Chapter 213 - City of Outlaws (2)

The city of Namarca.

A place where only lawlessness prevailed as there was no rightful and lawful master.

However, the order amidst chaos that formed naturally even without anyone ruling over it was certainly familiar to Vlad.

"... You have quite a lot of older brothers, don't you?"

Because of that, he had been mistaken for a moment.

Believing that the alleys here in Namarca would also operate in the same way as the place where he was born.

But in this world, no matter how similar things looked on the outside, there was nothing that was exactly the same on the inside.

"Usually, most beastmen form a matriarchal society. So, a child of the tribe is practically everyone's child."

Even without Nibelun's explanation coming from behind him, it felt like he could have figured it out.

For countless beastman men were already lined up behind the young pickpocket.

The current situation, where nearly a hundred men had popped out just for one young pickpocket, was a sight unimaginable in the back alleys of Soara.

"... The phrase 'everyone's child' has a nice ring to it."

But it would have been better if he had known beforehand.

Sensing the increasingly fierce atmosphere, Vlad raised both hands and gave an awkward smile.

"I wasn't trying to bully the kid. Actually, I came here through Dorothea's introduction..."

'I must absolutely not startle these people.'

With that mindset, Vlad even brought up Dorothea's name, but the only thing that returned were the even sharper glares of the Luga tribe men.

"... It seems Dorothea did something wrong?"

A child of the tribe was everyone's child.

However, it seemed Vlad hadn't managed to guess that if a child was left alone outside, there would be a good reason for it.

* * *

He hadn't had his sword taken away.

Nor was he separated from his companions.

However, that didn't mean being locked behind iron bars was a welcome situation at all.

"You never intended to go to the North from the start, did you?"

"..."

"You shrewd bastard. You planned to handle this alone from the beginning."

Bishop Pierre, who had ended up locked in the Luga tribe's prison thanks to Vlad's unexpected behavior, spat as if he finally grasped the situation.

"You reckless fool. Going against the natural order will always lead to trouble somewhere down the line."

Bishop Pierre's anger at being deceived by Vlad and failing to head to their proper destination was justified.

However, the reason he couldn't treat him more harshly was because he somewhat sympathized with why Vlad had made this choice.

"I had no choice. I needed Radu."

Vlad opened his mouth as he looked at Radu, who was crouching right in front of him.

Radu, who had fallen asleep even while imprisoned as if his energy was depleted.

As a member of the Dragulia Family and a confidant of the Dragonblood Duke, he was certainly an important witness and informant, but whether the Northern Alliance would truly use him as a clue to catch the wicked beings was honestly doubtful.

"Rather than finding the black woman, they'll use him as a tool against the Dragonblood Duke. Because war is now approaching."

For profit rather than the greater good.

Nobles with cold blue blood were people who constantly agonized over their priorities in judgment, and to such nobles, those wicked groups that were like natural disasters would inevitably take a backseat compared to the immediate threat of the Dragonblood Duke.

"If we sent Radu to the Northern Alliance right now, any investigation related to Lamashtu wouldn't begin until after the war ends."

Even Count Arnstein, who had been directly attacked, was more anxious about the movements of the neighboring lords than tracking Lamashtu's group.

With even Count Arnstein, who could be called the head of the Court Duke faction, having all his attention stolen by the impending war, the judgment of the Iron Duke, who was preparing to face the central region head-on, was entirely predictable.

"Vlad Aureo."

CLANG!

In that moment, there was the sound of someone striking the heavily rusted iron bars.

Turning his head toward the sound, Vlad could see a Luga tribe man glaring at him from outside the bars.

"Get up. The matriarch has asked to see you."

His behavior was insolent and his voice sharp, but Vlad didn't pay attention to such trivial things.

He merely focused on the word 'godmother' that the man had spoken.

It was because he realized that, although he had taken a massive detour contrary to his expectations, he would finally be able to face the person he wanted to meet.

"And you too."

"Me?"

However, the Luga tribe man didn't just pull Vlad out.

It included Nibelun, who had been sitting next to him like a borrowed sack of barley.

"Why me?"

"If I tell you to come out, just come out. Why do you talk so much?"

"... I just asked why."

Rushed by the heavily on-edge men, Vlad and Nibelun came out of the prison, exited the building, and began walking through the dizzying alleys once again.

It seemed the place where people were locked up and the place where the godmother was were separated from each other.

'It feels further south than where we first were.'

Vlad raised his head and looked at the fragmented sky above the densely packed buildings.

Checking the position of the sun peeking through, Vlad followed his old habit of figuring out how far away he was from where he started.

"Go in."

"... Hmm."

Thus, the godmother's house they encountered deep within the alley was a building constructed in a peculiar style that Vlad was seeing for the first time in his life.

It was just as shabby as the surrounding buildings, but the method of deliberately raising the floor and resting it above the ground was a design completely unseen in the North.

"They build it like this because of bugs or snakes."

"Bugs?"

"There are a lot of venomous bugs in the southern jungles."

Since this wasn't their original homeland, there probably hadn't been a need to build it to this extent, but it seemed the traces of one's roots couldn't be easily erased.

The more explanations he heard, the more unfamiliar Vlad felt with the beastmen's customs, but he could only afford to feel that way when there wasn't a spear tip poking him in the back.

"That's some rough hospitality."

"No matter how you look at it, we seem like prisoners, not guests."

Rushed by coercion, Vlad stepped up onto the flimsy platform.

When he lifted the broad leaves hung in place of a door, the inside was filled with hazy, milky smoke.

"..."

"Come in quickly. The smoke I painstakingly made is leaking out, isn't it?"

It was smoke so thickly laid that he couldn't see right in front of him.

The scent lingering at the tip of his nose was mixed with a faint smell of tobacco, but mere tobacco smoke wouldn't have been able to create something to this extent.

"Right. You said you came with an introduction from Dorothea?"

In the middle of that smoke sat an incredibly aged old woman.

With a large bird feather stuck in the center of her headband, she forced up her eyelids—heavily crusted by the passage of time—and stared at the unfamiliar guest from the North.

"I wouldn't go so far as an introduction..."

"That wicked girl. She made a ruckus when she left, and now the guest she sent over is quite an ominous fellow as well."

"We don't know each other all that well."

Her phlegm-filled voice was no different from any other elder's, but the resonance within it couldn't be easily ignored.

Vlad, who relied on his own world, might not have known, but Nibelun, who shared the same mystery, could sense just how incredible a mystery the old woman before them harbored.

"Actually, I have a favor to ask..."

"You, do not speak."

Vlad had been trying to explain his purpose for coming here, but swallowed hard when he saw the old woman's tobacco pipe suddenly reach right in front of his lips.

Because even without saying a word, the old woman's heavily wrinkled face was already distorted, displaying clear displeasure.

"I won't chase you out since you followed the flow to get here, but every single breath you exhale is incredibly toxic."

After forcing Vlad to close his mouth, the old woman then heavily bowed her head and looked at Nibelun sitting beside him.

"You, speak instead."

"Me?"

"Yes. You do it."

Bringing her pipe back, the old woman firmly packed leaves into it and began to light it.

"When a dragon speaks, a dragon listens. So, speak on that fellow's behalf."

PUFF—

"Before the dragon far away learns of your destination."

A massive cloud of smoke began to rise from the frail pipe.

It was merely a single exhale, but the rapidly blooming tobacco smoke lingered around Vlad, tightly enveloping his surroundings without a gap.

"...!"

Like a hazy fog.

Within that thick and quiet fog that no one else would have noticed, Vlad could finally sense the faint gaze clinging to him.

That gaze, which the old woman was wary of even now, was not attached through physical eyes but through the dragon's world that Vlad harbored.

* * *

"Magic, then."

The Dragulia mansion in the capital, Brigantes.

Dragonblood Duke Sarnus, who had his left eye closed, chuckled in a regretful manner and set down the wine glass he was holding.

"Those cheeky cats. I should have burned them all to the ground back then."

Remembering the distant past from over hundreds of years ago, Sarnus clicked his tongue as he saw the mystery blocking him once again, just like back then.

As expected, rather than just sinking their land, he should have dragged them out one by one and cut off their heads.

"Is anyone there."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Go and call a mage. I need to contact Mircea."

Mircea, who had been sent to catch the runaway Radu, was currently heading up toward the North.

However, the people they were actually looking for had crawled right under his nose instead of the North, and Sarnus couldn't help but laugh at their adorable choice.

"... I finally see you now, my son."

Unlike other worlds, the world of dragons is inherently connected as one.

Because all beings born as dragons are ultimately bound to turn their gaze toward the place where perfection resides.

And Sarnus, the oldest dragon, was the only dragon who knew how to utilize those gazes.

"And you too."

Waving his hand as if intoxicated, Sarnus picked up the wine glass he had set down and stepped toward the window.

The darkness of the capital beginning to be dyed by the setting sun in the distance.

Staring at the approaching darkness with one hand clasped behind his back, Sarnus spoke toward someone wandering in the darkness just like the scenery before him.

"No matter how hard you try, it will be useless. For you are no longer a glorious Swordmaster."

The five fragments observed through the dragon's world.

Among them, there was one fragment that was exceptionally losing its light.

That was the fragment held by the one who had returned from death, and the fragment held by an unqualified person who could never again place restrictions upon him.

"This wine tastes good."

'Now, there is no one left to stop me, no one left to force me.'

Confirming his opponent through the absorbed dragon fragment, Sarnus brought his wine glass to his lips and smiled in satisfaction.

With the dragon fragment in his possession, wine was no longer something he needed to drink, but the flavor coming from a freshly opened wine barrel was still too hard to resist.

The man who arrived riding black lightning

He could feel the wind brushing past his hair.

Even from the floor where he sat, it somehow felt like the scent of fresh green grass was wafting up.

Although it was a room where he could hardly see an inch ahead due to the thick smoke, Vlad somehow felt as if he were sitting in the middle of a forest.

"Speak. Child of the Burgund tribe. Why has that dragon sought me out now?"

The godmother had blocked Sarnus's gaze through the smoke created by mystery, but as if that still wasn't enough to put her at ease, she restricted Vlad's speech.

Having experienced many things in her long life, she was already well aware of the dragons' obsession with perfection.

"So the reason Lord Vlad came all the way here is..."

Seeing Nibelun turn his head toward him as if asking if it was okay to speak, Vlad nodded silently.

Although he hadn't shared it with Radu or Bishop Pierre, Nibelun, at least, had already heard and knew about Vlad's rough objective.

"He came to seek an incredibly old mystery. A mystery the Luga tribe has harbored for a long time."

"What mystery?"

It was Vlad's circumstance, but it was also Nibelun's goal.

The mage, who wandered in search of forgotten mysteries, was already looking at the old woman with sparkling eyes.

"A mystery so intense that it even harmed the most perfect being."

There was a story that had been passed down since an incredibly ancient time, to the point it could now be called a legend.

Some might dismiss it as a tale meant only for children, but now Nibelun could tell that the story wasn't just some absurd fiction.

"The mystery that, in the ancient past, killed the most perfect dragon."

The mystery that killed the most perfect dragon.

The magic of the beastmen, applied like poison to seep through a Swordmaster's blade and stop the heart of the most perfect dragon.

Hearing the unfamiliar guests ask about that old mystery, the Luga tribe's godmother opened her eyes wide in shock.

"... Now I see you're just children chasing after a baseless old tale. The oldest dragon, you say."

Was it because it was a completely unexpected answer?

Nibelun's eyes were shining earnestly, but the godmother meeting that gaze merely chuckled as if she found it ridiculous.

That laugh, which even seemed benevolent, was so natural that even Nibelun, who had spoken on his behalf, felt embarrassed by his own actions.

"A mystery that killed the most perfect dragon? There is no such thing. That's just a fairy tale for children."

However, Nibelun failed to notice.

That the breathing of the old woman blowing out tobacco smoke had grown more hurried.

Watching the godmother force the mystery out of her shriveled lungs, Vlad's blue eyes gleamed as he sat behind Nibelun.

"You know about it."

"... I told you not to open your mouth."

"That it isn't a fairy tale."

"I said don't speak!"

SPLASH!

As Vlad kept speaking, the thoroughly startled godmother scattered water over the burning firewood.

With hurried movements, as if terrified of something.

SIZZLE—

Along with the loud sizzling sound of boiling water, steam began to fill the room.

The air in the room became so stifling that even the usually carefree Nibelun began to panic.

"You wicked boy. Coming here just for nonsense and causing a nuisance."

"It's not nonsense. A mage of the Luga tribe engraved an inscription on the Swordmaster's sword, didn't they."

"Who do you think you are to dare be so sure that my words are wrong? Among those walking the earth today, the only one who remembers the events of that time would be Dragonblood Duke Sarnus!"

The reason the Luga tribe's godmother was trying so hard to deny the truth of the past was likely because of the young children playing outside even now.

Because Sarnus, the oldest dragon of this era, dreamed of becoming the most perfect dragon from that ancient time.

If such a man were to find out that the Luga tribe harbored a mystery capable of threatening him, no one would be able to guarantee the future of the tribe, which was already precarious.

"... The Dragonblood Duke isn't the only one who remembers the events of the distant past."

SHING—

A deep and heavy silence followed the godmother's thunderous scolding.

However, even as he looked at the godmother glaring at him as if to kill him, Vlad merely and quietly held out his sword.

Not as a threat through its sharpness, but with a gesture that seemed to ask her simply to look at it.

"Because the entity dwelling within me is also someone who witnessed that moment."

The silver glint of the Dragon Slaying Sword shining faintly along the light of the crackling firewood.

At the end of that light, which even the fog filling the room couldn't conceal, were the blue eyes that Vlad harbored.

"He asks that the inscription from back then be engraved on my sword once more."

Following the upright silver path, straight into the blue eyes that Vlad harbored.

Because he was speaking the truth, not a lie, Vlad's world was entirely unwavering, so clear like a tranquil lake that there was no difficulty at all for the Luga tribe's godmother to look into it.

"... My word."

And at the very bottom of that lake, the godmother was able to face the man who was looking at her.

A tall man with brown hair.

He was too deep for his voice to be heard, but the silver memory he raised clearly bore the ancient inscription of the Luga tribe that she knew.

"This makes no sense."

A mystery created to defile perfection.

That magic, which should rather be called a curse, was unequivocally a technique that had been performed only once in the history of the Luga tribe, and an inscription drawn for only a single person.

The one he harbored was a Swordmaster.

Pulling herself out of the blue lake and finally facing Vlad in reality, the Luga tribe's godmother could realize exactly what kind of entity she was facing right now.

"Ah..."

As if she finally recognized him, a name she feared slipped out of the godmother's mouth as she looked at Vlad.

It was a name so old, like the Swordmaster who no longer existed, that it was a name no one spoke anymore.

"The most perfect dragon."

The only way to break the perfection that stood entirely on its own was to defile the pure world that perfection possessed.

To defile that purity, the Swordmaster of the distant past decided to insert an impurity into the world of the most perfect dragon, one that would not be easily erased.

Following the deeply planted silver knight, riding the inscription engraved by the Luga tribe.

The name of the impurity thus inserted into the world of the perfect dragon was none other than the honorable knight Quijano.

* * *

That day was the day the sun was eclipsed.

The sun, which now left only a faint golden ring due to the rising moon, was losing its light like a withering flower.

"... Quijano. You finally made it here."

Bright red blood was flowing along the sword pierced into the heart.

But no matter how red that flowing blood was, it could not compare to the copious amounts of blood flowing here right now.

"Did you sacrifice everyone just for this moment."

"... I didn't sacrifice them."

Even now, there were corpses collapsed powerlessly atop the hill.

The corpses growing cold behind Quijano's back were his subordinates and comrades who had been roaring fierce battle cries just moments ago.

"They made the choice."

Humans, elves, dwarves, and even beastmen.

Through the sacrifices of those who could never rise again, Quijano was finally able to reach this moment.

Because of the path they had opened, the Duelist bearing the fate of the world could finally thrust his sword into the heart of the most perfect dragon.

"... Because I am perfect, I am an immortal being. To me, your sacrifices are merely a single night's dream."

Even though the sword was pierced into its own heart, the most perfect dragon was actually stroking Quijano as if it felt pity for him, who had become a complete mess.

With the blood on his face being wiped away every time the slender fingers brushed past, Quijano's expression, which he had been hiding until now, was gradually revealed.

"That's why I prepared this. This sword right here."

HUMM—

The embedded silver knight was weeping.

Feeling its master being gradually torn apart, as much as the tears flowing down alongside the blood.

The crack in the world that began from the depths of his soul held a massive and desperate resonance, to the point that even the silver knight in contact with it suffered.

"You will no longer be able to become perfect. Because I, having followed you into the distant future, will tear you apart once more."

With Quijano's words, the inscription engraved on the sword began to shine.

With a gloomy light that did not suit the silver glow of the sword.

The pattern of black lightning engraved in the inscription slowly emitted light, injecting a lethal poison into the heart of the most perfect dragon.

"The name I send to you is Quijano. The Duelist, Quijano."

I send myself into your perfect world.

Toward a place so deep that you will never be able to shake me off.

The most perfect dragon, feeling Quijano's world digging into its own, ended up making a surprised expression.

"The tip of the sword is cold."

"..."

"My eyelids keep getting heavy."

"... Just go to sleep."

As if his strength was fading, Quijano's head was gradually drooping.

"Because when you wake up again, you won't be you."

"Please tell me one last time before I fall asleep."

Holding onto Quijano's slowly lowering head, the most perfect dragon asked.

"How did I look to you?"

A dragon that could embrace every form in this world because it was perfect.

The most perfect dragon, which was desire to some, anger to others, and terror to still others, wanted to know how it had appeared to Quijano at the very end.

"... I'm never going to tell you."

GRRRK—!

However, Quijano did not give the final answer the most perfect dragon desired.

He merely pushed the sword he was holding into the dragon's heart with all his might.

With that, the shattered world named Quijano began to cascade down into the world of the most perfect dragon through the tip of the silver sword.

"Quijano—! No!"

Watching the final tremor of the most perfect dragon, Sarnus, held by the collar down below the hill, was howling.

But his cry shattered into pieces like an unfulfilled dream, only lingering over the now empty hill.

Although countless people had crawled up this hill where the sun was fading, in the end, only two remained.

No, only one and a half.

Looking down at the most perfect dragon now in a deep sleep, Frausen with an empty expression raised his head toward the rising sun once again.

* * *

There was a young boy collapsed in the mud.

His name was Vlad, a child lying on the cold street whom no one approached.

"Why did that kid suddenly collapse?"

"Well, a bolt of lightning just struck out of the blue."

The gathered crowd was murmuring.

Not daring to approach due to the bizarre phenomenon they were witnessing for the first time in their lives, they merely cowered.

"But wasn't the color of that lightning just now black?"

"Right? Could he have been cursed or something."

That day, it was said the boy was struck by lightning and collapsed.

It was said to be an ominous-looking black lightning.

[...]

The boy's blue eyes were still half-open, as if startled by the sudden shock.

What those eyes held onto until the very moment he collapsed was the sight of the unadorned sword, the only thing shining in the back alley.

The image of the unadorned sword that shone brightly even though it wasn't hung high up.

The day the boy who never became perfect was struck by the black lightning was the day he harbored a small star within his chest.