Chapter 80 - Meeting the Family (1)

“Ugh, I thought I was going to die of fucking boredom.”

Morde rolled his shoulders with a crack as he left through the university gates. Classes in the Knight Department were horrifically dull. Having lived through the entire war, he had never stood to learn anything at university level in the first place.

The training was boring, the sparring trivial, and the tactics classes amounted to reading straight from a manual. He would be better off sparring with his fellow Huscarls than hoping to learn anything here.

“All right! Time to go see my little ones!”

Prizhenkaya was a bleak city, but like a true man of Droan, Morde had still managed to find himself a suitable hobby. Surprisingly, that hobby was volunteering at an orphanage.

The way it had started had been rather coercive and humiliating, but... what did that matter? As long as he genuinely enjoyed it now, that was enough.

Morde headed toward the orphanage, his step lighter before he knew it. Just thinking of those plucky little kids brought a smile to his lips. They were affectionate, lively, spirited, and even brimming with talent.

'Though I have no idea how they manage to fool my senses...'

When they slipped past an active-duty Huscarl's senses, crept up behind him, and shouted “Boo!” he had nearly drawn his axe. Well, their director was hardly an ordinary man.

“Morde.”

“...?!!”

Morde recoiled in fright, reaching for his waist. A bone-chilling wave of killing intent was already sweeping through the alley.

It felt as though a wolf lurking in the darkness might tear out his throat at any moment. That terrifying bloodlust, that honed... yet untamed, feral killing intent, streamed from the mouth of the alley in wave after wave.

'Fuck...!'

Morde swallowed hard. He knew this feeling. Aside from the Seven Dragon Generals, only one person possessed killing intent of this magnitude. He could not help recognizing it instantly. This was... this was...

His boss, fucking furious...!

Why? Why was he here...?

“B-Boss...?”

Was there anyone in Prizhenkaya who could stop his boss when he was angry? No, that was the wrong question. It would take an army, not a person.

Was there an army in this city that could stop that man...?

“Something was missing from your reports.”

“Boss, just a moment. I don't understand. How exactly did you get here...? You could have at least sent word...”

“I received a letter from Eshi.”

A letter from Eshi...? What on earth had his little niece said to make his boss come running all the way from distant Droan to glare at him, radiating killing intent?

“Who is he?”

“... Pardon?”

“I asked who this man Eshi says she's marrying is.”

Explosive savagery erupted from every syllable.

Oh, Eshi. What have you done?

Cursing his thoughtless niece, he looked at the man before him. The terror of demons. Mountains of Corpses, Seas of Blood. Einar the Massacrer.

Morde swallowed, slowly lowered his weapon, and carefully sank to his knees. As though that might at least earn him a painless death.

Despite the hot summer sun, the alley was ice-cold.

“Speak. Who's the bastard Eshi has been seeing lately?”

“Well... the thing is...”

Morde racked his brain. Who could it possibly be? He had made sure no man dared approach Esidisi while he was watching.

Admittedly, he had been less vigilant about watching her during his volunteer hours, but surely there would have been signs. A hot-blooded youngster's romance could never escape the eyes of a seasoned warrior like him.

But... but the only man Eshi had met lately was...

'Huh...?'

Ivan Petrovich.

Morde's expression froze. There was one. Ivan...! The man who encouraged Esidisi to follow a vegetarian diet and occasionally supervised her training...

But the age gap... No, before that. Ivan wanted to marry Esidisi? Did that make any sense?

Morde's eyes darted wildly. Could he say this? Ivan would never entertain such intentions. He could not believe the man even had romantic feelings. He would hardly have time for them, either. Besides, Morde owed him his life.

No.

A man of Droan never forgot a debt.

Firm resolve filled Morde's eyes. He raised his head decisively.

“...”

A young man stood at the mouth of the alley, looking down at him. A monster whose dense reserves of mana and the immense rage forever coursing through his veins had warded off even aging, preserving his youthful body exactly as it had been in its prime.

One of the men who had far surpassed human limits. It had been a long time since Morde had faced Einar, and his eyes shone so fiercely that merely looking at them felt as though it would tear Morde's soul apart.

But Morde, too, was a man of Droan. A warrior of Droan would never... never.

“It's Ivan Petrovich, Boss!!”

Naturally, an old life debt could not outweigh the bonds of brotherhood. He could always repay that debt some other time.

Like a steadfast Huscarl of Droan, Morde chose to give his boss his utmost loyalty.

“He's dead.”

“That's what I thought, too! Boss, that bastard's alive!!”

“Hmmm...”

The bloodlust rising from Einar like a heat haze faltered and faded. He soon frowned in bewilderment.

“He survived cutting down one of the Seven Dragon Generals, then.”

“Yes, Boss!”

“That is... surprising.”

Einar turned his head and growled low in his throat.

“Find him.”

“Yes, Boss!!”

The Huscarls who had been leaning against the alley walls scattered at once, racing out across the city.

* * *

On a drowsy afternoon, Esidisi lost her war against musical notes. It was a glorious end worthy of a woman warrior of Droan. She had at least done her best.

She had been nodding off over a score half covered in doodles when she suddenly jerked her head up.

“Hrrwha...!?”

She hastily wiped her mouth and looked around. Fortunately, nobody on the grounds seemed to be paying her any attention.

As she stretched with a groan and gathered her sheet music, something peculiar caught her eye. Something like a bizarre giant of a man, hopping between walls and vanishing...

Dressed exactly as someone back in Droan might be, roaming the university and the alleys...

“What? Am I still dreaming...?”

Esidisi stared blankly at the sight, then shook her head. Had she been tired lately? What a strange dream. Why would her uncles be in Prizhenkaya... Wait, uncles, plural?

She met one man's eyes. He beamed and waved a thick, muscle-bound arm.

“Oh, Eshi! How have you been?”

“Uh... huh...?”

“See you later, princess! Your uncle's a little busy right now!”

Having greeted her warmly, the Berserker hopped over a wall and vanished.

Esidisi stood with her mouth hanging open before looking around. Terrified students were screaming and fleeing in every direction in little clusters!

“This... isn't a dream!!”

Esidisi shot to her feet in horror and ran in the direction her uncle had disappeared.

Why on earth! Had her uncles! Come swarming all the way to her university!

They couldn't ruin her school life any more than they already had!!

She had half given up on the Orchestral Music Department, and she had only just started making friends with the vocal music students!

Screaming, Esidisi sprinted toward the university gates.

* * *

Elizaveta had to ask again, oblivious to the pen she had dropped.

“... Repeat that, sir. Am I dreaming?”

“No, Your Highness.”

The chief administrator of the Palace Ministry knelt at her feet, sweating coldly. He, too, was struggling to explain the situation logically.

“Great King Einar is currently in Prizhenkaya... Well. Um. He appears to be in this city.”

“Appears to be? What on earth does that mean? Either he is here or he isn't.”

“Well... it seems he entered the country illegally...” “What in the world is the Immigration Bureau doing, letting this many people slip in this year alone... No, never mind. Why would the king of a nation need to sneak into another country... No... never mind that, either. Alone... Did he come alone?”

“No, Your Highness. At least ten men believed to be Huscarls have been confirmed.”

“Lord help us.”

Elizaveta clutched her forehead and groaned for a long while.

“He wouldn't be sitting quietly, would he? Has he shown any... attempt to start trouble?”

“He appeared to be searching for someone, but nothing particularly unusual has happened yet. Perhaps we should summon the Capital Defense Force...”

“Throw an army at Einar? Ha ha. You take your jokes too far, sir.”

Elizaveta had experienced war, and on the front lines at that. She had served as commander of the Extermination Unit at a young age, and the unit's original purpose had been to provide rear support for the Hero's Party.

In other words, she was one of the few people who had personally witnessed the Hero's Party fight on the front lines.

'Einar was chosen to take on entire legions.'

Veolgrin, the [Fortress Destroyer], and Einar, [Mountains of Corpses, Seas of Blood], had been selected for their specialty in fighting many opponents alone. Against men like them, the quality of one's troops mattered more than their numbers.

More importantly, Einar was now the king of Droan. She had no idea why a king would secretly cross another country's border, but who could fathom the mind of a man who thought of nothing but fighting?

Depending on Elizaveta's decisions, the current disturbance could escalate into war. Her stomach suddenly began to burn.

“What is foreign intelligence doing, failing even to notice that an entire country's king has disappeared? Hmm? What exactly am I supposed to do...?”

Elizaveta pressed hard between her brows and whimpered. She nearly burst into tears.

The festival she had so painstakingly prepared had blown up, her romantic endeavors failed at every turn, the nobles refused to listen, and the military continued its unsettling muttering.

And now, the king of Droan—one of her few allies—had suddenly barged in and was roaming the city, ignoring every diplomatic procedure and channel.

She sniffled as her stomach cramped. This was all that bastard Alexander's fault. She decided to regard it that way.

“Vanka... Summon Vanka.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Only two people in this city had any hope of stopping Einar: Enrique and Ivan. With Enrique currently away... Ivan was the only person she could count on.

At least Ivan knew Einar personally. That was a relief. She shook her head and rose.

“No, tell Vanka to come meet me. I must handle this myself.”

“But Your Highness, it's far too dangerous!”

“If Einar has slipped into the city with hostile intentions, nowhere in it is safe.”

With a haggard look in her eyes, Elizaveta left her office.

* * *

At that very moment, Ivan was meeting face-to-face with Einar.

“You bastard.”

Einar growled like a beast.

“I thought you were dead...!!”

He had even laid flowers at Ivan's gravestone. With a complicated expression mingling betrayal and delight, he glared into Ivan's impassive eyes and spoke.

“You've become quite a proper man!”

“Ugh.”

Isabelle, standing beside Ivan, grimaced. She looked at Einar's intricately braided beard, then at Ivan's face, and slapped a hand to her forehead.

“Men from Droan. Honestly.”