Ch.150Subjugation (2)

The harsh metallic sound reverberated loudly. Between the clanging sounds announcing the apocalypse in the dead of night stood two figures.

A giant steeped in darkness and someone in elaborate ceremonial attire that seemed out of place.

The night made it difficult to see clearly, but with each clash of metal, light flashed brilliantly.

And with each spark that flew, a face, a body, an intention was revealed.

Her face appeared gentle at first glance.

Brown eyes and brown hair. A truly ordinary woman with one of the most common appearances, even in this world of Grim Darker where all manner of hair colors abounded.

Her face had a certain beauty to it, but it wasn’t the kind that would attract popularity.

The woman knew this well and made no special effort to adorn herself. What showed was makeup done not to be loved by others, but with calculated intent.

Beneath that makeup rose subtle distrust and calculation hidden within deep interest.

Her hair, tied back in a single bundle, remained unmoved even in the fierce gale, as did the woman’s slender body.

The giant’s greatsword cut through the night, and the released sword energy sparked new embers.

Clang! Her body was revealed again.

A body more lean than voluptuous.

Ceremonial robes draped over that body, with a jack chain worn over the robes.

Only the long scabbard and the longsword gliding in her hand proved she was no ordinary woman.

She exhaled a breath. Before the sparks mixed in that breath could fade, they clashed repeatedly.

Clang-clang-clang-clang!

The exchange of attacks and defenses happened at extreme speed.

When the giant blocked and deflected the thrust of the longsword and swung his fist, she avoided it by bending her waist backward before swinging her sword again.

When he parried the swinging sword with his fist, suddenly the trajectory of his fist twisted, aiming for a gap in her helmet with a thrust.

As she dodged that thrust by twisting her head and extended her hand to release anti-magic power, the woman, though staggering, swung her sword in a spray-like motion to deflect all the sword strikes aimed at her.

The distance between them widened. Dragging feet overturned the soil, and the sparks that had filled the air like melting embers slowly settled down.

Where they settled, fallen black knights already lay.

Those who had each taken a sword thrust, or who had been knocked unconscious by blows fashioned from their own anti-magic power in unexpected ways.

Powerful anti-magic power kept them alive, but it wasn’t something to worry about.

It was obvious that the woman had no intention of killing them.

Rather, she knew well that killing them would cause trouble.

Moonlight poured down. The clouds covering the moon cleared, and at last a scene visible to ordinary human eyes was revealed.

First, there was the giant gleaming black.

A man with a massive frame wearing armor that fit his body perfectly, holding a black greatsword in his right hand.

The overall impression was one of complete blackness, and fittingly, he was difficult to see at night.

For this reason, anyone who knew his name would be terrified upon seeing his appearance and could not help but cry out his name.

The woman spoke.

“Valterok.”

Valterok, the master of anti-magic power, the current headmaster of the Anti-Magic School, and the captain of the Black Knights Order—the Golem.

He looked at the woman standing before him. His eyes, carved from crystal, took in the woman, and the hand holding the greatsword adjusted its grip from slanted to straight.

The moonlight brushed over them. Under that pouring moonlight, Valterok’s armor was revealed.

Armor marked with countless scratches and sword marks. Clear evidence of allowed attacks.

And what of the woman?

The moonlight tilted. As the tilted moonlight illuminated the woman, she smiled gently and raised her longsword in a formal salute.

The woman was clearly someone who didn’t belong in this place.

Though she held a longsword and wore a jack chain, a type of armor, with a scabbard at her side.

There was awkwardness in the woman’s appearance.

Formal attire more suited to a chancellor who should be attending to official duties than a fighter, a monocle, a smiling face, and an upright posture.

But the giant standing opposite her knew.

That this being was the worst possible “interferer” he could imagine.

The woman was indeed a chancellor.

And not just any chancellor.

The position responsible for all commerce, prosperity, and economy of the Empire—the Financial Chancellor, the Empire’s foremost commercial authority.

But even her position couldn’t properly express who she was.

Valterok looked at her longsword. After giving a formal salute, it lowered and pointed at him again.

A stance where the blade wasn’t pointed at the enemy, but laid flat with the tip aimed at oneself.

An incredibly strange way of holding it, but the black knights who had underestimated it were already lying unconscious on the ground.

For this was the swordsmanship that had earned her the title of the Empire’s First Sword.

Valterok glared at the woman and murmured.

“Rie Hezedia.”

The Empire’s First Sword, the most calculating sword master, the Empire’s Financial Chancellor.

A genius who had risen to the position of the Empire’s First Sword with her unique swordsmanship, belonging to no established school.

The protagonist of a success story who, claiming her true ambition lay not in swordsmanship but in commerce, demonstrated her talent again and rose to the position of the Empire’s Financial Chancellor.

And potentially Netel’s agent. Valterok lowered his stance as he recalled all the stories circulating about her.

“Isn’t this a troublesome business, my lord?”

Rie spoke while keeping her sword pointed. Valterok remained silent, but she poured out words like a broken dam.

“I have mountains of work left to do at year’s end, and suddenly I’m dragged to the New Continent to hold back one of the Three Pillars of the Empire…”

She lamented but didn’t lower her sword. Valterok knew well. Because he had gathered information on every potential enemy on this continent throughout his life.

He knew that this was a kind of mimicry or trap. So Valterok didn’t react, and Rie sighed but smiled.

“The preparation took an enormous amount of time and resources. Pinpointing your locations, deploying informants to narrow down the list of potential enemies, recruiting and dividing personnel according to that list… it simply doesn’t make economic sense.”

The woman was not someone to be taken lightly. At least not to Valterok.

Although she had lost her position as the Empire’s First Sword due to the appearance of the Guardian Lord, she was strong as she stood here now.

Strong enough to knock out all the black knights who tried to restrain her and pass by.

It was nonsensical by common sense, Valterok thought.

Netel must surely be behind her.

Netel, this land itself and the world itself. Reading the memory of the earth to transmit lost martial arts would be a simple matter.

As far as Valterok knew, it was an ability possible even for gods. With it, they would have bestowed grace upon Rie Hezedia.

But it was a misjudgment.

She, Rie Hezedia, was fundamentally of the same kind as Lucilla.

A genius beyond the norm. A monster who could overwhelm swordsmanship honed through countless human lifetimes with her own talent and conception.

A rare talent in history, possessing the ability to establish a new school of swordsmanship.

Someone who could rightfully be called the continent’s best at restraining and enduring against others.

But there was one difference from Lucilla: Rie hardly used magic power.

He sensed someone’s intention. The thought suddenly struck him that she had been deliberately selected to hold him back.

Therefore, Valterok surmised. The situation was heading for the worst.

Rie smiled.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but this is my job.”

An ominous atmosphere hung in the air. Valterok lowered his sword and was about to draw the lance from his back but stopped.

It’s a weapon with many openings. It won’t work. He adjusted his grip on the greatsword with his other hand, and Rie slightly adjusted her stance and said.

“I’ll tell you since you won’t be able to pass it on anyway. You will be the last.”

The last. As Valterok concentrated his anti-magic power, Rie said.

“Since you’re one of the Three Pillars of the continent, more people would be needed to hunt you down, I calculate.”

It wouldn’t have been like this with the other Two Pillars. Among the Three Pillars of the continent, Valterok was the only one without a unique weapon.

The other two couldn’t have been held back like this.

Though it might seem humiliating, Valterok remained silent and steeled his fighting spirit.

Valterok wasn’t the only one at a disadvantage. The opponent also couldn’t use magic.

Even the most basic use of magic power was blocked. All she could do was defend and counter.

So Valterok decided to trust the god he had found. He rested his greatsword on his shoulder and said.

“It seems ‘Mother’ is anxious. So desperately wanting the young god.”

“Oh my.”

An ominous feeling permeated at the mocking voice. Before Valterok could notice, a sense of foreboding crept in.

Rie said.

“Who said it was ‘Mother’s’ will?”

Valterok sensed two denials in those words.

That it wasn’t Mother’s will.

And that it wasn’t about wanting something.

Before Valterok and Rie could clash again.

A thunderous sound echoed from far away.

It was an explosion.

*

“A being that has acquired regeneration and immortality surpassing existing homunculi.”

The sound of flesh sizzling and burning rang out simultaneously, and the magician quietly directed his gaze to the ground.

“Excellent armor and defensive measures covering the entire body, the tough physique unique to mourners, physical strength far beyond humans, and martial arts that unify both offense and defense…”

Beneath the voice that seemed to be evaluating something, black armor was scorched by flames, emitting intense heat.

“Even I wouldn’t avoid it.”

There was no mockery in the voice. Rather, it was cold, as if making an appraisal.

What came into view below was countless deaths.

The scattered dead elite soldiers of the Empire, the War School’s unique “suicide soldiers” who had undergone final brainwashing to eliminate fear.

Luvellin didn’t block their charge. The reason was obvious.

“If I block and attack, I might be able to catch them, but just avoiding won’t reach them.”

That was exactly right. Luvellin, seeing what was happening at the Temple of All Gods, wanted the quickest resolution possible.

So he didn’t avoid. He blocked. He either blocked or endured with his body while closing the distance.

Because he was deliberately driven in, his options were limited. Luvellin knew he was being manipulated but tried to resolve it with the means at his disposal.

Realistically, it wasn’t easy to win against a prepared enemy by maximizing available means.

But there were some achievements.

“An unrealistic and overly optimistic choice, but the potential—”

Azdan, the youngest headmaster of the War School and praised as the greatest genius in the history of the War School, a grand magician.

His right arm had been completely torn off.

With a pale face, holding his cauterized shoulder, the man smiled crookedly.

“The potential is worth high praise.”

Everything had gone according to calculation. Luvellin didn’t avoid but blocked or endured with his body while closing the distance.

The suicide soldiers faithfully self-destructed, accumulating damage and inflicting critical wounds.

What was unexpected was Luvellin’s potential.

The explosive leap using the pressure created by the explosion for acceleration, and the remaining anti-magic power as a foothold, combined with the dragon drop technique.

As a result, he lost an arm. It caught on fingers and was pulled off.

Normally, one would be incapacitated by a single blow, but.

Azdan was a magician. After stopping the bleeding from his arm, he formed a hand seal with his empty hand.

The magician realized his mistake and changed his plan.

“I understand why His Majesty is impatient.”

Only then did Luvellin raise his head. There was one thing he belatedly realized.

It wasn’t Netel. As Luvellin’s face hardened inside his helmet.

The magician saw this and smiled faintly.

“For His Imperial Majesty.”

Space split open. What emerged from the split space was.

“…Owl Bear?”

An Owl Bear without a head.

An enemy from the past that Luvellin had already killed.