Episode 196
A world of darkness and winter lay before them.
An endless expanse of pitch-black tundra stretched beyond the horizon, its end unknowable.
Yet, more than the desolate landscape, it was the towering fortress that dominated this world.
Massive, indescribable tendrils wrapped around the fortress like the roots of an ancient tree, breathing with life. These tendrils, black as night, were rooted throughout the fortress, inside and out.
Dale and the Wandering Sword found themselves inside this fortress, in the somber Great Hall of Flamboyant Gothic style.
Seated on a towering throne of black gold, the Shadow Lord loomed, his back to a dimly flickering brazier.
Clad in armor forged from the chill of the end and the darkness of ages, he reigned alone in his fortress of solitude.
“Ah, what a truly lonely empire this is.”
“Beyond these walls, there is only cold and darkness.”
The Shadow Lord spoke, waving his arm. Instantly, one of the Great Hall’s walls vanished, allowing the frigid air of the endless tundra to seep in. The brazier behind the throne flickered wildly, like a candle in a storm, on the verge of being snuffed out.
But with another wave of his arm, the Shadow Lord restored the wall, blocking the cold once more.
He embraced the tendrils of Shub, welcoming the universe’s winter into his being. In this realm of thought, the Shadow Lord wielded power akin to that of a god.
A level of mastery beyond the reach of a typical 6th-circle mage, and perhaps even a 7th-circle mage would struggle without the prowess of a warrior.
Here, in this world, it felt as though he could finally catch up to the footsteps of his father.
And as for the one standing before him, the first of the Continent’s Seven Swords, there was no need to even mention it.
With a swift motion, the Wandering Sword launched himself at the lord, but the Shadow Lord remained unmoved.
The master of the fortress of solitude waved his arm once more.
And in the fortress that should have been empty, the Shadow Lord’s loyal minions finally revealed themselves.
Clang!
Death knights, clad in armor of cold and darkness, lined up beside Dale, blocking the Wandering Sword’s path.
The power of a necromancer lies in commanding an army, not in engaging in battle personally.
In Dale’s world, there was no need for the skeletal remains of knights loyal to Saxon.
One by one, death knights emerged from the blind spots of the Wandering Sword’s awareness, endlessly charging forward.
The Shadow Lord did not even rise from his black-gold throne.
This was his fortress, a weapon in itself against invaders. He wielded the power granted to him as its lord.
The ancient darkness rooted in this fortress, the power of the abyss from which it originated.
“Oh, indeed.”
Facing the onslaught of knights, the Wandering Sword swung his blade. At that moment, as if realizing something, he drove his sword vertically into the ground.
Thud!
The sword pierced the marble floor of the fortress, and black blood gushed forth, splattering everywhere.
Boom!
The entire fortress began to tremble and writhe as if it were a living creature.
Swoosh!
Simultaneously, the tendrils embedded throughout the fortress began to writhe and surge. It was then that the realization struck. The fortress, built upon the black tundra, was a living entity.
Dale remained seated on the black-gold throne, projecting the avatar of the Shadow Lord.
He watched as the Wandering Sword struggled to fend off his army, his insight nearly omniscient.
The marble floor, the stone bricks, all transformed into living tendrils, endlessly consuming the Wandering Sword.
Each time, the Wandering Sword swung his blade, scattering the blood of the abyss, staining the fortress’s interior.
“Reveal your true self, Wandering Sword.”
At that moment, the Shadow Lord spoke from his throne.
”……!”
The words struck the Wandering Sword with an overwhelming sense of pressure, leaving him breathless.
For a moment, the tendrils and death knights charging at him halted. A chilling silence descended.
“As you seek a lord to serve, I too seek a sword to serve me.”
“Are the Living Sword and the Mad Sword not enough?”
“I will not stop until I have seven swords.”
The Shadow Lord replied.
Thud!
A death knight succeeded in driving its sword into the Wandering Sword. The blade, imbued with the chill of the end, should have disintegrated his body at the particle level.
His body vanished, yet Dale remained silent and unmoving.
Soon, a silhouette formed from the swirling mass of cold.
“A survivor of the Second Empire.”
The Shadow Lord spoke, piercing through his shadow.
“You sought the end of providence with your kin, and ‘winter’ cursed your folly.”
His existence was not defined by his physical form.
He was a specter, a ghost that should have perished in the distant past. In other words, an incorporeal being. One who could not die even if he wished. Even the Celestial Sword and the Divine Sword could break his blade, but they could not sever his existence.
Thus, the Shadow Lord rose from the black-gold throne.
Whoosh!
The brazier behind him flared as if it would explode, transforming into a blaze of scattered light.
Simultaneously, along the armor of the abyss, blood-red patterns began to glow like magma between black rocks.
The Shadow Lord’s full power, never before revealed to anyone.
The black, red, and blue magic, reaching the end of providence, fused, exuding an unparalleled sense of intimidation.
It was a force so overwhelming that even Dale’s consciousness felt as if it might be swept away.
A power so immense, it seemed to touch the realm of the divine.
Controlling the explosive magic was a daunting task. Wielding this power was akin to downing a bottle of high-proof liquor in one go.
And it was a risk worth taking.
With the tri-colored magic swirling around him, the Shadow Lord leaped forward. Blades rose. It was neither the demon sword Gia at his waist nor the magma-like armor of the abyss.
From the marble floor, stone bricks, red carpet, and full plate armor statues…
Hundreds, thousands of shadow blades erupted from the fortress’s interior, descending upon the Wandering Sword.
It was a literal bombardment of a thousand swords.
Clang!
“Ah, ah…! Yes, this is it.”
Before the onslaught of blades, a colorless aura began to envelop the Wandering Sword’s body. Colorless, yet possessing a definite form.
“I have searched for so long for the one I should truly serve… You cannot imagine how long!”
The Wandering Sword shouted, a shiver running down his spine. Along with his cry, the aura around him exploded, finally revealing his true form.
The avatar of the Wandering Sword, one of the Continent’s Seven Swords. A survivor of the Second Empire. A mummified elven revenant.
A specter unable to die, trapped in a twisted providence.
Simultaneously, the Wandering Sword’s blade danced against the thousand shadow blades, swift enough to deflect them all.
Even after the thousand shadow blades descended, the Shadow Lord’s assault did not cease. He did not wield a sword in his hand.
The entire fortress was his sword and weapon.
The storm of shadows continued to rage, sometimes as blades, sometimes as his creations. From the shadows between the red carpet, Shadow Lurkers unleashed their spiked tendrils, and from beneath the chandelier’s shadow, black barrels unleashed volleys of fire.
Death, death, and more death followed. Even the Wandering Sword, renowned across the land, had no recourse.
“I, no, I have been wandering in search of one who could truly grant me death!”
Dying, dying, and dying again. Each time, his heart filled with ecstasy.
“O lord of providence and truth, who will free me from the falsehood that has consumed me!”
“Your wandering will end.”
After the endless slaughter, the fortress finally stilled.
Within it, the Shadow Lord was once again seated on the black-gold throne.
“On the day this empire falls.”
“Willingly…!”
The Wandering Sword knelt, bowing his head. Compared to the endless years of wandering he had endured, pledging loyalty to his lord was but a fleeting moment.
“Willingly, I will give my all for the fall of this empire!”
Another sword pledged its loyalty, and gaining his allegiance was indeed an easy task.
“Whoa, what the hell did this guy eat to end up with his head buried like that?”
When Dale finally dispelled the world of thought, Master Baro asked, surveying the scene before him.
“Yeah, that happened.”
Dale shrugged, glancing around with a sly look.
“From now on, we’re the boss’s loyal henchmen!”
The elite enforcement unit, “Dark Moon,” still had their heads bowed, and the rulers of the Free City Alliance, once seven heads strong but now reduced to six, were no exception.
“From now on, we’re the boss’s loyal henchmen!”
Even the Wandering Sword joined in, shouting with enthusiasm.
“Well, it’s nice to have so many henchmen.”
“Geez, you’re like the Dark Lord himself.”
The Shadow Lord replied as if it were someone else’s business, while Master Baro shook his head in disbelief.
After wrapping up matters in the Free City Alliance, Dale finally returned to his duchy.
Not long after, news that would shake the entire continent to its core spread like wildfire.
In the name of the Sistina Papacy, the Church and the White Tower’s highest authority, the “Heavenly Arch,” along with the cardinals, announced two significant truths.
First, a devout blacksmith, guided by the revelation of the Sister Goddesses, had successfully forged another “Holy Sword Durandal,” and the sword itself had chosen its wielder.
Second, the sword’s chosen master was none other than the Saint Aurelia, who had once been defeated by the “Black Prince” and reduced to ashes in the frozen lands of Saxon.
But ashes cannot wield a sword. Thus, the Heavenly Arch officially declared the miraculous resurrection of the “Saint” through the power of the Sister Goddesses.
The fact that her existence was once deemed a creation of demons seemed irrelevant now. Under the endorsement of the White Tower, the Saint was reborn from death and became the rightful master of the Holy Sword.
With the White Tower and the Holy Sword backing her, the pure Saint now held a legitimacy that even the Empire could not challenge.
All while leaving behind the blue web that still bound her.