Ch.167Arba (2)

Llewellyn had several reasons for bringing his sister instead of Valterok.

In other words, either Valterok or Lucilla could be used for similar purposes.

That purpose was fame.

Since ancient times, mercenaries have been those who depend on and crave fame.

Since their livelihood depended on it, rumors about powerful individuals were common knowledge they naturally needed to know.

So Llewellyn thought that if a widely known powerful person accompanied them, entering the city would be much easier, and many things would become easier going forward.

In this regard, Llewellyn was unusually good at self-awareness.

First of all, Llewellyn wasn’t that well-known.

To be precise, he had become known in a somewhat incorrect way.

The one who killed the Cannibal Baron, killed Star Blade, and spread their name throughout Servan was the “Black Knight.”

Some people had updated their information and knew about Llewellyn, but there was no guarantee that mercenaries would know.

Similarly, Ortemilia was also disqualified. He knew her company would be necessary for matters related to “drugs,” but beyond that, she wasn’t helpful in terms of fame.

Ortemilia often disguised her appearance, so clearly her distribution of drugs in this city must have gone through several intermediaries or wasn’t done in her true form.

So it had to be either Valterok or Lucilla.

But Llewellyn had made a mistake here.

From a third-party perspective, Valterok and Lucilla were essentially the same.

Rather, if anything… he didn’t realize that Lucilla was much worse.

Annihilation, Guardian Knight.

Besides these two names, Lucilla was known by many others, each region having its own ominous name befitting her deeds.

But Llewellyn didn’t know this. So he couldn’t understand the current situation.

The unconscious gatekeeper on the ground and the soldiers beside him, pointing spears while their bodies trembled.

Above them, those aiming bows but not seeming like they would actually shoot.

Merchants hastily creating distance or screaming as they fled.

Amidst all this, Lucilla wore an unusual expressionless face.

Her usual faint smile and the smile that appeared when looking at her brother were both absent.

She looked down with an expressionless face. Some hot-headed soldiers might interpret this as an admission of guilt and surrender.

But Llewellyn knew. The anger hidden beneath that expressionless face, a flame suppressed and about to burst.

He knew the moment he saw it.

Even though he hadn’t seen his sister truly angry many times, and still held some misconceptions about her.

Llewellyn’s intuition was enhanced by divine power. His intuition whispered to him that what he was about to witness was the form his sister had taken upon falling to this land.

Llewellyn habitually dismissed slander against his sister.

Even if it came from his own intuition.

Of course, it was different for Ortemilia. Her keen magic detection and her experienced eye, though not exceptional, told her the truth.

That their actions were justified.

How did it come to this? Ortemilia thought, hiding behind Llewellyn to avoid any potential fragments or arrows.

At first, everything seemed to be going well.

“What is your purpose in Arba?”

For a city supposedly overflowing with mercenaries, drug dealers, black magicians, and assassins, the speech and behavior were excessively polite.

They even asked about their purpose, collected fees, and even confiscated weapons that were too powerful for city use, keeping them in storage.

Llewellyn genuinely admired this, and the gatekeeper, interpreting it as “Such order in the New Continent?” was pleased.

They briefly praised each other.

The gatekeeper explained that Arba “Lady,” the owner of the city, was one of the few in the New Continent who valued order and had been a promising bride candidate for “Star Blade Ethan.”

And though she began managing the city under Ethan’s orders, she never did so carelessly, showing conduct befitting a descendant of a knightly family from the old southern nobility.

Therefore, the New Continent city of Arba boasted security and order equal to cities in the Old Continent, and despite most residents being assassins and mercenaries, there were no major incidents.

If taken at face value, it was an amazing claim, but as is often the case, the words of politicians and their admirers cannot be taken literally.

While Llewellyn was genuinely impressed, Ortemilia was seriously considering whether this was for drug control.

Everything happened right after that.

They were asked to write down their names. Ortemilia hesitated briefly before writing her nickname “Rte,” and Llewellyn wrote “Llewellyn” as requested.

The remaining member of their party was next. When Lucilla stepped forward.

The gatekeeper, who had seemed happy to boast about the city, froze.

He made eye contact with Lucilla, and she returned his gaze.

Their reactions differed.

The gatekeeper drew his sword. His terrified exclamation was remarkable.

“Annihilation…!”

But before the sword was fully drawn, Lucilla moved.

Before the soldier standing next to him could raise his spear or respond, her hand moved smoothly and quickly to press down on the drawing sword, specifically the hilt.

With a clang, as the hilt closed, she twisted her body sideways toward the startled soldier, aimed her fist, and fired.

All of this happened in a single breath. Surely such incidents must have been frequent.

So the soldiers couldn’t respond for a while even after one of their comrades fell.

But they were elite soldiers. Eventually, they pointed their spears, grabbed their weapons, fired signal flares high into the air, and a non-commissioned officer quickly ran to inform his master, just in case they hadn’t recognized her.

They’re coming soon. Ortemilia noticed and calculated.

What were the chances of Lucilla winning against the entire city?

The calculation ended quickly. If Lucilla was “alone,” it was 100%.

Lucilla’s unique skill, Death of the Star, was optimized for exactly that.

Perhaps knowing this herself, Lucilla was in a combat stance but seemed inwardly indifferent.

Even the soldiers knew. They trembled with fear.

They knew why she was named Annihilation. They remembered the red flames that bloomed alone on the battlefield, rising like a flower with firepower that even stars would envy, forming a mushroom cloud.

Familiar faces, people they knew well.

People they had laughed and talked with, enjoyed festivals with until recently.

All disappeared after the flames burst from the woman who had suddenly dropped from the sky.

In that sense, it might have been better if one of the other Three Pillars had come.

Valterok, Sword Saint, Dragon King.

Whoever it was, they wouldn’t be capable of such acts.

It’s an extreme statement, but even the Three Pillars didn’t possess power greater than Lucilla when it came to facing “multiple weaklings.”

The soldiers thought fearfully.

If “that flame” erupted here, how much of the city would disappear?

How many people would die?

Could their souls even be preserved in that flame?

Grim Darker’s view of the afterlife is very dark. They believed that after death, one either ascends to one of the many transcendents in the sky or is buried with only the soul wandering the earth.

If one dies with a grudge, only the soul becomes a monster, and if the body is defiled by a black magician, it becomes a monster wrapped in black magic that harms people.

Basically, their view of the afterlife was empty. There is nothing after death. No afterlife, no salvation. Just death.

Yet even so, such thoughts arise. Since no one has experienced death and returned, there must be something “after death.”

And perhaps if struck by that flame, one might not even be able to save their soul.

Yet they didn’t retreat. Along with their trained discipline, something was boiling within their fear.

Something similar to optimism.

The optimism that if it erupted here, it might not reach the opposite side of the city.

A desperate optimism. A thought premised on one’s own death.

Most soldiers were still standing with such thoughts. Lucilla stared at them blankly and then glanced behind her.

Her brother was there. So she couldn’t use Death of the Star.

But perhaps Flame of the Star.

Just as Lucilla’s downcast eyes were slowly turning black.

“Stop!”

A resounding shout was heard.

A kind of magical concentration that both Ortemilia and Lucilla could feel.

All eyes turned to one place, and the strength drained from the legs of soldiers who had been prepared to die to block the gate.

A beast-person was walking out from behind them.

It was a woman with the appearance of a lion standing on two legs.

For Llewellyn, she was a woman who reminded him of Ethan, causing his expression to harden, but there were three differences.

Unlike Ethan, she wore full plate armor, and without a mane, she was clearly recognizable as a lioness.

The last difference was the axe in her hand.

Unlike Ethan’s “Star Blade,” it wasn’t surrounded by flames. Yet Llewellyn felt he could almost smell the blood on that axe.

At that point, Llewellyn’s not-so-impressive memory worked.

The soldier who was now unconscious with his face in the dirt.

One of the things he had boasted about.

He had described Arba as from a “knightly family.”

It matched. The full plate armor she wore was not something one could see commonly, even in the New Continent.

Most wouldn’t have the means to purchase or maintain plate armor.

Especially as a fugitive, and basically all humans in the New Continent were in the position of fugitives.

Llewellyn recognized the woman as Arba.

“Annihilation, Lucilla.”

“Are we acquaintances?”

“Of course we are. Anyone under Lord Ethan would know your face.”

The woman, tucking her helmet under her arm, sneered. Arba held her axe with an expression close to a hollow laugh.

“But that’s not important. What’s important is… why you’re trying to deal with us now.”

Lucilla didn’t respond. She merely loosened her fists and watched, which those unfamiliar might mistake for a relaxation of her combat stance.

But Llewellyn knew. With the skill he gained when his proficiency bonus reached 5 points, he realized.

From that stance, if she wanted, she could step forward and swing her hand like a whip to crush a skull.

With Lucilla’s strength and skill, that would be an unavoidable death, even through plate armor.

Especially since she wasn’t even wearing a helmet.

Llewellyn looked around and belatedly felt a hand tugging at his collar.

“It will interfere with hiring mercenaries. And… I know that one too. She’s such an outstanding talent that even the Three Clans considered recruiting her for the Shapeshifter Clan.”

It was obvious who she meant. The soldiers’ fear had subsided, and her presence alone seemed to have changed the situation.

That was a quality neither Llewellyn nor Lucilla possessed.

The quality called charisma. A talent given only to those born to rule over others.

As Lucilla let her arms hang loosely, ready to attack, Llewellyn stepped forward.

Grabbing his sister’s shoulder covered with fragrant hair, gently pulling her back, and standing between Lucilla and Arba.

“Sejin…?”

“Sis, do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

The answer came without hesitation. Llewellyn almost smiled but deliberately suppressed his expression.

Instead, he put his hands behind his back, opened his cloak, and took out the Star Blade, holding it in his hand.

The now broken longsword. Yet a sword that had taken good care of Llewellyn until now.

The second death Llewellyn remembered and probably a poor contractor he would mourn for the rest of his life.

Star Blade, Ethan’s beloved sword.

The moment she saw it, Arba’s face hardened. Clearly enough that even humans of slightly different species could recognize it.

Not just her. Most soldiers recognized the sword despite it being broken and powerless.

After all, it was the longsword that used to be drawn and blaze with bright crimson flames.

Llewellyn placed the broken sword on his hand and spoke as nonchalantly as possible.

“Ethan asked me before he died.”

All eyes turned to him. Llewellyn met Arba’s gaze among them.

“He said he entrusted the aftermath to you. He wanted me to tell you that.”

The axe that had been poised to strike slowly lowered, and Llewellyn gave a bitter smile.

That, at least, was genuine. Because.

‘Did you notice?’

After hearing those words, Arba made a strange expression.

That expression seemed to say to Llewellyn:

I know that’s a lie, but for the sake of appearances, I’ll go along with it.

It was truly fortunate.