Chapter 42 - A Gift Never Given

'Whew...'

Gilberton let out an agitated breath and adjusted his grip on his sword. Blue aura rippled as though stirred by the wind.

Darkness surrounded him. Pitch-black darkness. He could barely breathe.

'The Demon Realm...'

To think the Demon Realm had manifested here in the North.

'Those goddamn bastards...'

Gilberton ground his teeth. Using so much aura had left him dazed. He shook his head and gripped his sword tightly.

"Are you all right over there?"

He turned to find the Seventh Battalion's commander, the elderly Belograim.

"Yes, perfectly fine."

"Perfectly fine, my foot. Your eye's out of place."

At Belograim's observation, Gilberton punched himself in the face.

THWACK!

With that satisfying sound, his vision returned. He could clearly see Belograim's appalled face. Fixed.

"Problem solved."

"... You'll make a fine knight."

"I'm already a knight."

Belograim chuckled at his reply.

"There's something I'm curious about."

"Yes?"

Gilberton nodded as he caught his breath. Belograim spun his staff.

Belograim's aura was faint. Hazy as mist, it looked weak at first glance, but that softness came from long refinement.

A demon-beast that appeared behind him was drawn along as though caught in his staff's sweep. Its stance shifted, laying its weakness completely bare.

Belograim's staff smashed its exposed jaw.

Such seasoned skill. Gilberton was genuinely impressed.

"That knight business. Why do you do that?"

Belograim shook off his staff as he asked. He was in poor condition, but that was from his imprisonment. He hadn't suffered any injuries in battle.

"You mean 'Sir Gilberton!'?"

"Yes, that."

"My father taught me that words have power."

"Power?"

"Yes. I've wanted to be a knight since I was a child, so I kept shouting 'Sir Gilberton!' until it became a habit."

"I see."

"Explosive Fireball!!"

Gwen's voice rang out. The space, dark with thick ash, briefly lit up.

Beyond it, he could see Gwen, her eyes bloodshot. A ball of fire flew from her hand.

BOOOOM!

The explosion was louder than before. Gwen's face was drenched in desperate tears and sweat.

Damian was in that direction. One arm dangled, bent outward, as he rolled among the demon-beasts. He was smiling.

Gilberton spat into his palm and gripped his sword tightly.

"Sir!"

As he shouted with all his strength, his aura rose once more. His body, heavy as though soaked with water, moved again.

Knighthood was both glory and a heavy responsibility.

"Gilberton!"

His aura surged higher. His muscles creaked, screaming in protest.

He kicked off the ground, his body gliding forward.

A blue line cut across the demon-beast targeting Damian.

Its back split, spraying hot blood. Without closing his eyes, Gilberton twisted at the waist. His sword traced another line.

The demon-beast let out a long shriek. Damian drove his sword into it from below, eliciting an even louder scream.

Another demon-beast thrust its sword at Damian. Gilberton clenched his teeth, seized Damian by the collar, and pulled.

His muscles screamed with a grinding creak, as though wrenched out of place.

The demon-beast's sword scored a long gash across Gilberton's shoulder. His grip loosened. He drove his head straight into it.

THUD!

The demon-beast staggered. Damian's sword tore at its neck, but without aura, the wound was shallow.

His emotionless eyes fixed on Gilberton.

'Obnoxious little brat...'

Muttering a quiet curse, Gilberton stepped forward. The demon-beast's attack struck him square in the chest.

He gritted his teeth and held firm, driving his sword into its head.

Blood sprayed everywhere.

Only then did he release the breath he'd been holding. The pain his heightened spirits had pushed aside came flooding in all at once.

As he struggled to steady his breathing, Damian stared at him.

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

Damian was pointing at his aura.

"Aura?"

"Yes. That looks nice."

Aura was the ideal of everyone who held a sword, the very symbol of a knight.

And all he had to say was that it looked nice? Unbelievable.

"Tsk. Aura is..."

Gilberton stopped mid-explanation. Now that he tried putting it into words, it was difficult.

But he didn't want to say something trite like, 'Aura is conviction.'

"Aura is conviction."

"Conviction?"

Belograim, who had come up beside them, nodded.

Damian narrowed his eyes at the explanation. He didn't seem to understand.

Gilberton gave a snort and clicked his tongue. Such a vague explanation wasn't much help to the boy.

"What aura is, is—"

As he spoke, their eyes naturally turned to him.

Gilberton explained with a grin.

"It's like taking a shit through your hands when you don't need to go. You're shitting through your hands."

He helpfully demonstrated the hand movements, too. Gwen looked horrified. Damian copied him, curling his hand and opening it again.

"Of course, hearing how doesn't mean you can do it right away."

Aura wasn't something every swordsman could attain.

Gilberton spoke as he readjusted his grip on his sword.

Just then, Damian's sword briefly shimmered.

'Huh... Surely not?!'

Gilberton hastily focused his eyes. There was nothing on Damian's sword.

'Of course not.'

He must have seen wrong.

"Oh, right. Where's the rookie? That stupid fuck hasn't gone off and gotten himself killed, has he?"

Gilberton looked for Noad. The rookie had disappeared somewhere earlier and hadn't been seen since.

"Went with the commander!"

"Damn! It's dangerous for the rookie—"

Clicking his tongue, Gilberton adjusted his grip on his sword.

"Where do you intend to go?"

In answer to Belograim, Gilberton pointed straight ahead.

Lightning flashed beyond the thick smoke, revealing an enormous silhouette within it.

ROOOOAR!!

It was so huge it belonged in a legend.

And this was the North, not the Demon Realm...

"The commander will give us hell if we're late."

"You intend to fight that thing now?"

"Yes."

Gilberton punched his loose right shoulder back into place.

He could still move, and he had a sword in his hand.

For Gilberton, a knight, that was enough.

"Ah, to be young."

Belograim clicked his tongue and stood beside him.

Just then, an enormous tentacle descended toward Gilberton.

Its sheer size made his fingertips ache.

It could shatter a fortress with a glancing blow.

Against that, Gilberton had just one sword in his hand.

'That's enough.'

He entertained no weak thoughts.

Gilberton wasn't one to think much in the first place.

He simply did as a knight should.

"Sir! Gilberton!"

He adjusted his grip on his sword.

His aura blazed.

'I'll cut it!'

Then, just as he swung his sword at the gigantic tentacle—

"Stand aside."

A quiet command came from directly behind him.

The voice was like a wild beast lurking deep within a cave.

Gilberton stepped aside without thinking.

The man was as massive as a demon-beast. Though the North was cold enough to freeze flesh, his upper body was bare. Thick scars covered muscles that writhed as though alive.

In his hand was nothing more than a large, crude axe.

'... His Highness the Grand Duke?'

Gilberton bowed his head.

The Grand Duke spun his enormous axe.

There was no aura.

No, it would be more accurate to say he had no need of it.

That absurdly huge axe was a demon-beast's execution block.

The Grand Duke raised it high.

His scar-covered muscles writhed, making strange sounds.

It was joy.

At the sight of the enormous tentacle falling toward him, the Grand Duke rejoiced with his entire body.

The Grand Duke swept his axe in a long arc.

CRUNCH.

The motion was simple, but its result was anything but.

BOOOOM!

Severed in two, the tentacle fell limply to the ground.

The earth shook violently with the heavy impact.

The Grand Duke casually swung his axe a few more times.

The tentacle was cut into manageable pieces.

'... Manageable pieces?'

He picked one up and brought it straight to his mouth.

CRUNCH.

With that savage sound, his Adam's apple bobbed heavily.

"Not bad."

For some reason, his smile as he said it reminded Gilberton of Galahad.

"I greet the ruler of the North."

Belograim paid his respects with the utmost courtesy.

Gilberton stared at the Grand Duke before belatedly lowering his head.

* * *

'The first human Mage, eh...'

Galahad studied the magic circle carved into his forearm.

He'd inscribed it in such a hurry that it was still bleeding.

The magic circle supposedly left by the first human Mage was certainly in a class of its own.

The way its layers overlapped was quite crude, yet unusual. It differed from the methods used today.

The most unusual part was...

'It uses the heart to compress mana.'

Mana naturally resided around the heart. That was also why the Egg of agony sat beside it.

However, the heart wasn't used to move mana. Mana was intangible to begin with. The heart couldn't affect it.

Yet this magic circle, which they called selection, made that possible.

It was just like...

'Isn't this like the Egg of agony?'

Galahad was deeply intrigued.

The method resembled the Egg of agony's. This magic circle used the heart as an Egg of agony.

The difference was that the Egg extracted what it needed from Demon blood on its own and supplied only mana, while this magic circle...

'Uses the caster's blood.'

It worked much like the Egg of agony. It seemed to imitate the abilities of the upper-echelon Demon from which the Egg originated.

But it was only an imitation.

'It compresses mana with the life force in the caster's blood.'

If mana was an imaginary engine, this magic circle poured in life force as oil.

All to compress mana faster.

'Ah, so it was life force.'

Galahad realized that what the Egg of agony had been hoarding from the Demon blood was life force.

The Egg gave a faint shudder. So he was right.

Using life force for magic was somewhat unfamiliar to him.

No doubt because this was magic from an older generation.

"You inscribed that magic circle in that time?"

An astonished voice broke through Galahad's thoughts.

He looked up to find the so-called executive staring at him in shock.

Galahad couldn't understand the question.

"Is there any reason inscribing a magic circle should take long?"

All he had to do was look at it and copy it. It stung a little, but the pain was fleeting.

And this time, the magic circle had been so fascinating that he hadn't even felt the pain.

"Don't lie! This magic circle consists of eight layers! You couldn't possibly imitate it after a quick glance! How much did that traitor tell you?!"

The executive shouted, spittle flying. Galahad clicked his tongue softly.

"Ah, strictly speaking, I didn't copy it. Perhaps because it's an old magic circle, it had some unnecessary parts. Some dubious bits, too. So I made a few revisions of my own."

Galahad kindly showed his wrist.

The magic circle there resembled the executive's, but closer inspection revealed more differences than similarities.

It was certainly an appealing circle, but it belonged to a bygone era. With the Egg of agony, he had no need to use his heart, so he'd altered it to his own tastes.

"... Revisions? Shut up!"

The executive shouted even more hysterically. There was no reasoning with this one. Galahad clicked his tongue and looked away.

The thick ash scattered around them was unmistakably the Demon Realm. They had reproduced not merely Demon territory, but the Demon Realm itself. Quite fascinating.

"Let me ask you one thing. How did you manifest the Demon Realm?"

"It's not the Demon Realm. It's a sanctuary."

"Yes, the sanctuary."

The executive smiled at Galahad's question. The corners of the mouth trembled, as though forced upward.

"Do you think I'd tell you?"

The executive raised a staff high. The magic circle inscribed on the wrist shone brilliantly, its light flowing into the staff.

The mana-stone-studded staff supplied mana, and the circle on the wrist compressed it using the caster's blood.

All the caster did was select a target and supply blood.

It looked convenient at first glance, but could that really be called a Mage?

'Even Sir Gilberton could do that.'

Galahad felt profound disgust.

"Barrage!!"

The staff-wielders faced him, hurling things that barely deserved to be called magic.

'Hmm...'

The Egg of agony pounded violently, as though ready to leap out at any moment. Every beat brimmed with delight.

Then the magic circle on Galahad's wrist blazed with light.

Galahad hadn't copied the first human Mage's magic circle exactly. He had the Egg of agony to take the heart's place.

Instead of the caster's blood, he intended to use the life force the Egg had hoarded from Demon blood.

'I'll use life force to compress the mana the Egg has already compressed, one more time.'

Even that fellow known as the first human Mage probably hadn't imagined such a method.

The Egg of agony vibrated as though resonating with the magic circle. It shook vigorously, seeming to protest. Did he really have to take even this?

'If we kill that thing, we'll get something even tastier.'

Galahad whispered to it about the immense presence behind his opponents.

'You must look at the bigger picture.'

Only then did the Egg nod. It gave his heart a threatening little bite, as though warning that it wouldn't forgive him if he lied.

'I do not lie.'

The Egg of agony pulsed in resonance. The magic circle grew brighter. Mana trembled rapidly.

Ash-gray fireballs rained down.

"Appalling."

Intensely irritated, Galahad snapped his fingers.

* * *

'Fool.'

Devillian sneered at the man hidden behind the fireballs.

He had the proof of selection on his forearm, but he was still alone.

Then a small breeze stirred.

'... What is that—'

The cascading fireballs lost their power in an instant.

They fell, losing their shapes, and flickered like ordinary flames.

There was only one reason mana would lose its power and dissipate.

The opponent's mana concentration was higher.

'... His mana is denser than mine?'

Devillian had a staff set with high-grade mana stones and the proof of selection left by the first human Mage. On top of that, the sanctuary was open.

And this man's mana concentration could be higher than Devillian's?

The very premise was absurd.

Then it happened.

Something flew through the flames. Devillian couldn't even see what it was. There was only a small sound.

THUD.

The sound of something falling.

A Mage toppled backward, a hole through the center of the throat.

THUD.

Another fell. A hole in the throat, in exactly the same place.

Red blood welled up as though in warning.

"Cast barriers!"

Devillian hurriedly recited a defensive spell.

A translucent barrier sprang up before the Mages. The others gathered together, layering more barriers over it. In their terror of death, no words were needed.

Then another Mage fell.

The layered barriers had been pierced effortlessly.

Like sheets of paper.

THUD.

Another went down. Not even a scream. Just a gasp.

What in the world was happening?

Devillian could barely follow the situation.

Then the flames parted, and the man walked out.

His expression remained relaxed, his hair neatly swept back.

He looked just as he had when entering the banquet hall.

He snapped his fingers.

THUD.

The last remaining Mage fell backward.

Devillian's legs gave out, and the executive sank to the ground.

Hot blood drenched Devillian.

The man approached at a pace neither hurried nor leisurely.

Soon he stood directly in front of Devillian, looking down.

Meeting his eyes, Devillian let out a terrified cry.

"A... are you perhaps a Demon?"

"Hmm. Sorry, but I'm human."

His voice was calm.

It was clean and crisp, at odds with the thick stench of blood.

"Ah, thank you for the gift."

A gift?

He pointed to his forearm.

The proof of selection shone vividly upon it.

Brighter than the one inscribed on Devillian.

"I never gave you—"

Devillian never finished speaking.

* * *

"Thank you. I'll put it to good use."

Galahad offered his thanks once more and turned away.

The gigantic tentacles were moving, busily demolishing the fortress.

Beneath them, a white light shone, precarious yet proud.

Adrianna was facing that enormous monster alone.

It was certainly an astonishing feat, but...

'Not enough.'

Galahad narrowed his eyes.

Adrianna would have to face the Demon King in the future.

Struggling against something forcibly elevated from high-ranking to top-ranking was rather inadequate.

'She'll need to grow.'

And there was no better environment for growth than actual combat.

Just then—

ROOOOAR!!

The demon-beast howled as though in pain.

To think that enormous creature could feel pain.

Its tentacles thrashed violently in agony, sweeping away the ash.

For an instant, the view cleared.

Far in the distance stood a barbarian tearing into a tentacle as though it were octopus. The huge tentacle protruding from his bearded mouth writhed as though begging for its life.

Drenched in red blood, the Grand Duke pointed a finger at Galahad.

CRUNCH.

Galahad felt as though he could hear that savage sound all the way over here.

'Hmm. This could be dangerous.'

Soon the ash obscured everything again.

Galahad idly rubbed his neck, which had gone cold.

"My wife!"

He hurried toward Adrianna.

After all, no parent could ever win against their child.

And the Grand Duke was a parent, too.