Chapter 18

Dumaine had suffered grievous injuries while trying to absorb the Dragon Heart’s mana. Not once, but twice—wounds to both body and mind. His consciousness fractured, his thoughts no longer whole.

Yet the Dragon Heart refused to let him die. It sought to preserve him, fanning the spark of his obsession with strength until it reignited his will to live. He survived, but his sanity did not fully return.

At times, he slipped in and out. On the surface he looked like a madman, but within, lucidity and madness flickered back and forth. Dumaine struggled to hold on, aided in small part by the Dragon Heart, which tempted him with strength and goaded him with the promise of more.

It stoked his hunger, urged him on, but it wasn’t enough. He needed help—from somewhere, anywhere. And then the poison darts struck.

The venom spread swiftly, ravaging his body, seeping into his heart. The Dragon Heart seized the crisis as an opportunity. Drawing on the poison, it triggered an explosion of mana.

It was Dumaine’s subconscious at work. His obsession with strength had become indistinguishable from the will to live, dragging his body along that desire. Borrowing the venom’s force, he healed every wound inside him.

A miracle unfolded within. Against all odds, Dumaine’s mind cleared.

“You’ve saved me.”

He laughed under his breath. Savage mana roared outward in all directions. The mana already within him and the Dragon Heart’s mana fused, changing into something new—yet its essence remained the same.

Zeno froze, paralyzed in the storm of overwhelming power. His body refused to obey.

Dumaine raised his hand slowly and gripped the assassin’s throat.

“Become my sacrifice for strength.”

He had survived by clinging to power. Now, he was ruled by it.

Behind his mask, Zeno’s face contorted in terror.

Dumaine sneered and squeezed. The neck snapped, and Zeno’s body went limp.

That was the moment the other assassins scattered in every direction.

“Where do you think you’re going, my sacrifices?”

Dumaine chuckled and gave chase. A gray light flickered faintly around him.

Assassins were trained to escape—failure was always accounted for. Even the most skilled Sword Master would find it hard to catch them all. But Dumaine did it with ease.

The first two fell almost instantly. The remaining three vanished from sight, but his instincts caught their scent—mana’s fragrance.

It was a new ability, born of dying and reviving. He hunted them down with crushing inevitability, a pursuit deadlier than any across the continent. None survived. They carried away only the failure of their mission.

“Strength is sweet.”

He gained no information from them. Their belongings held nothing but weapons.

“If not the old mage, then who…? No, it must be the old mage. Yes. That old man never liked me… Heh. Old mage, I’ll have your blood.”

Dumaine concluded without hesitation that Hazabut was behind it.

Fragments of memory returned. Someone had ambushed him while he was absorbing the Dragon Heart. That was the last clear recollection. It hadn’t been the old mage—someone else had struck him. The middle was a blur, only flashes of wandering the plains, and nothing beyond the will to live and the lust for strength.

He had absorbed the Dragon Heart, been ambushed, poisoned, miraculously recovered, and slaughtered his attackers.

Ordinarily, one would search for answers, return home, gather information. But Dumaine did none of that.

“Heh. Strength is strength.”

He walked wherever his feet carried him, for strength and only strength. When hungry, he ate whatever he found. When something blocked his way, he cut it down.

“Are you certain it’s Dumaine?”

“They say it is certain.”

“He regained his senses?”

“Yes. He’s speaking clearly, and his eyes are sharp again.”

“…I see.”

“And apparently, he keeps saying strange things.”

“Strange? What sort of things?”

“They say he repeats the word ‘strength’ over and over.”

“Strength… I understand.”

Hazabut dismissed the reporting mage. The man bowed and left cautiously.

“Dumaine… you’ve come back to your senses, but in the strangest way.”

Hazabut rubbed his forehead. He had sent assassins, but they had failed. And now, worse still, Dumaine had recovered—yet rumors spread of him wandering, babbling about strength.

At first, he had lured the man with the promise of a Mana Elixir. Dumaine’s obsessive desire to grow stronger had made him easy to manipulate.

“…Frustrating.”

If the Empire gave the signal, Hazabut would have to defect. He didn’t know when that call would come, and before then, Dumaine had to die.

Still, there was one consolation—another rumor. Word spread that a bounty might soon be placed on him. They were calling him the “Gray Butcher,” a name born of how many lives he had taken.

He had to be dealt with before he started spouting nonsense to others.

“…Or maybe not?”

Did he really need to deal with it himself? Widav had already cast him aside. He bore the guilt of attacking the Empire. He had the reputation of madness, and now the title of the Gray Butcher. Soon he’d be wanted across the land.

At first, the danger was in him speaking the truth—whether anyone believed it or not didn’t matter, the words themselves could cause harm. But stepping back, Hazabut saw it differently.

“I belong to the Empire now.”

Defection was certain. If he was already betraying his country, then what did the babble of a madman matter?

Hazabut finally laid his burdens down. Impatience only clouded thought.

“Perhaps it’s time I enjoyed a woman instead.”

He resolved to simply wait for the Empire’s signal in peace.

For a time, I hunted Death Knights. They were the only humanoid monsters in the Demon Realm, and fighting them sharpened me greatly. They wielded swords, spears, even shields, and when disarmed, they threw themselves into crude grappling.

I slept often and walked further than I could count. Death Knights were not easily found, but I sought them out. Strange, isn’t it? When I first came here, I avoided monsters. Now I hunt them.

Something in me had changed. No, I was no longer normal.

When my thoughts ran long, a familiar presence pricked at me. Heavy, stinging. I straightened, stroking the thick beard I had grown.

I had changed—but so had the Death Knights.

This one rode a specter horse.

The creature’s eyes burned with the same eerie light, and its four legs were shrouded in thick fog. The mist clung from its hooves up to the knees, so dense the legs beneath couldn’t be seen. It looked as if nothing existed below the fog at all. Even as it galloped hard, the mist never drifted away, and there was no vibration of hoofbeats.

Vwooom.

I poured mana into my sword. Aura burst forth like an explosion. The massive specter horse charged straight toward me.

“Haaaahp!”

I tightened my core and thrust my blade forward.

The specter horse couldn’t be much different from the Death Knight. My guess was right.

The instant my sword touched it, the horse scattered into mist. The Death Knight riding it tumbled hard.

Any normal human would have been battered senseless from the fall and the weight of armor, but the Death Knight rose at once, dented and scratched though its armor was.

[Human.]

So this one could speak. Some Death Knights couldn’t.

[How long has it been since I last saw a human?]

For something that had just been knocked to the ground, it spoke clearly, word for word.

“At least you recognize I’m human, right?”

The Death Knight gave no reply. Instead, it lifted its head and stared into the empty air, then raised a hand.

[The war still hasn’t ended…?]

“War? The Demon Realm War?”

[When the war reached its end, many warriors—including myself—crossed into the Demon Realm to eradicate the demons. We were arrogant, but we had the right to be.]

“And yet you ended up a Death Knight?”

[Those who die in the Demon Realm have their souls bound. They are reborn here, their new form shaped by the strength they once held.]

I nodded. The Death Knight seemed almost relieved to meet a human, its words flowing freely.

“Are there stronger beasts than you?”

[Of course. But they lack pride.]

The Death Knight drew its sword. Blue flames rippled along the blade—sword aura.

The hairs on my body stood on end. A pressure I hadn’t felt before crashed over me.

I would lose.

For the first time, the thought of defeat filled my mind. I stumbled back without realizing it.

[Human. Do you have pride?]

The Death Knight advanced. The closer it came, the further I stepped back. Here, defeat meant death.

Fear gnawed at me. My hands trembled.

But my mana rampaged. Excitement and dread churned together. The mana coursing through me was born of the Dragon Hearts. It almost spoke in my ears.

Fight!

Fight!

Fight!

But I couldn’t answer the voice.

The Death Knight’s flame-wreathed sword swung down. I rolled instinctively, narrowly dodging. The ground split deep, and the air quivered from the force.

More strikes followed, each one impossibly fast. It felt like I was facing not one opponent, but four at once. My breathing grew ragged after only a few evasions.

Fight!

My mana surged against my will.

Fight!

It tried to move on its own, wild and unruly. I had to dodge attacks while reigning it in. Mana control and body movement should have been one—but right now, they weren’t.

Frustrating.

Fight!

I was fighting, but my mana still tried to rebel. A moment’s lapse, and everything tangled. At this rate, I would die from my own mana bursting out before the Death Knight even cut me down.

Shraaang!

A strike tore through the air, aiming to cleave me in half. My body jerked violently to avoid it, and in doing so, I lost hold of my mana for a heartbeat.

It flared out of control, thrashing like a fish tossed into water.

Power surged through me, filling me with reckless confidence.

Whuuum!

But when I saw the Death Knight’s blazing blade, that confidence withered. Its azure aura felt like it would devour me whole.

Even so, my mana swelled all the stronger, overflowing and filling me to the brim.

I poured every bit of will into the flow, driving it all into my sword.

The aura blazed brighter, immense and majestic, as though it could split a mountain.

I stepped in with footwork, sliding to the Death Knight’s flank. It finally turned its head toward me, sword swinging at the same instant.

Kaang!

Not fire, but shards of mana burst out like sparks. Where they struck the ground, explosions rang out.

The Death Knight had blocked my strike. Its blade burned with a searing blue current, unraveling the mana wrapped around mine.

The shock threw me back five full steps.

The Death Knight gazed down at me, imperious and cold.

[Weak.]