Chapter 86: Swordmaster Rodan (2)

Asking a favor from someone you tried to kill? That took some nerve.

Risir had to admit that Rodan’s audacity was impressive. Not that he let it show, of course. The cultist’s death didn’t make the swordmaster any less dangerous.

Pointing out his brazenness would only needlessly provoke a madman with overwhelming power.

Rodan’s power, unlike his mind, was pure. The purity of his magic power was so pristine that it surpassed even Sir Meltas and any other powerful individuals Risir had encountered.

In other words, he was among the most formidable opponents(?) he had ever faced. And to make matters worse, it was impossible to gain an elemental advantage against him like Risir could with black mages.

In this situation, backing down was clearly the wisest course of action.

If you’re going to hang around with cultists, why not go meet some devils and dabble in black magic? What an antisocial fellow.

Risir pushed aside his complaints and considered his options. What would be the best choice here?

Since Rodan would likely start kicking people and throwing pebbles if his request was refused, accepting was a given premise.

But there were different ways to fulfill a request.

Risir checked the condition of his companions.

Valrod was in the best shape. Though he had been caught in his own fire magic, he suffered almost no damage from the fire itself. However, his usual stubbornly upright posture was now hunched, likely from the impact when Shakan was sent flying.

Next was Shakan. Not being a flame mage, she apparently lacked sufficient resistance to fire magic. Signs of burns remained all over her body. Her skin was red and swollen, and the tips of her ears and tail were singed.

The clear handprints on her neck and the way she was gingerly holding her stomach where she’d been kicked were additional concerns.

Finally, Maldad. Outwardly, he appeared to be in the worst condition. Having taken a direct hit from the swordmaster’s pebble bombardment, he looked, frankly speaking, like a rag doll.

Strictly speaking, none of their injuries were life-threatening or likely to cause permanent disability. Considering their strength and vitality, complete recovery was possible with sufficient rest and care.

The fact that a swordmaster had only used his feet and pebbles, rather than his sword, suggested that Rodan had shown some restraint.

The problem was that even these non-serious injuries were completely unnecessary. Moreover, had the situation not turned around, it would have been only a matter of time before the swordmaster drew his sword and bloodied it.

There were too many grievances between them to fulfill the man’s request willingly.

Risir intended to grant a favor while extracting as much compensation as possible in the process.

Of course, negotiation only works between equals. A deer can’t negotiate with a wolf.

If Rodan wanted, he could end their lives at any moment. In such a situation, successful negotiation was hardly possible.

Risir was in a position where he should be begging for his life before seeking any benefit from the request. However…

“Damn it. This is my first time in this kind of situation, so I don’t know what to say. Risir, you just said it, right? That you wanted to help me instead of that cultist.”

Risir detected a hint of wariness beneath Rodan’s seemingly brazen attitude. It was subtly different from his arrogant demeanor toward the other three people.

He’s wary of me. Because he’s anxious about not getting help? No, that’s not it.

From what Risir had gathered in their brief encounter, Rodan wasn’t the kind of man to fret over whether someone would grant his request. He was the type who would pull out a pebble shotgun, claiming it was a better communication tool than dialogue.

Yet now, he wasn’t fidgeting with rock or reaching for the sword at his waist.

It was evident from his gestures. His body, which had once radiated sheer dominance, was now being used for nothing more than expressing frustration.

From that alone, Risir managed to realize one thing.

He’s wary of the power I possess.

Humans are wary of what they don’t understand.

In Risir’s case, it was Rodan’s brute strength. And from Rodan’s perspective, it was likely the purifying power that Risir possessed.

The power Dan’Galeon coveted and Maltael dreaded.

-Is this ignorant human incapable of even knowing how to make a request? If you don’t know what to do, I, Dan’Galeon, servant of Mastah, shall kindly teach you. Bow your head and show respect before Mastah’s name!

“If you want to make me bow my head, force would be faster than words.”

Rodan chuckled at Dan’Galeon’s words. One might have expected him to be offended by such insolence, but his reaction was merely one of incredulity.

That response confirmed Risir’s thoughts.

This guy is definitely wary of the power I possess. He sees me as…an equal, I suppose.

Risir knew how to handle this situation.

They say a beast shows respect not to the polite, but to the strong. Taking a submissive approach with the intention of merely saving his own skin would only backfire.

So Risir put on a casual smile.

“You probably don’t need me to say this, but you don’t have to take Dan’Galeon’s words too seriously. By the way, what should I call you? Rodan, was it? Would that be fine?”

Despite his polite tone, Risir was making it clear he had no intention of standing on formalities.

Rodan’s eyebrow twitched slightly, but that was all.

“Sure, call me whatever you want. I’ll do the same.”

“Then gladly, Rodan. Let’s get back to the main point. I’m sure I told you I would help you instead of the cultist. But before that, may I ask you something?”

As the conversation dragged on, Rodan took it as a bad sign and made no effort to hide his displeasure. That alone shifted the atmosphere.

Risir felt his shoulders grow heavy and the hairs all over his body stand on end. The presence of a superhuman who had reached the 8th rank was bearing down on him.

Uhh, he’s already blowing his top?

This was when Blue Breath—honed through countless brushes with death—truly shone.

Risir felt the pressure, but his meticulously controlled breathing kept any sign of it from showing. To Rodan, he looked like a man calmly smiling, unfazed by his anger.

In stark contrast, the three behind him reacted sharply to Rodan’s rising temper.

Rodan took them all in with a single glance and nodded. He noted that Risir was quite different indeed. Then, as if his anger had never existed, he let it go and smiled lightly.

“What are you curious about? Ask away.”

“Regarding your cooperative relationship with Dranoff. Just so you know, I have no intention of criticizing you for this.”

Risir didn’t think criticism would work on someone who seemed so far removed from common sense.

“I’m just curious. Dranoff promised to help your friend. So, what did you promise Dranoff in return? Someone of Dranoff’s caliber wouldn’t have simply asked for escort service.”

Risir’s companions were astounded when they understood his intention. He was probing what Rodan had promised Dranoff in return. It was an indirect way of asking what compensation he would provide to Risir.

How could he negotiate as an equal with this brute of a swordmaster? The three were amazed by his boldness.

And they were surprised once more by Rodan’s reaction.

“Hahaha!”

Rodan burst into hearty laughter.

“What’s this? Earlier when you were talking about salvation from the evil touch of devils and whatnot, I thought you were a fool spouting nonsense. But you’re actually quite sensible, eh?”

What exactly had amused him so much?

Now, Rodan’s gaze held a hint of goodwill toward Risir, mixed with strong curiosity and a spark of competitive spirit.

Risir couldn’t shake the feeling that a wolf was circling him.

“Yes, I like this better too. Give and take. That’s how things stay simple and straightforward. Don’t you agree?”

Rodan pulled out a pouch from his chest and tossed it to Risir.

“That’s it. What Dranoff demanded from me as payment.”

-M-Mastah…!

Dan’Galeon exclaimed in alarm.

-I sense a disgusting aura from that pouch!!!

“A disgusting aura?”

What could be disgusting to a devil? Could it contain a holy relic?

Risir opened the pouch and took out its contents. Inside was a box, just large enough to hold a ring perhaps.

He tried to pry it open.

“Mm?”

He was struck by a strange sensation, as if something inside was struggling to keep the box from opening.

“Won’t open, right?”

“What is this?”

“That’s what I was curious about too. I was planning to ask once things settled down…”

Rodan turned his gaze toward Dranoff, now a cold corpse.

“But in any case, it’s certainly a rare item. After all, I secretly stole it from some high noble’s vault.”

“…”

Feels like I heard something incredible…

Risir carefully tucked the pouch into his breast pocket.

I should return it to its owners when I get the chance.

“Well, are you satisfied?”

Rodan urged Risir with his eyes.

Risir nodded.

“Good? Then let’s go.”

Rodan began leading Risir to where his friend needed help.

Risir reflected on what Rodan had said about his friend, who needed the help of a devil worshiper.

-She’s fallen into a deep sleep for some reason. According to experts, only a high-ranking devil can wake her up. They said something about her birth being connected to devils.

So Risir brought Dan’Galeon along and headed with Rodan to where his friend was supposed to be.

From what he’d heard, Dan’Galeon was a devil with a sufficiently high rank, though not as high as Maltael. He judged that, with its help, they should be able to wake Rodan’s friend without much difficulty.

Eventually, they arrived at their destination.

“Here we are.”

“This is…”

The place Rodan led Risir to was a high-end weapon shop located in Bondalles’ commercial district.

Rodan announced his presence as he entered the shop.

“Hey, I’m here.”

A small girl came out to greet them.

“…Huh?”

No, wait.

She wasn’t a little girl—she looked like a miniature adult woman. In other words…

A dwarf…?

Risir had never encountered such a race before. He stared, momentarily at a loss.

She responded with a grin that, given her appearance, seemed oddly innocent.

“What’s this? First time seeing a dwarf, mister?”

“Ah, I apologize.”

“Heh heh. It’s fine. I’ll let it slide since you’re cute. Plus, you’re a guest of Riven Blade. You…don’t seem to use a sword. That’s a shame. I wanted to put one of my blades in the hands of Riven Blade’s acquaintance.”

As Rodan gave her a meaningful look, the dwarf nodded and disappeared into the back of the shop.

She returned shortly after, climbed onto the chair in front of the counter, and set something down.

A sword, still in its scabbard.

Risir had no idea what was going on.

“Don’t tell me your friend is…”

The dwarf girl answered in place of Rodan.

“Mister, this isn’t just any sword—it’s an ego sword.”

“An ego sword?”

“Mhm. A sword with consciousness. It’s incredibly, incredibly, INCREDIBLY rare! I’m pretty sure most masterforged swords can’t even hold a candle to this one.”

“Ah…”

Only then did Risir nod in understanding.

So it’s like a sword version of Mr. Duran.

He’d wondered what kind of person this thug cherished as a friend, and this was what it turned out to be…

Rodan questioned the dwarf girl as he carefully caressed the sword.

“So, was there any progress?”

She shook her head.

“No. She still refuses to be drawn from her scabbard. What I mentioned before seems to be the only solution.”

“…”

Rodan picked up the sword with a grave expression. He gripped the scabbard with his left hand and the hilt with his right.

He applied force, but the sword didn’t budge at all.

He murmured with a wistful expression.

“Master…”

“…”

Risir’s expression slightly crumpled. A friend, master, and beloved sword all in one? Wasn’t that compressing human relationships a bit too much?

No wonder the kid turned into a thug who only knew how to solve problems with force.

“Oi.”

Rodan set the sword back on the desk, his expression desperate yet determined.

It was the kind of look that suggested he might cause trouble if he couldn’t get what he wanted.

“…”

Feeling his mouth go dry, Risir placed his gray crystal orb beside the sword.

“I need your help, Dan’Galeon.”

-As you wish, Mastah! Heed my call, you worthless creature! I am the great Scorching Black Flame, Dan’Galeon!

Hey, that’s his master you’re calling worthless…

Risir was flabbergasted.

Fortunately, Rodan seemed not to have heard, too focused on inspecting the sword. His expression carried a hint of expectation.

But slowly, that expectation gave way to something else. His face hardened.

-I said heed my call!

Despite Dan’Galeon’s repeated cries, the sword didn’t budge in the least.

The dwarf girl warned Rodan.

“Please restrain yourself inside the shop.”

Powerful murderous intent radiated from Rodan, creeping across Risir’s skin.

But then, Dan’Galeon spoke up.

-Mastah, how about asking her for help!?

“Her?”

-I mean Lord Verdandes…chu!

“…”

That Imp of the Desert? The Prankster of the Dunes, Verdandes?

Risir reluctantly summoned her.

“Mastah!!! I was taking a nap!!!”

“Oh no, naps are important business. Sorry about that. It’s because I need your help.”

“But I’m still happy to see Mastah! I’ll help Mastah!”

Verdandes raised her arms with enthusiasm.

Risir patted her on the head.

“Then, could you wake up that sleeping sword?”

“Okay! Swordy! Wake up! It’s morning! No napping all by yourself!!!”

Verdandes grabbed the sword and spoke to it, but still, there was no response.

Rodan’s murderous intent only grew stronger.

Frustrated, Risir picked up the sword—and that’s when something changed.

“…?”

Something felt strangely off.

-Finally…! You! What is your name?!

An excited female voice rang in his mind.