Episode 153: Fafnir (3)
The Mercenary King’s declaration left the Holy Bloods in utter shock.
It wasn’t that Damian had withdrawn first; it was the Mercenary King who had halted the trial. This was an admission that Damian was unbeatable, at least in the eyes of the Mercenary King.
“Everyone, go and rest,” the Mercenary King ordered, dismissing the gathering.
“And Damian Haxen, I need a word with you.”
The Mercenary King led Damian into a tent, one that seemed to be set up for receiving guests. Inside, a large table dominated the space, surrounded by various artworks, likely collected from different countries given their diversity.
“Take any seat you like,” the Mercenary King said, not even glancing at Damian. His slightly ragged breathing suggested his anger hadn’t yet subsided.
Damian did as he was told, settling into a chair and leaning back, waiting for the Mercenary King to speak.
“You put on quite the show, didn’t you? Offering to fight with the same weapon? I’ve seen countless so-called geniuses, but none like you!” The Mercenary King’s face was a mask of fury.
It was only natural; the Holy Bloods, whom he had such pride in, had been effortlessly defeated by Damian.
‘No, it’s not just about the Holy Bloods losing,’ Damian thought.
The Mercenary King’s pride in his lineage was immense. The defeat of the Holy Bloods felt like a personal affront, fueling his anger.
“You seem quite upset. I take it my actions didn’t sit well with you,” Damian ventured.
“What nonsense are you spouting? Who said I was angry? I’m not angry at all!” The Mercenary King’s eyes, however, were boiling like molten lava.
“I apologize,” Damian said suddenly, bowing his head. The Mercenary King looked taken aback by the unexpected apology.
“I should have at least drawn my sword,” Damian added, a hint of mockery in his voice, which only made the Mercenary King’s face turn a deeper shade of red.
“You arrogant brat! Don’t get too full of yourself! The ones you faced aren’t the entirety of the Holy Bloods!”
The Mercenary King’s voice rose, almost as if he was about to explode.
“The ones you fought today are all my grandchildren! They’re just the second generation, with diluted blood! My children, the first generation, are far superior!”
Damian had heard of this before. Even within the vaunted Holy Bloods, there were ranks. The Mercenary King’s children were the first generation, and his grandchildren the second. The dragon’s blood thinned with each generation, weakening over time.
The first generation, being the Mercenary King’s direct offspring, had a much purer bloodline, and their dragon traits were more pronounced. They were the core strength of the Fafnir Mercenary Corps.
“No matter how talented you are, once you meet the first generation, you’ll realize how insignificant you are!” The Mercenary King spoke with confidence, clearly believing the first generation would surpass Damian.
“So, you’re saying you’ll pit me against the first generation?” Damian asked.
“What? Are you scared?”
“I’ve heard they’re older and some are even master class. Surely you’re not serious?”
“Do you think I’m insane? Pitting a high class against a master class would make me a laughingstock!”
“There are plenty of first generation around your age, and they’re high class too. It’s a fair match. They’re away on assignments now, but they’ll be back soon. You’d better be ready.”
Damian looked at the Mercenary King with a mix of disbelief and amusement. So, he had children around the same age as his grandchildren. Despite his youthful appearance, it was astonishing, yet fitting for someone with his reputation.
“Alright, then. How about that Hundred-Year Snow Ginseng you promised?” Damian asked.
“You cheeky brat. An elder is speaking, and you’re—”
The Mercenary King opened a spatial pocket and pulled out a ginseng root, no bigger than a pinky finger. Despite its unimpressive size, Damian didn’t complain. Snow ginseng grew in harsh conditions, so it was natural for it to be small even after a hundred years. Only the millennial snow ginseng was known to grow larger.
“Here, take it! The Hundred-Year Snow Ginseng as promised!”
“Thank you,” Damian said, accepting the ginseng and storing it in his own spatial pocket. The Mercenary King watched him with a look of irritation.
“I’ve arranged for someone to show you to your tent. Get some rest for today,” the Mercenary King said, turning away as if he couldn’t stand to look at Damian any longer.
It wasn’t something the Mercenary King could say, but he had no choice. Until now, Damian had no leverage in their negotiations. But now, having wounded the Mercenary King’s pride, things were different.
“You initially offered the Hundred-Year Snow Ginseng as payment, with the promise of more rewards based on my performance, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“I’d like to change those terms.”
The Mercenary King turned back to Damian, his expression questioning the absurdity of the request.
“If I defeat all the Holy Bloods here, I want the Elixir of Eternal Youth or an equivalent in return.”
“No.”
The Mercenary King flatly refused.
“The Elixir of Eternal Youth? An equivalent? Do you have any idea how rare those are? Why would I give that to you?”
“Then I suppose I’ll be leaving.”
The Mercenary King’s eyes widened at Damian’s words.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean I’ll be heading home.”
“Wait, why are you leaving? You’ve only been here a day.”
“Well, I never promised to stay long, and the Holy Bloods aren’t as impressive as I thought. I’ve lost interest.”
The Mercenary King’s eyes flared with anger.
“You brat! How can you say the Holy Bloods are unimpressive when you haven’t even faced the first generation?”
“What’s the point of seeing them?”
“Aren’t you curious? To see who’s better, you or them?”
“I’m not curious.”
Damian spoke with genuine indifference. He didn’t need to experience it firsthand to know the outcome. There was no genius greater than him in this world.
“You call yourself a knight?”
“Then let’s say I’m not.”
Damian rose from his chair, but the Mercenary King blocked his path.
“You think you can humiliate me and just walk away?”
“Why are you doing this, Mercenary King? Let me pass.”
“No! I won’t allow it!”
The two argued for a while until the Mercenary King finally relented.
“You insufferable brat… Fine! I’ll accept your terms!”
“Really?”
“Yes, really!”
“Well, I suppose I have no choice. Since the Mercenary King is so earnestly asking, I’ll stay.”
The Mercenary King glared at Damian, incredulous, but then a sly smile spread across his face.
“You arrogant fool. You’ll regret not leaving. Once you meet the first generation, even you will have to submit.”
“Are they really that strong?”
“Of course! They’ve inherited my blood and were trained by me personally! They’re practically my disciples!”
The Mercenary King spoke with pride, but Damian remained unimpressed.
“We’ll see. I doubt they’ll be much different.”
“Have you fought them? Have you?”
“Would you like to make a wager?”
Damian’s voice was smooth and enticing.
“If, as you say, I submit to the first generation, I’ll not only return the Hundred-Year Snow Ginseng but also follow any command you give.”
Damian added one more condition.
“But if the first generation submits to me, I want the elixir and one of the mana cultivation techniques you’ve collected.”
The Mercenary King’s hobby was collecting manuals, and his library was filled with rare techniques from across the continent.
“Hahaha! Your arrogance knows no bounds! What? The first generation submitting to you?”
The Mercenary King laughed heartily, clearly confident such a thing would never happen.
“Fine! Let’s do it! Just be ready to hand everything back when you lose!”
Damian smiled knowingly.
“That won’t happen.”
Outside the tent, a familiar face awaited him. It was Cynthia, the woman who had shot an arrow at him on the Mercenary King’s orders the previous day.
Cynthia had a bow slung over her shoulder and a pipe in her mouth.
“Follow me,” she said curtly, leading the way without checking if Damian was following.
As he trailed behind Cynthia, Damian felt a strange sense of intrigue.
‘This is the first time I’ve seen the Bow Demon up close.’
Cynthia, the Bow Demon.
In his past life, she had been one of the Mercenary King’s most trusted aides.
Despite being an ordinary human, not a Holy Blood, Cynthia had earned her place by the Mercenary King’s side for a simple reason: she was more skilled than the Holy Bloods.
“So, you’re planning to take on the first-generation Blood Saints?”
Cynthia suddenly spoke up, having overheard the conversation between Damian and the Mercenary King.
“That’s quite a reckless bet.”
Damian looked at Cynthia with interest. In his past life, she had been an incredibly reserved woman. So much so that she hadn’t uttered a word even in the moments leading up to her death at his hands. For someone as reticent as Cynthia to comment, his wager must have seemed utterly absurd.
“The first-generation Blood Saints are all prodigies. Nearly half of them reached the Master Class,” she continued.
In the Apple Kingdom, not a single Master existed, yet here, they were relatively common. Such was the advantage of dragon lineage.
“The Mercenary King mentioned that the first-generation I’ll be competing against are High Class,” Damian replied.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Do you know who among the first-generation the Mercenary King was referring to? There’s one exceptional individual considered a potential successor.”
Cynthia’s words piqued Damian’s curiosity. He had a hunch about who she meant—none other than the second Mercenary King.
After the Mercenary King died by Damian’s hand, one of his children inherited everything and rose to the position of the new Mercenary King. Astonishingly, this successor surpassed their father, driving back the undead legions.
Athena Hopper.
People called her a greater warrior than her illustrious father. “A throwback,” they said. The dragon’s blood, which should have weakened over generations, manifested powerfully in Athena. She even possessed the ability to transform parts of her body into those of a dragon, a feat her father never achieved.
Damian remembered that fighting the second generation had been far more challenging than the first.
“I didn’t expect you to be concerned about an outsider like me,” Damian remarked.
“I’m just not one to ignore foolishness,” Cynthia replied in her usual stern tone.
Just then, a commotion erupted near the entrance. Cynthia glanced in that direction. Though the entrance was quite far, it posed no problem for someone of her Master Class abilities.
“Looks like that person has returned,” she said, turning to Damian. “Care to take a look?”