Chapter 227

The Saxon Duke and Duchess’s Bedchamber.

The night was deep, and the Duke of Saxony turned his head at the sound of rustling. His wife, Elena, was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Oh dear, did I wake you?”

The Duke of Saxony shook his head at Elena’s words and rose to his feet. Seeing Elena still turned away from him, the Duke of Saxony remained impassively silent.

After the silence, he silently reached out his arms, wrapping them around her neck from behind as if embracing her. Elena swallowed softly.

“Alan…”

Elena softly called the man’s name, but the Duke of Saxony did not respond.

“There’s no need to say anything.”

At those words, Elena quietly swallowed again. Leaving her faintly trembling shoulders behind, she clasped the Duke of Saxony’s hands.

Her hands were cold enough to send shivers down your spine. Yet, within the Black Prince’s hands lay a warmth Elena could never forget.

“I’m sorry, my lord.”

“What are you talking about?”

The Black Duke tilted his head in confusion for a moment. Elena fell silent for a while, and at the end of that silence, she murmured bitterly.

“…I suppose I wasn’t a good wife after all.”

“That is not true.”

Elena murmured, and the Duke of Saxony shook his head. Without even asking why, he simply kissed the nape of her neck tenderly.

“Because you are my beloved wife, more than anyone else.”

Even the highest nobles of the empire can die in war. No matter how precious the blood flowing through their veins may be, no one in this world can escape death.

Ray Yuris, eldest son of the Yuris Marquisate and heir to the Crimson Mage Tower, has fallen in battle. At the very hands of the Black Prince.

Furthermore, the position of Duke of Lancaster itself has fallen into the hands of the Black Prince’s wife, Charlotte. The domain, once hailed as the most fertile and powerful throughout the empire, has come full circle and fallen under Saxony’s influence.

Amidst the ever-shifting tides of war, the balance of power was changing. In the turbulent waves of the new era approaching, the seeds sown long ago by Dale finally began to bear fruit.

Yet before the final war, the Black Prince still had a task to complete.

The Demon Realm—the land beyond the Demon King’s Domain, which even the heroes of other worlds had failed to conquer.

His mission was to subjugate the Shadow Demon Tower erected there by the Saxon lords dwelling within—the immortal engineer Frederick and the Eldritch.

There’s no need to turn all of Eldrich into enemies to win. The only opponent we must defeat is one: bringing the Immortal Lord Frederick to his knees will suffice.

But how could I ever forget the absurdly overwhelming power Frederick the Immortal displayed that day?

That battle where we suffered a one-sided defeat without even putting up a proper fight.

Having obtained the power of the hero and possessing the Book of Cold Ashes, how far can I now stand against him? How much power do the former lords of Saxony, whom he commands, truly wield?

It was impossible to know. Yet if House Saxon were to wage a final battle against the Golden Empire, leaving behind the Demon Realm and the Shadow Mage Tower would be tantamount to suicide.

Unless the ancient darkness Saxon had built up was resolved, victory in war was impossible.

‘But there is little time.’

Even Father, the Black Count, could not guarantee victory against such a formidable foe.

Simultaneously, he recalled the words spoken by Eris, the Black Proxy.

Those who live for eons, the Saxon House Eldritch—even among them all, only a handful, including the Immortal, could confidently claim victory against the Black Duke, who was barely forty.

They possess the strength inherent to being human, and it is precisely when they abandon their humanity that they lose that power.

But what exactly is human strength?

That realization itself would be the key to defeating the Immortal.

Having thought that far, he shook his head. This was not something that could be resolved through contemplation alone.

“The Book of Cold Ashes.”

It was simply a matter of doing what Dale could do now.

The Demon King’s presence dwelled within Dale’s shadow heart, and to embody that presence more fully than ever before.

Ashes swirled as the embodiment of the Demon Book, his old adversary, revealed himself there.

The Ash Lord, defeated by the Immortal Frederick and fleeing from the land of darkness.

“I’ve been waiting.”

Dale silently nodded at the Demon King’s words.

“How much do you know about the progenitor of Saxony, the Immortal?”

“Did you see that man?”

“Yes.”

Dale said.

“What are my chances against that entity right now?”

“Chances, you say?”

Hearing this, the Demon King laughed as if utterly flabbergasted.

“That being is a monster beyond the reach of a mere creature like you.”

“…….”

Dale didn’t answer immediately. It was right then.

─ That’s not true.

The tentacles coiled around Dale’s heart quivered, and a voice spoke.

─ You can win.

“Shub…?”

─ As long as you choose to remain human, the possibility of defeating Dad always exists.

“……Yeah.”

─ Because I believe in you.

Shub spoke, and Dale silently nodded. Nothing had changed.

“Demon King Valour.”

Dale raised his head and began to circulate the magic within his body.

“I must keep up until I reach even the tip of that being’s toe.”

“You’ve always been a foolish fool, then and now.”

The Demon King sneered in utter disbelief. Simultaneously, ashes of annihilation began to scatter around him.

Dale’s shadow heart, symbiotically fused with his ancient rival, reborn as one.

The aura within his body surged like an explosion as the hero of another world stamped the ground.

Several months later.

It was Dale’s eighteenth birthday, yet he had no leisure to celebrate it with ease.

From that day onward, he underwent training upon training to grasp the power needed to reach the Immortal Realm. He had just awakened to the 6th Circle and gained some strength, but it still wasn’t enough.

The number of Circles doesn’t necessarily determine absolute victory or defeat. But the concept of weight class was an element that could never be ignored.

Obtaining the sixth circle was a fleeting realization that flowed like water. For Dale, who began fixating on power immediately afterward, to desire the next realm would be nothing short of absurd overreach.

Yet Dale paid it no mind.

“Attack with all your might.”

At Dale’s words, the Light Sword, Sir Helmut Blackbear, quietly nodded.

Thwack!

Simultaneously, a killing intent swung from behind without a sound—it belonged to Master Baro.

Clang!

The Wandering Blade charged forward the instant that sweeping strike was parried. Simultaneously, the moment the Wandering Blade’s sword clashed with Dale’s Peacemaker, the roaring beast’s blow came crashing down toward Dale.

The martial practice of clashing blades against three Seven Swordsmen.

Without an Avatar, yet with unwavering full force, Dale concentrated his consciousness as he parried their blades.

Swinging his sword again and again against the continent’s mightiest warriors.

Blades scattered like shadows, dancing, and each time, Dale focused his consciousness to parry their strikes.

From sunrise, through the fading evening glow, until the darkness of dawn descended.

With each swing of the sword, he focused his consciousness on the tranquil calm of his mind.

A mage seeking enlightenment through the sword. At first glance, it seemed a ridiculous irony, but to Dale, it was anything but.

Blades flashed all around, carrying the intent to kill. He savored the death imbued within that sword and relived the sensation of parrying it.

A sword is a weapon that kills people. And a knight’s duty is to kill people.

Therefore, each time he parried their attacks, it was an exercise in savoring the tangible reality of death and life embedded within them.

The sensation of death.

This was also Dale’s own method of training, envisioning the moment he would face the Immortal.

As Eris and Shub-Niggurath had said, the Eldritch are deceivers of death. They reject death, choosing immortal life instead, beings trapped in the stagnation of eternity.

Therefore, only one thing distinguished them from humanity.

Death.

From that day onward, what Dale desperately clung to and pursued was death itself.

The sensation that he might die when allowing a single strike, the malice of the sword swung to kill him.

The difference between those who cheat death and grasp immortality, and humans who must inevitably fade away within their predetermined lifespan.

“Were you here?”

And then a voice came.

It was the voice of the mage who knew death better than anyone else on this entire continent.

“Father.”

“Your Grace, the Duke!”

“Good heavens, my lord.”

The Black Duke appeared where Dale was practicing with his swords and his attendants, and upon seeing him, they all bowed their heads in unison.

“You’ve been putting considerable effort into your training lately.”

“Because we must prepare for peace.”

Dale feigned ignorance and laughed. But Black Knight was no fool who couldn’t grasp the meaning.

“Let’s leave the sword training at that for now.”

After that day, Dale began his training, taught by many masters who instructed him in death. Yet even knights whose very profession was taking lives could not compare to the man standing before him.

“Are you ready, Dale?”

As the master of death, the Black Knight spoke softly. Dale nodded without hesitation.

Thud!

Simultaneously, black feathers scattered behind the man’s back, and the cry of a crow echoed.

Before they knew it, the ground beneath their feet was a wasteland where the twilight dusk was fading.

A world made of twilight.

“When you first said you’d defeat the Immortal Master and subdue the Shadow Magic Tower, I honestly thought it was absurd overconfidence.”

Dale’s father in that world continued calmly.

“But now, I cannot help but be convinced.”

“……”

“The possibility that you might reach our Saxon progenitor, the Immortal.”

“And what of you, Father?”

Upon hearing that, Dale asked.

“Father, do you think you stand any chance against the Immortal?”

“I cannot defeat him.”

The Black Lord answered bluntly.

“…But perhaps I could place a sliver of hope in you.”

“Are you saying I could become stronger than you?”

The Black Knight shook his head at Dale’s question.

“Defeating him doesn’t necessarily mean you have to become stronger than me.”

Beside the Black Knight now stood an elderly gentleman dressed in Victorian formal attire. He was the crystallization of the ideology held within his grimoire, 『The Scales of the Heart』.

“The Immortal Master sacrificed his own daughter to write the ‘Book of the Black Goat,’ and that is the most fatal weakness he is revealing to you.”

“……”

But as I said, this is not a victory attainable through sheer difference in weight class.

A victory attainable only through a final, decisive move.

To the ancient monster who has lived through eons, even combining all his past lives, Dale’s existence is nothing but that of a ridiculous child.

And just as Dale’s father had seized victory against the Blood-Red Orb, which even that ancient monster sneered at as a mere blood clot.

There was no difference between the Black Prince and the Immortal Prince.

Truthfully, few in this world felt ‘death’ more tangibly than Dale.

Even the Black Prince was no exception.

“Remember death.”

The Black Duke muttered, and the elderly gentleman in formal attire slammed the cane he held in his hand forcefully onto the ground.

The flock of crows filling the twilight sky began to swoop down toward Dale in unison.