“Did no one else see it? How can you be sure it wasn’t just your imagination?”
“I’m trying to determine whether I’m insane, Your Majesty.”
The Old Sword Saint’s tone was heavy.
As a Sword Saint, he had a steadfast heart.
If it truly matched the prophecy and they found a hero who could draw the Holy Sword today, then the [Black-robed Prophet] was real.
Otherwise, it meant this Old Sword Saint had gone mad from the shock.
Is the Emperor human?
Perhaps so, but most of the time, he had to act with the cold precision of a machine.
In other words, if the [Black-robed Prophet] was really a subordinate of the Demon King, then as a Sword Saint, he would fall from grace, and no one would like a madman.
“Master, should I go see En?”
“I always thought he would one day die at the hands of some commoner, but in the end, he still died like a hero.”
There was a hint of irony in the Emperor’s words, but after all, he and En were from the same school.
As a noble, En Edwin never behaved as a noble should.
They were born nobles, so it was natural to look down on commoners.
Though their personalities were different, they were friends.
“This is Your Majesty’s decision. It doesn’t matter whether you go or not.”
The Old Sword Saint’s memories drifted back to the day of the ambush on their return.
A transport unit of two thousand, the Empire’s finest knights, armored and mounted— even flies would hesitate to approach.
The rain, growing heavier, felt as suffocating as cold porridge poured over the head.
But the sudden burst of scorching heat and blood-red sword aura tore straight through their ranks.
They were attacked by a single individual.
At first, the knights were stunned, but they quickly realized— it was a demonic assault.
Not a single knight fled.
One after another, they charged at the enemy with their swords, only to be reduced to blood mist with each attack, even their armor crushed flat.
“Master, I’ll buy you time! Can you kill him? We can’t go on like this, the knights are taking too many losses.”
The two fought side by side, eyes fixed warily on the monster before them.
If the rain had been any heavier, they might not have even heard each other.
They had to end this enemy quickly.
“En, why don’t you retreat with the other knights? I’ll hold him off. The most important thing now is to get the Holy Sword back.”
“Master, knights don’t run.”
“You really are hopeless. Still, be careful.”
Sword aura flashed through the muddy path and chaotic forest, the bloody energy enough to make anyone uneasy.
The battle grew chaotic, the very space seeming to freeze for a moment.
He knew his sword had pierced the Blood Demon.
He thought it was over.
But the blood of the dead was drawn toward the Blood Demon, who did not die.
At that crucial moment, the disciple he should have protected instead shielded him.
“Retreat!”
It was the order he gave with all his strength.
The knights began to scatter and fall back, while he stood ready to face the Blood Demon.
“I’ll kill you! No matter what kind of monster you are!”
But what cannot be killed, cannot be killed.
The opponent seemed immune to pain or death.
Even in past battles against the demon race, he had never faced an enemy so powerful.
In the end, exhausted, he could only cradle his disciple in his arms.
En’s final words were,
“Will humanity prevail?”
It was a question, yet sounded more like a statement of faith.
The Old Sword Saint awaited the Blood Demon’s blade, its approach echoing in the rain.
“The Demon King sends his regards, Sword Saint.”
The Blood Demon didn’t kill him— it was as if he disdained even the act of killing.
The corners of his mouth curled in contempt, his eyes cold and empty.
“While you were leading the knights to retrieve the Holy Sword, you caused casualties among the demon race. Thus, by order of the Demon King, I repay you in blood.”
“One more thing: the Demon King doesn’t care about that sword.”
“Your disciple was impressive. Most wouldn’t even leave a corpse after a single blow from me.”
“Who are you!!”
Clutching his disciple’s corpse, the Old Sword Saint glared fiercely at the demon before him.
“My name? I’ve forgotten.”
“To the world, I suppose I am called the Blood Demon.”
“Blood Demon… You’re an Apostle!”
The Old Sword Saint was struck dumb.
He was alive, and even relatively unharmed, but his dignity and pride had been utterly crushed.
The Blood Demon left.
This Apostle, once only a figure from myth, had now appeared in the human world.
The rain fell harder, chilling the Old Sword Saint to the bone.
But the cold within him ran even deeper.
Against such a powerful enemy, he saw no hope of victory.
And now, in his old age, there was little chance for further progress. He had reached the limits of the sword.
In the depths of despair, a figure in black robes appeared out of nowhere before him.
The voice was neither male nor female.
“Teach another disciple. Pass on everything you know.”
The words seemed to pierce his thoughts.
If his own talent was insufficient, then he would find a gifted disciple and entrust his life’s knowledge to them.
As this person appeared, the falling rain around them seemed to halt in midair.
“I believe you’ve met an Apostle. But Apostles are not invincible.”
“Who are you?”
Eugene looked up.
Once in his fifties, now he seemed even older.
“[Black-robed Prophet].”
“Remember everything I say.”
“When you return, immediately use the Holy Sword to select a hero and train him well. Otherwise, humanity will perish at the hands of the demon race.
Humanity cannot afford to miss its hero. Before you die, you have decades to form a new, stronger hero’s party. They must be mightier than all who came before!”
Heroes might only appear once in a hundred years, or perhaps a thousand.
In eras without a Demon King, they might live peaceful lives.
But now, a new Demon King had arisen.
As the words ended, the frozen rain began to fall once more.
The [Black-robed Prophet] had vanished.
He had gained a crucial piece of information.
If they did not immediately hold a hero selection upon returning to the city, humanity would lose its hero.
Could a hero die?
But if death came so easily, could they truly be called heroes?
He was left with many questions, but everything he’d experienced today left him no choice.
He even doubted whether his mind had been shattered by the shock, resulting in hallucinations.
Later, carrying his disciple’s body, he regrouped with the scattered members of the knights.
No one could smile.
A great victory had seemed assured— everyone was prepared to return to the Imperial Capital in glory— yet such devastating losses had occurred.
More than half of the Empire’s knights had perished.
The eldest son of the Edwin Family was dead.
Others left not even a corpse.
More shocking still— even the Empire’s strongest swordsman had been defeated.
A dark shadow fell over everyone’s hearts.
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