Chapter 91 : The Conqueror (覇王) and the Demon Wolf King (1)
Chapter 91: The Conqueror (覇王) and the Demon Wolf King (1)
“Found him. The one I'm supposed to fight.”
Madness flickered across Leon's face as he spoke.
It was an expression that could never have belonged to the man who had been talking about surviving only moments ago.
“Leon...?”
Seeing him like that, Sibelte muttered in confusion.
“You found someone you're supposed to fight? What do you mean?”
“You don't need to worry about it. But one thing is certain.”
Leon looked at Baylen and Celeste rushing over from the distance and grinned.
“I won't lose sight of my original objective.”
KWAAANG—!!
At that moment, a tremendous explosion erupted from where the werewolf had been blasted away.
The shattered remains of the building shot high into the sky.
“Humans really have no manners, do they?”
Just as the debris reached its peak and began falling back down—
The werewolf slowly walked out from within and spoke.
“You hit someone while they're talking. Still, it wasn't all bad. I learned that you're pretty strong.”
“I was thinking the same thing. You're weaker than I expected.”
“…What?”
The werewolf's face twisted into a vicious scowl, as though he had just heard something utterly offensive.
“You're saying I'm weak?”
“The only two people talking here are you and me. Who else do you think I was talking to?”
“…Interesting.”
Contrary to his words, veins bulged across the werewolf's forehead.
Every time he clenched his fists, an unsettling cracking of bones echoed from his hands.
“And why exactly do you think I'm weak?”
“Every werewolf I've seen so far has been nothing but trash. There were a few that looked strong…”
Leon slowly looked him up and down before continuing,
“But I don't sense the same presence from you.”
“Nonsense! You're comparing me, a true werewolf, to those mongrels?”
“A true werewolf?”
“The beasts covered in fur are nothing more than imitators. True werewolves have only ears and tails. Other than that, we're completely identical to humans.”
“Oh? So you're saying you're one of these true werewolves?”
“We're also called True Bloods. I carry the King's bloodline. From birth, I'm completely different from those worthless mutts.”
“So the ones you call mongrels don't possess the King's blood?”
“Didn't I already tell you? They're nothing more than creatures who imitated us.”
Hearing that, Leon thought,
'They're similar to those who call themselves the Great Blood of Night.'
Requilith of the Great Blood of Night possessed the ability to transform humans into his own kind.
Those "mongrels" this one spoke of had likely belonged to another race originally.
The most likely explanation was that the Werewolf King had forcibly transformed them into beings like himself.
'Then... don't tell me all these werewolves were originally humans?'
It was entirely possible.
The Demon Race had originally come from another continent.
Naturally, there would have been races living there besides demons.
'Which means every member of the Demon Race can increase the population of their species through their own power.'
What an irritating ability.
The power to turn others into members of your own race.
It was nothing short of a plague.
'Judging from the lack of werewolves resisting, it seems they're incapable of rebelling against the one who transformed them.'
The more he thought about it, the more terrifying it became.
If the Werewolf King had transformed the humans of the Holy Kingdom into his own race—
Humanity would have faced an unprecedented catastrophe.
Like a spreading epidemic, they would have slowly devoured the entire human race.
'Did Father know all this as well?'
To be honest, Leon had questioned it from the beginning.
The Zeke he knew was fundamentally indifferent toward other people.
He wasn't the kind of man warm enough to protect those who weren't his own.
Yet he had personally moved to eradicate the demons within the Holy Kingdom.
It was completely unlike the Zeke who would have been satisfied so long as his own people remained safe.
'So this was why.'
Smiling proudly, Leon declared,
“I am no different from you. I am the son of the Conqueror, Zeke Fritz.”
“Oh? So you're his…”
A smile spread across the werewolf's face.
His eyes gleamed with interest, burning with competitive spirit.
As fellow descendants of kings, he clearly wanted to determine which bloodline stood above the other.
“I could already tell your strength wasn't something a normal human should possess. So it came from the Conqueror. You're his son... Are you the youngest?”
“I am.”
“What a coincidence. I'm the youngest as well.”
The moment those words were spoken, Leon and the werewolf burst into laughter at the same time.
“Hahahahaha!!”
“Hahahahaha!!”
Their laughter sounded almost forced.
Yet neither of them stopped laughing.
“What's your name?”
The werewolf asked as he slowly lowered into a fighting stance.
Leon mirrored him.
“Leon.”
“I'm Sigurd.”
KWAAAAANG—!!
The next instant, Leon and Sigurd charged directly at one another.
Their movements were as swift as lightning itself.
Even masters with exceptional eyesight would have been unable to follow them.
Maintaining that impossible speed, Leon swung his sword while Sigurd threw his fist.
BOOM—!!
A deafening explosion erupted, one that no mere clash between sword and fist should have been capable of producing.
At the same time, the resulting shockwave swept through the surrounding area.
SHWAAAAAAK—!!
The impact forced Sigurd backward.
His feet carved long furrows into the earth as he slid, his sharp eyes fixed on Leon.
'He's strong!'
Without question, Leon was the strongest opponent he had ever fought.
Of course, there were countless people in the world stronger than Sigurd.
He had not even been alive for very long.
Compared to those who had trained for decades, he naturally fell short.
Yet the reason he judged Leon to be strong was because of his age.
'He may look fairly mature on the outside, but in reality he's about my age. He can't even be twenty yet.'
Sigurd himself was seventeen this year.
He had always wanted to fight someone powerful who belonged to the same generation as himself.
'Everyone I've fought until now has been older than me. But this time it's different!'
Moreover, Leon was the son of the Conqueror.
Not only were they around the same age, but both were also sons of kings.
'This is prey worth hunting.'
His blood boiled.
It was the first time battle itself had excited him this much.
An opponent equal in every respect.
That fact ignited Sigurd's fighting spirit.
“I'll pour everything I have into this.”
At that moment, a razor-sharp aura gathered around Sigurd's hand.
It was an energy that filled anyone who saw it with dread.
Force.
The power that only those who had reached the level of a Knight could wield.
Seeing it, Leon's eyes widened.
Just like Sigurd, Leon instinctively realized he had found his equal.
Because of that, he felt a slight sense of frustration.
Unlike Sigurd, Leon had yet to awaken Force.
They stood under equal conditions, yet the other had surpassed him.
It was only natural that frustration would arise.
Even so, Leon revealed none of it and instead drew up his own power.
He could not use Force.
But he possessed another power capable of replacing it.
WOOOOOONG—!!
A blood-red aura, dark as fresh blood, surged around Leon's entire body.
The mana that only warriors could wield.
Crimson mana.
At the same time, every muscle in Leon's body compressed to its absolute limit.
Following his training with Indra, Leon had learned how to transmit power.
He had learned exactly how to move his muscles without wasting even the slightest bit of strength.
To prove that his year of training had not been in vain, Leon pushed his concentration to its absolute limit.
The instant both of them reached complete focus—
SHWAAAAAAK—!!!
Leon's figure shot toward Sigurd like a cannonball.
In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance and swung his sword with all his might.
PAAAAANG—!!
A violent tearing sound split the air as Leon's blade arced through space.
Having reached the extreme pinnacle, the Four Seasons Star Cloud Sword was so overwhelming that merely swinging it inspired fear.
Ordinarily, anyone would have retreated.
But instead—
Sigurd thrust his hand directly toward the incoming blade.
JJEEEOONG—!!
The collision of sword and fist echoed across the battlefield.
The thunderous sound resembled a bolt of lightning crashing from the heavens.
“Ghk—!!”
The impact forced Sigurd back by half a step.
He couldn't hide his surprise.
Years of training had hardened his hands beyond steel itself.
The fact that Leon could withstand that alone was astonishing enough—
Yet he was actually displaying even greater strength than Sigurd himself.
Even so, Sigurd smiled.
Partly from the excitement of finally finding a worthy rival—
And partly because, amidst the clash, he had glimpsed a path to victory.
KAAANG—!!
At that moment, Leon lost his grip on his sword.
Sigurd had employed a subtle technique, sending the blade flying away.
It resembled the techniques of the Golden Snare Hand.
Yet Leon's eyes remained ice-cold.
His chilling gaze remained fixed solely upon Sigurd.
'Putting on a brave face!'
That was what Sigurd believed.
Naturally so.
For a swordsman to lose his weapon was the same as death.
Unlike Sigurd, Leon didn't fight barehanded.
Without his weapon, what else could he possibly do?
He might appear calm, but inside he had to be panicking.
Surely all he wanted now was to turn around and retrieve his sword.
'It's unfortunate the outcome was decided in a single exchange, but it was still worthwhile.'
After all, Leon was easily among the strongest opponents Sigurd had ever faced.
The battle had been worth it.
'That was fun.'
Just as Sigurd moved to take Leon's life—
“And who gave you permission to end this?”
KWAANG—!!
Leon's fist slammed into Sigurd's jaw.
BZZZZ—
His brain rang violently.
Sigurd gagged involuntarily.
'What the—?!'
He had assumed Leon could do nothing after losing his sword.
Or at most, put up one last desperate struggle.
But this wasn't desperate resistance.
'That fist is heavy. It might even match mine.'
Moreover, the technique behind it ran astonishingly deep.
It was impossible to fully grasp after seeing it only once.
How strange.
Wasn't he supposed to be a swordsman?
People often believed throwing a punch was easy.
It was nothing more than a misconception.
Controlling one's fists was every bit as difficult as mastering a sword or a spear.
The deeper one's understanding became—
The higher one's realm rose—
The more true that became.
Which was why Sigurd could tell.
The fist technique Leon displayed stood on the same level as his own.
'No... judging purely by destructive power, it's even superior.'
Where in the world had he learned such fist techniques?
It was a strike that wasted virtually no strength at all.
Every attack, no matter who performed it, inevitably leaked at least a little power.
'Calm down.'
Sigurd forced himself to think.
In a situation like this, distractions meant death.
He had to regain his concentration.
But Leon's fists continued relentlessly, refusing to grant him even a moment to recover.
PABABABABAK—!!
The punches looked light.
Yet every single one contained overwhelming power beyond imagination.
Even while enduring the pain, Sigurd found himself astonished.
How could punches that looked so effortless contain such monstrous force?
His werewolf body was keeping him alive for now—
But even that would not last forever.
Werewolves were far sturdier than humans, but they were not invincible.
'I have to find a way!'
Sigurd bit down hard on his lip as his mind raced.
Shiver—!!
At that instant, an icy chill crawled up both Leon's and Sigurd's spines.
Their movements froze simultaneously.
Their eyes met.
They were trembling.
Leon's eyes.
Sigurd's eyes.
Both shook violently, as though confronted by something completely beyond their expectations.
As if by prior agreement, both men slowly turned their heads to the right.
Toward the direction where Zeke had been sent flying.
Toward the Papal Palace.