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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Silverriver
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A heavy silence hung in the club room. Crena and Idrian stood there, their expressions grim. Sensing the serious atmosphere, I carefully closed the door.
“Deron, you’re feeling better?”
“I’m fully rested. What happened?”
Idrian’s face hardened. It must be something serious for the Crown Prince to react like that. Had there been a rebellion or something?
“Crebiton collapsed.”
“What?”
Crebiton. A name I vaguely recognized. A fellow club member and a Class A student.
Crena sighed, her expression a mixture of surprise and concern.
“Do you know what Crebiton’s weapon is?”
I shook my head. I barely knew him, aside from the fact that we were in the same club.
“An ordinary sword. But he has a rather… unique constitution.”
“Is his collapse related to his constitution?”
“Yes. It’s the reason he went berserk.”
Berserk? I tilted my head, puzzled. Did they use that term to describe a person? It usually referred to objects, animals, or demons…
“Crebiton goes on a rampage whenever he sees blood.”
“They call people with that constitution ‘Berserkers.’”
Idrian’s explanation finally made sense of Crebiton’s “berserk” episode.
A Berserker? So such a thing existed in this world as well. I suppose my demonic energy episodes could also be considered a form of berserking.
I recalled Crebiton, a frail and timid figure I’d occasionally seen in the club room and in Class A. He didn’t exactly exude an aura of strength.
And yet, he was a swordsman. A Berserker, no less. I knew nothing about his constitution. It hadn’t been mentioned in the original story. But based on common fantasy tropes, I assumed it meant he lost control, becoming like a wild animal. Judging by Crena and Idrian’s reactions, my assumption was likely correct.
“How did he… go berserk?”
“Apparently, it happened during a sparring match with his family.”
“Why would he spar, knowing his constitution?”
Crebiton couldn’t have been unaware of his own condition. A Berserker, whose rage intensified upon seeing blood, couldn’t possibly spar normally. Even with wooden swords and minimal contact, injuries were inevitable. Unless the spar was between individuals with a vast difference in skill, someone would eventually get hurt.
“We don’t know the details. Crebiton hasn’t told us.”
“He just said he went berserk during a spar? That’s a flimsy excuse.”
The Crena and Idrian I knew wouldn’t accept such a weak explanation.
“It is flimsy. Suspiciously so.”
“Then why…”
“It means Crebiton is hiding something. Something he felt the need to lie about, even if it was a flimsy lie.”
I was speechless. I hadn’t considered that. I had forgotten that this was the academy, and students often resorted to clumsy lies when hiding something.
I hadn’t interacted with Crebiton much, but it seemed Crena and Idrian knew him better. They wouldn’t have invited him to the club otherwise.
“Anyway, the dungeon run has been canceled because of it. I’m really sorry, Deron.”
“It’s alright. I had plenty of combat experience in Winter Castle.”
“Ah… that’s right, I heard the orc horde attacked. Are you okay?”
I assured Crena I was fine. Idrian stared at me intently, then said,
“If you’re not too exhausted, perhaps you could visit Crebiton in the infirmary.”
“Is that a request?”
“Yes.”
I chuckled and nodded. I wouldn’t refuse a request from the Crown Prince. And I was a little curious about this “Berserker.”
“Oh, and…”
“Is there something else?”
“Regi… never mind.”
Idrian turned away, a look of sadness in his eyes. I had clearly heard him say “Regi.” The Second Princess’s name. He had been about to ask me about her. As I left the club room, I said,
“The princess still hates you.”
“Is that so? Thank you.”
Idrian accepted the news of his sister’s hatred with surprising composure. I didn’t understand, but I couldn’t interfere any further.
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The infirmary I had stayed in wasn’t this sterile white. It had patterns on the walls and felt more like a… normal hospital room. If it weren’t for the fact that I couldn’t leave, it would have been quite comfortable.
“Third floor, was it?”
I had stopped by a nearby store and bought some fruit. It felt awkward visiting a patient empty-handed.
.I made sure to avoid anything red, just in case. I hesitated before climbing the stairs. When I first arrived at the academy, my body had reacted violently to stairs, causing me to cough up blood.
I still didn’t know why it reacted that way, even though I knew the demonic energy was the cause. I took a deep breath and stepped onto the first stair.
The demonic energy stirred, momentarily overwhelming me, clouding my vision. But it didn’t hurt. It was… showing me something.
-Rumble…
A low tremor. The white stairs turned black. I stepped onto the next stair, compelled to continue upwards. I looked up.
A single chair sat at the top of the stairs. The sight of it sent shivers down my spine. I instinctively knew… that chair was meant for me.
Demonic energy seeped from it, its source unknown. The chair beckoned, urging me to claim it, to sit.
A strangely familiar sword leaned against the chair. A black sword, radiating no aura, no chilling presence of a legendary blade. Then why was it placed next to a chair emanating demonic energy?
I looked at the sword, and the sword… looked back. There was nothing special about it. Yet, my eyes could see.
The demonic energy emanating from the chair… the sword was absorbing it. It completely absorbed the malevolent aura without any reaction.
This wasn’t an ordinary sword. Its sharpness couldn’t compare to the Cold Iron blade, and its durability seemed inferior to the Black Blood Wyrm’s fang. I had been thinking about it the wrong way.
A truly well-crafted sword wouldn’t radiate its power, would it? If appearances were everything, every master swordsman would flaunt their aura.
But they didn’t. Cartrell Philasia had been the first example. He didn’t use his aura carelessly. He only unleashed it when necessary, at the most opportune moment.
Count Cardia had been the same. His master-level Aura, though powerful, hadn’t radiated outwards. It had simply… been.
And finally…
“Mother.”
Arwen Philasia. My mother, who had shown me how to control the demonic energy. I hadn’t sensed anything from her.
No leakage. Just like the masters I had encountered, the sword before me absorbed the demonic energy without revealing its own power.
-Hum…
It simply hummed softly, as if greeting me. I climbed the stairs, knowing this was an illusion conjured by the demonic energy. It would vanish once I reached the top.
The demonic energy roared, the sword vibrating, as if urging me not to leave.
[Someday…]
A voice spoke, its tone chilling, sending shivers down my spine.
[…you will wield me. That is your fate. Your inevitable destiny.]
“….”
[So until then… enjoy your fleeting freedom. Struggle as much as you like, unaware that this is your last breath of air, mortal, bound by the chains of an unjust fate.]
Laughter echoed, a mocking, unsettling sound. The sword’s words tormented me. I grimaced and continued climbing.
And as I reached the top of the stairs, the world shattered. Blood, black as ink, erupted from my mouth. The demonic energy, which had conjured the illusion, retreated into my heart, its laughter echoing in my mind.
I stood on the third floor of the infirmary.
-Thud
Something fell. I turned my head and saw a flash of red.
“Deron!!”
A girl, her eyes blazing, rushed towards me.
Erina Philstine.
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Vass