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[Translator - Pot]
[Proofreader - Kawaii]
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Chapter 180: Svaltalfar's Executioners
I was momentarily stunned by the sudden realization of my past life's cause of death.
"What a bunch of bastards."
They tried to use me like a blade, then discard me when they realized they couldn't fully enslave me? Now that I knew the truth, it felt even more absurd and infuriating.
"But you never expected I'd come back to life, you sons of bitches."
I let out a laugh like a madman.
'Ivan, Ivan... are you still alive?'
He must be. That bastard was strong to begin with.
Even if I regained my prime strength, Ivan would be the one opponent I couldn't defeat unless it was a fight to the death.
'And even in a deathmatch, I'd probably lose an arm or an eye before barely managing to kill him.'
In other words, Ivan was a half-step above me—an exceptionally powerful assassin in the underworld.
But...
He had always been wary of the realm I demonstrated—the potential to dismantle and absorb others' martial arts, the qualities of a grandmaster.
And most of all, the swordsmanship of the Karzan style I had created.
'That sword could only be wielded by someone who had honed their soul, body, and senses to the absolute limit.'
A sword I could never wield again in this body, Allenvert's, where only Karzan's soul and memories remained.
The day I fully reclaim that sword may never come. After all, I'm now forging a new path by absorbing Grunewald's martial arts.
'Still, if Ivan is alive...'
Meaning, if he's had 17 more years to grow stronger—
With the insights gained from relentless training, his already exceptional talent, and now demonic arts amplifying his power...
I wouldn't be surprised if he had reached a level comparable to that mad knight, Amilcar, one of the strongest in the Kingdom of Flanders.
'But even for you, reaching the 8th tier wouldn't be easy.'
The 7th tier was hellishly difficult, but the 8th was said to be a realm only the "chosen by the gods" could cross. At that point, finding an equal opponent across the entire continent would be nearly impossible.
'In this castle, only Duke Georg, Elder of Sword Leszek, and Elder of Magic Geninghen might have barely reached it.'
But even if Ivan remained at the 7th tier, the story wouldn’t change much.
Only those among Grunewald’s elite—the Knight Grand Commander, the Special Operations Division Grand Commander, or the Royal Guard Grand Commander—would stand a chance against him.
'Well, exactly where his skills lie isn’t that important.'
He’s still a peak I must overcome.
"So sit tight and wait for me, Ivan."
As a martial artist, he should still be in his prime. Though his body may age slightly, abundant mana would preserve his youth. He’s probably terrifyingly strong by now.
'So even if I gorge myself on Grunewald’s martial arts, rare spirit medicines, and the teachings of exceptional masters... I doubt he’d complain.'
If he does, he’s a damn bastard.
***
The Next Morning
Peter and Julia arrived early, diligently cleaning my bedroom.
"Ah, working hard from dawn, I see."
Still half-asleep, I leaned against the wall and watched them.
"It’s our duty, young master."
Peter grinned, so I asked,
"Why do you look so happy?"
"Oh, well—"
"The butler gave us a bonus!"
Julia chirped excitedly.
"Oh, really?"
"You didn’t know? He said it was by your order."
At Peter’s question, I tilted my head.
‘Huh? Did I say that?’
This was news to me.
‘...Ah.’
I quickly pieced it together.
‘Olivier must have credited me.’
What an admirable butler.
Well, no reason to refuse the credit.
"Use it well."
I nodded shamelessly.
"Ah, how embarrassing that word got around."
"We’ll use it wisely, young master!"
"Th-Thank you!"
The two bowed eagerly.
"Good, good. Cute kids."
Sometimes they really did seem like little chicks.
"Not that I doubt you’ll use it well, but don’t keep it all for yourself. Buy Bridget some books too."
"Yes!"
Peter answered brightly.
"I already planned to set aside half for Bridget’s books."
"Literacy will open many doors. When the time comes, I’ll summon you."
"Yes!"
"Of course, your mother must recover first. You’re busy nursing her now."
"Th-Thank you... For considering someone like me so deeply..."
As Peter teared up, I teased,
"And Julia, when the time comes, make sure to discipline Peter’s junior. Show them the dignity of a senior."
"Wha—? I-I can’t do that!"
Julia shook her head frantically.
"Tsk, how do you expect to survive the cold ruthlessness of the palace with that attitude? You need to be sharper—"
"But I’m really not like that...!"
She pouted, looking between me and Peter with pleading eyes.
‘Well, fair.’
I was almost worried she’d end up being doted on by Bridget instead.
‘That girl’s cunning beyond her years.’
***
Meanwhile
Amid my busy training, I made time to meet with Rudgarda.
"Young master, it’s been a while."
"Our Sixth Commander is doing well, I hope?"
"I’m the same as ever, but my mind is at ease now."
Rudgarda Angantyr.
The daughter of my enemy, abandoned by her father. A hostage of Grunewald, yet commander of the Special Operations Division.
And my blood-sworn ally against a common foe.
"You handled Evan’s matter well. His mother, hidden in the safehouse, is also in good health."
I had discreetly moved Evan, whom I’d been keeping in the annex. Since Verdzig tacitly allowed it, there was no interference.
"I plan to soon place him on a merchant ship bound for another country, where he’ll live under a new name."
"Thank you for handling it."
"No need for gratitude. It wasn’t solely for your sake, was it?"
Rudgarda shrugged as if it were nothing.
"Hah, still as magnanimous as ever."
"Don’t dwell on it. Since it wasn’t for personal gain, I was glad to help."
"......"
But that very attitude only deepened my sense of debt.
"By the way, young master, how goes your training?"
"As you see."
"I heard you chose the Ink Soul Sacred Shadow Technique."
"Oh? Do you know something about it?"
"The Second Commander mentioned that until the very end, she agonized between the Snow Blossom Sword Technique and the Ink Soul Sacred Shadow Technique."
"Ah, I hadn’t heard that."
Now that’s intriguing.
"Rumor has it even Verdzig seriously considered it."
"I see."
The more I heard, the more confident I became in my choice.
"Speaking of which..."
Rudgarda sipped her cold tea like water.
"This is just trivial talk, but..."
"Trivial talk is the most entertaining. Go on."
"A few days ago, I dreamed of my grandfather."
"Ah, the one who knew about Ereshkigal?"
"Correct."
"Did he say anything useful?"
Rudgarda made a slightly awkward face.
"Well... no. He didn’t do anything."
"......I see."
Just an ordinary dream, then.
"Would’ve been nice if he’d left some clues."
As I clicked my tongue, Rudgarda chuckled.
"He’s still alive. If a living person appears in another’s dream, it’s likely just nonsense."
"Fair point."
Still, I wasn’t too disappointed.
Of course, Ereshkigal remained the most reliable solution to the curse with its time limit.
‘But the stronger I grow, the longer I can delay it.’
Something will turn up eventually.
No need to rush. For now, we’ll wait and see.
“Ah! Now that I think of it.”
Since we were making small talk, I decided to ask something that had been on my mind.
“Rudgarda, just how strong is the Grand Commander of the Special Operations Division?”
“Extremely strong.”
She stated it plainly.
“To put it bluntly, even if the Second Commander and I fought him together right now, we still wouldn’t win.”
“……That’s impressive.”
I already knew how formidable Ulbhild was. But even Rudgarda, who was on a similar level, admitted that the two of them couldn’t defeat a single man?
“Hah. The mountain I have to climb just keeps getting taller.”
At that, Rudgarda gave me an almost exasperated look.
“And isn’t the one climbing that mountain faster than anyone else right now you, young master?”
***
The Svaltalfar—a name that struck fear throughout the underworld of the Litvaleur Kingdom.
For generations, they had refined their bloodline, mastering martial arts from various schools, sometimes stealing techniques, sometimes killing inheritors to monopolize them, all to forge their own unique brand of assassination.
They were the undisputed kings of the underworld, never hesitating to intermarry with foreign or even non-human races to produce offspring with superior physical traits—greater endurance, more flexible joints, unshakable stamina, monstrous strength, sharper vision, and keener hearing.
In essence, the direct descendants of Svaltalfar were nothing less than artifacts bred solely for assassination.
Monsters from birth.
"They want me to go all the way to Grunewald? Why?"
Among them, one of the leading candidates to inherit the Svaltalfar name, Ghir Svaltalfar, scoffed at the assignment handed down from the elders.
“They said if you handle this well, your probation ends. Since someone screwed up last time.”
“Bullshit. I’d rather laze around doing nothing.”
“Don’t lie, brother. You’re already itching for the scent of blood.”
Two men sat perched on a cliff’s edge, their unnatural eyes—black sclera with white pupils, the mark of demonic arts—fixed on the distant city lights.
One, hailed as the clan’s masterpiece, was so excessively bloodthirsty that he was called the Slaughter Demon.
The other, so coldly detached that nothing in the world could stir his emotions, was regarded as both assassin and strategist.
Ghir Svaltalfar and Drak Svaltalfar—two brothers chosen as the clan’s executioners to punish the Bisakino Brotherhood and Huten.
"Honestly, it’s more trouble for me. I’ll have to keep you from causing a mess while completing the mission."
Though his words were rough, Drak was one of the few who could rein in Ghir’s brutality.
“So what? We just slaughter the whole Bisakino Brotherhood or whatever the fuck they’re called?”
“No. Just kill Huten and come back.”
“Tch!”
Ghir sneered.
“Tell them to set up traps, ambushes, whatever. At least that’ll make it somewhat fun.”
“This isn’t a vacation, brother.”
“Shut up. You expect me to go all that way just to kill one guy? Pathetic. I might just kill you instead.”
Even faced with his brother’s murderous tone, Drak remained unfazed.
“You can kill me if you want, but then your probation will just get longer.”
“Hah.”
Ghir scoffed.
“Fine, whatever. Not like I give a damn about the clan’s reputation, but if some trash thinks they can look down on us—that’s unforgivable.”
“Don’t say that in front of the elders.”
“Shut your mouth. Since when do I care about old farts?”
Though twisted from birth, they were still brothers.
"Let’s leave tonight. Get some rest first."
“Rest? Who needs sleep?”
“Of course the monster doesn’t.”
Ghir cracked his neck and stood.
“Let’s go.”
“Yeah.”
The two descended the sheer cliff face as if walking on flat ground—light as mountain goats, silent as ghosts.
"I’ll make sure Huten dies screaming. How dare he waste my time?"
“Just make sure to bring his head back intact for identification. Do whatever you want with the rest.”
“Now that’s more like it.”
Their voices echoed faintly across the treacherous cliffs before vanishing into the night.
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[Translator - Pot]
[Proofreader - Kawaii]
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