Ch.188Chapter 188: Sword Grave (6)

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Several hours had already passed since the Trial of the Black Sword began.

During these hours that felt both long and short.

I had certainly experienced something significant.

Guided by a sword that shone exceptionally brilliantly amid the cave where darkness and light alternated endlessly.

I traveled to what was estimated to be a thousand years in the past.

I met my ancestor, the great hero Lumen Ranos, who led humanity to victory in the Great Holy War. If this doesn’t qualify as an event, then perhaps nothing could rightfully be called one.

In any case, had it been an ordinary meeting, I would surely have recognized my ancestor’s identity immediately and shed tears of emotion.

Unfortunately, that’s not how it played out.

Under the dark night sky, I was caught spying on my ancestor performing a sword dance far more magnificent than anything I could execute.

Seeing my undeniable confusion, my ancestor mistook me for a minion of the Demon Realm, causing our meeting to go awry from the very beginning.

Of course, it’s not like I didn’t try to clear up this misunderstanding.

But while dodging my ancestor’s merciless sword strikes that came at me without giving me a chance to speak.

When my broken stance was faintly illuminated by moonlight.

My ancestor mistook me for Fafnir, deepening the misunderstanding.

Then, when the brightening moonlight revealed I wasn’t Fafnir, my ancestor abruptly concluded I was a minion of the Demon Realm, bringing the misunderstanding to its peak.

But even that misunderstanding was gradually being resolved in a favorable way.

Taking advantage of my ancestor’s narrowed vision focused solely on defeating me, I managed to break her stance and successfully neutralized her by pointing my sword at her neck.

And despite having the perfect opportunity to strike her down, I displayed chivalry by not exploiting it, using my wit to ease her hostility.

Thanks to that, after returning the dragon sword to its scabbard that I had pointed at her neck.

No longer engaged in a life-or-death struggle, I stood still, facing my ancestor who had slumped down before me.

“Sigh…”

Since the misunderstanding was somewhat cleared, my ancestor has been sighing like that continuously.

From the moment I honestly answered that I didn’t know when she asked why she had thought I was a minion of the Demon Realm.

Perhaps feeling ashamed for nearly harming me due to a one-sided misunderstanding.

Even with her head bowed, I could easily see a faint blush rising on my ancestor’s face.

While the tense standoff had ended rather anticlimactically, I too should have been sighing with relief.

But separate from this misunderstanding being resolved, I was still preoccupied with the thought that the trial given to me hadn’t even properly begun, let alone been completed.

So instead of relief, I could only let out a hot sigh to dispel my frustration.

Sending someone to the past without context, then not providing any guidance on what to do and just abandoning them like this.

Even as the one undergoing the trial, I was at a loss.

Unable to vent this confusion to anyone, my frustration continued to build endlessly, wearing me down.

But when my ancestor, who had been laughing dejectedly for quite some time after hearing my answer before bowing her head, raised it again.

And I saw her right index finger pointing at my head.

I had to momentarily set aside the irritation and frustration brewing in my mind.

Because the suddenly raised index finger of my ancestor felt quite threatening.

I was even worried she might gather her fighting spirit at the tip of that straight finger and launch an energy blast at me.

“It was because of that red hair that I thought you were a minion of the Demon Realm.”

Such worries immediately dissipated when my ancestor explained why she had mistaken me for a minion of the Demon Realm.

By the way, mistaking me for a minion of the Demon Realm because of my red hair…

Even in my present time, this red hair is not just uncommon in the Central Continent but extremely rare.

What does that have to do with thinking I’m a minion of the Demon Realm?

“And by looking at that hair more carefully, I also realized my mistake.”

…What does this mean?

Since this alone wasn’t enough to clearly understand my ancestor’s reasoning, I remained silent, waiting to judge based on what else she might say.

“Far to the west of the Central Continent’s western coast, across a long sea journey, lies a mysterious continent where many red-scaled dragons live. Even among the people there, some have mixed blood with dragons who transformed into humans, and despite generations of human interbreeding, some still manifest draconic traits.”

The words that came from my ancestor, who had barely composed her embarrassed expression, had something about them that left me dumbfounded.

I couldn’t understand why she was talking about the red dragon clan, known as the rulers of the western continent, when discussing hair color.

Think about it—it was already confusing enough that she mistook me for a minion of the Demon Realm and then said my hair color was the key to resolving that misunderstanding.

Instead of properly explaining this, she suddenly started talking about red-scaled dragons, which seemed unrelated to hair color. This only intensified my confusion rather than resolving it.

…Wait?

Did she say red dragons?

Could it be…

“I see you’re starting to understand now.”

My ancestor’s voice became gradually clearer as she observed my expression slowly changing while something dawned on me.

“I thought you were one of the red dragon clan. One of those who, except for a very few members including my friend, had fallen under the mental control of the Demon God.”

What was coming from her lips now could be quite shocking depending on how one heard it.

And as soon as the memory of those dark times that I had long forgotten surfaced in my shocked mind.

Ah…

I inwardly sighed deeply, lightly blaming myself for my insensitivity.

Regretting why I hadn’t recalled this sooner.

What did I recall that made me sigh inwardly with regret?

From my memories before my regression, when I unwillingly became the Demon God’s agent and was responsible for the Obsidian Palace’s invasion of the Central Continent.

Two powerful legions that best demonstrated the power of the Demon Realm came to mind.

The Legion of the Dead, led by Pale Sanguin, composed mainly of the Night Folk and mindless undead.

And the Legion of Destruction, led by Adorator, composed mainly of hell demons and corrupted Ma-in.

Among these two legions that functioned as my hands and feet when I was forced to be the agent of the resurrected Demon God, Desire.

Sanguin’s Legion of the Dead achieved particularly brilliant military accomplishments during my time as an agent due to the diverse and powerful activities of its members.

Among the constituents of this strongest legion, there were those who demonstrated exceptional power.

Among the hideous wandering dead who couldn’t find peace even after death and lacked intelligence.

Despite their bizarre appearances that barely resembled their living forms.

The countless dragons made of skeletons and corpses were representative, possessing considerable innate strength.

When I was an agent, satisfied with the brilliant achievements of these infamous members of the Legion of the Dead.

And simultaneously, from the lips of Desire, who showed trust in me for skillfully handling them, came words like these.

To explain as concisely as possible, removing Desire’s characteristic way of speaking that unnecessarily stretched even brief statements into lengthy ones:

In life, blinded by the desire to become stronger and achieve transcendent status.

Intoxicated by the sweet fruit I offered, unable to come to their senses.

Eventually losing their will and being used like my limbs, the red dragons.

Even after a thousand years, they ended up as corpse puppets following my commands.

There are no beings with more excellent use than these.

To such an extent that it could be simply(?) expressed in four lines.

The undead dragons functioned not only within their legion.

But also as the ultimate tools to realize the passionate fantasy that Desire held in her heart for the Central Continent.

Thinking about it now brings back those desolate moments from the past.

After unwillingly becoming the Demon God’s agent, to change my mind when I resisted her will, seeking peace.

Desire, tempting me with promises of infinite power.

Demonstrated countless dragons assembled from the floating debris in the Obsidian Palace with just a glance, not even a gesture. That moment.

And despite these dragons being shells that had fallen so far from their living nobility that not even a trace remained.

Although the colors that formed their bodies had faded considerably, they were still red. All of them.

Without exception, every single one.

*drip*

This is cold sweat now.

Cold sweat shed from learning the identity of the undead dragon legion I had commanded as naturally as breathing before my regression.

Simultaneously, it was sweat shed from fear of Desire, who had commanded these powerful beings with a single gesture even when they were alive, not just as corpses.

And from admiration for my ancestor, who had subdued these beings with just a holy sword, beings who were incomparably stronger than during my time as an agent.

…What kind of era was the Great Holy War?

Even the Demon Realm’s legions, composed only of corpses, demons, corrupted Ma-in, and the Night Folk, were entities that the Empire, called humanity’s strongest, struggled to fight against.

Respect for the heroes who had lonely traversed this era, filled with powerful beings incomparable to my present time, was growing increasingly in my heart.

Whether aware of my complex feelings or not.

Once the floodgates opened, my ancestor’s story continued without pause.

Though brief and concise, it was valuable information from that era, with not a single part worth discarding.

Mainly stories related to the red dragon clan that she had learned while being close to Fafnir.

Most were stories I had never heard even from Fafnir himself.

The red-scaled dragon clan, when transforming into humans, invariably.

Transformed with red hair.

And unlike dragons with other scale colors, most members of the clan retained horns that revealed their draconic nature when transforming into humans.

“So my thinking you were a minion of the Demon Realm was a mistake.”

Towards my ancestor, who was apologizing for her mistake after revealing these brief facts.

“I’m just glad the unnecessary misunderstanding has been cleared.”

I accepted her apology with a calm tone.

Finally removing the dark aura that had shrouded her face, my ancestor said.

“Thank you for calmly accepting what might have seemed extremely rude.”

She expressed gratitude for my calm handling of a situation that must have seemed highly unreasonable.

The point was this:

She had tried to eliminate me, thinking I was a red dragon clan member mentally controlled by the Demon God, just because of my red hair.

But when the situation calmed and she examined me closely, she realized her mistake upon seeing that I lacked the horns that should have been present, no matter how small, if I were truly of the red dragon clan.

“I just remembered what he said.”

Ancestor Lumen Ranos continued calmly.

“He told me that members of his clan despised those of other scale colors who could transform into humans or other creatures without leaving any trace of their draconic nature, unlike his clan who always retained some evidence.”

For reference, this information my ancestor was sharing.

I had never properly heard it from Fafnir.

I only knew that when he was nearly killed by my ancestor’s sword.

Driven by a desperate desire to live, he transformed into a human through a spell he shouted in a trance-like state, thus saving his life.

But because he cast the spell unconsciously, he couldn’t recall its exact contents, which led to his current state as time passed.

I had never heard that members of his clan, unlike those with other scale colors, retained horns on their heads when transforming into other forms.

Later, if I escape this trial and return to where I came from, when I meet Fafnir again.

I definitely need to question him about this matter, I thought.

Just then.

“Perhaps…”

The words from my ancestor, who had lowered her head from looking at the sky to meet my gaze, pushed my thoughts aside.

Although she trailed off, it was clear she had something to ask me.

“What is it?”

As I prepared to answer her question with a calm tone.

“Do you come from the western continent?”

My ancestor’s voice cautiously asking about my origin reached my ears.

Hmm, what should I do?

Of course, I’m originally from here, a member of a noble family from the Central Continent.

But saying that here would likely just get me labeled as strange at best.

I need to disguise my identity with an appropriate fabrication.

How should I answer to avoid being regarded with suspicion as a stranger to this world?

Having just escaped a volatile situation, my brief relief was replaced by complex calculations in my mind, trying to formulate an answer to a question I had never had to consider in my entire life.