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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Kiteretsu]
[Proofreader - Kyros]
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Chapter 171
Zzeoong—!
The air shattered, forming a small crack that vomited out a person before vanishing.
A long-bearded old man landed softly.
The moment his feet touched the ground, the black mana that had been protecting his entire body evaporated in an instant, polluting the surrounding soil and atmosphere with darkness.
The once lush green grass withered, turning black and limp. But the old man paid it no mind.
Riorg Ribella.
Thud—
The necromancer of the Ten Thousand Demons Hall struck the ground with his staff, gathering the mana flowing through his body as he let out a heavy breath.
Long-distance spatial movement was a burdensome spell, even for him. He had prepared auxiliary spells and traps, but their effectiveness was doubtful.
Ssshh—
Before long, a specter emerged in front of Riorg Ribella, lowering itself as if draping a veil. At that moment, the surroundings darkened as though night had fallen.
—Master, my apologies. I have failed.
"Think nothing of it. I had no expectations to begin with."
The traps were merely preparations to ensure a safe teleportation.
If they had managed to injure Gailgron, that would have been ideal. But even if they didn’t, simply escaping unscathed meant they had served their purpose.
After all, it was hard to believe that someone of the Hero’s caliber would fall for such a thing.
"However… losing Sir Galan is a heavy blow."
Even though the swordsman had been unable to receive direct support from a necromancer, he still had access to his domain. For someone like him to die so easily was a significant loss.
Riorg Ribella had come intending to hand him a decent weapon, as he had stubbornly clung to his old, worn-out sword—but instead, he had suffered only losses.
His gaze shifted to the specter kneeling before him.
"Camilla."
—Yes, Master.
There was reverence in the voice, an unwavering pledge of loyalty bound to the very depths of the soul.
"Why did you not aid Sir Galan?"
—You told me not to intervene.
"Huh. Is that what I said?"
—How could I possibly lie to you, Master? If I may add, Sir Galan was no different from a dulled blade. It is better that he broke now rather than in a more crucial moment.
"Your words have merit. A trusted blade that turns against me is best discarded. However…"
Riorg Ribella’s gaze bore into the specter. Though aged and wrinkled, he remained a high-ranking necromancer and a figure of authority within the Black Tower.
His elderly appearance did not diminish the weight of his years. If anything, he had only grown stronger.
—……
Sensing his stare, the specter shrank further.
"I do not understand."
His voice turned cold. Moments ago, he had seemed like a kindly old grandfather. Now, he was more akin to a judge delivering a death sentence.
It was no exaggeration. A being bound to a necromancer had no concept of freedom—one mere gesture could erase its existence.
Of course, if the necromancer were weak, the summon could potentially consume them instead. But Riorg Ribella was leagues beyond such individuals.
He did not rely on his summons; his own abilities were formidable in their own right.
He fell silent as if lost in thought, then slowly continued.
"I truly do not understand. I wondered if my memory had failed me in my old age, but I distinctly remember sending you with Sir Galan. I told you to retrieve the weapons from the temple."
—……
"Not answering?"
—My apologies, Master. That is correct. Indeed, you did so.
"But then, why? Why did you just watch? I clearly gave the two of you an order. And that was when I was fighting the Hero one-on-one. I sent you—my sword and my shield. The ones who should act as my hands and feet."
—That is correct.
"But… you just stood by because Sir Galan told you not to step in?"
—I summoned skeletal soldiers and secured the undead cavalry.
It was not an entirely fruitless effort. However, securing a few miscellaneous undead cavalry was far less valuable than having Sir Galan in the fight.
At the specter's excuse, Riorg Ribella let out a chuckle.
"Hahaha, between Sir Galan and the undead cavalry, do we even need to compare which is more valuable?"
—No, we do not.
"What irritates me isn't just that. What bothers me is that you, who should obey a necromancer, prioritized Sir Galan's words over my command."
—…Forgive me.
"Don't worry. I wouldn't cast aside my shield so easily. But consider this a warning. We've spent decades together, but if you ever rebel against me, I can discard you at any time."
—That will never happen.
"Who knows? I thought Sir Galan, my sharpest blade, would always be keen. Yet he dulled. I believed you would obey my words without question. Yet you disobeyed."
—…I swear such a thing will never happen again.
"Stand down."
As soon as Riorg Ribella finished speaking, the specter vanished.
"With Sir Galan gone, I must find a new sword."
Obtaining the remains of a transcendent being was a difficult task. But as a high-ranking necromancer, he had already secured a few.
However, creating an existence with its own will, like Sir Galan, required strict conditions.
That was no longer an issue. His continuous research had yielded meaningful results.
"The preparations are complete… but obtaining suitable materials is the challenge. If only I could find a Utopia ..."
Countless adventurers and mercenaries had formed exploration teams, combing through the eastern regions of the El Carda Empire. Yet, no discovery had been reported.
"Must I take matters into my own hands?"
Riorg Ribella stood still, lost in thought. Plans formed and dissipated in his mind over and over.
If it were up to him, he would raid the cemetery in the great city of Lus. However, reaching that place was troublesome, and dealing with the Berger family that resided there would be an even greater burden.
The same applied to Utopia. Once its discovery was announced, countless people would flock there.
"I dislike the idea… but I must find an ally."
This was precisely why he had joined the Ten Thousand Demons Alliance.
If he found Utopia, he would have to share the rewards gained from it. However, what mattered most to him now was finding a replacement for Sir Galan.
"I recall having a contact network nearby."
Riorg Ribella slowly turned his head, tapped his staff against the ground, and vanished from the spot.
* * *
Ian swung the platinum sword in his grasp. The pure-white blade flashed momentarily, carving a streak of light through the air.
Slash!
The grotesque monster’s head flew clean off.
A torrent of blood gushed forth, then fell like raindrops. Ian took two steps back to avoid the splatter.
Thud!
The four-armed beast collapsed to the ground.
The severed head meant life could no longer continue, yet the body still twitched like an insect. Staring at it blankly for a moment, Ian then glanced around.
Whoosh—
“Kill them!”
Flames surged in all directions as dozens of Red Spear Knights cut down the monsters.
The number of corpses strewn across the ground was considerable.
However, there were no visible injuries among the knights. With their accumulated experience and growing prowess, they had reached a level where they could easily handle most monsters.
Ian flicked his blade, letting the flames briefly engulf the blood on it before it scattered away.
“What, you already took it down?”
Turning his head, Ian saw a Red Spear Knight approaching with a casual gait—it was Dior.
Ian nodded.
“This much isn’t difficult.”
It might have sounded arrogant, but it was the truth.
Level 6—a milestone many aspired to and set as their realistic goal.
The stage where one embraces the Star of the Soul, solidifying the foundation of both body and mind. Upon reaching enlightenment, one's mana underwent a transformation beyond comparison.
Its quantity became so dense it felt almost overwhelming. Its purity reached an unprecedented level. Its flow grew both immense and seamless.
Naturally, physical abilities also improved dramatically. Instinctively, Ian knew he had now stepped into the realm of true superhumans.
Unless it was a named beast, one that had grown dangerously powerful, he could handle it with ease.
And he had confirmed this several times recently.
“Damn, maybe I should become a mercenary too…”
Dior muttered as he prodded the fallen beast with his sword.
After spending time on missions with Ian, he had witnessed, time and again, how effortlessly Ian overwhelmed the monsters. At first, he couldn’t help but deny reality.
And for good reason—the monsters were being taken down far too easily.
Initially, he assumed it was just luck, that they had encountered particularly weak monsters. But as the instances piled up, he could no longer cling to that belief.
The monsters weren’t weak—Ian had become strong.
Thinking about how he had grown so much, the only answer that made sense was his time as a mercenary.
“Give it a try. It’s not bad—except for the part where you constantly get caught up in external affairs and have your life threatened wherever you go.”
Above all, the mercenary world was unforgiving. Without experience, one could only suffer and struggle.
However, given Dior’s nature and skills, he would likely adapt quickly.
“Anyway, this mission is over now, right?”
“Hm, I wouldn’t bet on it. Why, you want a break?”
“Of course… Hyung, it’s already been two months since I got pulled into missions the moment I returned to my family.”
It had been two months since they had taken on an unexpected request from the Silent Order and visited the Gray Temple.
While waiting for Abella’s contact, Ian had asked his eldest brother, Verdan, for assignments to help him adjust to his newly ascended state.
But who would have thought he’d be worked non-stop as if they had been waiting for this? Dior let out a chuckle.
“See Mael and Mari over there? You’ve been at this for two months, right? They’re on their third. And me? It’s been four.”
“So you’re telling me not to complain?”
Dior removed his helmet, pulled out a cigarette, and placed it between his lips. He nodded. Though he was smiling, his eyes were filled with exhaustion.
“Not exactly, but I’m saying you should hang in there a little longer. You know how chaotic things have been lately. The Outer Gates are opening like crazy inside and outside the defensive line.”
“…Hmph.”
Ian scanned his surroundings without any particular complaint. Dior, exhaling a trail of smoke, also turned his gaze.
“…….”
Then, with a sharp tsk, he clicked his tongue.
“Forget it. Let’s head back. We need to take a few days to rest.”
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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Kiteretsu]
[Proofreader - Kyros]
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