Kays Translations

Chapter 295 – Awakening of Blood

A human was crushed. Like a frog run over by a carriage, its bones were shattered, entrails spilled out, dead.

This was the royal castle, the underground dungeon. It was the result of King Rathbart Walscheid’s amusement. The prisoner had been crushed by the increased gravity effect of his magic sword, “Rose Garden.”

“Phew… Finally calming down.” 

Rathbart muttered as he sheathed his unsullied sword.

Just an hour ago, he had heard unpleasant and shocking news from Victor, the commander of the Fourth Knight Division. To distract himself, he had taken pleasure in killing prisoners. Usually, he could relieve stress alone, but this time, it took disposing of three people to settle his mind.

“Victor brought quite a troublesome tale.” 

He said in a conversational tone that didn’t match the gruesome scene.

“Would it have been better not to speak of it?”

That was the response from his favorite, Marquis Beowulf Edenburger. Although accustomed to accompanying the king in his play, he never grew used to it and still wore a bitter expression.

“Heh… Don’t make a fool of me. If I were to say such things as ‘that shouldn’t be spoken of,’ it would be the end for a king.”

“Hmm.”

Unable to argue with that, Beowulf could only vaguely nod.

“It was good of you to speak without fearing my displeasure. Rough but not base. Now, how we handle such a man will test my ability as a sovereign.”

In the blood-scented dungeon, facing the pitiful corpses behind iron bars, Rathbart laughed cheerfully.

…Should one rejoice in this person’s transformation, or not?

Beowulf felt a suffocating discomfort. It wasn’t just avoiding the foul air in this place.

Having obtained a famous sword, killed people, and gained great confidence, the king, who had seemed like a withered statue, was now full of vigor and actively involved in national affairs, which had previously been limited to “yes” and “as you wish.” Given the choice between then and now, Beowulf would undoubtedly prefer the present.

However, it had become a habit for the king to relieve stress by killing prisoners. At the moment, it was only prisoners awaiting execution, but there was a danger that this sadistic tendency might one day be directed toward nobles and the people.

“Now then, let’s return to discussing profit-making.” 

Rathbart said in a clear voice, as if he had cleansed the dregs from his heart, and walked briskly through the familiar dungeon. Beowulf and the guards hurriedly followed his back.

…There is risk, but there is no way he would abandon his position as the kingdom’s number two. For now, there is no choice but to support His Majesty. Will the Edenburger family be a bridge to glory alongside the royal family, or will it lead to destruction?

Beowulf’s eyes stared at the king’s back as if appraising him. Suddenly, the king stopped in his tracks, causing Beowulf and the guards to halt once again.

“What is it?” 

Beowulf asked with a puzzled look on his face, and Rathbart peering at the prisoner through the bars, said,.

“I have only relied on the power of my magic sword and have never directly killed anyone.”

“……….”

What was he saying? While Beowulf was confused, Rathbart gave a sharp command to his guards.

“Open the cell.”

“Y-yes!”

The guards swiftly inserted the key they had received from the jailer.

What does the king intend to do? It was clear he intended to personally kill the prisoner. Even though the opponent was unarmed and the king wielded a famous sword, mishaps were not impossible. As guards, they should desperately bow their heads and physically stop the king. However, at that moment, as if bewitched, the guards moved.

Beowulf should have reprimanded the guards as well. However, he, too, was unable to move as if caught in a snake’s gaze.

The guard’s hands trembled, and after some effort, they managed to unlock the door.

Rathbart lowered his drawn sword and bent slightly, entering the cell.

“W-who are you…?” 

The man cowered in the back of the cell, covered in filth and emitting a foul stench. Back on the surface, he had led a gang of a dozen, committing robbery and murder repeatedly—a villain who knew nothing of swordsmanship now trembled before the king.

“Do you not recognize my face? Well, of course you wouldn’t. A small fry like you…”

Not knowing what was funny, Rathbart burst into laughter at his own words.

“A small fry…?”

Rathbart’s words seemed to wound the pride of the villain considerably. Like a bear awakening from hibernation, he rose unsteadily.

The villain had confidence in killing with his bare hands, especially against the pale, middle-aged man before him. He could kill, take the sword, or even take hostages. It was a perfect plan, and the villain grinned cruelly. Yet, for some reason, his feet wouldn’t move forward. Rathbart approached slowly, and the villain, in panic, retreated until his back hit the stone wall with a thud.

Why couldn’t he move? Was it the effect of the magic sword, “Rose Garden”?

No, it was due to Rathbart’s overwhelming presence. It was the arrogant spirit of one who naturally dominated others from birth. It was something the villain could neither emit nor comprehend.

“Kneel with your head high!”

The blade swept over the villain’s head. At this critical moment, he stood frozen like a scarecrow, his head split open from the front.

Fresh blood splattered Rathbart’s face and clothes. Was it because of inexperience that he couldn’t avoid the blood splatter, or did he simply not care to?

“Hey.”

As if losing interest in the fallen villain, Rathbart turned his sword towards the guards.

The guards were perplexed at his intentions, but quickly understood what the king demanded. They hurried over, wiping the blood off the sword with a dry cloth.

“It would be wise to send the sword for sharpening after cutting someone.”

“Yes, indeed.”

Rathbart nodded approvingly, somewhat satisfied despite the confusion. The guard bowed after finishing wiping the blade and stepped back a few paces.

With a click, Rathbart sheathed his sword. The scabbard, crafted by the renowned artisan Patrick, made even the sound of sheathing elegant.

Rathbart lowered his head, his shoulders beginning to shake. Contrary to the expectations of Beowulf and the guards, who thought he might feel fear after killing someone directly, Rathbart’s reaction was unexpected.

“Heh… Hahaha… Ahahahaha!”

Laughter echoed through the dungeon. Perhaps due to the chaotic atmosphere, it seemed like a voice they had never heard before.

…Whose voice was this?

It belonged to King Rathbart, laughing before their eyes. Still, Beowulf couldn’t help but feel an eerie question arise.

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