Ch.246Ghost Sword

A vivid stream of blood caresses my cheek.

My arms tremble uncontrollably, and my shoulders burn as if scorched by fire.

My breathing is labored and my body sags as if I’ve been running at full speed for three days and nights.

As if my bones and muscles have all melted, flowing down to the floor.

I have less than 10% of my strength remaining.

The broken blade of Jin rolls across the ground, emitting a cold light.

“Kuhuk…!”

Fresh blood wells up from my throat and trickles down the corner of my mouth.

My weakened legs stagger as if about to buckle.

Truly the Empire’s Greatest Swordsman.

His strike, imbued with his soul, possessed a power that inspired awe.

.

.

.

Yes.

Enough power that he was still breathing after receiving my slash.

“Kuheooack!”

Valenstein raises his head and vomits blood like a fountain.

His wrinkled face was contorted with shock and pain.

A purple mist of blood sprays into the air.

Like celebratory fireworks heralding the fall of the Empire’s Greatest Swordsman.

Accelerating in an impossible manner, Durandal struck faster than Valenstein’s attack could reach me, cleaving through his collarbone and carving through his ribs.

It was a speed beyond comprehension. As if time itself had compressed along the sword’s trajectory.

Valenstein desperately tried to block by turning the direction of his attack, but his Jin blade shattered upon contact with Durandal, unable to withstand the massive impact.

His desperate defense saved him from being completely split in half, but it only prolonged his suffering.

His injuries were already beyond survival.

“Kuuuuh….”

Valenstein, now pale as a sheet, let out a deflating groan.

His left hand, which he had extended at the last moment, was cut in half, exposing the cross-section of bone.

“How does it feel to be cut? Quite painful, isn’t it?”

I lean in toward him with a sneer.

This level of mockery was perfectly suited for an old man who had dragged countless others into his senile delusions.

“How… did you… Did you… truly see… beyond the wall…?”

The wall, he says.

It might have been a wall to you. For me, it was something different.

“I didn’t see any wall anywhere. All I saw was a half-open door.”

“Kugh…! A door…!? You say… a door…? That’s impossible…!”

My answer must have been unexpected, as Valenstein’s eyes widened to the point of tearing.

No, they actually tore—a streak of bloody tears flowed from the corner of his eye.

“Too old to have the strength to open a door, I suppose?”

I kick Valenstein’s stomach and pull out the embedded blade.

The wound opens wider, and hot blood gushes out like lava.

“Kuhek! Kuheok…!”

Valenstein collapses helplessly, convulsing as if struck by lightning.

He looked utterly powerless now, a stark contrast to his initially imposing presence.

Sixty-nine years—his long life was finally coming to an end.

Considering what he had done and what he had intended to do, this was a gentle death.

“Elpinel…”

As blood pooled beneath him, staining the ground dark, the old man looked up at the sky, crumbling at his limit.

“You silent false god… I curse you…! Why do you mock me until the very end…!”

Who knows?

Perhaps it just didn’t like you.

“If you’re curious, why not go ask directly? I can help you get there.”

I step on his writhing body, pinning him down, and place Durandal against his blood-soaked neck.

The cold blade touches his throat.

“Kuhwik…!”

“I’ll bury Isabella next to you as a companion, so go ahead and wait for her. The stench of that rotten whore might be strong… but you’re equally rotten, so I’m sure you can bear it.”

Just moments ago I felt like I might collapse, but now I felt somewhat capable of moving.

The blessing of Durandal, still radiating light, was infusing me with vitality.

“I had many things I wanted to ask you…”

“Knights! Charge! Charge now! Rescue Lord Valenstein!”

“…but unfortunately, there’s no time for that.”

I hear a voice shouting hoarsely from across Ernst’s camp.

They must never have imagined the Empire’s Greatest Swordsman would lose in a one-on-one duel—it was a cry of someone who had lost their senses.

As the knights reflexively whipped their reins at the command, startled horses began charging toward me.

Rescue, is it…

What use would they have for a corpse?

It would take them at least several dozen seconds to reach this place, even at their fastest.

I turned my head back toward Valenstein.

“This is the end of your disgraceful life. Any last words? Something grand for the history books, perhaps?”

His cloudy eyes with dilated pupils looked up at me weakly.

“…Do you think Elpinel will always be on your side…? Someday… you too, like me—”

“Ah, sure.”

Before he could finish, a single line cuts across his throat.

His gaping head rolled across the pool of blood.

It was nothing but a predictable, clichéd last statement, not worth listening to any further.

I took only the severed head and placed a spark of flame on the sprawled body.

Isabella might be able to work some scheme I couldn’t imagine with just this meat.

The karmic flames rose and burned the headless corpse to ashes.

—-

I mounted my horse with the burning garbage behind me and held Valenstein’s head high.

So they could all clearly see the end of this senile old man.

“Look well if you have eyes! Here is the head of the filthy old traitor Valenstein, who betrayed his lord, bewitched by a witch!”

“Lord Valenstein…!”

The momentum of the approaching knights falters.

Confusion and fear had thoroughly permeated their expressions.

“To cut off the head of one defeated in a duel and display it—what barbaric behavior…!”

Some were gnashing their teeth and shouting.

…I had naturally raised the head, but apparently the Empire didn’t have such customs.

I was slightly taken aback, but it wasn’t really a problem.

Among those approaching, not many were showing anger. Even though their commander-in-chief had lost his life.

A good sign, I’d say.

As planned, their morale had hit rock bottom.

“Your rebellion is over! Lay down your weapons and surrender! I swear on the name of Wittelsbach, if you surrender, your crimes of treason will not be held against you!”

“Medium cavalry, advance! Follow the heir of the Twelve Knights! For the peace and security of the Empire, eliminate all resisting rebels!”

Leopold and Ludwig’s voices rang out with perfect timing.

“For the Empire!”

The cavalry arrayed at the front of our forces responded in unison and spurred their horses.

Heavy warhorses in armor raised dust as they charged forward. Their upraised lances glinted in the sunlight.

Their number alone was three thousand six hundred.

Moreover, they were Leopold’s elite forces, including thirteen masters.

A crack formed in the enemy formation. Not just among the charging cavalry, but throughout the entire enemy force.

I should say our strategy, which was close to a gamble, had worked well.

Now they were no longer an army of tens of thousands, but a rabble that could scatter at the slightest provocation.

I catch my breath while sitting on horseback, soothing my tired body.

I’ll need to step forward at least once more, so I should recover some strength first.

I tied Valenstein’s head to the side of the saddle. Just in case it might be useful.

His hair roots must have been quite healthy for his age, as it stayed securely fastened when I tied it by the hair.

“I say for the last time! All you will gain from this rebellion is dishonorable death, so lay down your weapons and surrender! Follow what your hearts cry out! Will you perish under the stigma of being the witch’s servants, or will you rise anew as knights of the Empire!”

Leopold called out once more.

Following this, a pure white holy light covered the battlefield. A miracle of blessing released by Lacy and the field priests gathered together.

The brilliant radiance descended upon the medium cavalry.

Their swords. Steel armor. Even the warhorses in their barding.

The charge of the cavalry, glowing white, displayed the majestic aura as if an army of gods had manifested.

The footsteps of the approaching cavalry slowed even further.

Whether to maintain loyalty to their lord or follow true justice.

Their slowed pace clearly revealed their inner conflict.

=====[Feirous]=====

“…So Valenstein is dead. Surprising. Few techniques are as specialized for escape as his Ghost Sword.”

In ruins that were once an ancient temple.

A man sitting on the crumbled foundation muttered while looking up at the sky.

“Are you sure this is acceptable, Feirous? Those who have glimpsed beyond the wall are valuable talents. He might have been able to ascend to the Ninth Apostle.”

The large knight standing beside Feirous, as if guarding him, looked down and asked.

Even in their organization, masters who had reached the ultimate limits were rare, so losing Valenstein already was quite a significant loss.

However, Feirous’s expression was nothing but serene, far from worried.

For him, Valenstein’s death was hardly a loss at all.

“We’ve recovered his soul. That’s sufficient.”

Feirous calmly replied and opened his right hand.

– Ooooooh.

On his palm, a semi-transparent gray sphere swirled chaotically, emitting wails like a ghost’s lament.

That sphere was Valenstein’s soul.

A soul harvested as payment for a contract.

The resilient spirit, still maintaining its sense of self despite losing its physical body, poured out screams that couldn’t reach Feirous.

—-

Long ago, Feirous had made a contract with Valenstein.

In exchange for teaching him the reason he couldn’t advance beyond the wall—the truth of the world.

‘I will teach you about the limitations of the current era, the wall created by false gods. In return, could you lend me your power?’

Valenstein agreed to this. He thought that the request to lend power meant becoming a member of the organization Feirous had established.

It was a grave misunderstanding. Feirous’s words had a more direct and fundamental meaning.

The First Apostle. Feirous Haransior, the Half-Soul Sorcerer.

He possessed the power to summon the souls of the dead to the mortal world and command them with his power.

Therefore, for Feirous, a contract to lend power literally meant surrendering one’s soul after death. Though Valenstein never realized this until the end.

Of course, according to the contract, it was merely “borrowed power.”

A soul that should eventually be returned.

However, since the contract didn’t specify a repayment period, when to return the borrowed power was entirely up to Feirous.

At least for now, he had no intention of returning it. And probably never would.

“One should be cautious when making contracts with sorcerers. I’m glad you seem to understand that now, Valenstein.”

Looking down at Valenstein’s soul trapped in his grasp, Feirous let out a satisfied smile.