Ch.958Trust What’s Worth Trusting.

When the red-haired knight was thrown back and crashed, the watching old man pointed his black-burning greatsword at me, emanating a sharp aura.

“Fast and violent. Just as I heard.”

His expression had completely changed—his face, which had seemed somewhat human until now, now resembled that of a murderous butcher specializing in human flesh.

“What, do I have to fight this one too?”

The other one had a reluctant look on his face. Yet the tip of his lance was aimed precisely at me.

“Weren’t we told not to touch this woman? What was it… ah yes, she was supposed to be a variable.”

Variable? What the fuck?

The word choice made the back of my head throb.

“…Not a toilet, but a variable. The meaning is completely different. As is the purpose.”

The old man raised his greatsword high, correcting the blonde knight’s nonsense.

“We were indeed ordered not to kill her. We were told she must not die. However… we weren’t told not to fight her.”

The blade of the greatsword raised high toward the sky. The flames wrapping around the curved blade swirled fiercely, growing more intense.

“An enemy who must not be killed. If such a troublesome existence, the best course would be to neutralize and capture her when the opportunity arises.”

“Is that so?”

“That won’t work!”

I kicked off the ground and swung Durandal toward the old man.

The blue-silver blade extended like a flash of light.

As the old man faced it directly, his beard twitching slightly, black energy surged like a wave from his shadow, enveloping his entire body. It emitted the acrid smell unique to dark mana.

As I thought, this one was a Ma’in.

I knew it. Unlike the other two knights who emitted the unique aura of heroic power, I could only sense dark mana from the old man.

He must have offered everything he had to an evil god and received dark mana in return.

A common occurrence. Among Ma’in.

“Huaaaaaah!”

The old man lowered his raised greatsword until it was parallel to the ground, then thrust it toward me. Despite the tip being still some distance away.

– Whooooosh!

The dark mana flames wrapping around the wave-shaped blade erupted into a black vortex. It burned everything it touched to black ash.

‘That’s no ordinary flame.’

[Did you really need me to tell you that?]

My mana resistance and stigmata send warnings.

The swirling black flames. Though they appeared as flames, they were closer to dark mana taking the form of fire, similar to how holy fire is a crystallization of concentrated holy power.

Would my rune’s fire resistance be effective against that? I couldn’t be certain until I was hit.

“Something like this!”

Therefore, instead of taking his black flames head-on, I planted my feet firmly on the ground and unleashed Frosting.

“Hagalaz-!”

A technique that shoots vacuum itself like a shockwave—the ultimate technique with the power of destruction added to it.

Dust-Piercing Destruction Fist.

The storm of pressure that returns everything to dust and pierces through clashed like thunder with the vortex of black flames.

Thunder and lightning shook the sky, and the resulting shockwave shattered the earth. The scattered flames that were torn apart turned the flying debris to dust.

– Kwaooooo!

The destructive force continued to spread, shaking the air without dissipating. True to its nature as a technique that could disperse even a dragon’s breath, my technique overwhelmed his flames.

Well, in terms of efficiency, I’d probably be overwhelmingly outmatched…

But in a fight, power matters more than technique efficiency. What good is having plenty of strength left if you die from being overpowered?

“Eat this and die!”

I launched my body forward, following the unstoppable force. If he tried to dodge the destructive power, I would seize that opening to cut him down.

However, the old man, having withdrawn his flame greatsword, neither dodged nor attempted to defend or counter.

“Haaaah!”

Instead, the blonde youth suddenly intervened, thrusting his lance forward as if in the old man’s place. The runes engraved on the lance glowed with mana.

[ ᛉ ] [ ᚻ ]

“Algiz, Hagalaz!”

Protection. Destruction. The two engravings glowed intensely, coating the lance tip with mana.

– Kwadududuk!

The ensuing collision. A gray barrier spread before the lance, taking my attack and being torn apart, followed by the destructive powers canceling each other out as they collided.

Different output but the same effect from the runes. A perfect neutralization through skillful use.

“Hmm… it’s usable, but not as good as my old weapon.”

The blonde youth who had just neutralized my attack was frowning as if dissatisfied with its power.

“By the way, what did I use before? Do you happen to know?”

“How would I know?”

I let out a disbelieving laugh and swung Durandal down at him, imbuing it with the power of severance that cuts through space itself.

“Oh?”

The blonde youth tilted his head slightly and dodged my blade with a puzzled expression. Simultaneously, he thrust his lance at me again, filled with destructive power.

“Hagalaz!”

As I activated the rune of destruction and blocked the lance blade with my open palm turned fist, the two mana forces clashed violently, repeatedly canceling each other out and exploding.

The remnants of mana shattered both our pauldrons. Surprisingly, Frosting remained intact.

…Why doesn’t this break?

It does have an ability that increases durability the more blood it consumes, but I was amazed at how much blood it must have drunk to be harder than dragon scales.

Anyway, I yanked the lance I had grabbed, pulling my head back. Intending to smash his pretty face with my forehead.

“Indeed, you’re no ordinary person!”

However, at that moment, the old man with the black flame greatsword swung his weapon at me, forcing me to release the lance and jump back.

“The Blade of Severance…? What’s this? That’s Uncle Rotholandus’s technique.”

From the distance between us, the blonde youth muttered with his head tilted. Mentioning a name I’d never heard before.

“Who the hell is Rotholandus? The name of a guest you received?”

Rotholandus? What kind of name is that?

How can a person’s name be Rotholandus?

It had a sickeningly sweet sound, like cheese slathered in oil, soaked in honey, and then dipped in melted butter.

“Gramps. What’s with her? Is she Rotholandus’s daughter?”

The blonde youth ignored my sarcasm and asked the old man standing beside him about my identity.

“Sigh… you weren’t listening to the explanation again, were you? Or did you forget after hearing it…? I told you. That woman is a descendant of Rotholandus.”

“That’s the same thing. Daughter, daughter’s daughter, daughter’s daughter’s daughter.”

“…Why only daughters?”

“Obviously! To accumulate breasts that size, you need to keep having daughters. If a son gets mixed in, the size would reset to the beginning.”

“…Physical characteristics don’t magnify through generations.”

“My father was smaller than me?”

“……”

What on earth is wrong with this lunatic? Just listening to the conversation made me dizzy, as if my own intelligence was dropping.

Lord Demian, what kind of fight were you having? To have fought with such a person for dozens of minutes. I felt newfound respect rising within me.

[No, what is he? Is his mind diseased?]

‘Um… probably?’

Hersella let out a disbelieving laugh. It was truly a rare moment when our opinions aligned perfectly.

He seemed like a madman who had never used his brain throughout his life, able to solve everything with his face and strength alone. That blonde pretty boy.

“Come to think of it, Uncle Rotholandus once told me when I asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage that it would never happen before dirt entered his eyes.”

“I would have said the same. Consider yourself lucky not to have been hit with a gauntlet.”

“I don’t know about that. But thinking about it, even a daughter’s daughter’s daughter’s daughter is still a daughter, right? And Uncle Rotholandus must be in the dirt by now.”

“Please. Could you just keep your mouth shut?”

The old man with the flaming greatsword shuddered. His face suggested that just thinking about what might come next could cause brain damage.

“So this means I have permission, right? We just need to hold the ceremony?”

“Haaa….”

The old man covered his face with his left hand and let out a deep sigh.

“Ahem. Miss, let me formally introduce myself.”

The blonde youth, ignoring the old man’s reaction, turned to me, placed his hand on his chest, and bowed slightly.

“I am Astolfo, a knight of Menes and one of Karl Las’s Twelve Knights. I am your fiancé, approved by your father. I look forward to our future together.”

And then, he spouted a bunch of nonsense out of nowhere.

…Is he really insane?

I gaped, lowering Durandal’s blade. His statement was so bewildering I didn’t know where to begin questioning it.

Fiancé? Astolfo? Karl Las’s Twelve Knights?

What the hell.

What kind of crazy talk is that?

Twelve Knights? Did he just claim to be one of the Twelve Knights?

Like Hersella’s ancestor, Rotholandus. The Astolfo from the Twelve Knights in Carlos the Great’s heroic tales?

“Let’s build a happy home together. Three wives, about ten children should be enough…”

“You’re spouting absolute bullshit.”

I charged toward him and swung my sword, cutting off his next words.

What ridiculous nonsense.

If this guy is one of the Twelve Knights, then I’m a goddess. A goddess! He should at least say something believable.

How could one of the Twelve Knights be such a deranged lunatic? It’s impossible.

Right, the Twelve Knights have been dead for hundreds of years anyway. So this man’s words were clearly the ravings of a madman.

Of course, their master is probably Feirius, and Feirius specializes in putting dead souls into new bodies to serve him…

“My lady, please calm down! If you’re worried about inheritance issues, we can have just two wives…!”

…Anyway, it makes no sense. It makes no sense at all.

“Just die already.”

One is a Ma’in, the other is a lunatic.

These are supposed to be the Twelve Knights?

Believe what’s believable, they say.

I won’t believe it.