Chapter 233 - Damn Reincarnation

Lehein

The knightly orders of the various nations assembled atop the fortress walls. The Lionhearts stood among them.

The summons had come suddenly, but not a single person gathered there had any complaints.

Across the snowfields, black mist was rolling toward them. It remained undisturbed even in the blizzard, encroaching on the snow from the edge of their vision like spreading dusk. Steadily, it drew closer. The sun was high overhead, at the brightest hour of the day, yet the snowfields seen from the walls were slowly turning to dark night.

Eugene—Hamel knew what that black mist was. He also knew the standard-bearer leading it.

The man rode a horse as black as darkness itself, carrying over his shoulder a black banner bearing a red inverted pentagram. Even in that bitter cold, he wore a neat black uniform. His hair, slicked back tidily with pomade, remained perfectly in place despite the fierce wind.

“... Incarceration’s Sword.”

Kristina murmured beside Eugene. That being was displaying neither hostility nor murderous intent. Though approaching them like this, he was not flaunting his presence, either. That was why no one gathered there had lost consciousness.

Even so, the clergy of Yuras clasped their hands and murmured prayers. The light emanating from them did not attempt to drive back the approaching darkness. Instead, it focused on illuminating their surroundings so that the darkness coming toward them would not engulf them.

Pope Euryus stood at the center of that light. Feeling his stigmata throb, he presided over the miracle. Raphael, commander of the Blood Cross Knights, unconsciously grasped the claymore slung across his back.

“Gavid Lindman.”

Eugene murmured the name. Like Noir Giabella’s, it was a name he could never forget, however hard he tried. But what he felt now was even more terrible than when he had encountered Noir Giabella in the snowfields.

Back then, Noir had merely used a low-grade incubus as a vessel. It had not been her true self. But the approaching Gavid was different. That was no mere double. The strongest demon to have served under the Demon King of Incarceration three hundred years ago was approaching this fortress in person.

“... And he hasn’t come alone.”

Gilead, standing near Eugene, grimaced.

The mist Gavid was leading—the successors to a legend from three hundred years ago.

‘The Black Mist.’

It had been a living nightmare in the territory housing the Demon King of Incarceration’s castle. Countless knightly orders had ventured into that territory, seeking the honor of conquering his castle. Yet apart from Vermouth’s party, every one of them had been annihilated on the territory’s outskirts, never even reaching the castle. The Black Mist had perpetrated those massacres.

But that infamous Black Mist had been wiped out three hundred years ago. It was a glorious victory achieved by a death-defying force led by Vermouth the Great and his companions. Eugene remembered that day vividly.

Pandemonium, Incarceration’s domain. On those red plains where neither day nor night existed, Hamel had swung his sword beside Vermouth. Moron had carved a path forward as blood drenched his body. Senya had screamed as she unleashed spell after spell, and Anise had illuminated the darkness while coughing up blood.

Countless knights had followed them. Knights who had survived battles across the land, who had devoted all that remained of their lives to hatred and murderous fury toward demons, plunged into the swirling mist.

They had known the battle was over because their surroundings were no longer dark. That nightmarish black mist no longer lingered around them. The legend of the Black Mist, the nightmare of Pandemonium, had ended that day.

Yet now, Eugene could see the very same black mist before him.

‘... About a hundred?’

Eugene peered through the mist with narrowed eyes. He could see nearly a hundred mounted demons wearing the same black uniform as Gavid.

This Black Mist was a demonic knightly order Gavid Lindman had personally trained after the war. Since the promise, Helmuth had neither invaded another nation nor demonstrated the strength of its military. Thus, no one had ever measured the new Black Mist’s strength against the continent’s knightly orders.

Now, the continent’s knights were encountering the Black Mist for the first time. But none of them thought to test their swords against the knights within that mist.

It was because of Gavid Lindman, who led the mist at its head. He still displayed neither hostility nor murderous intent. He was not flaunting his presence, either. Even so, the fortress’s knights could not tear their eyes away from him.

If the Black Mist were the successors to a legend, Gavid Lindman was the legend itself. Though he neither drew his sword nor flaunted his presence, he was Incarceration’s Sword.

“Hmm.”

The horse leading the mist stopped. Seated upon it, Gavid looked up at the fortress. By now, the Black Mist had come quite close. Gavid studied the knights on the walls for a moment. Then, with a faint smile, he dismounted. He walked a few steps forward and planted the banner he had been carrying over his shoulder into the ground.

A red inverted pentagram rose at the heart of the darkness. It was the symbol the Demon King of Incarceration had flown three hundred years ago, and now it was the emblem of the Helmuth Empire. After displaying the Demon King of Incarceration’s flag to everyone in the fortress, Gavid bowed his head politely.

“I apologize for visiting without seeking permission or giving advance notice. But please, do not be too displeased. You were the ones who did not invite Helmuth to this event, after all.”

The Knight March’s purpose was to guard against Helmuth’s Demon Kings. Naturally, Helmuth had not been invited. Who could possibly have imagined that Incarceration’s Sword would lead the Black Mist straight to Lehein Fortress, completely unannounced?

“Would you open the gates?”

Gavid paid little heed to the rulers’ silence. His presence remained calm, but his voice carried a weight that seemed capable of crushing the entire fortress. The more fainthearted knights on the walls felt their hearts lurch uncontrollably.

“We cannot.”

The first to answer was Euryus, Pope of Yuras. He glared at Gavid without extinguishing the light illuminating his surroundings.

“Incarceration’s Sword. Duke of Helmuth. You are an uninvited guest at this banquet. The Light that protects this place rejects you and that Black Mist.”

“Pope Euryus. Unfortunately, unlike you, I cannot hear the voice of the Light. If the Light truly rejects me, and if the reason is not that I am a demon but rather the darkness of the mist, then I am perfectly willing to dispel that darkness.”

“That is...”

“Surely you are not rejecting me and the knights behind me simply because we are demons? If so, that is most unfortunate. It was three hundred years ago that the faith of Light treated all demons as enemies and fought against us.”

“I believe you were told that you are an uninvited guest.”

The next to speak was Straut II, emperor of Kiel. Frowning, he rested both hands on the parapet.

“Duke Lindman. Your visit is both sudden and discourteous. To someone who has lived three hundred years—no, longer—we, who have not lived even a hundred, must seem like children. That is only natural. However, the Demon King of Incarceration whom you serve once said this: that he, who has lived for untold ages and reigns as king of the demons, and a king who rules a nation despite living less than a hundred years, are equals as leaders.”

“... The personal letter sent to Helmuth’s allies a hundred and eighty years ago. I am well acquainted with its contents. That letter, delivered to each nation, was filled with the mercy and respect of the Demon King of Incarceration.”

“I am most pleased that you know of it. Duke Lindman. Surely we have no obligation to grant your request to open the gates when you have not been invited. Or have you come here at the Demon King of Incarceration’s behest?”

“I have not. This is my own decision.”

“... Then... unlike the Demon King of Incarceration, you do not respect me, the emperor of Kiel, or the other rulers?”

“Respect.”

Gavid grinned.

“I never imagined I would hear that word from the emperor’s lips. Yes, as you say, the Demon King of Incarceration respects you. But what of you?”

“...”

“I know why you are here. I know what this event called the Knight March is for. The Demon King of Incarceration would not consider any of this a ‘problem,’ but as his loyal servant, I think differently. This could develop into a problem.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Rulers of the continent. Do you wish to wage war against Helmuth?”

THUD!

Gavid drove the planted banner into the ground once more.

“This very event is a subversive act that disrespects Helmuth and the Demon King of Incarceration. I call myself his sword, and I have merely come to examine the hostility directed toward him. Do I need another reason?”

“Hahaha!”

Aman, the Beast King of Ruhar, burst into loud laughter.

“Hostility! What an amusing thing to say. Listen, Duke Lindman. It is we who fear the hostility of the Demon King of Incarceration and Helmuth. We have gathered here to prepare for a fearful future. Do we wish to wage war against Helmuth? Let me ask you instead. Duke Lindman, does Helmuth desire another war like the one three hundred years ago?”

“I do not know the Demon King of Incarceration’s intentions.”

“Then what of you? Do you desire another war between humans and demons, as there was three hundred years ago?”

“My wishes are irrelevant. I follow the Demon King of Incarceration absolutely. Beast King, you are laboring under a grave misunderstanding.”

Lindman shook his head with a smile.

“Certainly, coming here was an act of utmost discourtesy. I am aware of that. The Demon King of Incarceration did not order me to act. I came here entirely of my own accord. Your lack of respect toward Helmuth and the Demon King of Incarceration? The possibility that you may be preparing for war with Helmuth?”

Gavid paused. His eyes shifted as he looked up at the walls.

“None of that is my concern. If you desire war, then you need only start one. That is why I call it a ‘misunderstanding.’ I have not come here to punish you with my sword for disrespecting the Demon King of Incarceration.”

“... What do you mean?”

“Should war break out again, the Demon King of Incarceration would sincerely lament the breaking of the promise made three hundred years ago. As his blindly devoted servant, I do not wish to see my lord grieve. Thus, I dare to consider his wishes and seek to become an envoy of peace. I have expressed my desire to participate in this event and asked you to open the gates because, as Helmuth’s representative knight and commander of the Black Mist Knights, I wish to forge ties with the heroes here.”

“Ties?”

“The many heroes now gathered before me. I would like to name and praise each of them in turn, but since you do not welcome me, I shall refrain.”

Gavid smiled and dipped his head in a bow. The instant he lowered his head, a mutter came from nearby.

“I don’t mind, so go ahead.”

... It was Carmen. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation as she stared at Gavid’s pomade-slicked head.

“Praise Carmen Lionheart, the Silver Lion of Lionheart.”

... Eugene... could not say he found that feeling entirely, utterly incomprehensible. He had lived in the same era as Gavid and had nearly been killed by the bastard, so he had no good thoughts about him whatsoever.

But Carmen was different, wasn’t she? To her, Incarceration’s Sword, Gavid Lindman, was a powerful living legend from three hundred years ago. He supposed she might want to hear his assessment of her directly.

“Among these many heroes...”

Gavid raised his head. Had he heard Carmen? It certainly wasn’t impossible. There was still a fair distance between Gavid and the walls, but if he wished to listen, he could probably hear even the footsteps of an ant crawling up them.

“The descendant of Vermouth the Great.”

The corners of Carmen’s mouth twitched. She waited for what came next, preparing her reaction.

She could hardly just beam with delight. Carmen did not admire Gavid Lindman. She did, however, stand in awe of his transcendent power. She also wanted to challenge him. She bore him hostility, too. Still, being acknowledged by someone that powerful was a pleasant thing, wasn’t it?

“Eugene Lionheart.”

When that name rang out, Carmen whipped around toward Eugene, her face a picture of betrayed expectations. He had feared this, but to say it so openly! Eugene’s face twisted into a fierce scowl as he glared at Gavid.

“Rumors of him have reached even distant Helmuth. The world calls that young man the second coming of Vermouth the Great. He is also the successor of Senya the Wise.”

Feeling countless gazes settle upon him, Eugene waited for Gavid’s next words. It went without saying that Gavid’s ‘acknowledgment’ gave him not the slightest pleasure.

“... And is he not the master of Altair, the Holy Sword of Light, which has acknowledged no one since Vermouth? What that signifies... Haha. I know better than anyone. The Hero who follows in Vermouth’s footsteps.”

“The Holy Sword acknowledged him?”

The moment Gavid finished speaking, cries erupted here and there. Only a few people even within Lionheart, along with a handful of others such as Yuras’s Pope and Raphael, knew that Eugene was the Holy Sword’s master.

“And Kristina Rogeris. This is my first time seeing her in person, but... she bears an astonishing resemblance to Anise the Faithful. I could almost believe her to be the reincarnation of that Saint of Light who worked those outrageous miracles.”

Kristina’s face also went pale at Gavid’s words. Gavid continued with a smile.

“Yuras seems to have wished to keep it secret for a while longer, but I feel with such intensity that it sends chills through me: Kristina Rogeris is undeniably the Saint of Light. There were many saints before Anise the Faithful, but I believed Anise alone truly worthy of calling herself a saint. Now, however, I must change that view. Kristina Rogeris. You are undoubtedly a saint, just as Anise was.”

They had already heard about this from Balzac Ludbeth, the Black Tower Master. Helmuth’s dukes knew that Eugene was the Holy Sword’s master. As Gavid had said, he had also encountered Anise in person, and as a demon, whose nature opposed divine power, he might well feel the saint’s presence keenly.

“Among the many heroes here, I have a particularly strong interest in the Hero and the saint. Please do not misunderstand. I do not intend to harm those young people simply because they are the Hero and the saint. I merely wonder, as I reminisce about three hundred years ago... whether we might build the friendship I was unable to share with your forebears.”

‘That son of a bitch.’

Just running his mouth because he could. Eugene ground his teeth and glared at Gavid. Inside Kristina’s head, Anise also unleashed a vicious string of curses most unbecoming of a saint.

“So please, heroes and rulers. Open the gates. Give me the opportunity to converse with you and forge those ties.”

Gavid spoke as he took a step forward. His words were a request, but the Black Mist behind him writhed as though it would force open the gates and enter if necessary.

At that sight, the rulers exchanged glances for a moment. Though none voiced an opinion, every gaze was resolute. Even if this Knight March proved to be nothing but an empty show, allowing Incarceration’s Sword into the fortress was out of the question.

“The gates...”

“Open them.”

Aman, the fortress’s master, had begun to speak, but he had not been able to finish. A tremendous voice, scarcely believable as human, drowned out his own.

Startled, Eugene turned toward the voice. He was not alone. Everyone on the walls turned their heads in shock at the sudden sound.

So did Gavid. He was not merely surprised, but aghast. The voice had come from Leheinyar, where the blizzard raged—and the snowfields stretching from it.

A man was walking across the snowfields. When they first saw him, he was so far away that he was barely within sight.

Though huge, the man was not absurdly tall like a giant. Yet his steps closed the distance to the fortress as swiftly as a giant’s strides.

His wild black hair streamed in the blizzard. The man carried no weapon. He did not seem to need one. His powerful body, developed to the very limits of physical perfection, was both weapon and armor.

“... Moron of Terror.”

Unable to believe his eyes, Gavid murmured the name that had symbolized terror to demons three hundred years ago. Those five beings who scarcely seemed human. One of the names that had made Gavid Lindman truly feel the reality of death.

The name that had always stood at the forefront of battlefields where countless demons were slaughtered in that era. The man who had always led the way and carved a path, even with his whole body drenched in blood and his limbs torn off. The man who had pierced the heart of seemingly unwinnable battles and turned the tide. More undead than the undead, he had known neither pain nor fear, yet driven both deep into the demons.

Moron the Brave.

Ruhar’s secluded founder had returned.