Chapter 170

It was the third day since Yuwon had torn through the very heart of the enemy camp. The exploits of Hastings and Bernid spread far and wide, booming across the entire continent. A victory cry from the Valaris Alliance—raised somewhere in the sparsely populated Southern Desert—announced the start of the war.

“Hey, old man Smith. Did you hear the news?”

“Hoh, man. If you’ve got eyes and ears, how could you not have heard? The moment two people gather, that’s all they talk about. Don’t tell me you only heard it now?”

“What? It’s already spread that far?”

“Tsk… You weren’t like this before, but now your news is that late… This isn’t just a little commotion. The Imperial Army lost its Supreme Commander. From our Empire’s standpoint, we got our initiative crushed before the war even properly began.”

“Hah hah… well, is there really any need to worry? War isn’t something you go up and down over a single small clash.”

“Hey—are you trying to act like you know things in front of me when you don’t even know the basics? It’s valuable news, so listen closely.”

“…?”

“It wasn’t just Marquis Carson getting kidnapped—there was an armed clash. And in that clash, just two people utterly crushed dozens of the Imperial Army’s elite troops from the very start.”

“Two people? Dozens? When you say ‘dozens,’ you mean twenty, thirty… No, even twenty or thirty is a lot. But is that really true?”

“It’s true. It’s true. And this is a top-grade secret, but… there’s talk that one of them was Third Prince Bernid.”

“Hng…! Third Prince Bernid…!”

“Shh! Anyway, that one’s the real top-grade secret, so don’t go running your mouth about it. Unless you want to live out your days in peace.”

After disappearing along with the Fifth Prince, rumors had swirled—he went with the Fifth Prince, he died, and so on. Now, the Third Prince’s reappearance was not just idle chatter for old men on street corners. Similar stories were being exchanged everywhere, by people of all ages and statuses.

“If, as the rumors say, the Third Prince truly turned his sword toward the Empire, then the only ones who can stop him are us. Make preparations. Like it or not, we’ll be summoned soon.”

So said the bearded magicians of the Magic Tower.

“To think it might happen… and yet it really is happening. They’re truly resolved to go to war with the Empire… insane. The Fifth Prince never feared anything under heaven except the Former Emperor, so fine, but even that sly Third Prince is acting like he doesn’t know how high the sky is… This war won’t end as some mere show of force. You’d have better luck cracking a boulder with an egg. Insane. Absolutely insane.”

So said the Empire’s nobles who had been flattened to the ground, terrified of stray sparks.

Those who had assumed the Fifth Prince’s remnants would kneel before the Empire’s overwhelming military might and that everything would end were now forced to consider a real, blood-splattered war.

And Gion, who had suffered direct losses from this incident, was the same.

“The troops I attached to support Colbus were all killed by just two people…? And Colbus was safe, you say?”

In the deepest place of the Aphahiel Imperial Palace—the Tomb of Swords—Gion stood listening to his subordinate’s report.

“Yes, Seral Vice Commander… no, the Supreme Commander is safe. It seems he was attacked from multiple sides by the Fifth Prince and his group—his wounds are deep all over and there isn’t a single uninjured spot, but fortunately he avoided critical injury. They say he’ll be fine as long as he receives treatment.”

“Then that’s enough.”

‘A pincer attack? Nonsense. It’s not as if he fought thousands alone. If it was only three opponents, a mere pincer attack couldn’t bring Colbus down. It was one person. One person capable of matching Colbus did it.’

Believing his guess to be correct, Gion continued with questions to confirm.

“You said the man presumed to be the Fifth Prince was unconscious and collapsed. For certain.”

“Yes, that’s correct. According to those who joined late and rescued Supreme Commander Seral, on the enemy’s side, besides Marquis Carson, there was one more man lying unconscious. We suspect it may have been the Fifth Prince.”

“Hm… I see.”

‘It’s him. He fought Colbus. Not a group assault—one-on-one.’

Drawing on what he knew, Gion coldly analyzed the situation and deduced it with uncanny accuracy, as if seeing the unseen.

‘Yurion Aphahiel… When I heard he had brought down Ipalim, I thought he was no ordinary man, but to the extent that he could be Colbus’s opponent…?’

“That’s enough. Go and deliver the word. When Colbus regains consciousness, make it so he can contact me immediately.”

“Yes! Understood!”

After dismissing his subordinate, Gion remained alone. In that place—so quiet it was lonely, so still it was almost desolate—he slowly turned his gaze and looked around the Tomb of Swords, as though trying to recall the achievements he had made here.

Soon, Gion’s eyes fixed on the White Dragon Sword, shining loftily at the center of the Tomb of Swords. The pure white blade, having lost its owner, reflected the sunlight pouring down through the open ceiling and gleamed dazzlingly.

As he examined it in silence, a calm smile spread across Gion’s lips.

‘The White Dragon Sword truly is frightening. It turned the Fifth Prince—once infamous as a wastrel—into the next owner of the imperial throne overnight, and now it’s made him into one of the strongest swordsmen in the human world….’

When his thoughts reached that point, Gion—despite knowing it would not work—reached out to draw the White Dragon Sword. His soft hand, without a single callus, wrapped around the hilt. But the White Dragon Sword did not budge in the slightest.

It was the result he had already expected. Even so, he could not help his expression hardening.

“…I climbed to the imperial throne with my own two feet. And still I can’t. Because I’m not Aphahiel.”

A Guardian Sword that chose its master by its own will. Though the White Dragon Sword was the origin of those Guardian Swords, before Gion it was nothing more than ordinary metal. No—less than ordinary metal.

In Yuwon’s hand, the White Dragon Sword was the justification and proof of inheriting Aphahiel’s legitimate line. To Gion, it was merely an eyesore—a lump of steel.

‘Fine. I admit it. I cannot. This is not something permitted to me.’

Without regret, Gion released the hilt he had been holding. Straightening, he spoke in a low voice, calling to the shadow that guarded him from somewhere unseen.

“Is there no one here?”

“Yes—yes! You called, Your Highness?”

At Gion’s call, a single shadow dropped from the air and immediately awaited orders.

“Find me a blacksmith.”

“Yes. I will select and bring the very best among those who work for the imperial family.”

“No. That won’t be enough.”

“…Pardon? Then…?”

“The one who bears the Nameless Seal. Bring him.”

“The Nameless Seal…!”

“Yes. A legendary blacksmith said to stand on a level comparable even to the dwarf blacksmiths. I need him. I will melt that sword down and erase it, and forge a new sword for a new Empire.”

“Yes! Then I will look into it at once.”

At the very moment the shadow who had received the order was about to vanish, Gion called out and stopped him.

“And one more thing.”

“Yes. Please give the order.”

“…I’ve changed my mind. I should go myself. To the South.”

Gion Tindal. The man who had usurped the imperial throne, brought the era of Aphahiel to an end, and sought to open a new age. He intended to move personally.

—

A sparsely populated forest deep within the Southern Great Jungle.

A guide bird with long trailing tail feathers perched atop a tree and let out a clear, trilling cry. Its true identity was none other than Bhalsar.

A great sage whose name would be etched into continental history, and the last surviving dragon who had lived through the annihilation of his entire kin. At the same time, he was the very one who had offered Yuwon—who had entered the Great Jungle without any connections—small pieces of advice and guidance that allowed him to survive.

After helping Yuwon obtain the Dragon Jade, he had vanished like the wind. Now, he had once again revealed himself in the Great Jungle.

‘To think I’d have to appear like this… still, there’s something I need to confirm, so it can’t be helped.’

Was there something he urgently needed to examine? Shaking off the advances of a real guide bird, Bhalsar grumbled but maintained his form and beat his wings.

Flap, flap—

Tiny wings and movements that suited him not at all, considering his true form was a dragon. It should have felt awkward, yet Bhalsar himself flew through the Great Jungle with complete nonchalance in that guise.

After flying for about ten minutes, Bhalsar’s steps—no, his wingbeats—guided him to his destination. Far ahead, the settlement of the Great Jungle Alliance came into view.

‘I’ve arrived.’

As he neared his destination, Bhalsar put more strength into his wings and increased his speed.

“Are you planning to harvest anything this year if you keep going like that? Move faster. Haa… at this rate, we’ll be eating last again today.”

“Kuooo….”

“Don’t make that face. What can’t be done can’t be done. I mean, honestly… how can you have such terrible work sense…? You can count to a hundred at least, can’t you? You’re supposed to be the smartest one in your orc tribe. No—ugh—like that… that’s not how you do it….”

A bizarre scene: a human scolding an orc while teaching him farming. To Bhalsar, watching from a tree branch, it was both unfamiliar and astonishing.

‘To think they’d actually pull off a proper unification… I thought we’d be lucky if the humans didn’t all get eaten….’

Crude, yet valiant warriors—that was what orcs were in Bhalsar’s memory. But now, before his eyes, an orc held farming tools in one hand, glued to the side of a human farmer, wholly absorbed in learning how to till the land.

‘Yurion truly… he’s something else.’

On one side, humans and orcs worked together to cultivate fields and prepare meals. Far off on the other side, knights who had joined of their own will from the Empire trained in military formations alongside orcs.

“One means thrust! One!”

“Hah!”

“Kuoh!”

“Two means swing! Two!”

“Two!”

“Kuooo!”

Watching the scene quietly from afar, something like a smile crept onto Bhalsar’s lips—though no one could recognize it, as he was borrowing the form of a bird.

‘I knew orcs possessed at least a thread of intelligence… but this is interesting. Tang Seogyeom chose conquest, yet his disciple chose coexistence… If he had made the same choice back then….’

If Tang Seogyeom had chosen the same path as Yuwon, would the world be different now? Bhalsar entertained the thought briefly. Of course, there were no “ifs” in history.

‘No. It was right then and wrong now. For humans who had been oppressed for thousands of years across the continent, once they finally gained the power to stand against other races, coexistence was never an option.’

At that moment, a rustling sound of leaves brushing together came from the tree Bhalsar was perched on. Even so, Bhalsar did not turn his head.

‘…It’s him.’

There was no need to look when he already knew who it was.

“Worth looking at, isn’t it?”

A familiar voice. Right beside the branch Bhalsar stood on in bird form, Yuwon was there. He looked completely fine, as though the wounds he had sustained in his bloody duel with Colbus had already healed cleanly.

“…How did you know? I hid my presence, and I even came in this form.”

“Ordinary guide birds don’t look down on the world with such an arrogant expression. And they certainly don’t carry a Dragon Heart inside them.”

“So I was exposed by my mana.”

Yuwon answered with a faint smile.

“I might fool others’ eyes, but not mine.”

The two remained silent for a while after that. They simply looked toward the same place from the tree branch. It was Bhalsar who eventually broke the silence.

“I saw it on the way here. Your enemies are swarming like ants. At most, six days from now, they’ll reach Valaris.”

“Already? Well, I did spend a full two days lying around comfortably. That’s fast. Considering they lost their Supreme Commander, it seems the other side recovered rather quickly.”

Unlike Yuwon’s calm response, Bhalsar was grave.

“This isn’t something to laugh about. The ones here are all fairly capable, but Valaris won’t hold out for long.”

“Of course. I never intended to decide the outcome at Valaris in the first place.”

“…I’ll say this in advance—I can’t help you. Because of the trouble I had with that Geiorn fellow in the past, I’m in a position where I have to be careful in many ways.”

“A dragon who fears nothing under the heavens has to be cautious… mana, I assume.”

“Yes. If I step in like I did back then, I’ll surely be erased.”

“It’s fine. I never intended to ask for help anyway.”

If Yuwon had asked, Bhalsar might have helped even at the cost of his own erasure. No—deep in his heart, that resolve already existed. But Yuwon’s refusal was firm.

Bhalsar gestured ahead with his beak, as if nodding.

“…Are you confident you’ll win? I mean, can you really protect them—the fools who follow you?”

“If I thought it was impossible, I wouldn’t have started in the first place.”

“…Very well. Then I’ll trust you.”

“Then we won’t be seeing each other for a while.”

“You’re leaving. For the battlefield.”

Yuwon nodded silently. He had no intention of remaining idle either.

The southern battlefield.

Yuwon and Gion were heading toward the same place.

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