Chapter 222 : Meryl, the Second Daughter of Praha (15)
The war had ground to a stalemate.
The Duke’s army advanced on a tide of sheer numbers; the Imperial army answered with superior steel.
The Imperials had seemed to be on the brink of defeat, but bolstered by their defensive position, they were holding their ground.
Still, the advantages of a siege defense could only hold for so long against such a crushing disparity in manpower. To make matters worse, the light—a miracle wrought by Louis Berg—was beginning to fade.
Just as the momentum began to shift in the Duke’s favor…
“Tch. That damned light is the problem,” one of the Duke’s twin Aura Masters muttered, his face a mask of contempt. To think it had dissolved the Ogre Chieftain’s undead legion in a single, blinding flash.
Technically, it had only unraveled the demonic threads animating the corpses, but the distinction didn’t matter.
What mattered was that a mere human had overwhelmed the Aspect of a Demonkin.
“Veilwarden,” the older twin grumbled. “If that bitch were still alive, this would be manageable.”
“Brother, must you speak of the dead so crudely?”
“What, should I use an honorific?”
“You could at least have the decency to say she croaked.”
A twisted chuckle escaped the younger twin as he swung his sword.
Slice. Crack.
An Imperial knight’s torso separated from his legs in a spray of gore.
“You have to love the battlefield, don’t you?”
“…You’re a madman. My own brother, and a true madman.”
“Is that a compliment? Thank you!”
The younger twin flashed a grin and snapped another knight’s neck with his bare hands.
They were untouchable. The average knight could not withstand a single blow from either brother.
As they carved a path of slaughter across the field…
CRASH!
A swordsman materialized before the younger brother. He was a man well into his middle years, his face grim, his beard a patchy shadow.
“Well now… and who might you be?” the younger twin asked, spinning his sword in a slow, lazy circle.
His expression was relaxed, but his stance had tightened. A subtle shift that betrayed the truth.
“The Imperial army’s secret weapon, are we?”
The Aura radiating from this man was on another plane entirely. A Grand Master, he suspected, and the raw power rolling off the man in waves confirmed it.
And just as he feared…
A crimson Aura bloomed from the man’s body, dense and suffocating.
“My liege has given the order,” the man said, his voice a low rumble. “You will not be leaving this field alive.”
“…Ha. Do we look like a joke to you?”
“Less a joke than a tragedy. Soon, you will no longer have the privilege of dying as men.”
The man, Roxen, drew upon his Aura and leveled his sword.
<Lindal’s First Form: Wrath>
The crimson Aura roared to life, lunging at the twins like a predator unleashed.
CLANG!
“Gah!”
The twins ground their teeth, their blades barely holding against the force of Roxen’s attack.
Two against one.
On the surface, they should have held the advantage, but the reality of the clash was entirely different.
First, there was the chasm in experience. Roxen had fought in countless battles, had even crossed swords with the Twelve Nobles. He read the twins’ coordinated attacks with perfect, effortless clarity.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
“Dammit! Does he have eyes in the back of his head?!” the older twin roared.
Roxen parried the flanking attack without looking, his movements flowing into the next with the seamless grace of running water.
Here, the second difference became brutally apparent: the sheer gulf in their reserves of Aura.
The gap between a Master and a Grand Master was not one of skill, but of raw power, which was a difference as vast as that between the earth and the heavens. It was a chasm that could not be bridged by numbers alone.
“Shit…! This isn’t working! Brother, use the Aspect, now!”
“I can’t control this thing perfectly yet!”
“You want to die here instead?!”
“Fuck, fine…!”
Pressed by Roxen’s relentless assault, the younger brother pulled out a red jewel. In the next moment…
<Aspect of Envy: Plunder>
<Aspect of Slaughter: Moonshadow>
A familiar demonic energy bled from the younger brother, the very essence of Myu, the Countess of Slaughter.
Simultaneously…
<Aspect of Madness: Prison of Madness>
The younger twin began to wield the Aspect of Pepia.
Roxen froze upon sensing the demonic energy of Madness. Just for an instant.
But it was enough for the younger brother to see his expression and let a victorious smirk crawl across his face.
“Look at that face… What? Starting to feel like you’re fucked?”
“…”
“Answer me, huh? Or do I need to mangle some corpses for you?”
The younger twin began to knead the surrounding bodies with demonic energy, twisting them like lumps of clay. Soon, a nauseating sphere of flesh and bone took shape.
He expected Roxen to retch. No sane knight could witness such an atrocity and remain composed. Whether he vomited or charged in blind with rage, it didn’t matter. Either outcome would grant them the opening they needed.
But the younger twin’s confidence faltered as he studied Roxen’s face.
It was not fear he saw there.
It was elation. A pure, terrifying joy.
“…What?”
“I am pleased,” Roxen said, his voice soft.
The younger twin took an involuntary step back. Pleased? To see this? Was this man truly mad?
No. It has to be a bluff. A trick to make him hesitate, to seize the momentum of the battle.
The younger twin steeled himself and raised his sword.
But then, a cry of pure, unadulterated joy escaped Roxen’s lips.
“Finally… I can take my revenge with my own hands…!”
“What…?”
“How I have longed for this day! How I have fought to destroy the inner demons that gnawed at my own mastery!”
Crack. Craaack.
The Aura enveloping Roxen’s body began to fracture and bleed. It flowed like viscous liquid, thick with killing intent, while a volcanic rage churned just beneath the surface.
<Lindal’s First Form: Wrath>
Shlick!
In that instant, the knights of the Duke’s army felt a phantom chill, as if a blade had just been drawn across their own necks.
A single swing of his sword. With it, he had forced a tenth of the Duke’s army to witness the illusion of their own death.
And in that same moment…
A thin red line appeared on the neck of the younger twin who had blocked the attack. Blood trickled from the ruptured vessel, and then…
A geyser of blood erupted.
“…!”
The younger twin scrambled backward, his eyes wide with disbelief. Others might not have seen it, but he had. He knew what kind of sword strike that was.
“…He teleported his Aura?”
It was not swordsmanship. It was a pure Aura technique.
A lost art, said to have been wielded by the Tyrant Lindal of ancient legend.
Roxen swung his sword with brutal force. Each attack was a ferocious, overwhelming wave, his absolute command of Aura leaving them no room to breathe.
<Lindal’s Second Form: Sorrow>
Like grief itself, the sword art was clinging and dark, weeping with a low, mournful hum. Blocking every blow was impossible.
The younger twin immediately unleashed another Aspect.
<Aspect of War: Marionette>
Threads of demonic energy erupted, wrapping around Roxen’s body and seizing him.
Roxen’s sword froze in mid-air as if it had struck an invisible wall.
The younger twin let out a sneering laugh of relief.
The Marionette Aspect was never a necromancer’s tool at its core. Its true nature was control. And with that essence, he had woven his threads and stopped the Grand Master in his tracks.
“There. A little more docile now.”
The corner of the younger twin’s mouth curled up.
But seconds later, the sound of snapping threads echoed from all around.
“Huh…?”
Startled, the younger twin tried to retreat, but he was already within Roxen’s reach.
<Lindal’s Third Form: Lament>
The blade sang, a sound like a bursting sob. The cry shattered the surrounding demonic energy, and the Aura clinging to the twin’s body began to peel away like dead skin.
“…Finally, that cursed Aspect is gone for good,” Roxen muttered, a grim smile on his face.
Then, he brought down his keening sword.
The blade sliced clean through the younger twin’s neck, sending his head spinning into the air.
The younger brother’s eyes blinked, unable to process what had just happened.
Then… a fountain of blood erupted from his shoulders as his head and body collapsed to the ground.
Roxen stepped through the crimson rain, his gaze falling upon the surviving twin.
“Now then… what Aspect do you possess?”
The perfect successor to Tyrant Lindal stood with his sword in hand, waiting for an answer.
* * *
Ribam, the older of the twin knights, stared blankly at his brother’s corpse.
He wasn’t stunned by his brother’s death. They were twins, yes, but they were men steeped in demonic energy. Familial love was a currency they had long since discarded.
Had he been the one to die, his brother would not have shed a tear. He might have laughed and pissed on his corpse.
It was not grief that held him frozen.
It was fear.
And greed.
As his brother died, the red jewel had fallen to the ground. The Aspects he himself had not been granted. They were all in there.
I want it.
He gulped with anticipation, certain he could use them better. Better than his brother, better than anyone. He could lead the Duke’s army to victory.
…Is there a way to get it cleanly? No, impossible. So what’s the alternative?
Ribam exhaled, his calculations complete. There was no way to grab the jewel and escape unscathed. The gap between him and the man before him was simply too vast.
But there was one method.
And he was about to use it.
His mind made up, Ribam dashed toward the red jewel.
Roxen swung his sword.
Shlick!
The strike, aimed for his neck, instead sliced through the space below his shoulder as Ribam twisted his body.
Blood fountained as Ribam’s right arm flew into the air.
Now!
Ribam immediately detonated the demonic energy clinging to his severed arm and fled.
To sacrifice a part of his body to escape. It was the only way he had devised.
“Haa… haa…”
I did it! I did it!
Seeing Roxen shrink in the distance, Ribam’s lips curled into a triumphant smile. He had done it. He had the red jewel he had dreamed of.
He had no way of knowing, of course, that this too was part of the design.