Chapter 197 : Chapter 197
Chapter 197
All eyes were drawn to the name Obro Denoebang.
The ‘Name-eaters’ who caught the scent of the name, and the people who knew the meaning of that name, all turned to look at him.
The stares gave birth to bewilderment.
Obro was still a weak drunkard.
He had recklessly shouted to save Mariet, but regret washed over him as he realized what he had done.
He took another sip of liquor, trying to endure somehow.
“The White Lord……?”
“…He’s the White Lord?”
There was no way anyone else would use the name Obro Denoebang.
But the people were doubtful.
It had been 11 years since they were trapped in the Underworld.
The White Lord they remembered was a hero who seemed to have stepped out of a fairy tale—young, noble, and with no interest whatsoever in liquor or women.
But the Obro before them now was shaggy with a dirty beard and hair, sipping liquor.
The way his hands trembled, he was the spitting image of a drunkard.
He was so different from the White Lord in their memories that they couldn't help but be puzzled.
“…….”
Whether the people were puzzled or not, Obro had no time to worry about such things.
The ‘Name-eaters’, four giant black snakes, were approaching him.
The way they flicked their tongues was quite threatening.
‘…Those snakes, they’re bigger and more hideous than I thought…….’
There were four massive maws, large enough to swallow a grown man whole and then some.
Their fangs were the size of a child's forearm, and their yellow, gleaming eyes were utterly murderous.
Their forms, shrouded in black smoke as they approached, were like something out of a nightmare.
Obro gripped his right wrist tightly with his left hand.
It was because his hand was trembling so much.
The trembling hand would not be calmed even by drinking.
In his hand, he held a thick wooden club.
He had just picked up one that was rolling around on the ground.
He was a swordsman, but he could not yet hold a sword.
Clutching the club, Obro bit his lip as he watched the approaching snakes.
‘How long has it been…….’
If no one was watching, he would have wanted to let out a groan.
‘Just how long has it been since I’ve fought……?’
Once, he had been more familiar and confident with combat than anything else.
So much so that he wondered if he had been born for battle, if a god had crafted him as a natural-born swordsman.
No, it wasn't a guess, but a certainty.
Obro Denoebang had been that skilled swordsman.
But he was afraid.
He was so afraid and anxious he couldn't bear it.
He was afraid, so afraid, because there was so much he couldn't achieve even with the swordsmanship he had been so proud of, because there was so much he had lost due to being intoxicated with his own swordsmanship.
Ah, those dreadfully long nights of powerlessness.
Ah, after having brought about so many mistakes with my own hands, must I once again take up a weapon?
What am I to do with this sorrowful trajectory of life?
Liquor is the medicine for a fearful heart.
He poured all the remaining liquor in the bottle into his mouth.
A burning sensation flowed down his throat.
Along with it, his powerlessness and regret were also swallowed.
He didn't know when they would resurge, but at least it wasn't now.
It had to be that way.
His face quickly flushed red, and the trembling in his hands subsided.
He decided not to think.
No, he decided to think only about what he had to.
He decided to forget everything else.
Even if he couldn't forget, he decided to pretend he had.
‘Think, you idiot Obro, think……!’
He clenched his teeth.
‘That child, Mariet, is over there, you damn idiot! Mariet is alive-!!!’
A painful, painful name, the child he had cherished like a daughter.
He had thought she was dead.
He had been in pain his whole life, thinking he had lost her forever due to his mistake.
But she had appeared before his eyes again.
A god had given him another chance.
He could only think of it that way.
‘How, what should I do…….’
He had to save her, even if it meant sacrificing his life.
He once again gripped the club.
He desperately wracked his brain.
He forced his rusted mind to work, pouring fire into it without fail.
‘Snakes, they’re snakes, those things are snakes……. Then they are vulnerable to attacks from below. The first one, I’ll strike from below. I’ll pretend to hold it loosely and then swing it up in one go. That should create a bit of an opening.’
There was much anxiety.
He had once been the White Lord.
But now he was so broken that he dared not call himself by that name.
Therefore, he was afraid.
If I do as I did before, will it turn out as it did before?
Even in my most confident days, I ended up making mistake after mistake, so what's to say I won't now?
More worries surged. But he clenched his teeth.
‘…If there’s an opening, I should be able to handle the next one even if it follows up. Seeing the angle it approaches from, I can strike it without retracting the club. I'll swing quickly twice like that, and if the opportunity arises, I’ll aim for the eyes. Yes, no matter how much of an idiot I’ve become, if I attack its mouth or eyes, I should be able to disable it, I should be able to…….’
He thought a great deal in a short amount of time.
Because he was anxious.
Obro had felt his weakness to the point of being sick of it.
The time spent in anguish was long.
That was why he was afraid of the ‘Name-eaters’.
The worry of whether common sense would even apply to beings of the Underworld was added on top.
Worries led to more worries.
In the meantime, the snakes were within arm's reach.
The ‘Name-eaters’ flicked their wicked tongues and spoke in human voices.
[…Hmm, your name is Obro…….]
[…Hmm, you are the son of Desep…….]
[…Hmm, you are…….]
“Shut up, you wicked things-!!!!”
Obro raised his voice for no reason.
It was to hide his fear.
Suppressing his trembling hands and deep terror, he gripped the club and charged.
He repeated it to himself several times.
‘The first one from below, then prepare for the second one’s attack…….’
There was a cracking sound.
“……?”
He had struck one of the ‘Name-eaters’ from below.
But the snake’s neck was cut cleanly and rolled on the ground.
Even though he had swung a club, the cross-section was clean, as if cut by a treasured sword.
One snake’s neck was cut.
But the one behind it didn't even know what had happened.
Though bewildered, Obro swung the club again.
The second ‘Name-eater’ split vertically in two.
Two of the four snakes were in pieces.
The two at the back finally rushed at him with sharp hisses.
They were very fierce.
But they were slow.
Obro could see exactly where they would come from.
He swung the club once more and crushed the remaining two snakes in a single blow.
“…….”
He had caught four snakes with three swings of his club.
“…So, easily……?”
It wasn't that they were weak.
As beings of the Underworld, the ‘Name-eaters’ were more powerful than most magical beasts.
It was just that Obro wasn't weak.
Come to think of it, it was only natural.
He had lived as a drunkard for 8 years.
But he had not stopped his training for a single day.
Even when the Cordis Empire fed him a potent poison, he did not stop and trained every single day.
He always shed blood and sweat.
Even more harshly than in the days when he was called the White Lord.
Because he had not forgiven himself for a single day.
Obro could not forgive himself.
He simply could not bring himself to believe in himself.
That was why he had looked away.
From the fact that Obro Denoebang had actually become stronger than before.
That those dreadful times had borne fruit was a brutally overwhelming thing.
“…It’s the White Lord.”
“The real White Lord.”
“He's finally come to save us…….”
The people let out cries of awe.
“Oh, White Lord!”
“Hero……! Our hero……!”
“We believed. We believed in you!”
They raised their voices with hearts as full as their 11 years of waiting.
Everyone shed tears.
People flocked to him.
They wept with all the humiliation and all the pain they had endured until now.
It was the same for Mariet, who had been freed from the shadow's grasp.
“Mister……! Mister Obro!”
Mariet ran and threw herself into his arms.
Obro, without realizing it, held her tightly.
“I knew you would come, I knew you would come, mister…….”
Mariet was crying.
“…Even though the ‘Name-eater’ took my memories, I didn't forget you, mister. I didn't forget…….”
“Mariet, I……”
“Thank you, Mister Obro, thank you for not forgetting us……. Thank you for coming to save us…….”
I'm not that kind of person…….
Obro was about to say that but held it back.
He could not be a great person.
But if someone receives comfort by thinking of him as great, it was not something to be denied.
Therefore, Obro Denoebang,
The drunkard who was once called the White Lord, simply raised his head and looked up at the sky.
He imagined the blue sky beyond the black sky of the Underworld and smiled bitterly.
He was so happy he was dumbfounded.
He had a sad look in his eyes because he couldn't believe this happy day had finally come, even after realizing his own pathetic nature so painfully.
Only then could he cry.
***
“You’re back early.”
I greeted them warmly.
Obro Denoebang, leading a group of people, responded with a bitter smile.
He was holding a young girl's hand.
I said with a friendly smile.
“Is that the child?”
“Yes. Mariet.”
Obro Denoebang smiled deeply.
Long sorrow had left deep wrinkles on his face.
But today, joy flowed over those furrows.
“My friend's daughter, my goddaughter…….”
“That's a good thing.”
“Yes. Unbelievably so…….”
As Obro Denoebang said, he tightened his grip on the club.
He still wondered if it wasn't a lie.
He wondered if all of this was a dream and if he would wake up to his dark room.
But even if it was a dream, it was fine.
Because until now, it was something he hadn't even dared to dream of.
“I leave them in your care, Shion.”
I nodded.
Amethus and I were still keeping the gate to the Underworld from closing.
It was a task that consumed a lot of mental energy, but we could still hold on.
“They said there are three villages left. I’ll be back soon.”
“You've become reliable.”
“No, I'm still a worm-like bastard. I'm just pretending not to be.”
“That's what I mean by reliable, Obro.”
“Is that so?”
Obro Denoebang smiled faintly.
His beard was still dirty, but at least his smile looked relieved.
“It took me two days to get back.”
“I’ll finish all three places within five days.”
“Do you need anything?”
“…A sword.”
A club might have its limits.
The blade was still fearsome, but he wanted to try and overcome it.
A small but definite desire to try and overcome it had taken root.
I nodded and put my hand inside my coat.
“I prepared one just in case.”
“…….”
I held out the sword, and Obro fell silent.
He stared at the old sword for a long time.
The name of his Ars was ‘Purity’.
He had the power to summon eight swords that resembled a noble soul, so he didn't usually carry a sword.
But there was a sword he used to carry before he awakened his Ars.
It was just an ordinary iron sword, but it had been with him since his childhood.
And the sword I just handed him was that very sword.
“…How do you have this sword?”
“I received it from Lord Desep.”
“…My father…….”
“He asked me to give it to you if the time ever came.”
“…….”
Obro Denoebang silently buckled the sword to his waist.
He wasn't used to it, so his waist felt uncomfortable.
But this level of discomfort was just right.
I chuckled.
“You really look like a hero with a sword on.”
“No, this Obro is no hero.”
“Then what are you?”
“A dog-like drunkard.”
"You're too dashing for a drunkard."
“There's just one difference from an ordinary drunkard.”
Obro Denoebang chuckled as well.
He felt like it.
“I’ve decided not to run away from the fact that I'm a drunkard anymore.”