Volume 4 Chapter 2 Enslaved By Death
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
After finishing the morning preparations at the tavern The Boar’s Trot Inn, Kian greeted the awake Robert and then headed out to the eastern plains from a town on the eastern outskirts of the Franz Kingdom—this had been Kian’s routine for the past four months.
Last night, there had been heavy snowfall.
Kian called out to the guards chatting in front of the eastern gate of the town, then stepped into the deserted eastern plains. His legs sank up to his calves, making a deep squelching sound as the resin-soaked snow compacted beneath him. Amidst the fluttering white snow, he followed the footprints he had left behind—the ones from when he had gone out alone to gather firewood last night, and those from his return. He added to them the prints from today when he had gone out for training.
He did not dislike effort.
Rather, he enjoyed accumulation.
Even before the possibility of gaining magic power and mastering Azrael’s Dance Swordsmanship had arisen, Kian had never neglected his regular sword training.
After having his right arm severed by Erynys with the soul-cutting magic sword, his obsessive attachment to Azrael’s Dance Swordsmanship had diminished, yet his insatiable desire for strength remained unquenched.
He wanted to be strong—
More than anyone else in this world.
Not to save those abandoned by everyone, but in the same way a man desires intimacy, Kian sought combat ability with a simple, unpretentious longing.
”The seven magic swords have returned to the spirit,” Kian said quietly.
In the snow-filled expanse, the shadow of the seven magic swords, now half-illuminated like faint ghostly silhouettes, appeared.
The seven magic swords were holy blades of extraordinary power that Talia had been granted by the spirit during her lifetime.
Four months ago, Erynys, known as “Glasses,” had wielded them, pushing Kian and his comrades to the brink of destruction.
However, Erynys was sealed within the territory of Count Cain, a realm apart from this world, and Talia had managed to find the time to lead the cancellation of all contracts with the spirit.
Thanks to that, the magic swords with absolute power—capable of destroying heaven and earth—had vanished without a trace from this world. It was said that if Kian went to the spirit hiding somewhere with Talia and re-signed the contract, he might obtain them again. But for Kian, who sought personal power over weaponized authority, it was a matter of indifference rather than desire.
”That’s right,” Talia’s voice echoed softly in his mind. “I think it’s wise to gather them only when necessary. However, as long as you are Princess Maribel’s Knight and the ‘Duke Dacia,’ guardian of Izerland, the time will come when you must face threats both domestic and foreign. Remember, when all else fails, relying on the power of the magic swords remains an option.”
”I understand,” Kian replied, raising his right hand above the snow-covered ground.
Ahead, on the path used by adventurers in the eastern plains, a single black shadow stood alone.
The human silhouette was a giant exceeding two meters in height.
Covered in black armor, both hands rested on the hilt of the greatsword Balmung, which was stabbed firmly into the ground.
Seeing that, Kian felt his heart skip a beat.
This was a fight.
An uncontrollable excitement surged before the killing began.
”Talia, if I get seriously injured, I’ll rely on you,” Kian muttered.
”Understood,” Talia responded calmly.
”Sword of the earth, arise,” Kian whispered the words of magic.
He traced a glowing magic circle on the snow with his index finger.
A transmutation reaction sparked, and a rock sword emerged, pulled as if from the very earth beneath the snow.
Kian, possessing extraordinary dexterity, instantly inscribed magical runes onto the blade, reinforcing its strength. Holding the bent blade in a proper stance, he prepared for battle.
The north wind rose, blowing the deep snow accumulated in the plains sideways.
Kian bared his fangs beneath his lips, and his eyes emitted a red phosphorescence—then he vanished in a burst of snow dust.
(‘Leap’—a high-level application technique called ‘domain’)
A technique that interferes with the physical laws of the world, moving at super speed while ignoring bodily recoil.
However, if he collided with an entity emitting magic power waves, the interference would disrupt the ‘domain.’
Kian, moving as if flying across the snowfield, ended the ‘domain’ twenty meters in front of the black giant. He then activated the ultimate technique of ‘Leap’—’Shadow Pursuit.’
”…!” Kian focused his energy, giving his all from the very beginning. He held nothing back.
Swinging the rock sword beside his ear, he seemed to leave sound behind as he appeared before the dark giant warrior. A manic grin surfaced on his recently groomed face—one he’d been conscious of due to the gazes around him.
In contrast, he caught the glint of light blue eyes through the gaps of the dark giant swordsman’s helmet.
In that instant—the collision.
”Nuuhn!” Kian grunted.
”Ohhh…!” the black giant growled.
The sword, swung in a trajectory aimed to decapitate in one strike, was met instantly by the black-clad swordsman, who drew the magic sword Balmung. Orange sparks flew as the horizontally held rock sword and the vertically poised greatsword screeched against each other.
A fierce wind caught Kian’s charge, swirling snow as it violently billowed the black swordsman’s dark cape far behind him.
”Oooooooh!” Kian roared.
His arm muscles bulged, thickening to the size of two stacked logs. Changing the angle of his blade, he pressed down as if to bear the weight of the world on Isthbaran.
The black swordsman’s body sagged under the force.
The snow beneath him exploded outward, dramatically blasted apart by the sword’s pressure.
”…!” Kian’s eyes narrowed.
He would not be pushed back so easily.
In response, the elder countered with technique.
After a brief shove against Kian’s overwhelming pressure, Isthbaran swiftly swept his blade sideways, slipping past Kian’s rock sword in a smooth maneuver. The rock sword fell into the void of snow where Isthbaran had vanished, releasing a thunderous crack that shook the earth. Snow clouds rose over five meters as a torrent of ki surged past, cleaving everything in front of Kian for tens of meters. The snowy ground was obliterated, and a whirlwind-like gale carved an incredibly deep trench far into the distance.
Without a moment’s hesitation or astonishment at such destructive force, Kian and Isthbaran moved on to their next exchange.
Isthbaran slipped to the side and casually struck Kian’s cheek.
The force, more than ten times stronger than Linca’s straight punch, slammed into Kian’s face, snapping his neck with a sharp crack.
The impact stirred a fierce wind that rustled the leaves of nearby brush, shaking off all accumulated snow.
As his flesh and bone rapidly regenerated from the blow, Kian’s red eyes glimmered fiercely.
He raised his sword in a sideways arc.
Isthbaran met it with Balmung.
The rock sword chipped but regenerated instantly.
Kian kicked through the snow, chasing after the flung Isthbaran.
”—Secret Technique,” Isthbaran whispered lowly.
Through months of relentless training and daily battles, he had already mastered six of the seven Secret Techniques—the essence of Azrael’s Dance Swordsmanship.
”Mist Raven,” he announced.
”Hah, ha ha!” Kian laughed, a smile escaping involuntarily at the splendor of the technique.
Perfect.
So beautiful it took one’s breath away.
Leaving behind a visual effect like raven feathers scattering across a white vista, Isthbaran vanished.
His destination was clear.
Kian kicked back with a sharp thwack and caught the raised handle of Balmung with the sole of his boot, stopping the magic sword’s pre-swing.
The magic sword, poised and ready, was neither frightening nor anything at all. Kian, having activated the vampire’s Mist Form ability, left behind a glow of red eyes before disappearing into the snow-laden mist. Isthbaran’s pale blue eyes, gifted with the power to foresee the immediate future, tracked Kian’s reappearance with relentless precision. Kian materialized repeatedly amid the swirling black mist, vanishing like a wisp of smoke—a dance that bewildered Isthbaran but also pinned his adversary’s movements in place.
”Needle,” Kian said, voice calm and trained.
This was the advanced technique known as Needle from the art of Shot. It summoned countless invisible needles in the air, raining down all at once above the enemy’s head. It was a skill Sarah and Linca had wielded four months prior when reunited, and one Kian had long yearned to master. John had dubbed it the Secret Technique, Heavenfall. This move mirrored Talia’s magic sword technique, Heavenbreaker.
Heavenfall and Heavenbreaker were mid-range techniques that manipulated generated blades freely to trap and corner the enemy. While Heavenbreaker made blades visible, each was a spirit weapon—impervious to Linca’s Penetration ability—with every strike exploding over several meters, delivering crushing power.
Shifting his focus, Isthbaran dodged Kian’s Needle, weaving left and right. Kian bared his sharp claws, pouring in an even greater surge of magic.
The Spiritual Vein of Erynys lent its support—an inexhaustible flow of mana surged into Kian’s right arm. A roaring blaze of magic erupted from his entire body, whipping up a physical wind that swept the snow aside.
”Secret Technique: Heavenfall,” Kian declared.
”Kuh,” Isthbaran muttered, eyes wide.
Above Kian shimmered countless Penetration blades, sparkling like a constellation. Seeing this, Isthbaran’s expression darkened with dread.
Kian’s mastery over Heavenfall was such that even Isthbaran’s superhuman reflexes and future sight couldn’t evade it, thanks to its staggering spatial awareness.
There were only two viable choices: either defeat Kian swiftly in close quarters or ranged combat before the technique fully manifested, or endure the Heavenfall rain and close in to strike him down.
This time, Isthbaran chose the latter.
Raising his rock sword like a conductor’s baton, he swung down. A thousand magical blades rained upon the snowy battlefield like a meteor shower. Isthbaran roared, charging with his sword Balmung held low. The needles glanced off his shoulder armor, slicing into his thigh, but he surged forward without hesitation, regenerating at a blistering pace.
A sudden rush of wind.
A black projectile thudded before Kian. Their eyes locked—Isthbaran poised his magic sword in a low stance, close and deadly.
”Hahaha!” Kian laughed, grabbing the gauntlet to block the upward slash. He punched Isthbaran’s face away but was hit in return—losing an eye. A bestial roar escaped him as his right hand swelled to the size of three logs; sharp, owl-like fangs sprouted from his face.
”Ooooo, Gaaaaah!” Kian roared.
”Nuuuu!?” Isthbaran gasped.
Grabbing Isthbaran’s face, Kian lifted him and slammed him repeatedly into the snowy ground, each impact shaking the air. Dashing forward with brute force, Kian slammed him down again and again—until the tenth slam when Balmung’s sharp strike severed Kian’s right arm.
”Huuuu, hahahahaha! Ahahahaha! Good job, Isthbaran!” Kian laughed triumphantly.
”Oooooo!” Isthbaran growled.
The counterattack came swiftly. Balmung cleaved deep into Kian’s torso, but needles pierced Isthbaran’s face, forcing him to stagger back. Both warriors regenerated with terrifying speed. The two colossal beasts crashed into each other, rolling and grappling in the snowy field.
”Guh!” Isthbaran grunted as a powerful punch blasted a circular hole in his stomach. The force sent him flying into an oak tree, snapping it like kindling—the perfect firewood for tomorrow.
”It’s time for the Dragon Slayer, Balmung!” Isthbaran shouted.
”────!” His immense magical power flared like a tempest. Holding his sword at his waist, he summoned a titanic surge of magic, stretching toward the sky.
A strike of the magic sword!
”Kian!” Isthbaran called.
(I understand)
”Secret Technique──!”
”Annihilate it! Balmung!”
”‘Mirror Moon’!”
A black torrent surged forward—magic specifically potent against the dragon race. Kian traced a circle with both hands, activating the Secret Technique of Shot even as searing heat scorched his body.
”What!?” Isthbaran exclaimed.
After deflecting Balmung’s strike, Isthbaran suddenly vanished. Twisting to counterattack, he was caught off guard by a kick that crushed his spine, dealing a mortal blow to his heart.
”Gah──!?”
”Hey, Kian!? Are you okay!?” Talia shouted.
”…I’m fine, Talia,” Kian replied.
Rolling on the ground, Kian felt the magic sword’s tip pressed against his neck. Raising both hands in surrender, he met Isthbaran’s gaze beneath the plume of white breath escaping his helmet.
”I still can’t use the Restoration Curse. If my heart is crushed or my head severed, I will die. —The first round is yours, Isthbaran.”
”This time, too, it’s your loss, my lord,” Isthbaran said, panting, lowering his sword. “However, you are definitely growing stronger. Next time, shall I use a weapon easier for me to handle?”
”I don’t mind,” Kian answered calmly.
”General Isthbaran, please show some mercy. What if our king dies?”
”No, this is fine, Talia.”
Talia’s healing magic restored Kian’s heart, and with the recoil, he rose to his feet. Before him, Isthbaran conjured a greatsword in the shape he wielded in life.
”Keep coming as if to kill me. Hasn’t it always been so?”
”Of course,” Isthbaran nodded and planted Balmung firmly in the ground. Then he wielded a broad, almost super greatsword—the Danbira—swinging it in a wide arc.
T/N: Danbira A large Japanese cleaver or broad sword.
The snow on the plain was blown away, revealing the dead grass beneath. It was no longer a magic sword, but its sword energy surpassed that of any magic blade. This was Isthbaran’s true strength.
Yet, as a member of the Black Panther tribe, Fraus, his mind and body sometimes misaligned—he was weaker than he had been in life.
To help him acclimate to Fraus’s body, this lethal training would continue indefinitely.
”Day by day, the savagery grows…”
Ignoring Talia’s stunned silence, Kian and Isthbaran stepped apart once more, locking eyes and sharing a grin.
”All right, let’s fight to our hearts’ content today!” Kian said.
* * *
Isthbaran’s training continued until dusk. It was the usual routine.
Since the day the party agreed that Serena would train until she caught up with Kian’s skill, not a single day had been missed. Even when Esther and Kola made drinks or prepared ramen, the sessions shortened, but still, for about three hours past midnight, Kian and Isthbaran sparred fiercely.
They wielded killing swords meant to slay enemies.
A sword dulls without blood.
So whenever there was free time, they fought each other to keep their blades sharp.
As the sun set and the snowy plain was dyed crimson, the cleanup using magic began.
At first, the smell of blood drew monsters and dangerous beasts not in hibernation, but all of those became prey for Kian and Isthbaran.
Before the beasts could approach, either Kian or Isthbaran would vanish, a whirlwind of blood cutting through the air.
This was a place for warriors who bled their swords in battle.
Not a place for those who came to kill to survive.
”Still didn’t land a single hit today, huh,” Kian muttered quietly, smoothing out the uneven ground.
From a distance, Isthbaran, gathering fallen trees, looked up and said,
”Eventually, you’ll take one from me. My lord’s form is solid. Compared to Azrael’s Dance Swordsmanship, Mercenary King Swordsmanship or Beastmen Martial Arts suits him better.”
Kian raised an eyebrow. “So, when I can wield Beastmen Martial Arts with ease, that means I can take one from you?”
”Maybe even sooner. Ho ho ho,” Isthbaran chuckled, igniting the bare earth and drying the broken trunks with a hot wind.
”Your strength and speed have outpaced what they were in early autumn. Each time I’m cut down and regenerate, I grow stronger. Now, brute strength and speed alone won’t suffice. I had to use techniques even today.”
(It’s probably Isthbaran’s extraordinary technique level that makes the difference.)
He’s finally reached the starting line to face Kian head-on.
Though Natra, Sarah, and Linca likely gasped in disbelief, Isthbaran is truly Kian’s first martial arts master. It’s a joy that he is strong.
The stronger the master, the more worth it is to surpass them.
The ‘Battle Maniac.’
”Did you say something, Talia?” Kian asked.
”Nothing. Look—both of you, look at the eastern sky. A messenger from Mrs. Camilla.”
At Talia’s voice, Kian and Isthbaran looked up.
In the fading light, a small shadow—a crow—appeared.
After a moment, the crow stopped overhead and descended, holding a letter in its beak.
When Kian took the letter, the crow burst into a plume of blood and vanished, leaving behind a glass artifact shaped like a crow’s skull.
”Whoa. What a cool technique,” Kian said.
”Cool…? It’s one of the Vampire Abilities—creating a temporary life from part of your body,” Talia explained.
Isthbaran, who had been drying the wood nearby, extinguished the fire and approached.
”Have you ever seen a woman stretch or manipulate her hair and nails at will?”
”Ah,” Kian responded.
”That’s the art of manipulating a part of the body freely. In modern magic, it might be classified as infection magic. But the ‘blood familiar’ we use isn’t exactly magic—it simply sends commands via nerves. It’s more like a power unique to vampires.”
”How strange.”
Isthbaran gazed down at the glass crow skull lying in the snow.
”I gather this is akin to the tentacle familiar used by the Thorn Demon?”
”Yes, General.”
”Then, if I train, could I use it too?”
”There shouldn’t be any genetic barrier for a vampire. You’ve absorbed a large amount of My blood created by Albert my Father.”
”Oh! I want to create a temporary life too!”
”Really, such a childlike person…” Talia sighed at Kian’s innocent excitement.
Isthbaran quickly shifted his gaze to the letter in Kian’s hand.
”What about Lady Camilla?”
”Oh, right. Regarding future policies, Mrs. Camilla and Ms. Aliona will be coming to a town on the eastern outskirts of the Franz Kingdom. They’ve requested to use the first-floor hall of ‘The Boar’s Trot Inn’ after hours.”
”That’s rare. Though she’s lost weight, the lady still weighs three hundred kilograms. I thought she wouldn’t want to go out much.”
”It seems the Leanan sídhe wants to meet Esther.”
”That familiar, is it?”
The Leanan sídhe is Esther’s mother—an intelligent monster classified as a Bloodsucking Kind. Entrusted by Mrs. Camilla to manage Roses Mansion and the labyrinth as a gardener, she was released from her duties four months ago.
T/N: Leanan sídhe – A fairy muse in Irish mythology, often linked to bloodsucking.
Still, she continues caring for the ladies alongside Burgkain, whom Mrs. Camilla summoned. She also cooked for Aliona and Isthbaran. It seems the Leanan sídhe’s true freedom is still far off.
Mrs. Camilla’s meals are prepared by Aliona.
Because the lady often orders excessively nutritious meals, Aliona adjusts them with her herbalist expertise to prevent overnutrition.
The lady’s new body hasn’t been found yet, and if it were, continuing the Countess’s eating habits would require another new body soon. To prevent her from becoming a monster endlessly hunting humans, educating her on nutrition is vital. Though it sounds condescending, this is what Kian requested of Aliona, thinking of his benefactor, Camilla.
”The lady and Ms. Aliona will depart as soon as their makeup is finished. They’ll pull a sled to Burgkain without teleportation.”
”If that’s the case, timing is perfect. We must purify ourselves for dinner.”
”Indeed. The firewood can wait. I’ll sneak out early tomorrow morning to handle it.”
”Understood.”
Isthbaran bowed respectfully.
Then he pulled out Balmung, stuck in the ground, and vanished toward Roses Mansion like a fleeing rabbit. At his speed, he would finish bathing before the lady and Aliona completed their makeup—though they were taking so long it was like watching a grandmother apply cosmetics, which was absolutely forbidden to mention.
”Kian, what are your plans about Priscilla’s request?” Talia asked casually as they walked toward the town on the eastern outskirts of the Franz Kingdom.
”I intend to accept it. Ms. Priscilla is a benefactor and has been helpful in many ways. Since she’s close to her brother—Sir Guy and Lord Louis—there’s no option to refuse.”
Kian’s expression stayed calm as he asked, “What do you think?”
’You shouldn’t accept it. It’s clearly ominous. Remember the letter Mrs. Fhana sent a month ago?’
”Of course.”
Mrs. Fhana is the legitimate wife of the current Count of Châtillon, Guy.
Her father was a cardinal of the Western Church, and it was said that the late Renaud had arranged the marriage with Guy.
Fhana, feeling dissatisfied with her life in remote Châtillon after the glamorous days in the Royal Capital, found solace in her private moments with Priscilla. Priscilla, a cultured woman recently returned from the Academy in the Royal Capital, accompanied her to operas and hosted frequent tea parties. They lived like true sisters, easing the boredom of frontier life.
From her came a message: “Recently, Priscilla has not been appearing in society at all. It has become the talk of Châtillon’s Salon that she is holed up in her workshop, repeating suspicious experiments. I want to somehow bring her back to a healthy path, but is there anything that can be done?” Mrs. Fhana, closer to Priscilla than even Kian, sent the letter. It clearly meant Priscilla had closed her heart so tightly that neither Guy nor Fhana could reach her.
Yet, Kian, merely a stranger, had no power to intervene—thus, he resolved to write to Priscilla to uphold Mrs. Fhana’s dignity.
It wasn’t that he had been distracted by Esther and had responded carelessly out of irritation. Absolutely not.
”Priscilla has resigned as the leading Witch of Châtillon,” Talia said quietly, “and has been living a life going back and forth between the Restricted Archive and her workshop. She has not shown her face in society and has been repeatedly engaging in suspicious activities—bringing in large quantities of lower-rank dragon corpses, which makes Lord Guy visibly grimace. And this time, it’s a top-secret request.”
Kian’s eyes narrowed. “‘The Fruit of Death,’ ‘The Smoke Crystal of the Underworld,’ and ‘The Heart of the immortal Minotaur,’ huh? The reward of two thousand Gold Coins is a ridiculous amount that catches my attention.”
”The Fruit of Death and the Smoke Crystal of the Underworld are materials used to separate a person’s spirit from their body and allow them to travel to the underworld. Both are highly toxic. If the dosage or method is wrong, even a dragon can die.” Talia lowered his voice, leaning in slightly. “To put it bluntly, isn’t Priscilla trying to resurrect the deceased Renaud? Isn’t she seeking those two prohibited imports and the heart of an immortal monster for that purpose?”
”She plans to separate her spirit and gather Renaud’s soul from the underworld—through the Spiritual Vein. Additionally, the heart of the immortal Minotaur serves as the core to forge a new body for Renaud. Bringing in prohibited items is a crime, and the ritual she is attempting seems to be no laughing matter.”
Kian nodded slowly. “I’m glad you understand quickly. That’s exactly it. Therefore, I think I shouldn’t get involved.”
He fell silent, staring up at the twilight sky. The afterglow of the grand adventure he had experienced in Ramsey four months ago floated like a fading ember.
Humans were ugly.
They easily sacrificed others for their own purposes.
Yet, while such people existed, there were also those who did not.
Kian recalled the time Sarah had cried like a child in the mansion at Ramsey.
He murmured to himself, “I want to believe in Ms. Priscilla’s goodness. I cannot dismiss her attempt to revive a cherished person as purely evil from the outset. Unless she makes a decision that significantly harms the public good for her own purposes, I want to be on Ms. Priscilla’s side.”
Talia’s voice broke through his thoughts, cautious but firm. “It’s not just about whether Priscilla will cause a spiritual disaster. If she ends up a shell of a person due to a failed ritual, there’s a risk that our relationship with Châtillon will deteriorate because we assisted in such a dangerous act.”
Kian’s gaze hardened. “Talia. An adventurer should not probe into the client’s intentions. As stated, one must quietly deliver what is requested—exactly as requested.”
A faint sigh escaped Talia’s lips, her resistance dissolving. “I understand. If that’s your decision, I will support you as much as I can.”
Notes:
• Count Cain – Talia’s father.
• Isthbaran – The High Warlord of the ‘Storm Herd.’
• Linca – Jibril’s favorite girl. High-ranking warrior monk woman from Shin, with strong abilities like ignoring attacks and poisons.
• Fraus – Male. Son of Arminus. Member of the Black Panther Tribe. Shares his father’s enhanced physical abilities and combat prowess. Relationship: Subordinate and family to Arminus.
• Serena – Wolfmen Girl
• Camilla – A woman; the subject of the chapter; her body was used to seal Erynys’ soul.
• Louis – Trusted subordinates from the Châtillon family, part of Guy’s elite force.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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