Chapter 137

Chapter 137

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HEL SCANS

[Translator – Peptobismol]

[Proofreader – Demon God]

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There were at least three overlapping traces etched onto the ice. Though he had only seen it a few times, he could never forget it. It was the swordsmanship of the founder of Nebula Clazier, the Savior.

‘Why would this be here?’

Ronan’s eyes widened. It was impossible. He still remembered the Savior falling into the pit, fatally wounded.

‘No way.’

Ronan began to examine the sword marks more thoroughly. Soon, his brow furrowed slightly.

‘...It’s rough.’

The sword itself matched the Savior’s, but the impression it conveyed was starkly different. It seemed similar on the surface, but the underlying intent differed. He couldn’t believe it was done by the same person.

‘Swinging a sword with such killing intent is no easy feat.’

There are various types of sword wielders. The Savior he had seen clearly wielded the sword for justice. Only wielding the sword for the sake of protecting or saving something.

Such individuals’ sword marks didn’t exude killing intent. Rather, if anything, it seemed apologetic for his actions. Since it was such a rare event, it was vividly etched into his memory.

However, the sword marks on ice were the complete opposite. Each stroke oozed a killing intent to ruthlessly kill one’s opponent without fail. Zaifa’s sword would be the closest, but still not to this extent.

The list of suspects was quickly narrowed down. In the first place, there were only two people who knew how to replicate this sword technique. Ronan twisted his lips. The visage of the white-haired, sunset-eyed person resembling himself flashed before his eyes.

‘...That bastard.’

The robed figure who betrayed the Savior had a sword just like this. Ronan raised his hand and touched his neck, recalling the sensation of the chilling blade cutting across his neck.

He couldn’t fathom what was what. The openly displayed swordsmanship seemed like a provocation towards the Savior. What the intent was behind engraving such sword marks remained a mystery, but one thing was certain.

‘They didn’t break it on purpose.’

The sword marks were narrow but deeply embedded. If they had wanted to, they could have shattered the ice pillar and seized the witch without a second thought.

‘Just what do you want?’

Additional doubts cropped up one after another. However, they weren’t the immediate concern. As Ronan attempted to raise his sword once again, an intense force swept over him from behind.

“...What?”

It felt like the hairs on his neck were being pulled out all at once. Ronan slowly turned his head. The dimly lit corridor was steeped in eerie darkness.

However, it seemed that he was not the only one who felt that force. People’s murmurs grew louder.

“Wh-what was that just now?”

“Damn it, did a sinister beast break loose?”

Some even dropped what they were holding. Aselle and Elizabeth stared pale-faced towards the direction of the door. A purplish mana lingered around Elizabeth’s right hand. In a tense tone, she spoke.

“...Aselle-Nim, did you feel it?”

“Y-yeah.”

Aselle replied with a trembling voice, his gaze fixed across the corridor. At that moment, a sound echoed from the far end as the door opened. Thududud... An interrogator wearing a bird-beaked mask hurriedly rushed over.

“Ugh... Ka-Karaka! It’s... huff, Itargand is here!”

Breathless, the interrogator who had swiftly made it to the group exclaimed. Karaka nodded with interest.

“Oh, he came earlier than expected. Does he have a companion?”

“He came alone... huff, saying he didn’t need any help...”

“Well, that’s fortunate.”

Karaka nodded. After clearing his throat, he addressed the crowd.

“Everyone, it seems we must prepare to pay our respects. The Flowing Flame, Itargand, has arrived.”

“Itargand? Was it today?”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. The faces of the crowd suddenly stiffened. Ronan tilted his head.

“And who’s this Itargand that’s causing this mess?”

Itargand’s expression remained unchanged. Satisfied with the cleared space around the witch, he took a step forward. Precisely five strides.

“Hey.”

Something blocked his path. Itargand slowly raised his head. Ronan, meeting his gaze, growled softly.

“You think you can act like a king here?”

“...Who are you?”

“Don’t know, but apologize to those kids right now.”

Ronan pointed at Aselle and Elizabeth. Aselle, shaken and unable to stand steadily, and Elizabeth, who had been using telekinesis to lift the fallen people, tried to intervene.

“Ronan-Nim...!”

“Huh.”

Karaka chuckled. Those struggling to get up froze in place. Itargand, who had been observing Ronan, spoke up.

“Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“I don’t know. A dressed-up fool who only cares about appearances?”

“I can turn someone like you into ashes with just a breath of mine.”

It was a highly plausible threat. Ronan spat on the ground in response. Kuduck! A faint wrinkle appeared between Itargand’s long-dry eyebrows.

“You...”

Energy surged above Itargand’s shoulder. Ronan didn’t back down. Oddly, he didn’t feel like retreating, as if he were defying an imminent oddity. The atmosphere among the audience continued to update the concept of “worst” in real-time.

“Hehe, you two, please calm down.”

It wouldn’t have been strange for one of them to breathe fire or or the other to brandish a sword. Just then, Karaka intervened. He put on a friendly smile.

“I am Interrogator Karaka. Lord Itargand, allow me to apologize on their behalf...”

“Do you want to die?”

Itargand furrowed his brow. Crack! Simultaneously, Karaka dropped to one knee, struggling under an unseen force. Ronan reflexively tried to draw his sword, but Karaka raised his hand, halting him.

“Karaka.”

“Please... calm your anger...”

Karaka spoke intermittently. His voice, squeezed between his parted lips, flowed out as if being squeezed out.

“Shouldn’t we... keep the orders of... Mother of Fire... Lady Navardoz?”

“...Hmph.”

Itargand momentarily flinched, clicking his tongue. The suppressing force disappeared. Karaka, still kneeling, started coughing violently.

“Ugh... cough...!”

“Dammit, are you okay?”

Ronan rushed over. Itargand, back to his impassive self, walked past the two. Ronan, supporting Karaka, twisted his lips.

“I’m sorry. It’s because of me.”

“Don’t say that. You were very cool.”

Karaka let out a subdued laugh. Fortunately, it seemed he hadn’t suffered major injuries. Adjusting his fallen mask, he looked at Ronan and spoke.

“I’m serious. I never thought I’d see a human asking a dragon to apologize...”

Ronan responded with a wry smile, choosing not to add that he had dared say such words. If that immature dragon had heard, it would have caused chaos.

The most urgent matter now was extracting the witch from the ice. Itargand, standing in front of the ice pillar, spoke up.

“Let the bodies pick themselves up.”

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HEL SCANS

[Translator – Peptobismol]

[Proofreader – Demon God]

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