a completely different being with none of Hamel’s personality from his previous life.
“Hamel Dynas,” the Death Knight replied.
It seemed that the Death Knight this time wouldn’t introduce himself as the Stupid Hamel. He finally turned his glare away from Kristina to stare at Eugene, who was standing in front of him.
“...That gray hair, those golden eyes, you look like that son of a bitch Vermouth,” the Death Knight muttered. “I have to say, it’s quite amazing to still see such a sight, even after three hundred years. That bastard really did give birth to litters of pups like an actual bitch, but how did all of the many brats that he spawned manage to inherit his gray hair and golden eyes?”
Eugene’s nausea deepened. Although he really didn’t want to admit this fact, unlike the Death Knight from last time, the Death Knight that was in front of him now — he really did manage to imitate Hamel extremely well.
“So then, your name is… Eugene Lionheart, correct? The one who, like Vermouth, was acknowledged by the Holy Sword. Although this is my first time seeing you, I’ve heard a bit about you from my Master,” the Death Knight revealed.
His Master?
“I’ve heard that you’re pretty strong?” the Death Knight continued. “The world has even been calling you the Second Coming of Vermouth. Do you know what was my first thought when I came back to life like this was?”
Clench.
The Death Knight’s hand flexed. His hand, which was as hard and as cold as a block of ice, began to exert heavy pressure on Eugene’s own hand.
“I decided that I needed to wipe out all the seeds that were left behind by that bastard, Vermouth,” the Death Knight hissed. “Then comes Molon, who, surprisingly for him, went ahead and founded his own kingdom. I’ll eradicate that fool’s royal family as well.”
The increasing pressure began to push Eugene’s hand backward. With each sinister curse that the Death Knight spat, the expression on Eugene’s face slowly disappeared.
One by one, with each word that it uttered, the Death Knight’s rage and killing intent seemed to continuously grow as it attempted to swallow Eugene.
“What’s slightly unfortunate is that Anise and Sienna didn’t give birth to any brats,” the Death Knight sighed. “I didn’t know about Anise, but I thought for sure that Sienna would leave something behind.”
Eugene wasn’t consumed by the pressure; even in the face of the Death Knight’s rage and killing intent, he managed to persist. By now, his face didn’t have any trace of emotion or the slightest expression left on it.
The Death Knight suddenly recalled something, “Come to think of it, I’ve heard that you’re Sienna’s heir, right? Would you happen to know something about her? Sienna, that yappy bitch, secretly took advantage of me[1]—”
“Hey,” Eugene’s lips finally parted.
The hand that was blocking the Death Knight’s own was no longer getting pushed back. As all emotion seemed to disappear from them, an eerie light began to shine in Eugene’s eyes.
“Don’t you dare say another word,” Eugene hissed.
Eugene didn’t spout any curses back at the Death Knight. He felt like his breath was getting caught in his chest, and it was painful to even try and say anything. It felt like a knife had been lodged in his throat. His head was burning as if it had been dipped in hellfire, and a high-pitched squeal was ringing in his ears.
As for his chest and heart — Eugene refused to give it any more thought. Letting out a gasp of air, Eugene lowered the hand he had raised up in a block in front of him.
Claaaang!
The moment Eugene lowered his hand, his other fist was sent flying forward. The Death Knight reacted immediately and blocked Eugene’s fist with his own hands, but his whole body was still blown backward by the blow.
Eugene’s outstretched fist tingled. While shaking his wrist lightly, Eugene marched forwards.
But Eugene wasn’t the only one who was furious after hearing what the Death Knight had to say.
Kristina grabbed onto her rosary as she cried out, “Sir Eugene!”
At some point, Lovellian, who had been forced to listen to such insults being leveled against his Grandmaster, had also pulled out his staff and was holding it in his hands. Melkith and Balzac were also finishing up their own preparations to attack the Death Knight, and even Cyan had drawn his sword.
“Please stay out of this,” Eugene snarled out without even turning back to look at them.
Eugene didn’t want to try and understand what the Death Knight meant by those words he had just said, nor did he have any intention of replying to them. This fight — no, executing this son of a bitch — was something that Eugene needed to do on his own. After all, that body had once belonged to Eugene in the past.
He didn’t know whose soul now dwelled in his corpse that had been raised as a Death Knight, but that guy — he was actually talking about himself as if he were Hamel. Yet although he was referring to himself as Hamel, he was saying things that the real Hamel would never say.
But why? Looking at its personality, the Death Knight’s persona seemed to be a projection of the body’s memories, so why was it saying such things?
Eugene didn’t bother to ask any questions. His own rage and killing intent were stronger than any desire to look into these questions. Eugene was no longer expressionless or emotionless. His eyes had lit up like those of a mad beast, and indiscriminate killing intent was surging forth from his body.
“Hoh,” the Death Knight, who had been pushed back quite a distance, muttered in surprise as he shook his hand.
Even though he hadn’t had much room for acceleration, Eugene’s fist had been quite heavy. And now look at what Eugene was doing. Could a child born in a peaceful era like this truly be as vicious as Eugene currently seemed?
“You’re nothing like the rest of the brats born these days,” the Death Knight said with a chuckle as he clenched and unclenched his fist.
‘Since the Lionhearts and the Tower Masters from Aroth have interfered, please intercept them.’
That had been the request the Death Knight received from Edmond. The capital of the Kohcilla Tribe, which was where the Death Knight and Edmond had been located at that time, was far from here, but as this was a site where the Earth Veins had been twisted, the Kochillas had kept a record of these coordinates. As long as he had the coordinates, Edmond was able to send the Death Knight here, as it could be considered a type of undead summons.
The Death Knight, who was burning with an artificially induced hatred and desire for vengeance, hadn’t refused Edmond’s request. As he believed that he himself was Hamel, the Death Knight held a desire to get his revenge on all those who had betrayed him.
And that included Vermouth’s descendants, the Lionheart clan. Their presence here alone would have been enough to arouse the Death Knight’s thirst for blood, but then he had seen the Saint of this era, who closely resembled that disgusting serpent Anise.
The Death Knight licked his lower lip as he grabbed the hilt of the sword at his waist.
This brat from the Lionheart clan… might have only recently become an adult, but he was already being called the Second Coming of Vermouth.
The Death Knight could still clearly recall the memories from when he was alive. Although Vermouth had also just come of age when the two of them had first met, the hero had already possessed such strength that it was hard to believe his apparent age.
The Death Knight hated Vermouth for having betrayed him and stabbed him through the back with his sword. However, that aside, he still couldn’t help but recognize Vermouth’s strength.
So, for this Eugene Lionheart, the Death Knight wanted to check for himself whether this guy deserved to be called the Second Coming of Vermouth. And he also desired to take the life of the person who was being showered with such praise with his own hands.
The Death Knight drew his sword.
When Eugene had told the others not to interfere, the emotions that were contained in those words were so bloodthirsty and dire that everyone remained standing where they were, staring at Eugene’s back. Of course, none of them allowed themselves to relax completely. Everyone was ready to provide Eugene with support in case of an emergency.
Eugene didn’t look back. He kept to a walk rather than a run. As he slowly approached the Death Knight, Eugene also slipped a hand into his cloak. Eugene’s fingertips brushed over the handles of the countless weapons within.
They skimmed over the Demon Spear Luentos. They slid over the Annihilation Hammer Jigollath. They brushed over the Devouring Sword Azphel, the Thunderbolt Pernoa, and the Dragon Spear Kharbos.
Eugene’s hand hovered over the Holy Sword Altair for a few moments, but eventually, it was drawn to another weapon. As Eugene’s fingertips were about to wrap around the hilt of the Moonlight Sword, right at that moment, Wynnyd moved of its own volition and shoved itself into Eugene’s hand.
[Hamel…!] A cry rang out inside Eugene’s head.
In the face of Tempest’s expression of his pure and heartfelt rage, Eugene’s lips arced into a smile.
“Fine then,” Eugene agreed.
His fingers wrapped around Wynnyd’s hilt. The moment its silverish blue blade was drawn from his cloak, the gust of wind summoned by the sword of its own volition sent Eugene’s hair and the hem of his cloak fluttering.
Eugene quietly muttered, “If it’s you, then you should have a pretty good idea of what I’m feeling right now.”
A huge gust of wind proceeded to wash over Eugene’s back. Through this violent storm, Tempest was letting out his own roar of rage. Eugene lifted Wynnyd high and glared at the Death Knight.
“Wynnyd…! Tempest, you’re also on the list of people I want to kill!” the Death Knight let out his own roar as he returned Eugene’s grin.
Screeeech!
As the Death Knight’s sword was drawn from its scabbard, black flames wrapped around the blade. As this flame-like aura around the sword proceeded to swell up to a huge size, it was dark power, not mana, that fueled this growth. While continuing to expand his ominous and dark-colored sword-force, the Death Knight charged at Eugene.
Purple flames engulfed Eugene’s body. The sparks that flew out from him looked like a lion’s mane.
Claaang!
Dark power collided against these flames. A storm of wind swept forward over Eugene’s back. The Death Knight swung his sword at this storm that he shouldn’t even be able to cut, and the chopping slash tore straight through the storm of wind.
[Hamel!] Tempest shouted. [This thing doesn’t have the soul of a human! It’s just a monster made by mixing together the souls of demonic beasts!]
“That sounds about right,” Eugene muttered to himself from within the torn-apart storm.
Eugene was convinced of Tempest’s words by the swordplay that the Death Knight had displayed just now. The Death Knight that had been created using a lycanthrope’s soul hadn’t been able to reproduce Hamel’s swordsmanship. However, the current Death Knight was able to perfectly reproduce his swordsmanship.
Among the countless varieties of demonic beasts, the Doppelgangers were the only ones that could perfectly reproduce their opponent’s movements. However, in the end, their copying skills were just at the level of imitating what could be seen. They weren’t able to copy what lay below the surface. Yet this Death Knight was even able to perfectly recreate his Asura Rampage.
‘It seems they managed to perfectly reproduce the memories left within my corpse by amplifying a doppelganger’s mimicry.’
But who was the one who had made this version of Death Knight? Was it Amelia Merwin? Had that fucking bitch left her desert and come to this Rainforest?
The Death Knight had said something about his Master. So he was probably talking about Amelia. …But after having completely reproduced his memories, had this Death Knight really decided to take a black wizard as their master?
“This son of a bitch dares,” Eugen growled as he spun Wynnyd in his hand.
Bammmm!
Eugene blocked the sword-force that had slashed at his body. Then, without being pushed back, Eugene drove his sword forward instead.
The instant their two slashes collided, Eugene’s sword wove around the Death Knight’s blade and slipped past. While appearing to follow the flow of force, Wynnyd was thrust into an opening.
Yet the Death Knight also refused to be pushed back. While parrying each probing slash that came at him, he carefully watched Eugene’s movements.
He noticed that the position of Eugene’s feet was constantly changing. It seemed that his opponent was also good at shifting his weight. Being able to fire off a slash from a posture where you usually wouldn’t be able to swing a sword allowed Eugene to create numerous opportunities to attack.
‘What’s with this bastard?’ the Death Knight thought with a twitch of his brow.
He admitted that Eugene deserved to be called the Second Coming of Vermouth. However… he could feel a strong sense of incongruity coming from Eugene’s sword techniques. They weren’t just at the level of being excellent. They seemed to have already reached perfection. A perfection that was even comparable to the Death Knight’s own skills, which he had inherited from Hamel.
‘But how?’
He had heard all about the Lionheart clan from the traitor of their family, Hector Lionheart. He had been told that among the Knights of the Black Lion, the knightly order that Vermouth had created, there was someone who had inherited Hamel’s secret techniques.
Eugene Lionheart had also managed to discover Hamel’s grave and claimed to have inherited Hamel’s secret techniques from there.
But that only made the Death Knight want to kill Eugene even more. How dare the detestable Vermouth steal what he himself had failed to leave behind and even dare to teach it to his descendants.
‘No matter what the case may be… to think that he can actually use my skills at this level? Without even having learned from me personally…. No, could it just be because Vermouth managed to pass them down well?’
Even though the Death Knight had already guessed the plausible reason for Eugene’s swordsmanship, the sense of incongruity refused to disappear. Eugene’s swordsmanship wasn’t just at the level of having accepted his inheritance. It was like looking into a mirror.
‘A mirror?’
Such a thought only made the Death Knight’s hatred grow even stronger.
To think that Eugene would still dare to imitate someone when standing right in front of them. Even though the Death Knight had already gone so far as to admit that he was Hamel. For Eugene to still insist on using Hamel’s swordsmanship even with that—
Grrrrk.
“There should be a limit as to how much you can insult someone,” the Death Knight spat out through gritted teeth, a twisted scowl on his face.
‘Let’s just see if he can continue copying me,’ the Death Knight thought.
The Death Knight’s sword shook. His overflowing dark power began to condense and cling to his sword.
Hamel’s swordsmanship didn’t possess a clear form. While there was a guiding flow to it, in order to use his sword style, you needed to know how to make alterations when needed.
The Death Knight was currently making just such a change to his swordplay. The sword in his hand had become a killing sword designed solely for the sake of executing Eugene.
All of his power was being condensed into a single slash. Just as Eugene had borrowed the strength of the storm, the Death Knight was amplifying the strength of his slash with his own dark power. Yet if it was simply dark power alone, his efforts might just add up to a forceful push, but the Death Knight wasn’t using just any ordinary dark power.
The Death Knight was making use of the dark power that reinforced his own dead body. By concentrating that dark power into one place, the Death Knight could generate an explosive force.
Crackle.
Lightning began to mix in with the flames surrounding Eugene. The moment the Death Knight’s concentrated slash was about to be released at Eugene, Eugene’s sword, which was accelerated by the lightning, pierced through the center of the Dark Knight’s slash.
“...What on earth?” the Death Knight gasped.
He had had no choice but to retreat. If the Death Knight had insisted on taking the blow, one side of his chest would have been pierced through.
As a raised corpse, his body wouldn’t die even if his chest was pierced, but the Death Knight, having retained all the memories from his previous life, couldn’t allow himself to be pierced by that sword. He had no intention of allowing himself to be injured by Vermouth’s descendants.
The Death Knight felt forced to ask, “Are you truly a descendant of Vermouth?”
Eugene’s sword and how he had perfectly grasped where the Death Knight was swinging his sword, what he was aiming at, and how he intended to attack — the Death Knight couldn’t understand how Eugene could know all these, so he couldn’t help but ask.
Eugene didn’t respond to the question.
Instead, his sword and the storm danced together once more.
1. Just in case this doesn’t seem clear, the fake Hamel is referring to the false confession in the fairy tale. ☜
