Chapter 98

“Victory! Saxony’s ‘Black Prince’ has won!”

“So even though he broke the Fight Club rules and used an avatar, he still couldn’t win!”

“So the title of the empire’s greatest genius wasn’t just empty talk after all!”

The crowd’s frenzied voices echoed throughout the arena. Leaving behind the high-ranking assassins of the ‘Shadow Court’ surrounding him.

“…Had he already reached the realm where he could consciously unfold the ‘world of thought’?”

The man wearing a bird-beak mask and a black coat spoke. It was the voice of the assassin, Master Baro.

“Without that level of capability, one couldn’t survive in the Fight Club.”

“Heh heh, Shy-Pull. You’re no ordinary brat, that’s for sure.”

Dale answered flatly, and Master Baro spat out curses as if in awe. The assassins in bird-beak masks vanished simultaneously. The judicial enforcers Guild City prided itself on.

And now, the continent’s foremost assassin organization, reborn as Dale’s right-hand men.

The assassins withdrew, and Dale turned his back. Victory in the 32nd Round. Furthermore, he had defeated the proxy of the Holy Sword Knight, thereby eliminating one more competitor from the Black Market.

Dale moved forward calmly, reaching toward the knight’s waist. The golden skull ornament—in other words, the invitation to the black market that the holy knight had handed over to his proxy.

Crunch!

He crushed it with all his might.

The greatest reason representatives of the great nobles risked their lives to participate in the Fight Club. Fewer competitors, the better. Even if killing them wasn’t strictly necessary, it was preferable to kill them if possible.

Watching an opponent beg for mercy and cry out in surrender wasn’t bad either. After all, there was no more miserable ending than seeing a noble’s proxy beg pitifully for their life and surrender.

Dale turned and walked straight out of the arena. It would be quite some time before his next turn came, and there was no harm in observing his opponents.

Even though the opponent used an avatar to break the rules, and Dale unfolded the realm of thought purely in self-defense, it was still an extremely rare occurrence.

The moment the rules were broken, the waiting ‘Shadow Court’ would move, and the Sword of Death personally commanded his assassins.

The First Seat of the Seven Swords of the Continent. Unless a powerful noble takes the field personally, it’s not an opponent a mere proxy can handle.

Those participating in the Fight Club surely know this fact.

But in the face of mortal peril, reason proves far less useful than one might think. Kneeling in surrender is something a knight’s pride cannot tolerate, yet to simply accept death is also impossible. For a knight, surrender is a dishonor worse than death itself.

Following Dale, another Round of 32 duel.

Thus, one of the great nobles’ representatives lost his mind and unleashed the forbidden avatar of the Fight Club…

“Heh heh, look at this clueless little bastard.”

Facing that very powerhouse, the blade master ‘Master Baro’ moved.

Wearing a bird-beak mask and a black coat, gripping two sword hilts in each hand. Dual swords, the two-sword style.

Against the knight unleashing his Avatar, crimson aura blades coiled around both blades.

Alongside the ‘High Assassins’ of the Shadow Court he commanded.

Did he deem the avatar not even worthy of being met with an avatar?

The swords of the assassins, aiming for vital points, plunged down, and a few paces ahead of them, a hail of daggers carrying a blood-red aura poured down from all directions. Each assassin wielded the blood-red aura blade that Master Baro boasted about.

Faced with such overwhelming numbers of skilled fighters, even a knight wearing an Avatar would be helpless.

“Guhk, keh…!”

Blood-red daggers plunged in from all directions. Blood gushed from vital points, and the pungent scent of blood filled the air.

‘……!’

Seeing that, he realized.

These men, the ‘High Assassins’ under Master Baro’s command in the Shadow Court… They were by no means mere back-alley assassins. They formally inherited the sword and style of the Slayer Sword, one of the Seven Swords of the Continent.

They were in no way inferior to the knight forces cultivated by the great nobles, yet they possessed none of the knights’ ideals. They were not knights who fought fair and square, but assassins who took their opponents’ lives with ruthless, utter efficiency.

They are devotees who worship the Goddess of Shadows with absolute devotion, and those who venerate Dale as the ‘Black Apostle’.

There are many forms of gaining a person’s trust. And gold is better than friendship, loyalty better than gold, and fanaticism better than loyalty. In that regard, the trust of the ‘Shadow Court’ is undoubtedly beyond question.

‘This is the power of the Shadow Court I will possess…’

Seeing that sight made Dale’s heart beat even faster.

Alongside the Night Raven Knights boasted by the Swordmaster Helmut, and the assassins of the Shadow Court trained by the Blade Master Baro. An unbelievable combat power had come into his hands.

“Clean out your ears and listen up.”

Seeing the knight kneeling with vital points stabbed by blades, the man in the bird-beak mask, ‘Master Baro,’ spoke.

“Before you get a one-way ticket to the underworld for your reckless antics, you’d be wise to bow your heads and surrender quickly.”

He issued this blatant warning to the Fight Club participants. A blood-red blade swung, and that was the final blow.

Blood gushed forth in spurts, and the severed head rolled lifelessly across the floor.

Silence hung heavy in the arena, and the wind blew. Master Baro and the Shadow Assassins had vanished without a trace.

Just as the world of ideas unfurled by a magician is never an omnipotent force, the avatar deployed by a knight was no exception.

What matters is not the avatar or the world of thought itself, but solely the strength of the ideology projected into it.

For instance, the avatar of the Saint Magdalene Knight who fought Dale was composed of pure white, symbolizing them. While its form could be called the ideology of the organization, it could never be called the ideology of the individual knights. And as the ideology of the sword grows stronger, the avatar also gradually acquires the corresponding individuality and power.

Not the ideology of the organization, but his own unique ideology forged by his sword.

Paradoxically, the grotesque, pig-like appearance of the Holy Swordmaster speaks to his level of mastery.

Some time later. Another highly anticipated match commenced at the Fight Club.

Ray Yuris, the adopted son of the Crimson Duke.

Within the Imperial Capital and the Crimson Mage Tower, he held an absolute position where no one dared challenge him. Yet unlike the Saxon family’s ‘Black Prince’, he remained unknown to the outside world, maintaining utter silence while biding his time—a true monster.

And it was Ray Yuris himself who, with his own mouth, brought an end to the silence. For the Master of the Kalimala Guild, the terror unleashed through dark magic was merely the opening act.

“This is truly a most extraordinary sight!”

“Who would have thought that besides the eldest son of the Saxon family, such a young child would participate in the Fight Club!”

“Isn’t he the adopted son of the world-renowned ‘Blood Prince’? There’s no reason to accept him without cause.”

The commentators’ voices, brimming with anticipation, continued as his opponent repositioned his sword. Participating in the Fight Club is usually the knights’ domain. When a mage and knight’s battle follows the ‘standard format,’ especially in duels held within the arena, it inevitably becomes overwhelmingly disadvantageous for the mage.

But Ray Yuris paid it no mind.

Crimson-black magic power swirled at his feet. The black power he had once obtained through the bond of black and red. Adding his prized red power to it, he accelerated the circle of his heart.

The circle’s RPM surged sharply, and from it began to spew forth a swirling vortex of black and red.

‘Circle 3…!’

Dale could sense it. Ray Yuris flickered his fingers. Flames erupted, blocking the knight and him.

‘A jab punch to deny distance.’

That’s what he thought, and Dale’s prediction was completely off the mark.

Whoosh!

The blazing, searing flames began to form the silhouette of something.

──It was the Flame Death Knight.

To simply call it a creature of flame would be an understatement; the ‘black power’ dwelling within it was far too potent.

It was literally erected by fusing the Black Mage Tower’s esoteric arts with his own crimson magic.

The armor blazing with flames, and even the flaming skeleton within it, was the very embodiment of the ‘Death Knight of the Black Mage’. Moreover, the flaming greatsword held in the knight’s hand.

‘A Death Knight created with red magic…!’

And most crucially, it wasn’t just one. Flames burned endlessly, beginning to generate Death Knights. Approaching them, the Death Knights burned with such intense heat it made breathing impossible. They weren’t made of human flesh and bone, but solely of the shape of blazing flames.

Even for Dale, it was a sight that defied belief.

Moreover, what the Flame Death Knight held was not merely a greatsword of fire.

It was projecting… an aura. Not a single color.

Crimson-black. An aura blade of darkness and blood, black and red intertwined. Those very crimson-black Death Knights began their onslaught.

Immediately after. After clashing swords with the Flame Death Knight just a few times, the knight swiftly dropped to his knees and shouted his surrender.

“Surrender! Surrender! I surrender!”

Even if it’s utterly shameful and agonizing enough to make you wish you were dead, it’s better than dying. Better than meeting a dog’s death and being unable to even participate in the ‘Black Market’—the worst possible outcome.

At least he possessed the capacity to grasp that much reason.

“I accept your surrender.”

Ray Yuris snapped his fingers. Attacking while someone is shouting surrender is a prohibited act. The Flaming Death Knights instantly surrounded him and halted their movements.

At that very moment.

“Gah! Gah! Gah!”

Suddenly, the knight clutched his throat and began to groan.

“……!”

Seeing that, Dale could sense it immediately. Right now, Ray Yuris was deliberately releasing ‘poison gas’.

──Toxic gas originating from the fire.

Through the Flames of Death Knight, he was ‘deliberately’ manipulating the flow of toxic gases generated by burning the entire area. By exploiting the poisoning mechanism of carbon monoxide (CO), disrupting the oxygen binding of hemoglobin.

After suffocating to death, the knight’s body collapsed lifelessly.

A colorless, odorless, tasteless assassin.

“Ah, this is quite something.”

Ray Yuris chuckled awkwardly.

“I accidentally killed him.”

He feigned utter innocence.

In the arena where lives are staked, sometimes it’s unavoidable.

The Fight Club pursued the thrill of blood, a festival of madness. Even with rules forbidding attacks on those who surrender, when faced with the ‘inevitable,’ it truly was unavoidable.

Everyone had wanted it from the start, and that’s why the roar erupted at the sight of Ray Yuris. But Dale couldn’t smile.

The intricate ideology projected into each Death Knight. The capability to manifest it in the form of flames.

Moreover, the aura blade he projects there is impossible without the innate talent for swordsmanship.

Above all, that was a realm far beyond what a mere third-circle mage could ever hope to achieve. Just as Dale had once been.

‘This might be worth a proper fight after all.’

Seeing that, Dale thought of it as if it were someone else’s affair.

Immediately after.

The 32nd match concluded, and Dale immediately left the Fight Club. Here, at the heart of the city where the Fight Club stood.

‘Arte della Lana’.

To the location of the master of the Lana Guild, one of the Seven Great Guilds.