Chapter 229 : Chapter 229
Chapter 229
“……Obro, Denoebang?”
Ludora muttered.
The bewilderment was not his alone.
Zeronimus, as well as all two hundred cavalry, shared the bewilderment that the name Obro Denoebang delivered.
But bewilderment isn't something that gets divided when shared; rather, it's the type to grow, so a heavy silence fell.
Regardless of his own feelings, Ludora Repius had to move.
He was a Commander of a Thousand in the 8th Legion, and the 8th Legion Commander and Eight-Impact General, Zeronimus, was watching from behind.
Whether that drunkard with the overgrown beard shadow was the real Obro Denoebang or not, what he had to do was set.
“Are you saying you are the White Lord?”
“…At one time, I was called by that shameful name.”
“…Ridiculous……”
“Too many words.”
Kwajik, a sound was made.
It seemed Obro Denoebang had disappeared for a moment, but he was right in front of Ludora.
Just as it seemed he had come close, he raised his club, and Ludora Repius was immediately crushed.
The sight of his head sunk deep into his torso was extremely grotesque.
No matter how great an Imperial Commander of a Thousand he was, there was no way he could survive in such a state.
Crushed, Ludora slumped to his knees.
Obro Denoebang looked at the Commander of a Thousand who had become a corpse, grimaced once, then took a liquor bottle from his clothes.
The sight of him crushing Ludora Repius with a single club swing proved that he was the real White Lord.
“…….”
“…….”
“…….”
Zeronimus firmly shut his mouth, and the two hundred (actually, now one hundred ninety-nine) cavalry did the same.
Obro Denoebang paid them no mind at all and drank his liquor with kkolkkak kkolkkak sounds.
The lips puckering to chug from the bottle, the tears welling up as if it were delicious, the endlessly moving Adam's apple—he was a typical drunkard.
They couldn't believe such a drunkard was the White Lord, but they had to.
It was because the drunkard actually being the White Lord was more realistic than a passing western drunkard crushing an Imperial Commander of a Thousand with one club swing.
No, in truth, neither side was realistic.
……. Zeronimus's eyes sank deeply.
He enjoyed jokes and hated heavy atmospheres, but he was no fool.
The position of one of the Ten Great Generals of the Empire is absolutely not one that can be easily obtained.
Zeronimus glared at Obro with a stern face.
Obro Denoebang finished the bottle of liquor and flicked his eyes over.
“Next.”
“…….”
“There are so many of you, are you trying to finish already? I mean, it's fine by me.”
At Obro's question, Zeronimus crossed his arms.
Another Commander of a Thousand stepped forward.
“I will go, General.”
“…….”
“I don't know why that bastard is calling himself the White Lord, but I'll take his head at once……”
“Shut up.”
Zeronimus's voice was frigid.
The Commander of a Thousand who had stepped forward unnecessarily retreated with a stiff face.
It was just one club swing, but Zeronimus recognized that this opponent was his equal or perhaps even greater.
If a man of such skill claimed he was Obro Denoebang, then it must be true.
“I heard you had become a complete wreck, White Lord.”
Zeronimus dismounted.
He gripped his hammer and approached Obro.
The two hundred cavalry held their breath.
The Eight-Impact General had stepped forward, so they had to wait.
“It's clear you've become a drunkard, but your skills seem even better than before.”
“Name?”
“Zeronimus.”
He gripped the hammer even more firmly.
“The loyal subject of the great Emperor Ferbias, Eight-Impact General Zeronimus!”
“One of the Ten Great Generals of the Empire, I see.”
Obro Denoebang threw the liquor bottle aside.
His eyes were bluish-black with demonic energy.
Obro was still embracing his wounds. It is because the scars life leaves behind can never be easy.
So, he had no choice but to burn with hatred before the name of Cordis.
He raised the wooden club threateningly.
“First, I'll ask, Zeronimus. What were you doing 11 years ago?”
“…11 years ago. It must be the ‘Night of Inversion’. It seems you've noticed.”
“So you are one who knows.”
“Of course I know.”
Obro Denoebang bared his teeth and smiled.
There was an incident called the ‘Night of Inversion’, where millions of western people lost their lives in the underworld, and the White Lord became a complete wreck, spending several nightmarish years.
This was the doing of the Cordis Empire.
“……Yes, I know. What happened 11 years ago……”
He had no choice but to ruminate on it.
Those dreadful few years couldn't help but suddenly surge up.
Obro Denoebang ended up recalling.
The miseries of being in a state like a hairy mushroom, trembling in fear of even neighborhood thugs, shedding blood and sweat every day trying to stand up but being unable to take even a single step, his heart being carved away, miseries that he could only live past because they were over, because he had forgotten.
Zeronimus confessed.
That he knew of Obro Denoebang's misery.
The Empire made him miserable, and Zeronimus was one of the Ten Great Generals of the Empire.
In that case, there is no room for sympathy.
“……To be so brazen, even knowing. I have no choice either.”
Obro Denoebang raised his club.
Hatred makes the demonic energy even fiercer.
“Today, I must kill you.”
“Heh!”
Zeronimus snorted, dumbfounded.
A hot power churned violently in his hand.
The Ancient Weapon in the form of a hammer, ‘Bellows’s Afterheat’.
Not all of the Ten Great Generals of the Empire possess an Ancient Weapon.
It's because you can't use one without an aptitude for it.
However, Zeronimus had an exceptionally high aptitude for Ancient Weapons.
“White Lord, White Lord, playing the hero in the backwater West has made you blind to what's in front of you, hasn't it?”
The Eight-Impact General transformed.
As stubborn as his heart, his skin turned to hide, his hide to stone.
Hot lava flowed between the parts of his body, which was like solid rock that no slender blade could ever pierce.
His heart became like a single bellows.
From it, lava pulsed.
Ancient Transformation, Antaios.
“Behold, the majesty of the Ancient Weapon granted by His Majesty!”
The transformed Zeronimus looked to be twice the size of Obro Denoebang.
Every time he exhaled, scorching heat spewed out, and the grass instantly withered and turned yellow.
Obro Denoebang's wooden club could not be an exception.
The wooden club caught fire.
Zeronimus exhaled heat a few more times, and it soon turned to ash and crumbled.
Obro Denoebang looked at his empty hand.
Zeronimus was triumphant in his fearsome form.
“You're empty-handed already, White Lord!”
He laughed heartily.
Lava flowed instead of blood for the Eight-Impact General, and black rock covered his surface.
It was a fearsome form, but Obro Denoebang was not the least bit afraid.
“Living so smugly in the narrow West, you wouldn't know. This is an Ancient Weapon, borrowing the power of an Ancient God……”
“Do you know this?”
Obro Denoebang lost his wooden club.
But he was not empty-handed.
A sword was in his hand.
Drawn from a grayish-white soul, it was grayish-white, and though it looked like a dry branch, making it impossible to tell which part was the hilt and which was the blade, it was clearly a sword.
Obro Denoebang's Ars,
‘Grayish-white Nobility’.
“I've killed an Ancient God.”
Zeronimus felt a sense of crisis.
It was because the spirit of Obro Denoebang, having drawn ‘Grayish-white Nobility’, was so threatening it gave him goosebumps.
Instead of laughing heartily, he tried to swing his hammer.
He wanted to do so, but he could not.
“…Huh, why……?”
He didn't even know when it had happened.
Zeronimus realized that his arm, which had turned to rock, was no longer attached to his body.
And he realized Obro Denoebang was suddenly next to him, and soon after, he realized his head was also no longer attached to his body.
And so, he became eternally silent.
“…….”
Obro Denoebang looked down at the corpse of the Eight-Impact General.
His body crumbled to ash, leaving a single hammer. ‘Bellows’s Afterheat’.
Obro bent down and tucked it into his clothes.
The Ancient Weapon wanted to reject the White Lord's touch, but it was paralyzed with fear and could not.
Even after cutting down one of the Ten Great Generals of the Empire in two strikes, Obro Denoebang was composed.
“Next.”
***
Eight-Impact General Zeronimus was dead.
The two hundred cavalry who followed him were the same.
Eight swings of Obro Denoebang's sword were enough.
“……?”
Nana Nereyades felt an ominousness.
She looked to the far-off sky, but there was no way she could see anything.
The unidentifiable ominousness was distinct.
At a time right before a war, it was an omen that absolutely could not be called good.
She couldn't know what kind of man Zeronimus and the two hundred cavalry had met, or what had become of them.
Obro Denoebang was just that alien and special of an existence.
Just, the ominousness swirled in her heart, making her continue to look to the far-off sky.
As she was doing so, Chief of Staff Bukenos came to speak to her.
“Is something the matter, Legion Commander Nana?”
“…….”
Nana hesitated for a moment.
She wanted to explain her feeling, but she was certain it wouldn't be conveyed even if she explained.
The worry, the choice, and the responsibility were all hers alone.
Should she halt the march, even if she looked like a madwoman, to avoid a potential ominousness, or should she push through the ominousness and advance?
There was no need to say which side was more rational.
However, she knew that not all things in the world can be explained with reason.
In this world where beings like Ancient Gods and the Hotus Eight Gods strode, she had a strong reluctance to ignore such a powerful intuition.
She needed a standard for judgment.
Nana inevitably thought of Niko.
What would the Whale of Hobel Bay have done?
If Niko Nereyades had suddenly felt a strong ominousness while bearing the responsibility for tens of thousands of lives…….
‘…There was nothing to even hesitate about.’
She realized why Niko had seemed so stubborn and like a lone wolf.
It must have been because he silently endured moments of choice that he couldn't speak of to others.
Upholding one's convictions is a painful thing.
Sometimes, it is also in vain and yet, Niko never stopped upholding his in the life before him.
Nana was Niko's granddaughter.
She had decided to live a life that resembles his.
Therefore, Nana, too, must act like a Nereyades.
“Bukenos.”
“Yes, Legion Commander Nana.”
“We will make camp here today. Tell all troops to halt their march and strengthen the watch.”
“…Understood.”
Bukenos did not ask.
According to the original plan, they were scheduled to march for one more hour before making camp.
However, the commander was Nana Nereyades.
She had given the order, so he had to follow.
Bukenos spurred his horse and moved away from Nana.
He went around to the other Legion Commanders and relayed Nana's words.
Their complaints were clearly audible to Nana's sensitive ears.
‘Stop? Why?’
‘Suddenly? This is baffling…….’
‘I mean, we'll stop, but if it's going to be like this from the first day, it's problematic.’
Nana Nereyades did not react to the other Legion Commanders' complaints, instead calling one of her attendants.
“Bring me my oar.”
Yes. The attendant called about a dozen soldiers and took the oar from a wagon.
That super-sized oar, with an iron core embedded in the center making it ridiculously heavy, was a keepsake from Niko Nereyades.
It was difficult to move even with about a dozen strong men.
Nana lifted that oar high with both hands.
It was a weight that was still not easy, even for her.
“Come out already.”
“…Oh my.”
An alluring voice was heard.
“Can you see here from there? We're quite far apart, your senses are good.”
A procession appeared, parting the bushes.
It was entirely jet-black, yet indescribably magnificent.
Black servants, a black palanquin, a black woman.
Looking closely, the servants were not living things, but mere clumps of dirt.
The black woman sat in the palanquin and smiled beamingly.
Nana held the super-sized oar aloft.
The two women were on this side and that side of the path, at a distance where they could barely distinguish each other.
But they were able to exchange words without raising their voices.
They were speaking through a kind of spiritual sense, and because of that, they realized they were both possessors of an aptitude for Ancient Weapons.
“…We are Cordis. Who are you?”
“Aida.”
“…The King of Schmeizen?”
“Yes, that's me. The Widow Queen who is no longer a widow.”
Ha. Nana frowned.
She was leading five of Cordis's legions.
“Did the king of a nation come out alone?”
“A foolish question.”
The black woman gestured.
Soldiers rose from the dirt.
Their numbers were easily in the tens of thousands.
‘Moon-Shadow Cranium’ and ‘Uvula of Abundance’.
The soldiers created by the two Ancient Weapons had an aura that made even the Imperial legionnaires shudder.
“Would I have come alone?”