by Michael Sisa
Lark grabbed the glaive’s shaft and swung it in the air. Arzen was surprised that despite its size, Lark easily used the glaive. “Twenty-five, no… thirty thousand gold coins. The Empire will probably be willing to pay that much just to take back this weapon. There’re also the captives in Akash. five hundred soldiers. Two of them are High Nobles. I’m pretty sure their families will be willing to part with a hefty sum in exchange of their lives.”
It took some time before Arzen processed the words spouted by Lark. It seemed that despite having just captured Yorkshaire, he was already thinking of the post-war reparations.
But what the hell was this brat talking about? Thirty thousand gold coins for a single glaive?
Seeing Arzen’s quizzical gaze, Lark added, “This thing’s a maginus. The anti-magic weapon used by General Alvaren, the Magic Slayer.”
Hearing this, Arzen’s eyes widened, almost popping out. General Alvaren’s glaive was a legendary weapon written even in history books. Even back in the military academy, he’d read about it several times. They said it was the first and only replica of the glaive of Uurvesk, the founder of the Great Empire. The master blacksmith who created it had died decades ago and the method of creating the replica had been lost along with him.
“C-Can I see it?” breathed Arzen.
Lark readily handed the glaive over.
Arzen touched the maginus and he immediately felt a resonance with his mana. This was definitely the real thing. He was sure of it.
But if the maginus was here, then…
“The General,” said Arzen, trembling, “if you’re holding his glaive. What happened to General Alvaren?”
“He’s dead,” said Lark. “The Sword Saint killed him in a duel.”
Arzen couldn’t believe it. At first, he thought that the Imperial Army had simply retreated, and that General Alvaren would soon rally his troops and retaliate.
“He’s dead?”
Lark nodded. He pointed. “Keep going straight from here and you’ll arrive at the central square. Next to the fountain, the heads of General Alvaren and General Rizel are currently displayed.”
Although cruel, the upper echelons in the army came to the consensus of displaying the heads of the two generals in public. They’d lost thousands of lives—soldiers and innocent civilians—in this war. This was the least they could do to appease the souls of those who died.
Arzen couldn’t believe what he’d heard. Even the Ghost of the Empire was dead?
Without another word, Arzen went toward the central square. He noticed a large crowd around the fountain. And true to Lark’s words, two severed heads were displayed next to the fountain. Several soldiers were guarding it, preventing the onlookers from coming too close to the displays.
“I heard Commander Lark killed the Ghost of the Empire in an instant,” murmured one of the onlookers.
“Yeah, I heard it too. See that wound on the General’s head? My brother was there when the Commander shot General Rizel in the head with magic.”
Arzen couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It sounded preposterous, but there was no reason for these onlookers to lie.
“Hey, isn’t this dangerous? We killed two famous Generals of the Empire. What if in his anger, the Emperor suddenly commands the entire Imperial Army to raze our country to the ground?”
“Stupid. Do you have no idea how large the land of the Empire is? The Empire’s four times larger than our Kingdom. They already have their hands full in keeping their neighboring countries at bay. I heard that the Mullgray Pirates even started invading some of their ports this year. If they send any more soldiers here, they’ll be forced to part with some of their lands just to conquer our Kingdom.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Of course, I am!”
Arzen continued listening to the conversations of the onlookers. As time went by, he realized that those two heads on display were indeed General Rizel’s and General Alvaren’s.
He could accept the fact that the Magic Slayer lost his life in a duel with the Sword Saint.
But how did that brat, who was several years younger than him, kill the Ghost of the Empire? Even Arzen’s instructors in the military academy said that Rizel was an immortal demon capable of laying waste to an entire army on his own. Arrows couldn’t kill him, and swords would simply pass through his body, just like a ghost.
“Damn it,” mumbled Arzen.
He gnashed his teeth. With the death of the two Generals of the Empire, the Imperial Army was as good as defeated. There was no role for him to play here, he realized.
***
After Arzen suddenly left on his own to look at the displayed heads of the generals, Lark went toward the northern district, where the magic towers were currently located.
He hadn’t told anyone about his plan of destroying these things once war ended, since he knew that most people would be vehemently against it.
“Leave. Make sure no one comes near this area until I come out,” he said to the soldiers guarding the towers.
“Yes, Commander!”
After the soldiers left, Lark stared at the towers. He would find it hard to find the same amount of manpower and resources to recreate these things.
“It’s such a waste,” he said, looking at the towers. “But it’s too dangerous to leave you guys in this fortress.”
The Empire was a strong nation capable of recreating a maginus. Lark was sure that given the chance, they could probably recreate these magic towers too.
With the death of two of their generals, Lark doubted that the Empire would continue waging war with the Kingdom anytime soon. A peace treaty was inevitable, and so were war reparations. This was truly the Kingdom’s victory.
But there was no harm in being cautious. In the slim chance that the Empire attacked the Kingdom once again, it’d be too dangerous to have these towers lying around in this fortress. Bringing it back home would take too much time and may attract unwanted attention from other magicians.
Lark steeled his resolve. He poured mana into the glaive and activated the runes.
As expected of a maginus. Lark felt like he could cut anything as long as he held this weapon. Even the sword he personally created back at Blackstone Town was far inferior to this one.
With one last look at the towers, Lark started cutting each of them. The magic towers resisted at first, and it took Lark several strikes despite using a maginus before he finally managed to destroy them. Lark made sure to thoroughly destroy the magic formations and the runes engraved on the towers’ walls.
After the towers collapsed, Lark deactivated the glaive and started pulverizing what was left of the towers using wind magic.
VOLUME 4: EPILOGUE
[The Great Empire]
Emperor Sylvius Lockhart Mavis. The so-called Devourer of Lands.
Inside his private room in the coliseum, he watched with bored eyes as the warriors in the arena fought to their deaths. Hundreds of spectators cheered, their stomping feet making the ground rumble. The scent of blood and sweat permeated the air as the spectators frenziedly urged the warriors to kill each other.
Eventually, one of the warriors was stabbed in the chest and fell limp to the ground, lifeless. Seeing this, the entire coliseum burst into cheers.
The coliseum is really the best place to relax.
The Emperor did not mind the deafening shouts from the outside.
He had grown tired of seeing death and blood. What he looked forward to the most whenever he came here was the frenzied spectators. It was amazing, even his meekest subjects would turn into demons the moment they stepped foot in the coliseum. The way they repeatedly shouted for slaughter, for the warriors to kill each other, one would think they were demon incarnates.
The Emperor loved seeing human nature at its truest form. To him, there was no place more relaxing than this private room inside the coliseum.
“And now! Today’s main event!” The Coliseum Master’s voice echoed with t
he help of a magic tool. “A slave from the White Stream Oasis! A champion who has remained undefeated in this coliseum for the past three years!”
One of the gates in the arena opened and a dark-skinned man, probably in his mid-thirties, came out, two swords on his back. Strapped on his legs were several daggers. He was really ugly; his face looked as though it had been ripped off by some strange beast.
“The undefeated!” shouted the Coliseum Master. “The invincible! The undisputed champion of the arena! Scarface!”
The crowd cheered and stomped their feet. The entire coliseum shook.
“And his opponent!” said the Coliseum Master. “A ferocious beast seen only in the White Stream Oasis! A creature capable of tearing a band of mercenaries on its own!”
The gate opposite to where Scarface came out opened. Loud thuds were heard, along with an ominous growl. A white creature around four meters tall came out, its muscular arm holding a stone mace. One of the two black horns on his head was missing. Its face greatly resembled the goblins.
“A full-grown adult! A desert troll! A top predator in White Stream Oasis! Next only to the devouring worms!”
The desert troll roared as though announcing its appearance to the world. Hearing this, the crowd turned silent for a second, before bursting into cheers.
“A desert troll!”
“It’s the first time I’ve seen one!”
“Kill that monster, Scarface! I’ve bet my entire fortune on you, you damn bastard!”
The crowd was ecstatic. Even the Emperor’s interest was piqued by this fight. He’d been watching Scarface’s fights for the past few years, and the slave never lost a single fight in this arena. The Emperor wondered how the arena’s top dog would fare against this monster.
The gates closed and the gong was struck. On cue, the troll leapt toward Scarface and swung its mace with all its might.
“Emperor!”
A soldier entered the Emperor’s private room without advice.
The Emperor glared, annoyed that the soldier was interrupting him during such time. The report better be something urgent and worthwhile, otherwise, he would immediately have him executed after this fight.
“What?”
“A silver-sealed message from the southern border! From General Lazarus!”
“From General Lazarus?”
The soldier knelt down and presented the letter to the Emperor. After opening it and reading its contents, the Emperor’s shook. He could no longer hear the ecstatic shouts from the spectators, the roar from the troll. His entire mind was in turmoil. He stared at the letter for a long time.
The letter came from the General Lazarus, the highest-ranking officer in the southern border. According to him, the sixty thousand-strong army of the Empire had been defeated by the Kingdom of Lukas.
The two generals who’d protected the Great Empire for decades perished along with fifty thousand soldiers.
Emperor Sylvius trembled. He could not believe that both the Magic Slayer and the Ghost of the Empire had just died in battle. Those two had lain waste to the Empire’s enemy for numerous years. Just hearing their names was enough for their enemies to tremble in fear.
Losing them was definitely a terrible blow to the Empire.
“E-Emperor?”
Seeing the enraged Emperor, the soldier could not help but pray to the Gods for dear life. He fervently prayed that the Emperor would spare his life.
Emperor Sylvius snapped out of his stupor. He abruptly stood up. “Gather the ministers, the princes, and the Generals of the Capital. Tell them to gather in the throne room an hour from now.”
The crowd in the coliseum cheered after the champion of the arena beheaded the desert troll. But the Emperor no longer cared. He had lost interest in the battle after reading the message.
The middle-aged man’s eyes glimmered dangerously.
“Lark Marcus. Sword Saint Alexander.” The Emperor gnashed his teeth. “Just wait. The moment I’ve taken care of the Mullgray Islands and Everfrost, the two of you’ll be next.”
***
Three weeks had passed since the war at the Western Front ended. The Coalition Army finally returned to the capital to a hero’s welcome.
Tens of thousands of residents of Behemoth City went out of their homes and crowded the streets, cheering as the soldiers passed through. Mellifluous music filled the entire capital as everyone celebrated the return of the Kingdom’s heroes. Free porridge, rye bread, mead and jerkies were handed out to everyone all over the city in celebration of the Kingdom’s victory.
While the entire city was in a festive mood, the officers of the Coalition Army were summoned into the King’s castle.
“Welcome, heroes.” King Alvis was beaming as he looked at the military officers kneeling before him. “I summoned all of you here today to reward you for your accomplishments. This is a blessed year, indeed. We have solved the crisis regarding the Black Famine, and we’ve thwarted the advance of the Empire. It seems that the Sun God is smiling upon our Kingdom.”
Rows of knights stood next to the walls, while the advisers of the crown stood next to the King. There were also dozens of nobles, merchants, priests, and other city officials present.
“First,” said the King, “Arzen Boris.”
A soldier walked towards the throne, carrying a small chest with him. After receiving the signal from His Majesty, the soldier walked towards Arzen and presented him the chest.
“The Commander of the Second Army. The valiant warrior who liberated Yan City.”
Arzen courteously received the chest and opened it. Inside were thirty grand gold coins, each of them equivalent to a hundred gold. There was also a scrolled parchment inside, stamped with the insignia of the royal family.
“You shall be rewarded with thirty grand gold coins and the Elmanar Territory. It’s a small but fertile land near the Boris County. Use it as you see fit.”
Arzen bowed his head. “I am honored, Your Majesty. I promise to develop that land into a prosperous territory.”
King Alvis nodded, satisfied with Arzen’s answer. “I look forward to that day, Arzen.”
The King moved his gazed towards Baron Zacharia. “Next, Baron Zacharia.”
The Baron looked at the King upon the mention of his name.
“For leading the attack at Yorkshaire City, and for gathering the remnants of the Marcus and Yorkshaire Army. You shall also be granted thirty grand gold coins. Furthermore, you shall be elevated to the rank of a Viscount!”
Murmurs filled the throne room at this proclamation. The merchants and nobles attending the awarding ceremony were surprised that the retired veteran was promoted to the rank of a Viscount after the war. It just went to show how important this victory was for the royal family.
Although the territory owned by the Baron did not expand, just earning the title of a Viscount alone was a tremendous gain in this war. The normally stoic Zacharia visibly shook as he tried to process the words the King had just said. Who would have known that a retired instructor like him would become a Viscount before the end of his life?
“Your Majesty!” Zacharia humbly received the chest containing the grand gold coins and the royal decree. “This subject of yours will never forget this kindness!”
Zacharia continued shaking as he willed the tears back. There was no honor higher than this one. He was sure that his late father and the rest of his ancestors watching him from Valhalla would have been so proud.
The King moved his gaze to the next person.
“Lui Marcus,” said the King. “For bravely leading the soldiers, for defending the fortress until the last man. You shall be granted thirty grand gold coins and a named sword!”
A soldier handed Lui Marcus a chest containing the coins and a sword wrapped in cloth. Lui slowly unwrapped it, revealing a sword with an ornamental sheath, its hilt embedded with blue gemstones.
“This is…” Lui stared at the sword, wide-eyed.
“One of the four n
amed swords of the Kingdom. Grandblue!”
The entire throne room went into uproar. Grandblue was a sword passed down only to the descendants of the royal family. Along with the sword of Sword Saint Alexander—Bloodthorne—it was one of the four swords crafted by the legendary dwarven blacksmith, Golgodan.
Just this sword alone cost more than ten thousand gold coins. For a moment, the nobles and merchants started to question the sanity of the King. This move was akin to passing down a national treasure to someone outside the royal family.
Lui’s hands trembled as he held the infamous sword. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he would get his hands on this item. It was not a maginus like the weapon used by General Alvaren, but its blade was made with the strongest metal in this world. Even the gemstones embedded on its hilt made it possible for the user to store some of his magic.
“I-I’m honored, Your Majesty!” said Lui.
The King gently smiled. “There’s no one more fitting than you to wield that sword. I’m sure that Golgodan would have been glad that his named sword landed in the hands of such valiant warrior. That sword’s just gathering dust in the treasury, after all. It’s such a waste, don’t you think so? Lui, I expect great things from you. Continue protecting our Kingdom.”
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
“Next, Sword Saint Alexander.”
The Sword Saint was the calmest among everyone present here. He remained unperturbed despite the unexpected rewards handed out by the King.
“I believe you hold one of the highest merits in this war,” said the King. “Not only did you lead the army in the attack to reclaim Yorkshaire, you’ve also slain the enemy General. The Magic Slayer of the Empire, General Alvaren.”
A soldier holding a chest, a bit larger than the ones before, went towards the Sword Saint and presented it to him.
“You are hereby granted forty-five grand gold coins and the Territory of Aden, including the Valley of Witches!”
Although it was a secluded territory at the east, almost near the United Grakas Alliance, it was a vast territory, and by size alone, it was almost comparable to the entire capital. The King probably made this move in hopes that the Sword Saint would permanently move into that territory and convert it into a stronghold, blocking the path of the Beastmen toward their Kingdom.
