Episode 98
“Victory! The ‘Black Prince’ of Saxon has triumphed!”
“Even after breaking the Fight Club’s rules and using an avatar, he couldn’t be defeated!”
“It seems the title of the Empire’s greatest genius isn’t just for show!”
The crowd’s ecstatic cheers echoed throughout the arena, overshadowing the presence of the high-ranking assassins from the ‘Shadow Court’ surrounding them.
”…Has he already reached the level where he can consciously manifest the ‘World of Ideas’?”
A man in a black coat and a bird-beak mask spoke. It was the voice of Master Baro, the Blade of Death.
“Without that level of skill, surviving the Fight Club would be impossible.”
“Haha, what an extraordinary kid,” Dale replied nonchalantly, while Master Baro marveled with a curse. The assassins in bird-beak masks vanished in unison, the pride of the Guild City’s enforcers.
Now, they were the continent’s top assassin organization, reborn as Dale’s loyal followers.
As the assassins withdrew, Dale turned away. A victory in the round of 32. He had defeated the Holy Knight’s proxy, reducing the number of competitors in the Black Market.
Dale walked calmly, reaching for the knight’s waist. The golden skull emblem, the Black Market invitation handed over by the Holy Knight to his proxy.
Crack!
He crushed it with all his might.
The main reason why the proxies of the great nobles risk their lives in the Fight Club. The fewer competitors, the better. Even if killing isn’t necessary, it’s preferable to eliminate them.
Having an opponent beg for their life and surrender isn’t a bad outcome either. There’s no more humiliating end than a great noble’s proxy begging for mercy.
Dale turned his back and left the arena. It would be some time before his next match, and observing his opponents wouldn’t hurt.
Even though the opponent broke the rules by using an avatar, and Dale only manifested the World of Ideas in self-defense, it was an exceptionally rare occurrence.
Once the rules are broken, the ‘Shadow Court’ in waiting would act, with the Blade of Death leading his assassins.
The first seat of the Continent’s Seven Swords. Unless a powerful noble intervenes directly, no mere proxy can handle such an opponent.
Those participating in the Fight Club surely know this.
Yet, in the face of a life-or-death crisis, reason often proves useless. A knight’s pride won’t allow them to kneel and surrender, nor can they willingly embrace death. For a knight, surrender is a fate worse than death.
Another duel in the round of 32 followed Dale’s victory.
Thus, one of the great noble’s proxies lost their reason and unleashed the forbidden avatar in the Fight Club…
“Haha, look at this clueless fool.”
Master Baro, the Blade of Death, moved against the formidable opponent.
Wearing a bird-beak mask and a black coat, he wielded two swords. Dual-wielding, a two-sword style.
Against the knight using an avatar, his swords were enveloped in a blood-red aura.
Alongside the ‘high-ranking assassins’ of the Shadow Court he commanded.
Perhaps he deemed it unnecessary to counter an avatar with another avatar.
The assassins’ blades targeted vital points, and before that, a barrage of blood-red aura-infused projectiles rained down from all directions. Each assassin wielded the blood-red aura blade that Master Baro prided himself on.
In the face of such overwhelming numbers and skill, even a knight using an avatar stood no chance.
“Gah, ugh…!”
Blood-red projectiles pierced from all sides. Blood gushed from vital points, and the metallic scent of blood filled the air.
’…!’
Witnessing this, it became clear.
The ‘high-ranking assassins’ of the Shadow Court under Master Baro… They were far from mere back-alley assassins. They formally inherited the sword and style of the Blade of Death, the first seat of the Continent’s Seven Swords.
They rivaled the knightly forces nurtured by the great nobles, yet lacked any knightly honor. Not facing opponents head-on, but as assassins who ruthlessly took lives.
Devout followers of the goddess of shadows, they revered Dale as the ‘Black Apostle.’
There are many forms of earning trust. Loyalty surpasses camaraderie, gold surpasses loyalty, and fanaticism surpasses gold. In that regard, the trust of the ‘Shadow Court’ was beyond question.
‘This is the power of the Shadow Court that I will command…’
Seeing this, Dale’s heart raced even faster.
With the Night Raven Knights, led by the illustrious Sir Helmut, and the assassins of the Shadow Court trained by Master Baro, an unbelievable force was now at his disposal.
“Listen up, clean out your ears.”
Looking at the knight kneeling with blades in his vital points, the man in the bird-beak mask, ‘Master Baro,’ spoke.
“Before you recklessly act and get a one-way ticket to the afterlife, you’d better bow your head and surrender.”
He openly warned the Fight Club participants. A blood-red blade swung, delivering the final blow.
Blood gushed forth, and the severed head rolled lifelessly to the ground.
Silence enveloped the arena, and a breeze blew through. By then, Master Baro and the shadow assassins had vanished.
Just as the World of Ideas wielded by a mage isn’t an omnipotent power, the same applies to a knight’s avatar.
What matters isn’t the avatar or the World of Ideas itself, but the strength of the ideas projected onto it.
For instance, the avatar of the Holy Magdalena Knight who fought Dale was composed of pure white, symbolizing their organization. It could be called the ‘organization’s idea,’ but never the idea of an individual knight. As the sword’s idea grows stronger, the avatar gains corresponding individuality and power.
Not the ‘organization’s idea,’ but the unique idea built with one’s sword.
Ironically, the grotesque pig-like appearance of the Holy Knight’s avatar spoke volumes about his level.
Some time later, another highly anticipated match in the Fight Club began.
Ray Uris, the adopted son of the Blood Duke.
Though he held an unchallenged position within the Imperial City and the Red Magic Tower, unlike the ‘Black Prince’ of Saxon, he remained unknown to the outside world, waiting silently for his moment.
And now, Ray Uris himself ended that silence. The terror using black magic against the master of the Calimala Guild was merely the prelude.
“What a rare sight this is!”
“Who would have thought, besides the eldest son of the Saxon family, such a young child would enter the Fight Club!”
“Isn’t he the adopted son of the ‘Blood Duke’? There must be a reason for his acceptance.”
The commentators’ voices brimmed with anticipation as his opponent readied their sword. Participation in the Fight Club was typically the domain of knights. In a ‘normal’ fight between a mage and a knight, especially in the arena, the odds were overwhelmingly against the mage.
But Ray Uris was unfazed.
A swirling force of black and red magic surged beneath his feet. The black power he had acquired through the bond of black and red, combined with his own red magic, accelerated the circle of his heart.
As the RPM of the circle rapidly increased, a vortex of black and red began to emanate.
‘Three circles…!’
Dale could sense it. Ray Uris snapped his fingers. Flames erupted between him and the knight.
‘A jab to maintain distance.’
That’s what Dale thought, but his prediction was off.
Whoosh!
The blazing flames began to form a silhouette.
──A Death Knight of flames.
The ‘black power’ within it was too strong to dismiss as merely a creation of fire.
It was a fusion of the black magic secrets of the Black Tower with his red magic.
The flaming armor, even the fiery skull within, was the very embodiment of a ‘black mage’s Death Knight.’ And the flaming greatsword in the knight’s hand.
‘A Death Knight with red magic…!’
And it wasn’t just one. Flames continued to blaze, creating more death knights. The heat they radiated was so intense that approaching them made breathing impossible. These death knights were not made of flesh and bone but were entirely formed of blazing flames.
Even Dale couldn’t hide his astonishment.
Moreover, the weapon held by the flaming Death Knight wasn’t just any flaming greatsword.
It was projecting… an aura. Not just one color.
A dark red. A blend of black and red, a shadowy and blood-red aura blade. The dark red Death Knights began their charge.
Shortly after, as the knight clashed swords with the flaming Death Knight a few times, he quickly knelt and shouted his surrender.
“I surrender, I surrender! I yield!”
No matter how humiliating or excruciating it might be, it’s still better than dying. Better than meeting a pointless end without even getting a chance to participate in the “Black Market.”
At least he had the sense to understand that much.
“I accept your surrender.”
Ray Eurys snapped his fingers. Attacking after a surrender is declared is strictly forbidden. The Death Knights of Flame surrounded him and halted their movements.
And then, all at once—
“Gah, ugh, ack!”
Suddenly, the knight clutched his throat, gasping for air.
”…!”
Dale realized immediately what was happening. Ray Eurys was deliberately releasing “poison gas.”
Toxic fumes from the fire.
He was intentionally manipulating the flow of toxic gases produced by the flames of the Death Knights, using the mechanism of carbon monoxide (CO) poisoning to disrupt the oxygen binding in hemoglobin.
The knight’s body collapsed lifelessly, suffocated to death.
A colorless, odorless, tasteless assassin.
“Oh dear.”
Ray Eurys chuckled awkwardly.
“Seems I accidentally killed him.”
Feigning innocence with blatant insincerity.
“In a life-or-death arena, sometimes these things just happen.”
The bloodlust and madness of the fight club. Even with rules against attacking those who surrender, “sometimes these things just happen.”
Everyone had been hoping for it, and that’s why cheers erupted at Ray Eurys’s display. But Dale couldn’t bring himself to smile.
The precision of the intent projected onto each Death Knight. The skill to manifest it in the form of flames.
And the aura blade he wielded—such mastery of the sword was not something a mere third-circle mage should possess.
Above all, this was not a level that a “mere third-circle mage” could achieve. Just as Dale had once realized.
“Looks like he’s worth a proper fight.”
Watching the scene, Dale mused to himself.
Shortly after.
With the round of 32 matches concluded, Dale immediately left the fight club. He headed to the heart of the city where the fight club was established.
‘Arte della Lana.’
The place where the master of the Lana Guild, one of the seven great guilds, resided.