Episode 136
Meanwhile, in the underground hideout of the “Shadow Court” within the Duke of York’s territory.
The war had ended, and Dale, who had claimed victory in the two Wars of the Roses, stood there. Before him was an enemy he could never forget.
A man who had lost the name of the Holy Sword was bound there. No longer even a “man,” but a beast.
“Squeal, squeeeal!”
The man was enveloped in a pig’s hide. A shell that had lost all function as armor of thought, reflecting his very psyche. His aura heart was shattered, leaving only remnants of aura spinning aimlessly.
“Everyone, leave.”
Dale spoke, and at his command, Master Baro and the members of the Shadow Court vanished like the wind.
Only Dale and the former Holy Sword Knight remained in the court.
“Shall we have a chat?”
Dale spoke, his two swords hanging at his side.
“You cowardly, squeal, squeeeal, Saxon brat…!”
The pig-headed man thrashed wildly, mimicking a human voice as best he could.
“Cowardly?”
Dale questioned, drawing one of the swords at his waist.
It wasn’t the artifact of the Demon Realm, the black demon sword “Gluttony.” Instead, it was a brilliantly shining white blade.
The old sword of the hero that Dale had claimed after defeating Michael Lancaster.
“Peacemaker!”
Gripping the hilt of the sword, Dale pointed its tip at the pig-headed man.
“Do you know the power within this sword?”
As he spoke, the tip of the Peacemaker began to glow, surrounding the bloodied “King of Pigs” with particles of light, much like the Holy Sword Durandal.
“It heals wounds, blocks malice, restores the broken… In a way, it’s a ‘twin’ of the Holy Sword.”
Crack!
At that moment, the chains binding the Holy Sword Knight began to break.
Crack, crack!
The shell of thought, which should have been nothing more than a pig’s hide, regained its power and began to writhe. Soon, the beast’s aura scattered along his body.
“Ha, haha…!”
For the Holy Sword Knight, whose “tendons” as a knight had been severed, regaining his former strength was impossible. Not even the healing magic of the White Tower’s master could change that.
But that only meant he couldn’t regain 100% of his power, not that he couldn’t wield a sword at all.
Defeating a single Saxon brat would be no trouble.
Thus, Dale used the Peacemaker’s power to restore his body. The “King of Pigs” couldn’t comprehend this sudden act.
“Take up your sword.”
When Dale handed him a nameless iron sword, the count hesitated not a moment. He assumed it was mere foolishness driven by youthful arrogance and shouted.
“You dare bring about your own death…!”
No longer the pitiful figure he had been, he now exuded the aura of a beastly boar.
Simultaneously, a winter night’s world engulfed the area.
Yet the “King of Pigs” had no hesitation. He charged, unleashing his final burst of energy.
In an instant, the distance closed. The beast’s sword swung. Clang! Dale’s Peacemaker met the strike. At the same time, an otherworldly horror appeared beside Dale.
”…!”
In that moment, black tendrils wrapped around Dale’s body and exploded. Black blood splattered, and the Shadow Lord’s avatar emerged, clad in armor of black blood, a body made of shadows.
The Black Prince stood there.
“How can a mage have an avatar!”
At the sight, the count’s expression froze.
The Shadow Lord charged, gripping the Peacemaker firmly.
Clang!
The Shadow Lord’s sword swung with a force incomparable to before.
Simultaneously, countless black spikes began to rise from the black armor like liquid metal.
”…!”
Thud!
The black cloak, like a shadow, manipulated its form freely, displaying a seamless blend of offense and defense. The count hastily retreated, but the black spikes from the armor pierced the pig’s body.
“Squeeeal!”
It was unbelievable. Impossible. It couldn’t be happening.
An unavoidable darkness approached. It was then.
“──Do you remember this winter night?”
From within the black armor, a voice unfamiliar and strange spoke. It wasn’t Dale’s faintly youthful voice.
“What, what did you say?”
Again, something emerged from the black armor. Not spikes, but tendrils to bind the body. The tendrils wrapped around the count’s limbs, squeezing until bones cracked.
Once more, the sound of a pig being slaughtered echoed.
Could that truly be called armor? It was already another sword in itself.
“What is this…?”
The count muttered weakly in pain. He had heard enough of the praise for Dale of Saxony, the empire’s greatest genius. He knew the “Black Prince” was a monster beyond imagination.
But what Dale was showing now surpassed even that monster’s realm.
No words could describe this existence.
“Do you think you can kill the empire’s proud war hero and get away with it…!”
“Oh, really?”
Thud!
At that moment, a searing pain struck from behind the Holy Sword Knight. The cold touch of metal. He saw the tip of the Peacemaker’s blade protruding from his chest.
“Did you forget that the empire’s proud hero died with a knife in his back?”
Just like that winter night. How could he forget? Finally, the pieces in his mind fit together.
From the start, the “Black Prince” had something beyond mere talent.
“No way, it can’t be…”
The boar’s face turned as pale as the depths of a winter night.
And there, the “Shadow Lord” spoke.
“Nothing in this world is free. Your empire gained peace without cost through me, and now it’s time to pay the price.”
The Holy Sword Knight turned his head weakly toward the voice.
“The Brandenburg count’s house will be succeeded by the fool Philip, and it will be Saxony, not York, pulling the strings. Can you imagine the ruin that awaits the future of your proud count’s house?”
The “Otherworldly Warrior” wrapped in black armor stood there. Yet the Holy Sword Knight could say nothing. He only exhaled a sound like a soul leaving his body.
“It was a pain working with you, and let’s never meet again.”
The Otherworldly Warrior said. And those were the last words between them.
“Ha, I can already see the White Tower foaming at the mouth.”
Master Baro said, standing before the Holy Sword’s corpse. Dale muttered as if it were someone else’s business.
“Who cares.”
“Sefia.”
Dale knocked gently on the door of the room where Sefia was staying in the Duke of York’s castle.
”…Come in.”
Soon, Sefia replied, and Dale cautiously bowed his head.
“We’re ready to return to the Duchy of Saxony.”
Having left the events of that day behind, he had secured victory in the two Wars of the Roses. Now, as the “Black Prince,” it was time for him to return to the Demon Realm as the Viscount of Saxony and fulfill his duties.
With the elf Sefia, who always stood by his side.
Nothing would change. At least, that’s what he wanted to believe.
“I don’t know what to say to you.”
But hearing Sefia’s response, Dale sensed the meaning behind her words.
”…Are you leaving the Duke’s house?”
Dale asked, and Sefia gave a bittersweet smile.
“Please, don’t forgive me.”
“It’s not your fault, Sefia.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
He knew. Even knowing, Sefia’s resolve wouldn’t change.
“Then why are you leaving my side?”
Dale asked again. Sefia didn’t answer immediately. But Dale soon shook his head. The Sefia of now was no longer a puppet moving at his will.
“I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
At Dale’s words, Sefia shook her head urgently. Silence fell.
“Will we meet again?”
After the silence, Dale asked cautiously. Sefia nodded with a strained smile.
“I promise we’ll meet again.”
At those words, Dale finally smiled faintly.
“I’ll be waiting.”
Dale said with a smile, suppressing the urge to embrace and kiss her, maintaining his composure.
“Thank you for everything, Sepia.”
“I’ve learned so much from you as well.”
Sepia smiled warmly. She had already prepared for the journey she would soon undertake alone.
“Take care on your travels.”
Dale spoke softly. Sepia returned his words with a silent smile and began to walk away. As she grew smaller in the distance, Dale remained rooted, unable to turn his back on her departure.
After Sepia had left, Dale stood in quiet contemplation, wrestling with the cold emptiness and solitude that gnawed at his heart, yet maintaining a stoic facade.
Some time later.
Having secured victory in the two Wars of the Roses, yet unable to publicly acknowledge his role in the second, Dale returned to his estate. He shared the spoils of war with his father, the Black Duke, while trying to ignore the void left by Sepia’s absence.
As the Viscount of Saxon, ruler of the Demon Lord’s territory, his efforts to develop the northern lands were progressing smoothly. Even though Mikhail Lancaster had fallen by Dale’s hand, the alliance against the demons between Saxon and Lancaster remained intact. To the Grand Duke of Lancaster, it was the witches of York who had truly claimed his son’s life.
Meanwhile, the Red Tower aligned itself with the anti-demon cause and moved towards the northern territories. Around this time, as promised by York’s Titania, an envoy from the Blue Tower arrived in the Demon Lord’s domain to convene the Sorceress Council. Even if Sepia was no longer part of the Saxon family, Dale had no room for hesitation.
Officially, Count Brandenburg was rescued by his son, Philip. However, by the time Philip reached him, the count’s injuries were beyond healing, and he ultimately met his end at the hands of the “Black Prince.”
The sacred relic of the first White Tower Master, the Holy Sword Durandal, shattered in the process. The White Tower would not stand idly by and watch.
The continent’s political landscape was beginning to tremble, its core smoldering and on the brink of eruption.