Ch.74Even If the World Hates You (1)

The taut string of tension. Sharp as silver thread, it snapped helplessly the moment the clash resounded.

CRASH!!!

The massive Conqueror’s Sword slices through the air with tremendous power.

Its overwhelming mass refuses to allow any defense from fragile weapons.

However, Cavannil’s sword is a masterpiece worthy of being called a divine blade. Though slender compared to the Conqueror’s Sword, it yields to none in strength.

“I’ll support you.”

Netionpis instinctively sensed the feeling of hair standing on end throughout his body. The familiar smell of the battlefield. The scent of death.

He kicks off the ground and retreats. It was an ancient footwork technique unhindered by the mass of the Conqueror’s Sword.

The space where their weapons had just clashed distorted. It was exactly where Netionpis’s throat had been positioned. His heart chilled at the realization that he had nearly had his neck broken.

“Not yet!”

Swoosh.

The ground ripples. More precisely, the space beneath his feet. Netionpis struggled belatedly, but his feet plunged into a circular pond with a splash.

The next moment, Netionpis opened his eyes to behold the sky. The scene everyone imagines in childhood unfolds before his eyes.

The clouds, which had appeared as soft as cotton blankets, now pass through his body, confirming the emptiness of the void.

At that moment, Cavannil’s roar carried on the wind.

“Founding Noble!”

“What a pathetic trick!”

Clang! Clack-clack-clack!

Their weapons clash in the midst of an acceleration so intense that maintaining balance is difficult. The man’s blazing eyes were those of a hero facing a mortal enemy.

After exchanging dozens of blows in an instant, both men soon recognized the end of the situation.

The ground was approaching. It was an acceleration that would be difficult to avoid a meaningless death from the fall.

Cavannil twisted the corner of his mouth with composure. Because beneath him, a pond rippled. The entrance to a spatial portal opened its maw wide.

In contrast, Netionpis was greeted by solid ground. The friction of the air, enough to tear one’s mouth, turned the flat ground into a deadly weapon.

Panic leads to poor decisions. Kinetic energy just needs to be offset. He had acquired the physical ability to do just that.

“Hmm!”

BOOM!!!

With all his might, he slams the Conqueror’s Sword into the ground. With a tremendous roar, fragments of earth scatter in all directions like meteors.

The flickering world is covered in dust, taking on a reddish-brown hue.

Creak, creak.

The sound of dragging a massive metal object. It was the aftermath of Netionpis pulling the Conqueror’s Sword from the ground.

So this is what it feels like to face someone who manipulates space. He was starting to get used to it. Space distortion, creating single-use portals—it’s an ability with limitless applications.

Though a hero’s close combat ability is not to be underestimated, it’s only slightly superior to Bartlant in his prime. He calculated that he could win if he remained vigilant.

“Then I should eliminate the source of this troublesome variable first.”

Whoosh!

Netionpis kicked off, leaping incredibly close to the ground. His feet seemed to tread air, yet remained at a height where he could control the ground with a moment’s judgment.

He moved with the smoothness and agility of one with clouds around his waist. An incomprehensible footwork technique unfolded, blending the lost art of a legendary general from the war era with the martial arts of the Chester family.

In an instant, he reached the Holy Woman!

“This is the end, anomaly of the era.”

Whoosh!

But Netionpis’s Conqueror’s Sword sliced through empty air. More precisely, its trajectory curved smoothly as if striking ice in mid-air, destroying the innocent ground instead.

It was a technique that distorted space to forcibly bend the sword’s path. This was the result of barely defending against the sudden attack.

His burning nerves surpassed their limits to perceive and assess the situation. Just as he was about to kick the Holy Woman, Cavannil’s sword flew with a space-rending sound.

SLASH!

“Two against one?”

“Tch.”

He uses the broad side of the Conqueror’s Sword to escape the predatory blade.

With the Holy Woman’s physical durability, a kick to the solar plexus would have been enough to devastate her insides.

He clicked his tongue in frustration at missing such a perfect opportunity.

“Huff, huff.”

“Are you alright, Misha?”

“I’m fine. Just used too much power in a hurry, so I’m quite drained…”

“I’d like to say I’ll handle this while you recover… but that seems impossible this time.”

Cavannil directed his furrowed brow toward the villain.

The man handled an incredibly massive weapon effortlessly with one hand. Yet his agility matched that of a wild beast of the plains. Moreover, he possessed the physical ability to offset the energy of falling from the sky with a sword strike.

He was undoubtedly the strongest opponent they had ever faced.

“I wonder why the world gave such immense power to a villain like him.”

He was the trinity of power, wealth, and military might. If such a person continued to live freely, who could stop his dominance?

To them, Netionpis was a disaster in human form. It was clear that if they failed to stop him here and let him go, the world would suffer unprecedented violence.

This was the beginning of the decisive battle that would last nine days.

◇

“So this day has finally come.”

The man muttered to himself.

He was a man wearing a large eye patch over his right eye. Known for his typically frivolous speech, he was the head of a massive organization.

Troph Feita. The current head of the Duke Feita family.

“Lorian Feita… we will confront your lifelong wish with all our might.”

Troph stared intently at an old, worn manuscript. Despite being hundreds of years old, it was remarkably well-preserved.

“It’s because you wanted it. For that one reason alone, we’ve sacrificed for hundreds of years.”

He held his throbbing head and spoke honestly.

“Frankly, you’re a nuisance.”

The first Duke Feita—Lorian was the Emperor’s shadow blade. She specialized in assassination, disruption, and intelligence gathering, handling various special operations.

By now, her legend had been buried in obscurity, and the Feita family tradition did not follow in her footsteps.

…or so the world believed.

“It’s been 400 years already. Grudges have faded, and I think we could just live normally. I’ve never even seen the first head of the family—ugh!?”

Throb, throb!

Whenever he criticized Lorian, an unbearable headache assaulted him. It felt as if thorns were growing in his brain, trying to pierce his skull.

“The family servants are all raised with brainwashing. Their emotions are castrated, and they desperately learn to imitate normalcy. Their lives are predetermined for the sake of your obsession. Ugh…!”

Even Troph, the family head, was no exception. He was merely allowed to keep his emotions because they were deemed necessary for a leader of the collective.

Any action that deviates from Lorian Feita’s wishes receives appropriate sanctions. Just like his current headache.

“Honestly, I’m sick of it. If it’s not during my generation, Feita has no hope. If we fail even after bringing in Zikharun, that anomaly, then Feita might as well be completely destroyed.”

Truthfully, the rebellion using the one-time portal seemed unlikely to fail.

Even though Irefi Justitia was an existence close to cheating, she was a controllable variable.

His excitement swelled like a balloon at the prospect of being liberated from Feita’s obsession.

He didn’t know then. That such shallow expectations could be popped with just a small needle.

There was only one miscalculation.

The existence of Marquis Nepy Alteon. If he hadn’t interfered with Zikharun’s ritual, the Empire would have fallen long ago.

Even if Irefi had pursued Zikharun and the ritual failed, it would have been beneficial.

Because the Dark Sky Squad, who infiltrated using the one-time portal, would have taken her younger sister hostage. Then Irefi’s leash would have belonged to them.

But a man who seemed to have fallen from the sky ruined the grand plan. Troph hated and regretted this so much that he wanted to die for days.

“Huff… huff… I’m tired. It’s been too long. My patience has hit rock bottom.”

The urge to burn Lorian’s manuscript and destroy it stirred in his head. The more he thought about it, the more the screws of his headache tightened around his temples, torturing him.

Troph leaned on a chair with trembling legs. The person who liberated him from this pain was none other than his enigmatic collaborator.

“What’s this, malnutrition?”

Zikharun Misrakh. He opened the door without knocking. Though embarrassed to show such an unsightly state, Troph couldn’t help but smile at the refreshing sense of liberation.

“Ah, I heard tap dancing is trending in social circles.”

“Both your skill and excuse are truly pathetic.”

“Drop dead.”

“Unfortunately, as a mature spirit, I’ll live several times longer than you.”

“Damn you, cursed bastard.”

Zikharun leaned against the spacious sofa. He showed complete disregard for Troph’s abuse.

Zikharun asked:

“How much Lost Blood have you secured?”

“About three people’s worth. I think that’s the limit even with the guild’s information network.”

“That’s enough. Originally, the ritual could be performed with just Charle Millote.”

“We should be grateful for the 3rd Emperor’s extravagance… ugh. Damn, I can’t even joke.”

As Troph clutched his head, Zikharun grew suspicious.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s this side’s damn business, so don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not particularly interested anyway.”

“Cold-hearted bastard…”

“Keeping up with you is as exhausting as that tap dancing you regret.”

“Argh!!!”

There’s nothing like touching on someone’s dark history. While Troph was seething and regretting his slip of the tongue, Zikharun turned his eyes to the corner.

It was the chair Troph had been leaning on while trembling.

On the neatly arranged chair lay an old manuscript.

Zikharun felt intense curiosity about the presence of this item that seemed out of place.

“W-wait. What are you doing?”

“There’s something here I haven’t seen before.”

“Stop it. That’s not for you to see. It’s written in code anyway.”

“The fact that it’s in code makes me even more curious.”

“You…!?”

Zikharun ignored Troph’s protests and approached the chair.

The cover of the manuscript was dark green. It had a plain appearance with no decorations. Its humble appearance, unsuited for a duke’s possession, felt somehow familiar.

“Hmm.”

Finally, Zikharun opened the first page of the manuscript.

As Troph had claimed, white was the paper, and black was the writing.

But strangely, cold sweat dampened Zikharun’s black bangs for no apparent reason.

The letters writhed on their own. They crawled and wriggled like snakes imbued with life.

It took only a moment to realize this phenomenon was an illusion.

His world was dyed monochrome and reconstructed into a new landscape.

The end of a fate that had fallen into the abyss.

To the scene of the final moment.

◇

“Ah… ugh… aaaagh…!”

A woman’s desperate scream reverberated inside the moving carriage. The elderly woman bit her own fingers, trying to endure the pain.

Everything in the large carriage was soft, but that offered little comfort. It was a minor factor compared to the labor pains that felt like her intestines were being torn to shreds.

“My Lady…!”

The black-haired, black-eyed woman experiencing labor pains was Lorian Feita.

Inside, only two women in black robes attended to Lorian. They were members of the Dark Sky Squad, who handled the family’s special operations.

“The baby is coming! My Lady, please…! Just a little more…!”

“Ugh… aaaaaaaaaagh!!! Ahh, aaagh……”

Rattle, rattle! Thud, thud!

Suddenly, the carriage shook violently. The more unstable the carriage’s movement became, the more horrific Lorian’s screams grew.

“You! What are you doing? The Duchess is suffering!!!”

Outraged by the rough driving, one of the attendants opened the carriage window and shouted.

“Damn it, if there’s a way to drive smoothly while shaking off pursuers, I’d like to know!!!”

“What…! Already?!”

The face of the woman in the black robe turned pale. She hadn’t expected them to be caught up to so quickly.

“Aagh… ugh… Nes, Nes, aaaah…!”

“My Lady… please just a little more… hold on…! What…?”

How could this be happening? Was it right for the Imperial family to corner a founding noble like this?

She was furious. Humiliation ran down her spine, making her whole body tremble.

The Dark Sky Squad’s intelligence network had only recently detected the changing political situation. Asar’s assassination order had been a highly secretive matter.

[Not only is it unacceptable that the child belongs to a criminal founding noble, but a child born in defiance of the late Emperor’s will has no value.]

This was Asar’s justification.

Lorian was furious, but she was already in the final stages of pregnancy. Her very existence had become a weakness for the ducal family.

So she set out on a path of refuge. She embarked on a long journey far from the eyes of the Imperial Palace.

If she could reach Feita’s territory rather than the capital, she would be safe. No matter how mad the current Emperor was, he wouldn’t deploy large-scale forces. Even if he formed a small strike team, they would be mere morsels compared to the Dark Sky Squad.

In the midst of this, disaster struck like a double blow. Just as the Imperial forces were approaching, Lorian went into labor.

The situation now hurtled toward the worst-case scenario.

“My Lady.”

“Ugh… ah… Nes…!”

“I don’t need an answer, just listen to me.”

“Hey, you…?”

The other attendant looked at her in shock. She immediately sensed what her colleague was about to say.

“It seems this is as far as I go.”

Her voice trembled with rising sadness. The woman who sensed the end of her life was anxious.

She had a premonition that Lorian would walk a thorny path in the future.

“I received more grace from you than I deserved, My Lady. You created my happiness.”

“Ilho… no, Eln!”

“A mere prostitute became the head maid of a ducal family and built a home. To me, you were the Emperor, you were God. Truly… they were sincerely blessed days.”

Immediately after, the head maid Eln’s demeanor changed completely.

Her frost-like gaze belonged to a soldier who had killed their emotions.

She steeled her resolve and wrapped herself in the black robe.

Eln put on a mask covering her entire face and jumped out of the carriage without hesitation.

“Please be happy, Duchess Lorian.”

The carriage door closed in an instant. Lorian couldn’t respond to Eln’s determination.

Her mind was completely filled with thoughts of Nes and labor pains, robbing her of the ability to think.

Then came a chilling metallic sound. It was the sound of skin tearing and life bursting.

The harmony produced by such a desperate resolve was soon submerged, eroded by Lorian’s screams.

“My Lady, just a little more! If you push just a little more…!”

“Hic, huuu… aaaaaaah…!”

It’s questionable how much time the head maid Eln bought them. What’s certain is that the life she threw away helped bring forth a precious new life.

By now, the baby’s cries filled the interior, replacing Lorian’s screams.

Lorian, tears streaming down her face, carefully held the warm little life. Their child, for whom countless tomorrows awaited…

“Baby… my baby… hic…”

“Congratulations, My Lady!”

“Look… black hair just like ours… our child…”

“His features all resemble you, My Lady. He’ll surely grow up to be a handsome young man…!”

“He must. Yes… but where did Eln go?”

“Th-that… My Lady…”

Just as the last remaining attendant was about to answer.

The world turned upside down.

She belatedly realized that the carriage had overturned.

The woman’s judgment was swift.

She protected Lorian with her entire body, taking on the role of a buffer. Thanks to her, Lorian and the child remained safe.

Unfortunately, the attending woman was simply unlucky.

“Nicol! Open your eyes, Nicol!”

She desperately called out the attendant’s name. She clung to the cooling body and cried out desperately.

But miracles are fickle concepts. No matter how desperate one is, they don’t easily extend a hand.

“Uu… ugh… ah…”

The baby cried. It became the driving force for Lorian to quickly accept reality.

“The child is born!”

“The Duchess doesn’t matter! Kill the child!”

“The child of a traitor who will go down in history!”

“A child who betrayed the late Emperor’s virtue has no right to live!”

“Ugh…!”

Lorian wrapped herself in Nicol’s black robe and ran blindly.

Red lines formed as stones and twigs scratched her delicate bare feet. Even as she was covered in dust, she held the baby tightly to keep it clean.

“Haa, haa… hic…!”

It hurts.

It hurts so much.

My feet hurt, my knees hurt.

The body after childbirth is weak.

It’s amazing that I can move at all when even my arms tremble holding this light baby.

What about Nes?

Nes will suffer worse hardship than me.

They say the famous hero and holy woman will execute him. The very two who oppose the Chainlich…

Still, your image keeps coming back to me. Behind that large tree over there. I fall into a fantasy where you appear from behind that big oak tree to help us.

“Help me… Nes… give me strength…”

Give me the strength to live, the will, bestow it upon me.

It feels like the world hates us. Is it displeased that we seek happiness?

I just want to have a child with the man I love and live an ordinary life.

I only desired the ordinariness that is so abundant among common people.

Was that so wrong?

Warm sunshine.

A well-maintained garden.

Fragrant tea.

Moderate refreshments.

Lorian Feita.

Netionpis.

The fruit of our love playing vigorously.

Happiness.

Future.

Was it a luxury for a woman who had killed people? Has divine punishment fallen on us who were caught in the war?

Ah, perhaps so.

I’m certain now.

The world is forcing harshness upon us.

That must be it, right, Nes?

Otherwise, the destination reached by enduring wounds wouldn’t be a cliff.

“The trail continues!”

“Here! Lorian Feita is here!”

You know, Nes.

Before coming here, the carriage overturned.

I almost died.

Nicol saved me, though.

Humans are surprisingly soft. One sacrifice can save two lives.

So, wouldn’t it be easier to save one life with one sacrifice?

“I’m sorry, Nes. I’ll go ahead and wait—.”

That’s when it happened.

Swoosh!

The sound of air being pierced past her ear.

By the time she recognized that chilling sound, one of her arms was already floating in the air.

“Huh……?”

Immediately after, intense pain struck. An arrow pierced her palm, scattering the scent of blood.

What seized Lorian’s consciousness more than that was the small baby wrapped in swaddling clothes.

Her child, held in the hand that had been shot by the arrow.

“Ah… ah…?”

For a moment, the world stopped.

This wasn’t a metaphor—even the forces opposing Lorian fell silent at the surreal sight.

The scene of a founding noble’s child falling off a cliff was fantastical.

Although they were obedient to orders, when faced with the reality, fear surged within them.

“Baby… my…… baby… our child… ah……”

She endlessly followed with her eyes the baby that had now become a mere dot. She hoped for a miracle that might somehow bloom.

But having experienced war, she knew.

How easily humans die.

Break the cervical spine, and they die.

Slit the carotid artery, and they die.

Just a few drops of poison can kill a person.

Her experience ruthlessly thrust forward the reality she didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Ah… aagh… ah… aaaah…! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!”

A scream. The wail of a mother whose internal organs had been horrifically turned inside out.

Dead.

Dead and gone.

The child of her beloved, whom she thought she would never have again, was gone.

The only proof of our existence that could be left in this world, our love, our past, our future, everything, had turned into a bloody cloth.

I’m sorry. My child. My baby, whom I haven’t even named yet.

I’m sorry, Nes. For forcing you, through my love, to commit a sin, I’m sorry.

I’m just sorry for everything. It’s my fault. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.

“Augh… ah… aagh… huuugh…”

…

.

……

.

……. …

No, that’s not right. No.

Why should I, should we, be sorry?

Who is the world to judge us?

It doesn’t make sense. Of course, there’s no reason.

I gave up long ago on being a fool who conforms because that’s what heaven’s principles dictate.

We all were that kind of people.

Step, step.

“I’ve decided.”

She reaches into the unfamiliar black robe.

A well-maintained knife ominously sharpened its blade.

“If our happiness is said to defy principles… then I must give up being the Empire’s shadow blade.”

Some say:

A child who loses parents is an orphan.

A woman who loses her husband is a widow.

For parents who lose a child, there is no word to express it.

Then what becomes of a woman who loses both husband and child—.

“The calamity you brought upon yourselves, accept it willingly.”

Born as a human.

Growing old as a ghost.

Each time the black robe cuts through the forces, it gradually dyes into a dark red color.

Lives extinguished with extreme ease left single screams.

The woman’s blade, filled with resentment, was short but fierce.

The black reaper skilled in taking lives hardly seemed like a woman who had exhausted her strength.

“Sin for sin, blood for blood…”

Widowers, widows, orphans, and the childless.

Thus, the shadow blade became a demon like no other.

The black energy swirling around her was enveloped in golden light and disappeared.