Chapter 37 : Chapter 37
Chapter 37: Degrate (1)
Naor looked back and forth between Simurtr and the Degrate he had caught with an indescribable expression, and unconsciously recalled his conversation with Aran the day before the dispatch.
“He is the successor of Young Master Exa.”
“Yes?”
“Keep it to yourself. I can guess the reason why he’s hiding it. This Head of the Sword will resolve it.”
“Yes?”
“If it spreads, this Head of the Sword will be very sad.”
Aran’s threat was gentle. If that was also due to his age, then so be it. Naor unconsciously stroked his own neck.
Vice-captain. No matter how close they had become, in the end, the one closest to Aran was not Mectera, but Young Master Exa.
“No wonder it made no sense.”
And for some reason, Naor felt like he knew why Aran was acting that way.
“The position of vice-captain of the 6th Head of the Sword is enough for me.”
“This Head of the Sword is no different.”
It was the same reason Naor followed Aran.
With that level of potential and skill, it was worth following for a lifetime.
***
“We laid out a bed in your front yard. Of course you’d be curious enough to come out.
Especially when the flag is a black sword.”
An ally had come to visit, yet they had set up camp in the plain and were just sparring day and night without any sign of wanting to find them.
“Take this. My arm hurts.”
Simurtr furrowed his brow as he saw Aran casually emerge from the tent.
“You’re a Sword Master, Young Master, why are you complaining like that.”
“How many sparring matches do you think I’ve had.”
He wasn't lying, his arm was trembling.
Thanks to the Pagna, he didn’t have to worry about mana, but his body had already reached its limit long ago.
“Ah. Right. My apologies. I keep forgetting that the Young Master is still frail. Especially with a Degrate in your hand.”
“Should I just kill this guy?”
“We’ll have to find some good medicine when we return to the main castle. The Sword Tower is second to none when it comes to the body.”
“…I have no intention of falling out with Lady Arnea.”
“That’s a relief.”
Only then did Aran react. The black mana flowing from his fingertips took over the Degrate.
“Don’t look at me like that. We’ll be living together for a long time, so there’s no harm in being on good terms. This Head of the Sword simply hopes that the Young Master will live a long, long life in the main castle.”
“What about Janya?”
“She crossed the line too many times.”
Aran let out a killing intent. Ugh. Ugh. It was then that the subdued Degrate let out a muffled voice.
“What will you do now?”
Naor suddenly asked. The gazes of the 6th Sword Order focused on Aran.
“Why ask such a thing. It’s simple now.”
As Aran said, Degrate had become curious first and came out. They had even subdued him.
In that case, there was only one thing left.
“Ah. What do you think is the best way to do this, Young Master?”
“What. Are you raising me now?”
Aran smiled warmly at the blunt reply.
He was the successor of Exa, and he was showing unprecedented growth worthy of that name, but he was still young.
“There is no experience that is not good to accumulate.”
He had just come out into the world. In the midst of that, he had overcome Janya’s scheme and caught a Degrate, which was something to be praised, but he still had a long way to go.
As the successor of the Young Master, there was a mountain of things he had to do.
“If it were me, I’d have called the others.”
“The others?”
“Do you think that guy came out alone?”
“Still, we’re allies.”
“Hey. Do you think those gloomy loners would believe that?”
There were at least two caught in his Sword Net right now.
“Correct. However, it will have to be somewhat forceful.”
Although he thought Degrate was not the culprit… Aran was still angry.
***
“Open the main mountain.”
Suddenly, the surrounding space vibrated. The black mana swelled. It expanded in a radius with Aran at the center.
A huge hemisphere rapidly ate away at the plain.
“Before I tear it all down.”
The eaten plain caved in. A dizzying pressure crushed the space.
‘Black Hemisphere.’
The domain declared by Mectera, called the barrier.
It was the secret technique of Mectera that Medeoban had once tried to use. A technique permitted to anyone who rose to the rank of Head of the Sword, even if they were not a Mectera.
“The Young Master will also learn it after his coming-of-age ceremony.”
The Black Hemisphere grew larger and larger. The hidden Degrates fell one by one. They were slammed into the ground and were sinking along with the plain.
Inside that hemisphere, Simurtr and the 6th Sword Order were free. That mana fluttering in the air.
The pressure that could transform into Sword Aura at any moment signified that this was Aran’s jurisdiction.
Gasp, gasp. As Simurtr looked at the Degrate whose lungs were blocked, he gauged the range of the Black Hemisphere.
The Black Hemisphere of Mectera proved its achievement by its range and depth. A radius of 30 meters. The depth of the sunken plain was also 30 meters.
‘This is more than Gerehk, isn’t it?’
As he remembered, that guy’s was only 20 meters.
20 years after the end of the war. The aging Aran had grown even stronger in that time.
‘Is this right.’
Everyone else was getting so far ahead, but I.
Is it right to go on like this? As Simurtr was suddenly lost in such thoughts.
A green illusion bloomed amidst the black mana.
“Aran Lubeil, have you finally gone mad?”
It was a Phantasm.
The scale of that illusion. It was a face he had never seen before, but Simurtr was certain.
***
The entrance of the great mountain.
Simurtr and the 6th Sword Order stopped in front of it.
From here on was Degrate’s territory. Aran and the other swordsmen still looked like they hadn’t gotten a feel for it, but Simurtr sensed it. An illusion was carved into it.
“An illusion carved by the first Degrate?”
The Phantasm who had just stretched out his hand said.
“I didn't ask.”
The Phantasm and Aran seemed to know each other.
Well. Simurtr nodded. Since Aran had initiated the relationship with Degrate.
“If you had come here with your domain open, it would have meant our relationship was over.”
“Over that? The first Degrate must have been quite something.”
“What? Have you really gone mad? Do you think a barrier that has been maintained for a thousand years is common?”
“If it collapses, what kind of barrier is that. It’s just for show.”
They didn’t seem to be on very good terms.
Since he wasn’t particularly curious about their relationship, Simurtr just watched.
The Phantasm stretched out its hand. A green shadow flowed and caressed the entrance.
The empty air distorted. It twisted like a whirlpool around a single point, and then, whoosh, it spread out. A completely different scenery from beyond the entrance was visible.
‘The first Degrate was certainly different. Is it because the elf blood was the thickest back then?’
Simurtr was reminded of the entrance to the Mectera repository he had once visited. The phenomenon that occurred was different, but the mana reaction was similar.
“Quite a nice view for a decoration.”
Although he said that, Aran was also quite impressed.
He had personally experienced the reason why the Degrate main mountain had remained undiscovered until now.
“It had better be nothing.”
“The main family should be the one to give the fright. Degrate should be the one crawling on the ground.”
The Phantasm and Aran growled at each other as they passed through the entrance.
“You don’t have to worry. They may look like that, but they’re on good terms. There seems to be a troublemaker between them.”
As he was about to follow them in, Naor muttered from behind.
“A troublemaker?”
“I mean the hidden Phantasm.”
“A hidden Phantasm? What’s that.”
As far as Simurtr knew, there was only one Degrate who was permitted the name Phantasm.
“You experienced it during the Selection Ceremony, didn’t you.”
Semenu?
Simurtr was momentarily dazed.
Not only was she not retired, she was still going around on missions, and on top of that, she was called a troublemaker?
“Why is she a troublemaker?”
Simurtr asked, trying his best to remain calm. He grabbed his collar in frustration.
“They say she doesn’t listen at all. Although the alliance was easily formed thanks to the hidden Phantasm.”
“She doesn’t listen to us either?”
“She doesn’t listen to them, so would she listen to a request from the main family?”
“An alliance was formed, so that’s that. And wasn’t it Aran who went to them first for the alliance?”
“That is correct.”
“Then what’s the problem. She even allowed the alliance. And she’s still on missions?”
Unnecessarily.
“Yes. But only the missions she wants to do.”
“With that level of skill, she can do that. In the first place, it’s right not to give her any missions. After she was so active in the war.”
“You know a lot. Didn’t you not know who the hidden Phantasm was?”
“I just remembered what my grandfather told me.”
“Ah. If it’s the Head of the Senate of Elders, that would be possible. Since he cares for the Young Master.”
Naor nodded and said.
“That’s right. As someone from the Baperr unit, which showed outstanding performance in the Doom War, her skills are beyond doubt.”
“But?”
“Isn’t Degrate a very hierarchical group?”
“Now?”
Simurtr let out a dry laugh.
To think they treated her so coldly during the war.
And he had even written a contract because he was so pissed off about it.
“Yes?”
“No. A hidden Phantasm, you say. If you’re strong, you should be acknowledged.”
“That’s why they can’t touch her in the main mountain either. Because there’s no one to stop her even if she acts as she pleases.”
“What’s wrong with acting as she pleases.”
It’s possible.
***
Following behind Aran and the Phantasm.
Simurtr focused on his Sword Net. He widened his field of vision. Semenu? Where could she be. He wanted to confirm that.
He had thought she would pop out as soon as they entered Degrate. Because she was convinced that he was Exa.
‘Why isn’t she coming out.’
At his current level, he couldn’t break through Semenu’s Phantasmal Ability. The gap had widened that much.
It was a point that made him proud, yet also quite unpleasant. The latter was self-loathing.
Reincarnation was certainly a joyful phenomenon, but at the same time, it proved that the road ahead was far too long.
“Amazing.”
The unobservant Naor quietly muttered.
The other swordsmen looked around and let out exclamations of admiration. Aran looked calm, but to Simurtr’s eyes, it was obvious that he was surprised.
‘This is an assassins’ group?’
The scale was too large to be called just a group. It wouldn’t feel out of place to describe it as a duchy.
The main streets were packed with people, and children were running around in every alley.
It was no different from a typical territory. It was more splendid than Huit or Jabad.
Those children might grow up to be assassins, but at least it was hard to imagine the main mountain of assassins from this scene.
‘This is the illusion of the first Degrate.’
The Degrate with the thickest elf blood.
The illusion left behind, even after a thousand years, was truly dense.
‘To think they were hiding a whole city.’
If Semenu hadn’t been a Degrate, Simurtr would also have been captivated by the surrounding scenery.
Larger than most large territories. Degrate had been hiding its main mountain in the great mountain. For a thousand years. Without being discovered by anyone.
“Mectera?”
The standard-bearer was still holding the flag with the black sword.
Even though a few people recognized the flag, there was no sign of fear. It was either because they knew about the alliance, or because they believed in the small kingdom of Degrate.
‘It must be both.’
Someone’s anxious gaze was healed upon seeing the Phantasm at the front. The belief in the Degrate clan, which had been preserved for a thousand years, was likely greater.
“The Magic Tower has a reason to be crazy about it.”
“I agree.”
As he spoke, Naor chimed in.
Indeed. He felt like he understood why that disgusting Basor had thought of the Word Spirit and coveted Degrate.
It was understandable that the misunderstanding that the elven race was a derivative of the dragon race would arise. He had always thought of it as a tricky authority, but to think it was on this scale.
The group walked on.
The green shadows lurking in all directions were annoying, but there was no problem.
Simurtr thought as he touched his right forearm. Five lines of Pagna.
‘Ah. Semenu will definitely recognize this.’
But this couldn’t be proof either.
It was an item from the Mectera repository. Who could say anything if the adopted son of Mectera took it?
‘Well. What does it matter now that I’m already convinced.’
They reached the center and passed through the huge castle gate.
These guys, for assassins, have a big castle too. It was of a similar scale to the Mectera main castle.
‘Is this okay?’
The thought of whether an assassin’s hideout could be this conspicuous arose, but since they were hiding the territory itself.
“Two.”
After passing the castle gate and walking for a while, the Phantasm, who had stopped in front of the central castle, said.
The number of people allowed an audience. As Naor had expected, the Phantasm allowed only Aran and his vice-captain, Naor.
“And that’s me being generous.”
The Phantasm, who had spun around, showed a smile.
But he couldn’t hide his killing intent. No, he didn’t. This was him holding back a lot.
Mectera had dared to cause a ruckus in front of the Degrate main mountain.
“Just one Sword Order. I’ll let it slide that you dared to cause a ruckus in front of the main mountain with that. But no more. You know that, right?”
The Phantasm hinted at war.
Degrate’s pride had been greatly wounded. If the reason for the visit was absurd, she had no reason to hold back.
“You were the ones who peeked first.”
“You set up camp in our front yard, do you think we’d just leave it alone?”
“If it were the main family, we would. That is also a quality of the strong.”
No matter who acts up in your front yard, they’re just stray dogs in the end. Aran had provoked the Phantasm.
“Ah. Did you come here to fight?”
“Of course not.”
“Then?”
Aran didn’t answer and looked at Simurtr.
He was asking whether he would participate in the audience.
“Three.”
Simurtr was about to nod his head, but he stepped forward himself. He didn’t want to drag it out. No point in a place where Semenu wasn’t even present.
“Huh?”
“Let three people in.”
“Huh?”
“Can’t you hear me? Or were you not planning on talking at all? You want to fight?”
Aran was secretly pleased with Simurtr’s attitude.
Even when facing a powerhouse he couldn’t handle at his current level, he didn’t flinch, that fighting cock-like nature. As expected of Exa’s successor.
“…Oh my.”
The Phantasm was at a loss for words for a moment.
“The little kid has a damn short tongue, doesn’t he?”
“Does Degrate also judge age by appearance? Then the little kid is you.”
A half-elf.
They are on par with long-lived species, and of course, their aging is also slow. Of course, since they are half-breeds, an old Degrate would be noticeable, but that Phantasm wasn't at that level.
She looked like a sister who was only a few years apart from Semenu.
“Are you perhaps a long-lived species?”
“No. I’m a Mectera.”
“A human?”
“Of course.”
“How old?”
“How old do I look?”
“Seventeen?”
“Just subtract one from that.”
“…Are you crazy?”
A killing intent gleamed in the Phantasm’s eyes.
Green light shot up from the surrounding shadows as well. The lurking Degrates in various places reacted to the insult the Phantasm had received.
“Phantasm, be careful. That is not someone you should speak ill of.”
Aran, who had been watching with a pleased look, was the first to react. Black mana rose up against the green light of the Degrates. It was the premonition of the Mectera secret technique, the Black Hemisphere.
“Aran Lubeil, you’re the ones who should be careful. Intruders who dared to invade the main mountain without permission.”
“It’s not an invasion when you opened it for us.”
“For now, we’re allies, aren’t we? Dealing with intruders can be done after hearing them out.”
The confidence that they could crush a single Sword Order at any time.
‘It makes sense.’
Only three people could properly respond to a Phantasmal Ability. Aran and Naor. Simurtr.
The Sword Masters of the 6th Sword Order.
Entering the main mountain with just one Sword Order was close to reckless.
Although the justification was on their side, they were bound to lose in the power struggle before bringing it up.
“Dealing with us. Are you confident?”
Although they were allies, this was enemy territory. They had to approach it with that mindset. That was the reason the Phantasm, Aran, and Simurtr were coming on strong.
“Oh my. That’s what I should be saying. Are you confident? Daring to do this in the main mountain?”
What one desires must be downplayed.
Conversely, what is unnecessary must be exaggerated.
“Should we kill that little kid first and then talk? Shall we?”
If one expresses anger, that anger must be feigned. If real emotions are brought forth, one will be defeated.
“Jiaren Degrate!”
The one who was defeated was Aran.
To him, Simurtr was another weak spot. The successor of the missing Exa.
Losing Simurtr would mean repeating the same mistake again.
“Is he that precious to you?”
He knew it was a power struggle, a probing, but he couldn’t help but react. Suddenly, the black mana expanded. The Black Hemisphere, which had only shown a premonition, instantly rose up.
“You started it.”
The Phantasm, Jiaren, reacted in that split second. A green light floated in the air and formed a small sphere.
The sphere did not move an inch despite the pressure of the Black Hemisphere. As the green light flowed in, it became clearer.
‘…A unique Phantasmal Realm.’
The illusions of Degrate have no physical force.
However, a shadow that is so distinct and not vague cannot be dismissed as a simple illusion.
‘There’s no way they would have left such a weakness for a thousand years.’
A clan that has flourished for a thousand years.
They had mastered the method of mixing killing power into their illusions, a mock implementation of the Phantasmal Realm where the illusions of elves become reality.
‘Phantasm.’
For generations, the Phantasm of Degrate was one of the few exceptions who had mastered the mock implementation.
The green sphere had swollen to the size of a torso. A simplified Phantasmal Realm that mimicked the elven Phantasmal Realm.
The illusions implemented there temporarily held physical force against the world. It was a state that Semenu of the Doom War had not reached.
‘All directions.’
It couldn't be caught by the Sword Net. It was too fast to capture with the naked eye.
As he recognized that a huge scythe-shaped illusion had occupied all directions and began the rotation of the 4-star.
“Oh my.”
The 12 scythes were already about to touch his skin. As Jiaren let out a scornful exclamation upon seeing the white sword ki that had manifested between the illusion and his skin.
“No.”
The illusion that was about to tear apart Simurtr's sword ki disappeared. The 12 huge scythes that had been surrounding his entire body turned into green smoke.
“Don’t touch him.”
In front of Simurtr. A round shadow appeared on that ground. From that green shadow, a small figure rose up.
“Jiaren.”
A familiar appearance and comrade to both the Phantasm and Simurtr.
“Semenu?”
…But she was unfamiliar.
Jiaren and Simurtr had the same thought at the same time.
Her unique, emotionless voice and numb eyes were, unusually, filled with emotion.
“Why are you……”
Jiaren’s bewildered eyes turned to Semenu.
Although she was wrapped in the green light that was the symbol of Degrate, what she had blocked was a Degrate’s attack.
“If you touch him, I’ll have to kill you, Jiaren.”
Semenu’s eyes, directed at Jiaren, were filled with killing intent.