Chapter 149

CHAPTER 149. Was It Very Hard?

Fixing his gaze upon the engravings on the memorial stone, Shine looked out into the surrounding space.

Beside his own designated marker stood another.

Shamid von Rortel.

Observing the memorial for Shamid, it did not take long for Shine to spot a neatly arranged container positioned right before it.

“What is this…”

A parchment rested upon the lid of the box.

Shine brushed away the grit and unfolded the letter.

It was a note Shamid had left behind.

Upon confirming its contents, Shine was able to find some resolution to the uncertainties that had bothered him while traversing the thresholds.

In honor of my companion, my inspiration, Shine von Lehmann.

To begin with, this location was intended to honor my comrade Shine, who once burned so brightly, and as per our pact, it is an arrangement meant to restore the Demon Sword.

A preamble that started by divulging the true function of the Tomb of the Sword God.

However.

…I am aware that this pledge will remain unfulfilled.

My friend Shine, the counterpart to that oath, traveled across a river from which he cannot return.

I lingered, awaiting his successors while clinging to a slim hope, but as this vigil stretched toward half a century, even that became an impossibility.

Shamid had known that Shine would never arrive.

Perhaps it was only logical.

There was no way Shamid could have remained ignorant of his passing.

He had waited for heirs on the off chance, yet he realized that, too, was unattainable shortly before his own demise.

“Is that the reason… every one of the thresholds was like that?”

It was no mystery why the atmosphere had seemed strange.

Since he was aware of Shine’s death, the site must have been prepared specifically for future generations.

So why were the trials designed in such a way that they could only be navigated by Shine himself? Why was the difficulty so low throughout the entirety of the second phase?

From the very start, Shamid had not expected anyone.

Yet, a question remained.

“Then why go through the effort of creating these trials at all? If he held no expectation of a visitor, there was no purpose in constructing challenges in the first place.”

With this doubt clouding his mind, Shine continued reading.

His eyes grew moist, and he squeezed the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Should you who read this note be my successor, turn back immediately.

This is a testament left for those who come after.

However.

The passage that followed enveloped Shine in feelings he struggled to define.

This Demon Sword is my final act of loyalty. A flicker of radiance lingering within tarnished chivalry.

So please, turn back.

It is a vow I could not honor…

To Shamid, the significance of the pledge lay purely in the dedication required to attempt it.

To safeguard that last remnants of sincerity. For that tiny speck of purity amidst the knightly codes he deemed corrupted.

Yet, what manner of existence had he endured to reach this point—

It was a warmth he preserved even while tearing out a knight’s heart to burn with intensity, only to transform into a cold-blooded Head of House. A vow he cherished even after being forged into steel and evolving into a serpent.

He spoke of ripping out his own heart.

He spoke of becoming a viper.

Shamid was, more than any individual Shine had ever encountered, a knight who embodied the true essence of knighthood.

Even while perpetually being humbled by Shine, he maintained his integrity and upheld his purpose. At times, it was maddening…

“You were a true knight.”

But what path had he traversed? No—he had ascended to Head of House, so that trajectory was clear enough.

The query “what path” felt inaccurate.

And so, Shine adjusted the question.

“How… did you manage to endure it?”

Without yielding.

Without submitting.

Yet never collapsing, never allowing his spirit to break.

Throughout his entire existence, he suppressed the life of a warrior to fulfill the obligations of a Head of House, bearing burdens that eroded his very soul.

This… was a simple feat for Shine.

And it was manageable for most knights, too.

Everyone suffers stains and degradation.

Survival entails such things.

Then why…?

Through Shamid’s calm script, Shine gauged the depth of the man’s weary spirit. His slightly quivering eyes followed the traces of that tormented soul.

I understand. This is a promise that will never be realized.

Nothing more than an old knight’s persistent attachment.

Therefore, I beg you, turn back.

The spirit of the knight who once shone so brilliantly is extinguished.

These are merely the remnants of a withered man.

Still.

Shine could not refute it.

Even if the knight Shamid was gone…

That inner spirit remained remarkably unyielding.

Is Rortel so critically important that you still cannot relinquish it? Has your strength faded, and has your blade lost its edge?

If so, unsheathe it.

The singular thread of conviction you held onto your whole life. Enough that you were willing to sacrifice your honor without hesitation for the sake of your lineage.

But once you have reclaimed your full might, do not forget.

That beneath your newfound power, there lay the name Lehmann.

By the time Shine reached the end of the page—

He grasped it.

What Shamid had felt while erecting a monument with no rightful heir, and why he had created such seemingly meaningless tests.

As the letter stated, it was an old man’s futile attachment.

And profound regret.

And, in a certain sense—

As Shine arrived at that realization—

Sak.

Two sheets that had been fused together shifted, exposing the subsequent page.

A brief sentence, distinct from the previous script.

Shine, my fierce companion.

I find myself longing for those days.

Only then did Shine fully comprehend the heart of Shamid.

It was a yearning for the years that had slipped away.

Shine gathered the pages together and moved to stand before Shamid’s memorial stone, situated next to his own.

“Was it very difficult?”

There was no reply, yet Shine felt he knew the truth.

It was arduous. Beyond any measure.

It seemed pathetic for a Head of House of Rortel, but Shamid had always been that sort of individual.

Someone who quietly acknowledged his own failings and pressed forward relentlessly. Someone so sincere it felt suffocating, so resolute it was rigid.

“I imagined you would have adapted once you took the mantle of Head of House…”

But reading a letter of this nature, perhaps he never truly did.

To think he carried this ache even to his final breath.

“You persevered.”

A single phrase heavy with layered significance.

“And thank you.”

He was never articulate, so he could offer nothing more than that. Had it been that sly individual, he would have found no end of words to say.

Shine placed the wildflower he had set aside in front of the marker, then stood in silent reverence.

After some time had passed in that state?

“I shall repay this debt. Regardless of what it takes.”

With that concise vow, Shine concluded his farewell to Shamid.

Immediately thereafter, the very first thing Shine did was shatter his own memorial stone.

It was not merely because he was still alive.

Even though much time had elapsed, he remained a traitor. He feared that if this marker were discovered later, it would bring trouble upon Rortel.

“I have no idea how you constructed the Tomb of the Sword God… but it could not have been an easy task.”

Since the secret had never been compromised, there must have been those who followed Shamid implicitly. Loyal subjects who upheld his commands even after his passing. People who did not waver even under the allure of the Demon Sword…

Realizing that his friend had not lived a life entirely of isolation, Shine felt, in his heart, a wave of relief.

After crushing the marker into pieces—

Only then did Shine reach toward the wooden container that presumably held the Demon Sword.

Creeeak.

Had the hinges corroded over time? The box opened with a harsh, protesting noise.

Shine stripped away the opulent fabric enveloping the contents and lifted it to eye level.

A blade of immaculate white.

The Demon Sword, Proteus.

Shine contemplated the shape of the Demon Sword Proteus for a moment, then shifted his gaze back to Shamid’s marker.

“You told me to remember that beneath new power, there was the name Lehmann. Then I…”

He drifted off, carefully selecting his words.

For a moment—

Then Shine spoke.

“Indeed. As the Master of the Sword Garden, I will remember that within the resurgence of the Sword Garden and the vampire clan, there was Rortel.”

The vampire clan will remember this for a long time.

Shamid von Rortel.

The integrity of this noble knight.

Ah, but why is he the Master of the Sword Garden?

“Because that crafty fellow is the Master of the Tower, so why should I not be a master as well?”

Shine tucked the Demon Sword Proteus into his Subspace, then turned and began to walk away from the Tomb of the Sword God. No—he was about to.

“…But wait.”

The attendant’s caution suddenly surfaced in his mind.

Ah, and you must adhere to what I mentioned earlier.

No harming the facilities, no recordings, and do not remain longer than a day, at most. Is that understood?

Indeed.

With unsettled, flickering eyes, he surveyed the wrecked surroundings.

“…What shall I do?”

His anxiety lasted only a fleeting moment.

Shine retrieved the Demon Sword Proteus and ignited his Aether.

“I have not yet engraved the master seal, but…”

The Demon Sword would amplify the intensity of his Aether on its own, so it would suffice.

Immediately after, Shine’s blade sliced through the air.

Sasak, sak! Sasasak…!

Each time the Demon Sword whistled through the air at an imperceptible speed, the massive shattered fragments of stone disintegrated into fine dust.

For a long while—

Shine finally halted his blade only after the two stone chambers had fused together as if they had always been a single, unified space.

“This should be… adequate.”

A satisfied smirk played on his lips.

After an eternity, the Demon Sword of House Lehmann had returned to its rightful owner’s grasp.

Meanwhile, at that same moment.

The iron grand hall.

Before setting off for Baidun, Hamellan was granting an audience to the Head of House.

“Did the Master of the Tower consent to the proposal?”

“Indeed. He appeared to be weighing it, but we received his confirmation just moments ago. However… he imposed conditions.”

“…Conditions?”

Muhad’s eyebrow twitched once.

Conditions?

Rortel had resolved to provide protection for the Mage Tower and the Sword Garden.

Although they would shift their position should the secret of the Thousand Origin Art come to light, that alone was an overwhelming act of grace for the Mage Tower and the Sword Garden.

From Muhad’s perspective, it was only natural to find it audacious.

“What did he demand?”

At the sharp tone in Muhad’s voice, Hamellan pulled a strange expression.

“That is… somewhat ambiguous.”

Hamellan recalled his dialogue with the Master of the Tower shortly before.

The Master of the Tower had appeared in person, even before Hamellan could dispatch anyone.

The conversation commenced with a query.

Providing us protection means you acknowledge us as allies of Rortel, correct?

That is correct. We will likely bestow a Platinum Token.

The Platinum Token was the highest-tier credential issued to only an incredibly limited number of Rortel’s associates.

As an ally on equal footing with Rortel, the bearer could request assistance from Rortel at any time, anywhere.

Naturally, whether Rortel obliged would depend on the gravity of the situation, but its value exceeded any monetary estimation, as it was a token that could, during dire emergencies, even command Rortel’s own knights.

Only three Platinum Tokens remained in existence to this day.

Perhaps he hadn’t anticipated such a reward?

A Platinum… Token?

Indeed.

The Master of the Tower’s eyes glinted.

Hamellan realized then.

“If we had opened with the offer of a Platinum Token, he would not have hesitated for an instant.”

But the Master of the Tower’s shamelessness defied explanation.

Then, as the possessor of a Platinum Token, would I be permitted to receive secret manuals and items of that nature?

……

You know, even if it is not through the Platinum Token… as a commemoration of becoming allies, could you not offer something?

Is he deranged?

If any other knights had overheard, they would have severed his head on the spot.

He might as well have asked for the seat of the Head of House while he was at it. Why not?

Then, uh… an exchange of secret arts? Something of that sort—could we not do that? We are allies, after all, and our Sword Garden—

We are not an academy of magic. And to my knowledge, even academies of magic do not exchange secret arts.

Nngh.

The Master of the Tower appeared to be agonizing in profound regret.

As Hamellan recounted this in his mind, Muhad’s voice struck his ear with heavy force.

“Did he demand the seat of the Head of House?”

“…No.”

Hamellan shook his head vigorously at the blasphemous notion.

He then hesitated. He longed to relate the entire event exactly as it transpired, but…

“That would be unwise.”

The Young Lord would be distressed.

Because it would imply that his guests might become decapitated corpses by morning.

Therefore, Hamellan offered only the conclusion, concisely.

“He requested some miscellaneous books later on.”

“…Books?”

“Indeed. He mentioned constructing a library. No—did he say the Mage Tower would become a library? Regardless, he later requested that we donate volumes.”

“And?”

Muhad’s eyes brightened at the unexpected turn of events.

“I declined. There are no redundant books in the main family, are there? And we cannot exactly go about purchasing literature simply for the sake of the Mage Tower.”

“Hmm.”

The Head of House looked, for some curious reason, as if he regretted it.

But only for a brief moment.

Head of House Muhad sensed something amiss.

The Master of the Tower simply conceded?

“Ah, following that, he did put forward a peculiar proposal.”

“…Speak.”

“He suggested that any book would suffice, so we should have our knights write diaries…”

As Hamellan spoke, he watched Muhad’s expression.

There was no possibility that Muhad would accept such a bizarre suggestion, yet Hamellan still felt a sense of unease.

But why?

“……”

Head of House Muhad grew silent, as if lost in reflection.

For a moment—

“Permit it.”

“…Beg your pardon?”

Hamellan’s eyes widened.

“This old man must be losing his hearing, my lord. What did you just utter…?”

He inquired again, but the Head of House’s decree did not waver.

“I said, permit it.”

“For what reason…”

“Reflecting upon oneself is highly beneficial for training. Among those who attain higher realms, there is no individual who did not reflect on their own actions.”

Hamellan was rendered speechless.

“That is true.”

It was true, but—

Those journals would be housed in a library.

Imagine your own private diary placed in a library. Unfamiliar people leafing through it and prying into your personal life in agonizing detail—how could that be anything but humiliating?

However—

“Then what shall we title it?”

“…We must provide a name for it as well?”

Hamellan asked, but the Head of House remained silent, seemingly pondering. After a short interval, he spoke.

“Indeed. Since it is writing composed while furthering one’s cultivation. To call it Suyangnok would be appropriate.”

“……”

At this instant, Hamellan thought,

“A plague has descended upon Rortel.”

And the moniker of that contagion was the Master of the Tower.