Ch.249EP.55 – The Knight Do Not Speak Falsehoods (5)

…why is it so easy to imagine what my expression must look like right now?

‘I must look completely rigid.’

And sure enough.

“That’s a frightening face.”

“I’m being threatened. Not exactly a situation to smile about.”

“I suppose that’s true. But aren’t you being too decisive? There might be some misunderstanding, don’t you think?”

“That’s possible.”

“Yet you don’t hesitate at all.”

“Now that’s truly laughable.”

Despite his words about something being funny, Ihan raised his sword with a completely humorless expression.

“—What culture are you from where you talk about misunderstandings while radiating such murderous intent?”

It was the second time in his experience.

*Shiver!*

Facing such intense “killing intent.”

‘Different in quality from that spear-wielder, though.’

This assessment might sound like strange logic, but the killing intent of the spear-wielder, Lac de Duron, had been pure.

Though it contained the will to kill, that energy was as pure and heavy as morning dew, not the kind that felt base or unpleasant.

But now was different.

‘This is filthy.’

Rotten water, or the stench of a decaying corpse.

That’s what was mixed into the intense killing intent emanating from the man’s body, making Ihan’s entire body tingle.

It was just killing intent, yet his skin hurt—truly an unbelievable situation.

“Image change at that age, must be difficult.”

“Haha, isn’t the path of challenge open to anyone regardless of age?”

“My question was foolish, and your answer wise.”

“I’ve just lived a bit longer, so I’m slightly wiser.”

Iliad was still using polite speech, and Ihan’s responses remained casual, but those watching could feel it.

A powder keg.

The suffocating air that permeated the space like a heavy fog, where anything could happen at any moment.

In such a situation.

“Oh right. I forgot to say this—congratulations.”

“Pardon?”

“Your legs. You’re standing well now.”

So I apologize in advance.

“I’ll start by cutting off those legs.”

*Whoosh!*

Ihan stomped his foot like firing the opening shot of battle, and without a moment’s hesitation, swung his sword toward Iliad’s lower body.

* * *

…Levi couldn’t see it.

*KWANG!*

When her master had made his move, when he had drawn his sword.

The strike was that swift, and it was amazing that such a massive body could move so nimbly.

So…

*CHAENG!*

“…He blocked it?!”

The sight of such a strike being easily blocked was somehow surreal.

The calmness with which he blocked the blade, as if he had foreseen where it would come from.

But her master was still her master, and true to form…

*KWANG-!*

He swung his sword as if saying “block this if you can,” and each time, light flashed with the sound of air being torn.

Yet each time.

“My, how frightening.”

The opponent blocked and deflected her master’s sword.

With nothing other than an incredibly light rapier.

…Was such a thing even possible?

As a swordswoman who primarily used a rapier herself, she knew.

A rapier couldn’t be used in such a way.

It might excel in speed and counters, but blocking a swordsman with such a weight difference was like a fox trying to stop a bear’s kick.

Yet how…?

“…It’s Father’s ‘Willow Sword.'”

“?”

“A technique that calculates the opponent’s movements, posture, subtle body shifts, and even the flow of energy to easily deflect even the most powerful strikes.”

“Is such a thing possible?”

“I don’t know. Just… Father was capable of it.”

A swordsmanship bordering on the miraculous—regardless of the difference in build or how strong and fast the opponent was, it instantly calculated everything mentally to appropriately disrupt the force and deflect the sword’s direction by the width of a paper.

It was a sword technique permitted only to Iliad de Ophen, who possessed the greatest sword talent in the history of not just the family but the kingdom, and only Blake the Duke, once called a genius swordsman, could imitate it.

“But he could only imitate it; Duke Blake himself declared he couldn’t completely replicate this technique. It was a sword art permitted only to Father.”

“……”

*Gulp…*

It’s often said.

A genius is someone who possesses talent that overwhelms everyone, someone who dazzles and enchants all with their brilliance.

…An accurate assessment.

Even in this moment when her life might be in danger, Levi couldn’t hide her admiration, shock, and thrill.

That’s how much Iliad’s swordsmanship demonstrated the pinnacle of an art that could never be reached no matter how hard one tried.

However.

“…But Kunta thinks something’s wrong with the old man’s body. His joints are strange, and his bones seem thicker.”

“……”

“Arno… is that okay?”

“…Hmm.”

Arno couldn’t deny Kunta’s sharp observation and couldn’t help but sigh.

It was true that the Willow Sword was certainly an amazing technique, an incredible skill, but.

‘It wasn’t enough to deflect the instructor’s power so easily.’

Though it might be disrespectful as a son to make such an assessment, no matter how much of a genius Iliad had been in the past, he wasn’t enough to overwhelm the instructor.

It wasn’t that Iliad was weak, but rather that the instructor was abnormally strong—a cold assessment.

But now.

‘It’s like he has springs or rubber bands attached to his joints.’

Kunta was right.

Iliad’s body was stretching slightly like rubber and bouncing back with spring-like recoil.

The same went for his skeleton. Iliad’s frame, which had once been ordinary despite his extraordinary talent, had changed as if iron rods and drugs had been injected into his bones and muscles for decades of physical transformation, and these changes were…

*Crunch!*

Becoming more and more evident.

“…I have to admit it.”

*Grind…*

Arno gritted his teeth and accepted the reality with a bleeding heart.

His father, Iliad de Ophen, had…

“Become a Mein.”

An enemy of humanity.

A monster in human form that must be killed.

“Damn it…”

Arno cursed at the reality that his father had to die, and he wept.

Because it was such a cruelly bitter reality.

* * *

A phenomenon that gives even a farmer who has never held a sword in his life the strength of dozens of knights.

People call this “Meinization.”

When someone eats the flesh of a monster and becomes addicted to it, they gain strength no human should possess, thus becoming a “Mein.”

Some might say:

Isn’t such powerful strength quite a convenient means?

Couldn’t it help humanity if used properly?

…Impossible.

I declare, from the moment one becomes a Mein, that person becomes humanity’s “nemesis.”

Why?

– Those who become Mein instinctively eat people. And they show no aversion to it.

Loss of humanity.

They enjoy cannibalism and killing their own kind, and a human who becomes a Mein will even attack their family, who once meant everything to them, and enjoy eating them.

Their memories remain intact, and they know moral laws, but they break them as easily as eating a meal.

That’s why Mein are classified as “monsters.”

It means they are no longer human, that they’ve crossed a river of no return.

Therefore.

“We must kill Father… isn’t that right, Grandmother?”

*Whisk.*

Arno wiped away his tears, barely composing himself, and looked to his side.

He hadn’t sensed her presence; he simply assumed she would naturally be there, and sure enough.

“……”

She was there at some point.

With a gaze more subdued than usual.

And she.

“Why did you come here? You should have stayed at the family estate and trusted this old woman.”

She coldly scolded her grandson, and Arno, who would normally have apologized first, countered instead.

“I apologize for saying this, but while you are a great swordswoman, Grandmother, as a person, you have many disqualifying traits. If I had trusted and left it to you, it would have taken over a year.”

“That’s too harsh.”

“I admit it’s harsh, but am I wrong?”

“……”

…She wanted to make excuses, but had none.

After all, if she, Sword Master Felinshia, had truly wanted to, Iliad should have died long ago.

Yet the fact that he was still alive meant—

“Grandmother, you intended to subdue Father rather than kill him…”

It meant she had deliberately chosen not to kill him.

And to such a statement.

“……”

…She showed silent affirmation with a sorrowful gaze.

* * *

“—I’m sorry.”

Felinshia’s apology carried many meanings.

An apology for not helping when the family must have been in chaos.

An apology tinged with gratitude that he had normalized the family despite her absence.

And.

“Things have come to this because I was too pathetic…”

…An apology for her own incompetence.

She offered her apology, and Arno shook his head.

“You have nothing to apologize for. It wasn’t your intention, was it?”

“……”

“Besides, Father…”

“…He was already like that when I first discovered him.”

“……”

Felinshia spoke calmly, but one could tell she was holding back a lot of emotion.

“Yes, when I first found him, the Meinization had already progressed, and I had to choose. Either subdue him, or…”

Kill him.

But foolishly, her choice was…

“I chose the former…”

It’s often said.

For an Aura user of her level, subduing someone shouldn’t be that difficult.

That’s not wrong. Subduing a single person is indeed easy.

…However.

“I forgot that my child was once called the ‘Sword Saint.'”

Iliad wasn’t just any swordsman who could be easily subdued.

At just 20 years old, he was already a swordsman who could hardly find an equal even in Pendragon, and now this child had gained the power of a Mein on top of that.

Heaven-sent talent combined with earth-shaking physical abilities.

From the moment these two merged, “subduing” was out of the question.

…Killing was the only answer.

“Of course, if I had been given about four days, I might have managed to subdue him somehow. But what would be the point of subduing him now?”

“Grandmother…”

“…He’s already no longer human.”

*Wooong!*

An ominous resonance spread from her sword.

The sword’s cry, ringing out as soon as she resolved to kill, created a powerful resonance unlike any knight had ever shown.

Perhaps her grandson’s appearance had hardened her resolve; her sword no longer showed any hesitation.

Because he was family, and her only son…

“Rather than dirtying someone else’s hands, it’s right that I dirty my own.”

Felinshia steeled her resolve.

To send off her child.

Having lost his humanity, he might eventually harm people and one day might even raise a hand against her grandson.

And that surely wouldn’t be what her son would want, so Felinshia firmly…

“—Please get out of the way. When you interfere, things that should work don’t.”

*KWANG!*

“????”

A fist strike that landed right in front of her.

Felinshia was bewildered by this absurd act, and the knight who had launched a Gyeoksan Strike at the great Sword Master was still staring straight ahead, drenched in sweat.

And then.

“What Mein? How is that a Mein?”

Having apparently overheard their conversation while fighting, the knight let out a hollow laugh with evident irritation.

As if he couldn’t bear listening anymore.

“My child?”

“That’s a Shimma (heart demon), not a Mein.”

“??”

“Another name for it is ‘possession by delusion.'”

“What…”

“And possession by delusion is a curable disease.”

What exactly is a Shimma?

It’s a mental illness.

It’s nothing more than someone whose head is filled with blood energy, poison energy, or turbid energy, causing their mind to snap.

What does this mean?

‘Beat them up enough and they’ll be cured, that’s all.’

Just as a stick is medicine for a mad dog, a fist is medicine for a madman.

In that sense.

“I’m an expert at this.”

The medieval knight who prided himself on being skilled at curing beasts worse than humans picked up an axe instead of a sword.

Unfortunately, it seemed difficult to beat him up elegantly with a sword.

“I’ll have to fight like a bandit or a beggar.”

The knight awakened the mountain bandits and beggars in his heart.