Chapter 75 : The Matchmaker

The Count closed his eyes briefly, suppressing a sigh, then asked,

“…May I ask your reason?”

I gave him the simplest one.

“I’m not from Blake.”

“That matters little. The Black Prince is not a man who forgets favors. If he takes the throne with your aid, he will reward you handsomely, no matter your origin.”

He leaned forward, voice filled with conviction.

“What do you desire? A title? Gold? A beautiful woman? Land? A fine sword? Honor? Speak it, and the Black Prince will grant it. He is generous to those who stand with him.”

I shook my head firmly.

“I don’t move for wealth or honor.”

The Count studied me.

“Not even for a beautiful woman?”

“…What?”

“I could arrange a match with the captain of Stavanger’s knights. A woman radiant as the sun. She swore she’d accept no man weaker than herself, but you meet that standard well enough—”

“Count. Count.”

I cut him off, deciding to make my stance crystal clear.

It felt a little rude to the man who had saved my life, but it was the truth of my heart.

“Put simply, I’m like a free wind. Any force that tries to bind me, I’ll tear apart and leave behind. It makes no difference whether it’s a beautiful woman or a stalwart man. I don’t wish to belong, to be chained, to anyone or anything. Least of all to a throne struggle. And above all else, I already have a place to return to.”

“…Hm.”

The Count nodded slowly, eyes closed.

At last, he met my gaze again.

“I understand. As I said, it was only a proposal. I won’t press you further.”

“Good.”

I turned my attention back to the lobster.

Nom, nom.

[Enjoying that all by yourself?]

‘Melts in my mouth.’

[So it seems.]

The Count watched me quietly, then resumed his meal. His tone was lighter now.

“The second proposal was meant as a fallback, in case you refused the first. If you had accepted, I wouldn’t even bring it up. Consider it my second-best request.”

“I see.”

Which meant, in plain words, he hoped I’d at least agree to this one.

I wasn’t made of stone.

After all, the man had saved me, healed me, fed me, sheltered me, even set guards around me. To spurn every request would make me a damn ungrateful bastard.

So I listened, prepared to accept.

“The second proposal is… lend me the Ninth Sword for a time.”

“…Hm?”

The request caught me off guard. My eyes widened.

“You mean Ophosis’ cursed sword?”

He nodded, face deadly serious.

“Yes.”

“Why the sudden interest in that?”

“Because the blade is closely tied to the royal family of Blake.”

“…Oh?”

So there were more secrets buried in the Ninth Sword than I’d thought.

I’d never imagined it had a link to the royal line.

“What kind of connection?”

The Count sipped water, then spoke.

“It’s a long story. Shall I?”

“Go on. I’m intrigued.”

I nibbled at a tender piece of lobster as he began.

“The legendary smith Ophosis is as much a symbol of Blake as the kingdom’s banner itself. Ask anyone abroad about Blake, and nine of ten will name him and his swords first. Many houses rose and fell because of him. Even House Stavanger owes its revival to Ophosis.”

A spark of realization lit in my head.

“Ah, that explains Hans…”

The Count nodded.

“Sir Hans carried a token once given by my forebear to Ophosis himself. That’s how he came to us.”

So that’s why the coin had looked so old.

As I pieced the context together, the Count continued.

“His forge is as old as the kingdom itself. Long before it became known as Ophosis’ forge, it maintained close ties with the royal family. The name came only later, when Ophosis’ fame outshone the forge itself.”

“I see.”

“For generations, the blades of the royal knights were forged there. And among them, the sword born with Blake’s founding—Frostblade, the Blue Blade.”

I tilted my head.

“Wasn’t that Ophosis’ work?”

“Strictly speaking, he reforged it. To outsiders, it may seem the same, but you are not of Blake, so I’ll explain.”

“Please.”

The Count wet his lips with another sip of water.

“Frostblade was passed down to the most exceptional knight of each royal generation. It became the symbol of the crown’s defenders, a beacon of pride to every knight. Yet until then, it was only symbolic. A fine blade, yes, but no more than that. Until the day it broke.”

My ears perked up.

“It broke?”

“Ophosis had known the current king since his days as a prince. They were close, and Ophosis played no small part in his rise to the throne. Everyone knew that.”

“Mm.”

“But not long after the king’s coronation, Frostblade shattered. Old age, simple wear—that was all. But people didn’t see it that way. Whispers rose. That an unworthy man had seized the throne.”

“A crisis.”

“Exactly. So the king turned to the greatest smith he knew. Begged him to restore it better than before.”

I leaned forward, expectant.

“And so the Fifth Sword was born: Frostblade, the Blue Blade.”

“Ohhh…”

“The whispers vanished. The pale-blue blade swung in the hands of the king’s knight, striking down enemies in full view of the world. Its power—you know it well, having fought it yourself.”

I nodded grimly.

Yes. That dreadful power was something I wouldn’t soon forget.

“Since then, Frostblade has passed through many wielders, until it came to the Knight of Frost. To hold an Ophosis blade was more than mere strength—it was the symbol of the king’s champion.”

A royal knight’s very identity embodied in a sword.

No wonder the Knight of Frost was said to move only at the king’s command.

“Ophosis’ blades carry power. Not only the strange force within the steel, but a symbolic power that moves hearts.”

And just like that, I understood why the Count wanted the Ninth Sword.

“So then…?”

“Yes. The Ninth Sword. Though people call it the cursed blade, what matters more is that it is Ophosis’ last work.”

Suddenly, inspiration struck, and I clapped my hands.

“Ah! So it’s called a cursed blade because it’s his last blade, huh?”

“….”

The room went cold in an instant.

A heavy sigh slipped from Heavenly Demon.

[…Hopeless brat.]

I muttered quickly, “Fine, forget I said anything.”

The Count cleared his throat and continued.

“The Ninth Sword. It may not rival Frostblade, but it holds both enough legitimacy and enough weight to decide the crown. If the Black Prince wields it, his chances will soar. He would rise instantly as a formidable contender, and the battle for the throne would enter a new stage.”

I nodded slowly.

“I didn’t know the sword carried that much history.”

He leaned forward, his eyes alight with conviction.

“You, the new bearer of Ophosis’ dagger. And Sir Hans, the only one who carries knowledge of Ophosis’ legacy. By chance, you’ve both come together under one roof. If not destiny, what else would you call it?”

The Count’s voice burned with fervor.

“Of course, Sir Hans passed the dagger to you. The only key to Ophosis’ inheritance. Its rightful master is you, Lord Ashuban. The legacy itself ought to fall to you as well.”

The long tale had finally wound to its end.

I met his intense gaze and said evenly, “I’m listening.”

“I’ll help you find Ophosis’ legacy. All the gold and jewels discovered there shall be yours. But…”

“You want me to lend you the Ninth Sword.”

The Count nodded.

“Not give. Merely lend. Temporarily.”

“For how long?”

“Until the Black Prince secures the throne and stabilizes his reign.”

“…I see.”

He looked at me intently.

“So? Can you entrust it to me?”

Lending the cursed sword, huh…

Truthfully, I never wanted the damn thing that badly.

It was only out of spite—because everyone else wanted it so desperately—that I thought I should wield it at least once.

People said the sword granted fearsome power, but to me… it was nothing more than a parasite’s strength. Power that wasn’t mine. Power that vanished the moment the blade left my hand. That wasn’t true strength.

And chasing Ophosis’ legacy was hell itself. Every kind of fiend crawled toward it. To even find the tomb, you had to send a streak of starlight across the night sky, and every demon within miles would descend on you.

If not for Shushruta, I’d never have managed to rest a single night. I’d have been fighting day and night until I dropped dead.

Part of me wanted to nod and accept—make the Count happy, call it even.

But I could only shake my head.

“As I said before, I don’t have the dagger anymore.”

“You hid it before facing the Knight of Frost? Or gave it to someone?”

The image of Shushruta curled beside a campfire, breathing softly in her sleep, flickered across my mind.

“…”

“Lord Ashuban?”

“…Yes.”

I composed myself and answered.

“I did hand it to someone. But as for where it is now—I don’t know.”

The Count stroked his chin.

“Does this person know you’re here?”

“Most likely.”

“…Then.”

“Unfortunately…”

I put on a heavy look.

Not that I felt particularly unfortunate. But I’d just refused both of his requests—better to at least look solemn about it.

Especially since I didn’t want him deciding the lobster on my plate was payment enough.

The Count sighed briefly.

“…I see. Forgive me. I shouldn’t have pried.”

“It’s fine.”

“If you change your mind, tell me. I’ll search for the dagger myself. As for the second proposal, we can revisit it once the dagger is found.”

“Of course.”

We resumed the meal.

Thankfully, the lobster remained mine.

Warm baths. Fine food. Soft bedding.

Everything was better than I deserved—yet my heart found no rest.

I sat by the open window, staring at the autumn leaves scattering in the breeze.

Moonlight caught them as they drifted, flashing pale silver.

Above, the sky was black, with a pitiless white moon hanging over it. Too bright for the stars to show.

That cold light brought someone to mind.

The words I’d spat at Shushruta came back to me like cruel echoes.

“Take it and get lost. That’s the only reason you followed me, wasn’t it?”

“You got what you wanted. So stop saying things you don’t mean and get lost.”

“Not leaving? Don’t make me say it again.”

“Go! Unless you want to die!”

Her face, trembling on the verge of tears, wavered in the moonlight.

I sighed into the pale glow.

“…Haa.”

My sister’s voice floated up from memory: The only truth in any bond is that it won’t last forever.

A bitter smile tugged at my lips.

“…I didn’t mean it, you damned stray cat.”

The ache of regret crept through my chest like a gathering cloud, and I swatted it away.

If I were her, I’d have done the same.

She’d uncovered the dagger’s secret, learned the tomb’s location—an once-in-a-lifetime chance to claim Ophosis’ legacy for herself.

Who in their right mind would pass it up?

“…Haa.”

I steadied my breathing and closed my eyes, sinking into cultivation.

After all those days fleeing demons without rest, now I could finally train without distraction.

No frantic fighting, no desperate pacing—just calm focus, like dipping my feet into a quiet lake.

The line blurred. Was I dozing, or cultivating? Dreaming, or slipping in and out of sleep?

In that hazy state, a voice called.

“Ashuban.”

Familiar.

My eyes slid open, turning toward the window.

Moonlight poured in.

And with it, perched on the sill like a stray cat, was Shushruta, gazing back at me.

(End of Chapter)

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