Chapter 112

Chapter 112

Chapter 112

Chapter 112

“My trade is simply that of a humble beast exterminator.”

In that manner replied Drake, the renowned monster hunter.

“The authentic price and worth of this edge is something that only you, Lord Saxon, possess the power to evaluate.”

His words were pronounced with a studied apathy.

“In what place did you manage to come by this blade?”

“I had the fortune to run into it by pure chance.”

Dale made an effort to contain an attempted chuckle.

“Chance? Of course not.”

He evoked the instant when the S-rank combatant nicknamed “Faithless” brought that cursed weapon with him. It was a dark relic that exceeded the control of a fifth-circle dark mystic, nevertheless, Drake manipulated it with total naturalness.

He attenuated his true capabilities behind a facade of modesty, always guarding the net scope of his power. The most formidable executor of creatures on the continent, he who never required the use of mana, was vastly far from being someone common.

“I will arrange for an emissary from the combatants’ association to come to secure your retribution, Mr. Drake,” added Dale, proceeding to remove the hilt of “Hunger” which was buried in the surface. “If the established amount does not cover your pretensions, I beg you to let us know.”

“There will be no such need.”

Drake performed a bow loaded with courtesy.

“It represents an authentic privilege that Lord Saxon considers it to his liking.”

After crossing a few brief additional statements, Dale turned on his heels, distancing himself from the imposing presence that characterized the sovereign of the Demon Kingdom, the Viscount of Saxon and likewise known as the “Black Prince.”

Fastened in his hand he carried the cursed sword of insatiable appetite, “Hunger.”

That same dawn, while Dale dispatched the pending matters of the Demon Kingdom sheltered by the night in his office, a faint knock was heard at the entrance.

“Dale.”

Through the threshold crossed a lady possessing a frigid and neat aesthetic. Her sapphire-toned hair fell around her pointed ears: she was an elf mystic belonging to the sixth circle.

“Master.”

“I notice that your labors extend until late hours.”

Dale sketched an affable gesture under the dim illumination of the candlestick upon perceiving Sepia’s expression of concern.

“Do I perhaps interrupt your time?”

“Not at all.”

Dale moved his head in a sign of negation.

A silent pause of short duration ensued, after which Sepia resumed the dialogue.

“Your growth has been notable.”

Those features characteristic of youth that she contemplated in Dale’s beginnings had transformed into maturity due to the passing of eras.

“I thank you, master.”

Sepia’s expression reflected affection, and Dale corresponded to her gesture with total serenity.

“Do you consider that at this moment I have transformed into a man at your level?”

He inquired with a nuance of a joke after sharing a few brief laughs.

“That question still denotes a certain immaturity.”

Sepia’s cheekbones acquired a coloration similar to peach in the midst of the gloom.

“Nevertheless… it brings me joy.”

Setting aside her shyness, Sepia proceeded with her account.

“When I initially contemplated you at the age of nine and perceived the gift you possessed…”

Dale’s aptitudes lacked an equal, even if measured against the greatest prodigies of the crown. Sepia found herself unable to erase from her memory the first “Ice Beam” that he manifested, a spell endowed with a destructive capacity that surpassed that of the most experienced combatants.

A skill oriented toward extermination.

“In your person I perceived the reflection of a fearsome entity whom I knew in the past.”

“……”

“Do you have knowledge about the paladin coming from another dimension?”

Dale performed a swallowing movement upon hearing those words.

“I understand that he was led to lands completely strange to him, trained as a hunting piece of the crown and subsequently discarded in the same way when the persecution concluded.”

“That is so.”

Sepia nodded with a movement of her head, validating the affirmation.

“It was a creature worthy of compassion.”

“…!”

The unexpected commiseration manifested by Sepia caused stupor in Dale.

“And despite everything, he undoubtedly constituted the ‘God of Slaughter.'”

The God of Slaughter.

“It is impossible for me to banish from my mind the scenario of torment that he unleashed.”

Dale kept silent for a few moments.

“What is the reason why you found his reflection in my being?”

He questioned, feigning disinterestedness.

“I wouldn’t know how to specify it.”

Sepia showed hesitation, finding herself unable to express it with exactness.

A skill oriented toward extermination. It could be perceived as a pretentious concept, nevertheless, abundant individuals in this reality were owners of similar conditions. Warriors polished their blades to deal death with superior effectiveness, and Charlotte’s gifts with the steel kept no distinction whatsoever from it.

“He was the possessor of a ‘particular attribute’ that distanced him from the usual powerful combatants,” detailed Sepia.

A particular attribute.

“I lack the suitable words to shape it.”

“……”

“However, I detected that ‘particular attribute’ imbued in your gifts.”

Dale experienced a deep bewilderment.

“At this instant I harbor no doubts.”

Sepia showed a smile filled with tranquility.

“I have the certainty that you will not employ that ‘particular attribute’ in a bad way the way he did.”

Dale experienced the strong desire to expose his legitimate provenance, but chose to contain himself. It was impossible for him to take that step.

“That is because you were next to me, Sepia,” replied Dale.

“I gave you my word that I would remain by your side, did I not?”

Sepia exhibited a smile loaded with shyness and Dale replied with an identical gesture.

“I give you my thanks.”

He stopped his impulses to clasp her in his arms, evoking that frigid and resplendent winter eve under the faint gleam of the luminary.

Subsequent to the obtaining of his brand-new relic and of his prized blade, “Hunger,” an unforeseen arrival occurred in the domains of the northern Demonic Kingdom.

The sovereign of the Demon Kingdom, the Viscount of the fortress of Saxon.

“It represents a true pleasure to meet with you again.”

In the main enclosure, a man possessing a striking grace and a memorable golden hair performed a respectful inclination.

“Michael of Lancaster, present for the purpose of interviewing the ‘Black Prince’… or more precisely, Lord Saxon.”

The golden-toned heraldic robe, which exhibited the emblem of the white rose corresponding to the Lancaster lineage, fluttered with the air currents.

An implacable aristocracy.

“Prince Michael.”

Dale abandoned his royal seat and executed a courteous greeting.

“I extend my gratitude to you for having completed this complex journey.”

“There is no reason for it.”

Michael of Lancaster smiled, placing his fingers on the grip section of his weapon.

Nevertheless, prior to him managing to extract it from its scabbard, a pair of ladies-at-arms moved swiftly to safeguard Dale’s flanks.

Lady Black, the Sword Maiden Charlotte.

The pupil of the illustrious sword strategist Helmut Black Bear, a warrior who stood out because of her aptitudes.

Lady Shadow, the Holy Maiden Aurelia.

Trained by the execution expert Baro, she set aside the rules of chivalry with the end of transforming into a virtuoso of the blade of extermination.

Both combatants, provided with dark armor, aimed their edges straight toward the area of Michael’s neck and torso before he managed to unsheathe his own.

Charlotte’s hands held a steel that emanated a jet-black toned energy, while Aurelia’s carried a steel imbued in a blood-red toned energy.

“Withdraw your blades, both of you.”

Dale extended his upper extremity, containing the action of the warriors.

“You dispose of combatants of entire fidelity.”

Michael was not perturbed in the absolute, conserving his smile.

“I still maintain fresh in my memory the fall I suffered in the combat enclosure,” Michael proceeded without losing his affable gesture. “Subsequent to that stumble, I perfected the handling of my steel restlessly, awaiting the moment when it would be possible for me to measure forces again before your blade and your mystic arts.”

A metallic sound vibrated in the air.

“Would you grant me the honor of receiving your teachings, Mr. Saxon?”

Michael extracted his weapon from the scabbard.

To the naked eye it seemed like a conventional knight’s blade, nevertheless, it emitted a whitish and faint gleam.

“…!”

Dale’s breath stopped momentarily upon contemplating said steel.

In what way could he erase it from his mind?

It was not a coarse reproduction created by memories.

The authentic piece was found in that place, without margin for confusion.

The Peacemaker.

The valued blade belonging to the paladin, Peacemaker, scintillated under the dominion of Michael Lancaster.

“It gives the impression that you keep familiarity with this steel.”

Upon noticing Dale’s astonishment, Michael manifested strangeness in his response.

“Finding an individual who ignores its prestige would result in a highly complex task.”

Dale feigned not to be aware.

For what motive was that steel located in foreign possession? The explanation did not result convoluted.

The Lancaster lineage had sworn fidelity to the crown long before its pretensions of power came to light. Being one of the bulwarks of the crown’s warlike conflicts, it resulted logical that the “Sword of the Hunting Dog” was delivered to the Grand Duke of Lancaster and consequently inherited by his descendant.

“The suitable instant.”

Dale incorporated himself from his royal seat, showing a smile at the time he gave the nod to the challenge posed by Michael.

“I too have recently obtained a novel steel.”

“Is that so?”

That day on which he contained the wildness of the relic and took possession of the jet-black cursed sword.

Dale unsheathed the blade “Hunger” that he carried on his belt.

The dark surface of the metal, which kept resemblance to the shadowy steel characteristic of the Saxon lineage, irradiated a gloomy and threatening energy.

The “Cloak of Shadow,” mimetized under the appearance of a dark surcoat, shook fiercely.

Despite Dale having risen with the triumph in the combat enclosure, it did not constitute an achievement cemented exclusively on his innate skills.

And how many days had succeeded since that event?

Personal evolution does not represent a phenomenon that takes place instantaneously. Nevertheless, despite the days passing in the same manner for everyone, that does not imply that the velocity of development is identical in each individual.

By reason of it.

Passing over the intentions of the two warriors who gave signs of anxiety and tried to dissuade him from acting, Dale raised his gaze.

“It will be prudent for you to be ready.”

Dale strengthened the pressure of his fingers on the grip section of “Kia.”

Unlike the previous occasions, no projections would manifest nor would abstract environments be exposed: this constituted a direct challenge, focused sharply on recreation.

However, a fight between a pair of contenders of similar caliber was far from being considered a simple mock confrontation.

A millimetric oversight possessed the potential to bring about a fatal outcome in this combat of life or death.

“It is appreciated that you have managed to recover the extremity you lost on that opportunity,” Mikhail mentioned with total detachment, placing his eyes on the arm with which Dale held his weapon.

“Oh, not at all.”

Dale moved his head negatively and let a smile be seen.

The extremity he delivered as a tribute with the end of consolidating the triumph in the decisive instance of the combat enclosure.

Oppositely to the beliefs of the common people, depriving oneself of one or two parts of the body does not represent a conflict of great magnitude, at least under the parameters that rule in the Black Tower.

Recomposing certain anatomical fragments employing the knowledges of the Black Tower generates no complication whatsoever.

Nevertheless.

“I too have not left in oblivion the damages suffered that day.”

“…!”

The arm in charge of holding “Kia” gave start to an emanation of shadowy brightness, as if it proceeded to unite with the dark reflection of the steel.

An extremity of gloom.

Had he wanted to, Dale was fully capable to reconstruct his arm without setbacks availing himself of the methods of the Black Tower.

However, he resolved not to proceed in that mode.

It did not respond to an incapacity on his part.

Rather, throughout his experiences in the Guild City, he managed to comprehend the authentic sense of the “shadow prosthesis” that had integrated itself completely to his own being.

Dale’s artificial extremity of gloom began to amalgamate with the cursed sword “Kia,” disseminating darkness through the surroundings.

Under the dominion of Mikhail Lancaster, Dale’s ancient and valued steel, Peacemaker, gave off a glow loaded with serenity.

It did not constitute a coarse replica focused on emulating the force of past thoughts and experiences, but rather it harbored the legitimate power impregnated in the original piece.

In the upper section of the main hall of the fortress of Saxon, Mikhail Lancaster propelled himself with velocity toward the front.

Simultaneously, the “cloak of shadow” belonging to Dale increased its volume, covering the totality of the sector under an ocean of dense darkness.

Chapter 112