Chapter 8 : Chapter 8
Chapter 8: The Selection Ceremony (2)
Kill.
Simurtr discovered the words written on the back of his hand. They were clear, black words.
He tried rubbing them, but they wouldn’t come off. The same went for when he used mana.
‘It’s not actually written.’
His fist was clenched. It wasn’t of his own will.
Feeling the sensation in his fist, Simurtr opened his hand. A key, which he didn’t know when he had gotten, was in his grasp.
‘It’s been a while.’
The power of illusion. Degrate’s illusory power was something he had experienced to the point of being sick of it in his past life. Though it wasn’t this unpleasant back then.
‘Because they were allies back then.’
Number 4. A number was engraved on the key.
Simurtr raised his head. He counted the iron bars lined up in a row on his left and right. A total of 15 cells. Inside them, 15 prisoners were begging for mercy.
‘It must mean to kill the prisoner in cell number 4.’
He didn’t know how the selection ceremony was structured… but the first test was murder.
A truly gloomy idea. Simurtr let out a hollow laugh.
‘Though it’s not a difficult test.’
He had killed more Doom Species, but he had also killed many humans. A lower ratio doesn’t mean the number decreases. There are truly many humans in the world who deserve to die.
‘I don’t like it, though.’
One should not hesitate to kill a person.
That was a sentiment that applied to all humans facing an enemy, but… well. He didn’t know if it was a fitting sentiment for the participants of the selection ceremony. It was an era of peace.
“Is it real?”
The siblings approached Simurtr.
They pointed at the prisoners and showed their keys.
Jahar had number 2. Ael, number 9.
“Who knows.”
He had checked the prisoners, but he wasn’t sure.
He couldn’t even detect Degrate’s presence. He still lacked the sense to distinguish between illusion and reality.
In the first place, Degrate’s illusions were not easily distinguishable. There was a reason he was called a half-blood of the fairies.
‘This level is at the family head class, isn’t it?’
The perfection of the realization is, of course, proportional to the realizer’s skill. There is nothing more awkward and grotesque than a creature crafted by an inexperienced Degrate.
“Save me. Save me. Save me.”
“I’m innocent. Who’s in charge of me? Hurry up and come listen to what I have to say.”
“Please, I’ll tell you all the information I know. If you want, I’ll scream until my throat is raw.
Just save me.”
The 15 prisoners were full of life.
Veins popped out on their desperate faces, and tears and snot ran down.
“It could be fake. It could be real. We’ll have to kill one to find out.”
Few people knew the details of Degrate’s power. The branch family members grasped the situation by eavesdropping on the conversation between Simurtr and the siblings.
It could be real.
Simurtr’s words frightened them.
“Real……?”
“No way.”
“Hah……”
The prisoners were still begging for their lives and proclaiming their innocence. The strong appeal of emotion seemed to suffocate the underground prison.
Pity and fear began to rise on many faces. They were captivated by the special environment of a prison. On top of that, it had started suddenly, without any mental preparation.
‘It’s difficult when the stage is set like this.’
Though the manifestation of sword ki was the minimum qualification, the test was originally held when the direct descendants turned 17.
It meant that though they had talent, they were young and had little experience. Killing carelessly is easy, but it’s not easy when it’s served up like this. Especially if it’s their first kill.
‘That’s why they set it up with prisoners.’
It was probably intended to lessen their guilt.
If they had filled it with good, ordinary people instead of prisoners, only a handful of people would be able to kill, even if it was an illusion.
‘Was the selection ceremony like this?’
It was a slow soaking. If you suddenly pour cold water, your heart will be startled. Starting with criminals. Slowly.
There would probably be something with their crimes recorded on it inside. So that their hearts wouldn’t be startled.
‘Though the prisoner next to them will be pleading their innocence.’
He hadn’t known it was such a gloomy test.
Simurtr let out a hollow laugh. Wasn’t this a test that assassins would do?
“Will you be all right?”
Ael and Jahar approached Simurtr, who was laughing in disbelief.
“What?”
“I’m asking if you can do it.”
The siblings misunderstood Simurtr’s laughter.
They were convinced that the youngest was feeling perplexed by this situation.
Unlike the siblings, Simurtr had never received a proper education. He was also young.
There was a high probability that he was underprepared to participate in the selection ceremony.
“Ael is right. It might be better to aim for next year than to create a trauma.”
Simurtr looked back and forth between Jahar and Ael.
‘How old do you think I am?’
He was grateful for the concern, but the target was wrong.
This sibling pair should be worrying about each other. A 17-year-old, of all people.
“I’m fine.”
“Really? Are you really okay?”
“Are you really?”
“I said I’m fine.”
He was grateful for the goodwill, but it was too much.
He knew it was roughly due to the sense of debt from their mother’s mistake, but he wondered if it was necessary to go this far.
Surely, they didn’t actually think of him as family.
“Phew……”
“Hiss… haaa……”
No participant had yet entered the iron bars. Each of them was holding a key, hiding their bodies against the wall so as not to see the prisoner, and taking deep breaths.
Those who looked a bit older were not to that extent, but their faces were stiff.
Probably because though they had experience with killing, this was the first time they were in a position to kill so blatantly.
“It’s strange. There was never a process like this in the original selection ceremony.”
The siblings were the best among them. Ael harbored doubts, but showed no fear.
He wondered if it was because of the Mectera bloodline, but Simurtr soon shook his head.
To dismiss it as such, Gerehk Mectera had been too terrible. He didn’t want to see such a bastard reflected in these young siblings.
“I’m going first.”
Creaaak.
Simurtr looked at the two whose eyes he had met, and turned the key.
He had no intention of dragging out a test for kids like this.
***
“I wonder if it isn’t a bit too radical. Though they are outstanding, they are still young.”
In the air, a huge shadow was illuminating the prison. This was also Degrate’s illusion.
Aran expressed his concern as he looked at the participants in the video.
“Have you already forgotten the war?”
“…How could I?”
The Doom War was more terrible than any other war. Aran still remembered every day of the war.
“There was not a single swordsman in the main estate who was not an elite. Everyone had the ability to be called an elite.”
That’s what he had thought. Medeoban said. Before the war broke out, he had been confident that the swordsmen of the main estate were superior to the forces of any other family.
“They call the current era an era of peace. But, it was the same even before the war broke out. It was too peaceful.”
The Sword Orders of Mectera never stay in the main estate.
Only one Sword Order guards the main estate each year, and the other Sword Orders are scattered throughout the continent, carrying out their missions.
“That is why we were complacent. I never imagined that those I thought were elites would be defeated so futilely.”
The missions carried out by the Sword Orders are truly diverse. Subjugating demonic beasts or killing is commonplace. But of course, the item of ‘war’ was not among them.
“The battlefield. It is certainly a special environment. But if they were truly elites, they should have overcome it.”
The Doom War had left a terrible scar on Medeoban. He had been injured and lost his son.
The swordsmen he had been so proud of, far from distinguishing themselves, had only left a stain on Mectera’s honor. They could not handle the madness of the battlefield.
“But……”
“I know. Most of them were new. But that fact does not excuse it. As a swordsman of Mectera, they should have overcome it.”
“……”
Medeoban had changed. Aran had begun to feel that change keenly recently. It was after he had broken his seclusion in the Senate of Elders.
“Even more so for the direct descendants and the branch families, wouldn’t it be?”
In the past selection ceremonies, the gloomy item of ‘murder’ did not exist.
But Medeoban, who valued Mectera more than anyone else, had broken that tradition.
‘This is ominous.’
But Medeoban still prioritized Mectera above all else. However, the direction had changed.
Aran felt that something was amiss.
The item of murder was to temper Mectera even more solidly. At least, that’s what Medeoban thought.
“This year’s branch families are quite disappointing. The direct descendants seem a bit better……”
As Medeoban trailed off and focused on the screen, Aran also shifted his gaze to the screen.
Simurtr was the first to open the iron bars, leaving the direct descendants and branch family members behind.
“It is Simurtr.”
“Yes.”
Medeoban’s eyes grew interested.
“There has been no precedent of proving one’s qualification with the head of a formal swordsman. He must have been careless. It is a shameful thing.”
“But it was enough to prove it.”
“Was his name Keito? If it had been wartime, he would have surely died.”
Medeoban clicked his tongue. A swordsman of the main estate. And not an apprentice from the training grounds, but a formal swordsman of a Sword Order.
A swordsman belonging to a Sword Order would have skills that even a direct descendant in the selection ceremony could not guarantee victory against.
And such a swordsman had died at the hands of an adopted son who had received no education? He didn’t like that complacent mindset.
In the Doom War, Mectera should have stood tall.
“…Rather than that, I believe it would be better to praise the fourth for hiding his abilities and inducing carelessness.”
The Sword Master, who had been silent, opened his mouth.
Orde called Simurtr the fourth, not an adopted son, but his voice lacked strength.
After the Execution Office incident, the current Sword Master’s influence had greatly diminished.
Orde was intimidated by his father, who had reappeared on the front lines.
“Orde.”
“Yes.”
At the adopted son’s action, Medeoban called for Orde.
“Have you met him since he entered the castle?”
“…Not yet.”
“Tsk. And such a man is taking his side now.”
“……”
“This weak-willed man. Why are you afraid of your son? He is not even of your blood.”
That son of his is still soft, even after becoming the Sword Master. That’s why he’s been swayed by the mistresses all this time.
***
“You. It’s you, right? You’re in charge of me, right?”
As Simurtr stepped inside the iron bars, the prisoner spoke to him.
Instead of answering, Simurtr scanned the interior with his eyes. In the corner by the iron bars, a low desk. And a document. Simurtr picked up the document.
“Daike. 38 years old. Was the eldest son of the Barony of Droparsen, but was exiled for committing a grave crime.”
“It’s a misunderstanding! It wasn’t a grave crime. It was self-defense.”
“Later, caught and arrested for murder in the Piar territory of the Melken Empire.”
“That was also self-defense! The man aimed for my heart first.”
“The victim was a 17-year-old commoner. The son of the owner of the ‘Future’s Sweet Slumber’ inn.”
“That bastard swung a knife at me first. Hey! Listen to what I have to say. Please.”
The prisoner’s voice grew louder. The participants began to watch the two of them from outside the iron bars.
“He’s already started?”
“Who is it?”
“They say it’s the fourth young master.”
“Then isn’t he only sixteen?”
The number of faces reflected in the iron bars gradually increased.
Ael and Jahar, who had been about to turn their keys, also poked their faces into Simurtr’s cell number 4.
“Transferred from a low-level prison in the Melken Empire.”
“That’s right. But it was an unfair trial.”
The number of presences had increased, and the prisoner was now shouting, but Simurtr read the record without paying any mind.
“27 counts of rape. 5 counts of arson. 4 counts of plunder. 39 counts of murder.”
“Those aren’t my crimes. I didn’t do it. The records are mixed up.”
Soon, the prisoner began to cry and plead earnestly.
“Hmm……”
“Don’t tell me……”
The watching participants began to tilt their heads one by one. It was because a new possibility had come to mind.
Until now, they had been wondering if the prisoners were real or illusions. But now, the possibility of being framed had also arisen.
What if they killed and it was a real person?
And on top of that, what if they were truly framed?
Deep groans flowed from the participants’ mouths. An unknown anxiety began to sprout.
“Really?”
Finally, Simurtr looked up from the record. The prisoner reacted to the change. He had succeeded in making eye contact with his lifeline for the first time.
“Of course! Really! I am innocent!”
Hope appeared in the prisoner’s eyes. He felt that he had moved one step forward.
He hadn’t even given him a glance until now. Now he was answering and making eye contact.
Soon, a conversation would start. If he did well, he might be able to move on to the next stage.
And the end of that stage would be survival…….
“Right.”
Plop.
The sound of something soft being pierced.
“Gurgle……”
At some point, Simurtr was right in front of the prisoner. The prisoner looked at the black martial arts clothes that filled his vision, then lowered his head.
A sword, which he didn’t know when had been drawn, pierced his chest. As if quite some time had passed, the drop of blood on the blade was ready to fall.
“Bastard……”
“Don’t open your mouth. You stink.”
Simurtr pushed the prisoner’s stomach firmly with his foot.
Swoosh. The sword that had pierced his back, followed by a stream of blood, came out. The body that had just become a corpse fell backward.
“Can I go out now?”
Simurtr looked up at the empty air and asked.
His eyes seemed to be staring directly at the outside, which was connected to the shadow.
***
This was not his first time killing.
But even considering that, that gaze was not easily explained. It was too indifferent.
“Does he think it’s an illusion?”
Medeoban read his gaze. Annoyance. Or perhaps disappointment. An unbelievable gaze for someone who had just committed a murder.
“Is it his innate disposition?”
“If that were the case, the Execution Office would not have been opened.”
At Aran’s words, Medeoban nodded his head. If he had originally had an indifferent personality, he would not have assaulted Beden.
“He must have already established his own standards. His mind is deep, but he is still young.”
The assault on Beden could be called hot-headed.
But in the estate of exile, he had spent a full 10 years with the watchmen. He had hidden his achievements and waited for an opportunity.
As proof of that, hadn’t he immediately entered the castle as soon as he had a suitable excuse?
“Looking at the execution case, he’s a swordsman, but looking at before he entered the castle, he reminds me of the assassin types.”
Though there were three people, there were four shadows. Medeoban said as he looked at the last shadow.
But Degrate did not open his mouth. He did not react to such a light insult.
“Open it.”
Beside the screen, a new shadow transformed into the shape of a passage. Simurtr popped out of the passage as if he were used to it.
“You have passed. Will you watch with us?”
Medeoban looked at the newly emerged Simurtr and gestured to the screen with his chin.
“Sounds good. It seems like it will take a long time anyway.”
Simurtr stood between Orde and Medeoban. There was no sign of apprehension. That action further fueled Medeoban’s interest.
“You cut off the head of a swordsman from the 3rd Sword Order. What do you think? Because of that, the main estate had to be cleaned up.”
Though he had heard Aran’s reports in the meantime, this was the first time he was seeing the fourth son in person. Medeoban asked probingly.
“Is there no reward? The main estate has become clean thanks to me.”
“I will grant you the authority to use the main estate’s reports.”
“Thank you.”
There were no emotions or gazes to be seen.
Simurtr was simply answering the questions while looking at the screen of the shadow.
“You are curious about real combat. You said your mana is white? Not the main estate’s black?”
“It seems to be my constitution.”
“Could you show me?”
“See it at the next test. I did not grow up well, so I am very lacking in mana.”
And yet, his provocations were constant. Medeoban stared intently at Simurtr’s profile.
What should he say to make that audacious adopted son look at him? Medeoban became curious about that.
Before the main test began, he wanted to at least roughly gauge that adopted son.
“Do you perhaps know. What meaning white mana has in the current era.”
Twitch. For a moment, the shadow on the floor trembled slightly.
“I know. It is the color that symbolizes Exa Baperr, isn’t it?”
Baperr. Simurtr spoke not of Mectera, but of the surname he had received from the Emperor.
This time, Aran clenched his fist.
“I don’t think that will affect me in any way, though.”
Simurtr finally turned his gaze.
At that sight, Medeoban showed a deep smile.
“Do you also know the truth of the prisoner you killed?”
But he had only shifted his gaze. Still, no emotion could be seen.
At that age, if one were to be compared to a hero, one would unknowingly get excited.
“Are you asking about his crimes?”
“No. I am asking about his reality.”
He was a man who knew how to hide his true feelings.
As long as he didn't cross a certain line, he could control his emotions at any time.
“The prisoner you killed was not an illusion.”
“No wonder the feel of it was familiar.”
What on earth had he done to receive the attention of being assaulted?
Medeoban unwittingly found himself thinking that his third grandson was amazing.