Chapter 63 : The Master of the Demon Sword

“The Great Frost? You’re saying the Knight of Frost is the one coming?”

Shushruta’s expression was deadly serious.

“Yes! The royal knight they sent—it was him. The Knight of Frost.”

The Knight of Frost…

The man the Reaper Brothers were desperate to challenge again, even giving up their scythes to take up a Demon Sword.

The one whose mere presence had driven the flute-playing sorcerer into hiding.

That terrifying knight?

I remembered the white devil-like figure I had glimpsed during meditation.

After a pause, I spoke, “Wait. Didn’t you say the Knight of Frost wouldn’t come? That no sane king would ever send him?”

I vaguely recalled something about a disputed succession and the kingdom in turmoil.

Shushruta gave a curt nod, “Correct. It seems the king has gone senile.”

“...”

At this point, my curiosity outweighed my confusion.

Who in the world was this Knight of Frost, that everyone reacted with such alarm?

What did he do? What did he look like? How strong was he?

I caught up to Shushruta, who was striding ahead, “So this Knight of Frost—who exactly is he? Is he really that strong? The strongest of the royal knights?”

She shot me a glance as she walked, “There is no one stronger in the Kingdom of Blake than him.”

“Bold claim. Surely there could be hidden masters out there, ones stronger than him?”

She shook her head firmly, “No. Not at that level. Do you remember what I told you before? That there are eight Masters of the Sword across the continent— the Eight Sword Lords.”

“I remember.”

“The Knight of Frost, Serkov Wintermire. He is master of one of the nine legendary swords of Ophosis—the Blue Sword, born of winter. The Lord of Frostbite itself.”

“…What?”

The Heavenly Demon chuckled darkly.

[Now this is getting interesting.]

I stopped dead, staring at her.

“You mean… he’s one of the Sword Lords?”

The Eight Sword Lords. Renowned as the strongest eight swordsmen on the entire continent.

And the Knight of Frost was one of them.

Only then did I fully understand why everyone was so frantic.

So that’s what this was about…

At the same time, a burning curiosity flared within me.

What did he look like? What kind of training had carried him to that height? What was that realm truly like? What sort of swordsmanship did he wield? How old was he? What deeds earned him such a title?

And—how strong was he?

If he’s a Sword Lord… doesn’t that mean he’s stronger than even my captain?

I had never seen anyone stronger than the captain.

What kind of monsters were these Sword Lords, that they were likened to natural disasters?

I couldn’t even imagine it.

A tremor of excitement ran through me.

Shushruta yanked my arm, snapping me back, “What are you doing? We have no time to stand around!”

Dragging me forward, she pressed on urgently, “No matter how strong you are, you cannot face him. He is beyond the realm of man. Flight is our only option. Even now, he is surely on your trail. There’s no time.”

“Alright, alright.”

I gave in and followed her, quickening my pace.

Yet, in a corner of my heart, the urge to fight was already stirring.

The Knight of Frost… one of the Eight Sword Lords…

Fwoosh.

A small spark had been lit inside me.

The master of House Stavanger.

Count Herman Stavanger strode briskly down the manor’s hallways.

Father’s token… He detested receiving aid from others. He would rather die than accept it.

The sigil of House Stavanger was not something handed out lightly.

It was given only to repay a debt so great it could never otherwise be repaid—an eternal pledge of gratitude.

Such tokens carried enormous weight. To receive one meant the family was bound to repay that goodwill, no matter the cost.

And this token… it had been given by his father, the previous Count.

Even heavier still.

Count Stavanger stopped before the drawing room door.

Straightening his clothes, he rapped politely.

Knock, knock.

Inside, chairs scraped as people rose.

He entered, hiding his surprise.

“Hm?”

Three unfamiliar faces awaited him—strangers he had never seen before.

No matter how he searched his memory, he couldn’t place them.

“Ah, please, remain seated.”

He gestured for them to sit and lowered himself across from them.

“I am Herman Stavanger, head of this house, though unworthy.”

The man opposite him introduced himself. He was broad-shouldered, middle-aged, with a solid presence.

“My name is Hans.”

“…Hans?”

The Count’s brow twitched.

Hans gestured to the two with him, “This is my wife, Julia, and my daughter, Joy.”

Julia bowed politely, and Joy followed her mother’s lead, bowing shyly.

The Count nodded, exchanging brief courtesies with them, “A pleasure.”

Then his eyes settled back on Hans, “Forgive me, but… Hans. Would you be…?”

Hans inclined his head, “Yes. I am Hans, last disciple of Master Ophosis.”

The Count’s eyes widened.

“Then this…”

He trailed off, producing the silver token the butler had shown him earlier.

Hans nodded again, “Yes. My master entrusted it to me. He told me, should grave trouble ever arise, to bring it to Count Stavanger. That you would give aid.”

“Hah…”

The Count chuckled softly.

He had never expected such an old bond to return like this.

At once, he understood why his late father had handed over the token.

“I owe Lord Ophosis a debt beyond words. Without him, our house would not stand as it does today.”

Count Stavanger bowed his head to Hans.

“On behalf of my family, I thank you for the aid once given. If there is anything you require, I shall help however I can. Speak it, and it shall be done.”

“No, no, that’s…”

Hans waved his hands in embarrassment.

Julia was startled and bowed deeply; Joy, watching her mother, quickly followed.

The Count smiled and rose from his seat.

“To have such guests! Come, let us dine together and talk.”

“Ah, we are honored, but… the matter is too urgent.”

The Count paused mid-step, then slowly sat again, his face turning grave.

“Then there is no time for pleasantries. Tell me—what is this about?”

Hans spoke with difficulty, “It is about the dagger.”

“…I see.”

The Count exhaled a quiet sigh.

The Dagger of Ophosis.

It was a shard of tragedy that had fallen upon Ophosis and his disciples.

The Count stroked his chin and asked, “Do you have the dagger? I heard whispers that a new master had appeared.”

“It is not with me.”

“Then who?”

“A young man named Ashuban has it.”

“Ah.”

It didn’t take much for the Count to connect the name. Surely this Ashuban was the same “Red-Eyed Devil” who had filled recent rumors.

And with that thought, he could already guess what Hans was going to request.

The Count nodded, “You wish me to capture this Red-Eyed Devil who stole the dagger. The crown has already dispatched a knight, but if I act quickly and seize it before them, something might be done.”

Hans shook his head, “No. That is not what I ask.”

The Count raised an eyebrow, “Then?”

“I don’t know why that youth is branded with such a fearsome title. But what I do know is this—he is the savior of my family. He saved our lives.”

The Count blinked.

This was a far cry from the stories spreading on the wind.

“Then…”

“Yes. The dagger—I gave it to him. Ashuban claimed it so that those pursuing it would not hunt my family.”

The Count’s jaw dropped, “Then… the murder of Baron Barankia was also…?”

Hans nodded heavily, “Yes. He must have done it to turn all attention onto himself.”

“My word…”

But still—what kind of madman kills a noble?

Hans bowed his head, “I’ve heard that the royal knight is already pursuing him.”

He raised his voice, desperate, “I beg of you. Please aid Ashuban, our benefactor!”

Julia and Joy both bowed deeply as well.

“Please, we ask this of you.”

“Help mister Ashuban!”

“This is…”

Count Stavanger rubbed his forehead, torn.

We descended the mountain at speed.

People often said going down was more dangerous than climbing up, but that hardly applied to us.

We became like streaks of wind, slipping down without hindrance.

The rain had stopped, so Shushruta’s keen ears worked properly once more.

Guided by her, we cut this way and that, avoiding our pursuers. By luck or skill, we never once crossed paths with the hunters drawn by the earlier light.

“Hah… hah…”

At the mountain’s base, we stopped to catch our breath.

Shushruta pulled out a compass, scanned the surroundings, then unfolded a map. After scribbling several notes and marks, she tucked it away again.

“Ashuban. Let’s go.”

“Hoo…”

I nodded, following her lead once more.

“So? What now? Just keep running from this Frost Knight forever?”

“For now, yes.”

“For now?”

She glanced back at me as we walked, her tone almost gentle, as if soothing a child.

“Ashuban. I know you’re strong.”

“Mm.”

“But the Frost Knight is… an exception. He is a natural disaster in human form. A being of another league entirely. No matter how strong you are, against him you would not last five minutes.”

Her words stung my pride, but I nodded anyway.

“So what? Just run for the rest of my life?”

“If we could, that would be best. But it is impossible. Once marked, you will face him someday.”

“Mm.”

“What I mean is—we must delay that day as long as possible.”

“How long?”

“The longer, the better.”

“Hm.”

So… stall for time, grow stronger. That was her plan.

But then she added, “Yet no ordinary path will suffice against him.”

“Then what?”

She turned her head, her eyes locking onto mine, “The Demon Sword.”

“…What?”

Shushruta pressed on, quickening her pace.

“We must enter the tomb of Ophosis. There, you will claim the ninth Demon Sword. Only then will there be a chance.”

I scowled, “That sword—you said it corrupts the mind. What if I lose myself? What if I go mad, blood-crazed?”

She looked at me evenly, “You? Lose yourself? You already have too much self. How could a sword take it?”

“…That doesn’t sound flattering.”

Was that an insult or a compliment? I couldn’t tell.

[Hmph. The girl makes sense.]

“Oh, shut up.”

Shushruta continued.

“The Frost Knight has never once missed his mark. Like it or not, you will face him.”

“I figured as much.”

“When that time comes—if you don’t want to die, if you don’t want to freeze to death at his feet…”

She reached out and gripped my sleeve, her eyes solemn.

“There is only one way, Ashuban. You must become the master of the Ninth Demon Sword.”

“…”

“Even if it means the sword takes your mind, even if you become a demon drunk on blood—it is still better than dying.”

A faint smile touched her lips.

“…”

I clicked my tongue inside my mouth.

The thought left a bitter taste.

To survive only by relying on the sword’s power…

I didn’t like it.

But then again, life rarely gives what you like.

This world demands you do whatever it takes to live.

What was my discomfort compared to that?

I nodded.

“…Fine. Then let’s go.”

“Good.”

And together, we set our steps toward the Tomb of Ophosis.

(End of Chapter)

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