Chapter 98 - Damn Reincarnation

Dream

The wolves stopped. Just as they had been told, a lone man sat in the middle of the uneven forest path.

“I am Ujicha, great warrior of the Garung tribe.”

Ujicha boldly announced himself and dismounted from his wolf.

“I am looking for the thieves who dared steal our tribe’s prey. You. Do you know of a one-footed elf?”

The man did not answer. A large cloak enveloped him, and its hood hid his face.

“Answer me.”

Ujicha’s voice dropped to a chilling tone. He had even deigned to speak in the common tongue, yet the man gave no reply. Ujicha took his silence as confirmation.

He thrust a hand into the air, and the wolves growled. Dozens of warriors surrounded the man, cutting off his escape.

“A hunt? Are we hunting him?”

Excitement crept into Dazarang’s voice. Women with mutilated bodies aroused him, and while he disliked running around on hunts himself, he enjoyed watching hunts and looking at the carcasses.

“Blon, Blon! I’m going closer too. If that bastard tries to take me hostage, you stop him. Understood?”

“Yes, young master.”

Blon did not try to dissuade Dazarang. This had happened far too often for him not to be used to it.

“Tell me about your companions.”

Ujicha gripped the hilt of the greatsword on his back.

“Where did they take the elf? Tell us about them and guide us there, and I will spare your life.”

“You bald bastard! Who gave you permission to spare him? No, no! Kill him! Rip his arms and legs off and kill him!”

Dazarang shrieked. Grinding his teeth, Ujicha glared at him.

“... Hahaha.”

The seated man’s shoulders shook with laughter. He nodded, slapping his knees.

“A filthy pig dressed in silk and a gold necklace far above his station.”

“... What pig are you talking about...? Blon! D-did that bastard just call me a pig? Didn’t he?! He did! He called me a pig! G-get him! Make him kneel before me!”

Dazarang screamed in a frenzy.

“Now, now, young master. Please calm down. You needn’t rush. You will see something entertaining soon enough.”

With that, Blon turned to the man.

“You would do well to watch your tongue.”

“Why should I? I have no intention of doing what you want. Nor am I going to beg for my life. Which means we’ll end up fighting here anyway.”

The man rose. Ujicha grinned, exposing yellow teeth.

“Is that so? You won’t tell us about the elf or your companions?”

“I can tell you this much.”

Golden eyes flashed in the darkness beneath his hood.

“Every last warrior of your tribe was trash. They were so weak it was laughable that they called themselves warriors. Underhanded cowards, too. Do you know how much they blustered when they first faced me? How quickly that bravado crumbled? How many tears they shed at the end, begging me to spare them?”

“... Do not insult the warriors of Garung.”

Veins bulged on Ujicha’s head. At the sight, the man burst into hearty laughter.

“I’ll give you a chance.”

“... A chance?”

“Give up the pursuit and retreat. Leave now, and I won’t stop you. Go back and wipe that ugly pig’s ass.”

“Kill him! Kill him!”

Dazarang rolled his eyes back and screeched. By now, even Blon could no longer stand by smiling. He disliked the spoiled young master just as much, but he was a knight sworn to House Coral.

“Ujicha. I will handle this.”

“... Hmm.”

Ujicha nodded. He had shown anger at the insult to his tribe’s warriors, but he could take his revenge on the thieves who had the elf. Here, it was best to step aside out of respect for Blon’s standing.

“My name is Blon Girak.”

Blon walked forward, reaching for the sword at his waist.

“I serve Count Coral’s house in the Kingdom of Shimuin.”

“Blon... Blon Girak... Ah, of course. Shimuin’s Twelve Champions.”

The man nodded with a short exclamation of recognition. Shimuin’s Twelve Champions was the name given to the twelve knights reputed to be the most skilled in the kingdom.

“Indeed. Though I scarcely deserve the honor, I am counted among the Twelve Champions. Nameless ruffian, it is too late for regret. For insulting the young master of the house I serve, you will pay with your life...”

“You know your place well.”

The man smiled as he spoke.

“You should be ashamed. Shimuin’s Twelve Champions are just twelve men ranked within your own country, aren’t they? And you, Blon Girak. You’re at the very bottom of those twelve. Why are you stepping forward as if you’re someone important?”

“... You will die in such terrible agony that you will regret ever being born.”

The smile vanished from Blon’s face. He drew the long sword at his waist and pointed it at the man.

“I will not observe chivalry in this fight. This is no duel between knights, and just as you refuse to respect my honor, I will not respect yours.”

“I hate knights.”

The golden eyes curved in a grin.

“They talk too much. How long are you going to keep babbling?”

First, he would cut off an arm. With that thought, Blon stepped forward. In a single stride, he closed the distance and thrust his sword. This lightning-fast thrust was the ultimate expression of the swift swordsmanship in which he took such pride.

“Huh?”

His body lurched violently. He had lost his balance.

The reason was simple. The arm with which he had thrust his sword had been torn clean off.

“See?”

The cloak swayed with the man’s movement. Beneath the slightly raised hood, his golden eyes were smiling.

“You’re so weak you should be ashamed.”

“You...!”

His face contorting, Blon swung his other hand. He no longer had a sword in that hand, but he cloaked his bare hand in sword force and tried to slash the man.

That arm was torn off too. It did not fall. The man held one of Blon’s arms in each hand. He had destroyed Blon’s sword force barehanded and ripped his arm off.

“You didn’t know your place well enough.”

The man dropped the arms, spread his hand wide, and grabbed Blon’s belly.

“Urk... Urrk... Grrk... Uuurk...!”

Blon could not even scream properly. As the man tightened his grip, Blon’s thick waist grew thinner and thinner.

CRUNCH!

When the man’s hand closed completely, Blon’s body split in two.

Thus died Blon Girak, one of Shimuin’s Twelve Champions. Dazarang gaped at the sight.

Ujicha was even more horrified. He recalled the mangled corpses of the warriors. Bodies punched to death, slashed by swords, pierced by spears, burst apart as though struck by bombs, squeezed and crushed to death.

He had been wrong. No sword had slashed the warriors, no spear had pierced them, and no bomb had blown them apart. The crushing. Those marks he had thought impossible were the only truth. Had he not just seen it with his own eyes? Blon had been squeezed to death in the man’s single hand.

“Why did you have to follow us?”

The man laughed. Shaking the blood from his sharp nails, he continued.

“I was kind enough to leave those corpses as a warning not to follow. Seeing bodies like that, you should have been too frightened to come.”

“I... uh... m-my mistake...”

“You’re just like them. Ujicha, great warrior of the Garung tribe.”

The wolves lowered their tails. The monsters’ ferocity dwindled to nothing before a greater terror. Nor was it only the wolves. Every warrior trembled with instinctive fear.

‘I’m going to die.’

Ujicha instinctively knew that nothing he said could make this monster back down. A luxurious life in the city. His future. Death swallowed it all.

‘Right now.’

The man moved,

and Ujicha squeezed his eyes shut.

* * *

There was a problem.

The village supposedly founded by wandering elves certainly existed. He had not learned of it from that dead information broker Jackson, but according to the dark elf, the elven village was no mere rumor. It was real.

But how would they find it? The dark elf had not known its precise location either. He had known only that it lay somewhere deep in the Great Forest, near the Ajan tribe.

Dark elves did not approach that village.

They feared its guardian.

Three hundred years ago, elves had despised dark elves. They had called them traitors who had forgotten their duties as elves, clung to Demon Kings, and warped the essence of their race.

And now?

Times had changed considerably. Three hundred years ago, everyone in the world had hated the Demon Kings. To elves dying of demonic sickness, the Demon Kings were not beings to beg for their lives, but enemies who had slaughtered their people in droves.

But in the present world, Demon Kings were no longer despised as they had been three hundred years ago. Following a Demon King no longer meant being stoned to death. Black mages were no longer hunted indiscriminately.

The same went for dark elves. They were inevitably viewed with unease, but they were not necessarily objects of hatred. Strictly speaking, dark elves born after the promise were victims with every reason to feel wronged.

Demonic sickness. They could become dark elves or enter Samar. If they could not protect themselves, they were bound to be hunted, but becoming a dark elf allowed them to overcome the sickness and even receive Iris’s protection.

Ultimately, becoming a dark elf was an elf’s choice. Live as an elf, or live as a dark elf. Eugene did not want to understand, but he thought he could understand it from an elf’s perspective.

But the guardian did not understand dark elves. He took wandering elves in and protected the village. He killed approaching hunters without mercy.

The same went for dark elves. The guardian did not acknowledge them as his own kind. It was an antiquated outlook.

An outlook as antiquated as Eugene’s.

As Hamel’s.

‘Probably.’

Eugene pictured the guardian he had yet to meet. Uh.

‘This guardian must be well over three hundred years old.’

A tenuous guess.

‘At the very least, around four hundred.’

Elves did not enjoy killing things.

‘And he must have fought in the war.’

Elves did not kill their own kind. Elves and dark elves were different. If the guardian drew that distinction, it was because he hated dark elves too deeply to do otherwise.

Three hundred years ago, dark elves had acted in ways that left elves no choice but to hate them. Elves loved nature and were loved by it in turn. When the Demon Kings raised their armies and demonic sickness spread, many elves joined the war against them.

The elves fought demonic beasts and demons in mountains and forests across the land. The Demon King of Fury had employed an exceedingly simple yet effective tactic against those elven rangers.

A corps of dark elves led by Iris.

Back then, elves had hesitated to kill dark elves. They had regarded them as pitiable kin corrupted by the Demon Kings. They had believed they could save them, persuade them, and coexist.

The dark elves...

Iris had made it impossible for elves not to hate dark elves. She had burned the forests and mountains. Having once been an elf herself, Iris understood their nature well. The elves screamed amid the burning forests and mountains, yet did not flee. What mattered to them was not escape, but putting out the fires consuming the forests and mountains.

[“I... do not know where the village is. Dark elves cannot go anywhere near it.”]

That was what the dark elf had said during his “confession.”

[“The guardian... kills dark elves cruelly. He forces them to their knees, cuts open their bellies, and pulls out their intestines. He stretches those intestines... out... and leaves them to die. He is... he is a madman.”]

His guess might have been tenuous, but those words had given Eugene certainty about the guardian.

‘That’s Iris’s method of execution.’

To instill fear, Iris had killed elves brutally. She had made elven prisoners kneel and watch their kin die in agony, telling them to choose whether to become dark elves or die as elves.

“... Ah...”

Narissa shuddered as she floated through the air on the wind.

“E-Eugene. A song... I can hear a song.”

“So that’s how it works.”

Eugene murmured without surprise. He had wondered how a secretly hidden elven village could guide wandering elves to it. So they left traces that only elves could detect.

“A song... I don’t hear anything.”

Eugene sharpened his senses as he murmured. He was no elf, but he prided himself on hearing as keen as theirs. Yet even with mana, he could not hear the “song” Narissa described.

“Um... hmm... This is... well... It’s not in my ears. It’s echoing in my head. Like... like magic...”

“Can you tell which direction it’s coming from?”

“Farther in... yes... H-huh...?”

Narissa’s shoulders flinched. Looking at a loss, she turned to Eugene and Kristina.

“Um... excuse me... uh... Eugene...?”

“What is it?”

“The voice in my head... wants me to pass on a message...”

“Tell me.”

“It says to put me down... and turn back.”

“And if we don’t?”

Eugene asked with a smirk. Narissa looked close to tears and hesitated to answer.

“Tell me, Narissa.”