1069. Thank you, my son.
Transformation is an explosion of emotion. The body changes only when hidden instincts are revealed. Dunbakel fought while pouring out every emotion he had kept hidden within himself.
“To be honest, I hate them all. I hate them so much that I want to kill every single one of them without exception.”
He resents those who abandoned him, over and over again.
I’m going to kill them all.
The runaway emotions unleashed a vitality twice as intense as usual. After all, intense emotion is also a form of living energy.
It moves one step closer to the form of a beast than a human. It fights by running and jumping on all fours. It attacks using claws and fangs instead of a sword.
However, while the explosion of emotion is rough and powerful, it has many vulnerabilities, allowing its heart and head to be struck by the opponent’s sword time and time again.
Then why didn’t you just kill them all?
A voice heard while dying.
After waking up again and experiencing several outbursts, other emotions also awakened.
The house is nice, really nice.
Dunbakel also revealed his feelings for the Border Guard.
This process did not require hundreds of repetitions. Only those with terrible talent who must progress step by step would repeat things hundreds of times. Dunbakel poured everything into it after just fourteen repetitions, and afterward, no hair grew on his body.
His fangs remained the same, and his appearance did not change in the slightest.
“Just change your inner vitality. That is true beast transformation.”
Dunbakel opened his eyes at the words of the beastman presumed to be his ancestor. His eyes were golden, and his hair was white.
As he pulled on his hanging arm, a blade scraped the ground. Ddddddddd.
I understand now.
Dunbakel muttered as he held the blade scraping the ground upright in front of his eyes. Fourteen times since he decided to die—it was certainly an exceptional talent. Though,
well, this was thanks to the outside world accepting him and the time he had spent training.
Primahild was cut after several clashes. No blood splattered. His body merely transformed into a mist and then returned to its original state.
Let’s try it one more time.
The Ancestor Beastwoman spoke with a smile. It was not a mockery. At some point, she had been accepting, demonstrating, and teaching Dunbakel’s emotions.
The two fought again. Dunbakel learned the flexibility displayed by the opponent and stole the way she utilized vitality.
This was the end reached after repeating this over and over again. Dunbakel kicked the opponent’s thigh with her left foot, dropped her sword, grabbed her wrist, and headbutted her nose.
Crack!
It was a headbutt delivered with all his might. Unfortunately, the headbutt failed to break the opponent’s nose. The opponent, Jeokgeum Suin, also put down his sword and blocked the headbutt with his palm. The fight stopped there.
“Right, you’re ready to fight, and ready to battle your fears. Then, are you ready to live?”
The opponent, with a hand on his forehead, asks. Dunbakel opened his eyes wide. There was no trace of hostility in those golden eyes.
The eyes looking up from below met the eyes looking down from above. The color of the two eyes was the same. Golden, the color that signifies a curse.
Only inner vitality transforms in preparation for battle.
The readiness to contend with fear.
Accepting my past and moving forward.
Not being bound by the past.
Pursuing happiness as if one had never been abandoned.
Looking at life properly.
Knowing that it is okay to stay in the present, even if one does not move forward.
Acknowledging one’s existence even if one possesses nothing or does nothing.
Knowing that one is not loved only if one does something, and learning to accept existence itself. That must be the reason for forgiveness. Not turning away out of mere pretense, or because one is unwilling to get one’s hands dirty.
Dunbakel admitted that his failure to ultimately lay a hand on either the Council of Elders or the City of the Beastmen was an act of
turning away .
“Little one, if you know how to fight against fear, you’re practically ready to live. Right?”
“……Yeah.”
Dunbakel replied. Although he hadn’t been able to voice a single thought that had welled up inside him, the resentment and the anger that lingered in his eyes like soot must now have vanished.
He felt relieved. It was the result of pouring out all his emotions while socializing.
Seonjo Suin smiled, removed his hand from Dunbakel’s forehead, and pressed his own against it. It was a greeting Suin used to express deep intimacy.
With their foreheads pressed together like that, Seonjo spoke.
“Take care, descendant. It was good to meet you.”
“Me too.”
At first, she acted like a demon possessing my body, but as we fought, I realized she had no such intention. She was only acting that way on the surface.
“We are everyone’s sons and daughters, so you may call me your daughter.”
“But isn’t there a bit of an age difference?”
“Don’t nitpick about trivial matters.”
“Well, do as you please.”
“If you have any remaining anger, shake it all out without leaving a single handful. You don’t necessarily need to become a demon. One demon among the beastmen is enough.”
The incomprehensible words were the end. The Ancestor Beastman’s body turned into a red droplet and vanished, and when Dunbakel opened his eyes again, his comrades came into view.
As long as it was a trivial matter.
“Alright, let’s die.”
In front, Sinar was thrusting the old men, and behind him, Esther was conjuring flames from her hands.
I think I can stop now.
It was Temares who stopped the two. Yongin was the first to notice Dunbakel’s change.
“Did you come back?”
This is what Encred says as he retrieves his sword as if nothing happened.
“Uh, uh, yeah.”
Dunbakel was still dumbfounded. His memory was fragmented and disconnected. It felt like waking up from a dream after dozing off all night on a sunny summer afternoon. He
had fought a beastman named Seonjo, learned something, and repeated it.
“It suddenly took over my body and attacked. Did I lose my memory?”
Dunbakel blinked a few times at Encred’s nonchalant question. Then he gazed at the sword stuck diagonally in the floor.
He had no weapon in his hand, only a sword embedded in the ground. A warrior’s instinct naturally compelled him to grasp it. Dunbakel gripped the sword and recalled his forgotten memories, as well as the chaos that had ensued when he had lost consciousness.
He also heard the wind left behind by the ancestral beastman who had been trapped in this sword.
I hope that someday, someone here will pick up what I left behind and continue it. And while they’re at it, let them settle my grudge as well.
What did she leave behind? It is the sword I hold in my hand now.
The sword’s name is Crimson; it is neither short nor long, with a blade sharpened on only one side. It was good for both slashing and thrusting.
“It will be filled with a curse. That is how it will turn out if it is to contain the vitality and memories of a beastman your size.”
“That is for the descendants to figure out.”
It was the secret story of its birth revealed by the sword. It was a conversation between a beastman and a dwarf craftsman unknown to the world.
It was a red blade that seemed to be soaked in blood. Normally, a beastman wielding this sword would have their wild instincts stimulated, causing them to lose their reason. That is why it is a cursed sword.
However, anyone who has suppressed their transformation into a beastman and achieved only an inner change would not be shaken by the sword’s curse.
Dunbakel reflexively raised the sword, placed it on his left palm,
and slashed. As the blade passed over his palm, it left a chilling sensation. He clenched his hand to gather blood and let it drip onto the blade.
The dripping blood gathered on the blade before seeping in. Dunbakel felt the sword and his own vitality connecting.
Soul Weapon.
It is the name of a weapon that shares a portion of a beastman’s soul, much like a knight’s imprinted weapon.
The blade began to tremble and molted once again. It shook violently from the blade to the hilt, shedding its shell. All
that remained in Dunbakel’s hand was a single, lightless silver sword. The light emanating from the sarcophagus gradually faded. As the surrounding light vanished, Esther snapped her fingers.
With a snap, a non-dazzling light source appeared above everyone’s heads. As
that light shone upon the blade, a soft red glow reflected it.
“Crimson. Something like that is the name.”
Dunbakel muttered. Whoosh, the blade trembled and wailed.
“I heard everyone said it was nice to meet you.”
This is what Dunbakel says next. Does the sword understand what is being said? I mean, does the sword speak?
“Ego Sword?”
Encred asked. He was talking about a weapon with a consciousness. From the Dragonkin to the Fairies, everyone had never seen a proper Ego Sword—not a one-off creation—for the first time.
There were rumors that they existed, but they were closer to legends. At least, until now.
Woong.
“He told me not to stare so intently. He said it’s embarrassing.”
Dunbakel spoke again.
As he spoke, Dunbakel’s golden eyes stared intently at the crimson blade. Then, nodding a few times with a “Mm-mm” sound, he spat out something like, “Ah, so that’s why you did that? Yeah, I got it, I know, I know.”
Dunbakel sheathed the sword he had been holding awkwardly, thrusting it diagonally into his waist.
Golden eyes and a crimson blade—though his severed, unkempt hair was rough, the current Dunbakel, with his white hair blending in, looked like a work of art.
I really went all out, didn’t I? Well, they said it was thanks to me. I really should thank them for a lot.
It was okay to cause such a ruckus in the dream because the outside had accepted my outburst.
Dunbakel spoke, having glimpsed some of the memories of the ancestral beastman and the actions of his amnesiac body just moments ago. Encreed felt the growth of the beastman standing before him. Even his attitude was different.
“When I go back, I will be the eldest now.”
He speaks in a calm tone. He instinctively sensed that his position between Theresa, Pell, and Lawford would change. It is a mature attitude, showing no signs of excitement.
You’ve changed.
Dunbakel met Sinar’s gaze at what she said quietly.
“To be honest, I don’t think I would lose to anyone if we fought right now.”
“It is a sense of omnipotence,”
Enkrid thought to herself. And rightly so. Dunbakel had achieved a transformation of purity.
Fighting without transforming into a beast was not merely a control of instinct, but a skill that altered only her vitality.
That in itself was the transformation of purity. The vitality flowing within her body would now surge like exploding lava, yet turn as still as a spring deep in the mountains.
How devious, Primahild.
She acted as if she would take over his body, but all she left behind were gifts. The same goes for the Sword of Crimson and what
she had arranged for him in the Holy War. Because she loved her own race, she must have wanted someone with the qualifications and skill to come and inherit what was hers.
She had fulfilled her wish. Though it may sound obvious, Encred realized his boatman’s true wish.
The descendants inheriting what belongs to them.
It is a dream I had, trapped in today, even after becoming a boatman. I do not know how the thoughts I left behind here inherited even my memories as a boatman, though.
Success. Primahild.
After taking Dunbakel somewhere and making him do things, he guided him here while hiding his insidious desires.
“How about stopping by the prisoner’s temple in the spring?”
It is just a feeling, but I had a hunch that it would be difficult to see Primahild even in my dreams now. She must have left everything she had left for me here and vanished.
Let’s go back.
Encrid spoke. Dunbakel still listened to Encrid. Well, part of it was that he liked him. It was because
he remembered Encrid’s sword strikes when he had lost his mind.
‘colon.’
Just how much of a monster have you become?
To think you could absorb and shake off everything that went wild and rampaging without batting an eye.
Even when Esther broke the barrier in the middle of it, you told her not to intervene and absorbed the entirety of her frenzy.
It wouldn’t be surprising if you had simply fought and won.
Neither of them has any scars.
The reason his limbs felt a bit weak was because he had pushed himself beyond his limits. Yet, his body was perfectly fine. Had one of his limbs been severed? Or had a rib been broken?
I remember a few times when I got hit hard and sent flying.
He was kicked and punched. Yet, aside from a slightly swollen, stinging cheek, he had no significant injuries.
Was he the only one like that? No, Enkrid was the same.
It was fun.
Encred said as he looked after the unconscious old fortune teller.
‘fun?’
Was it a fight that could have ended with just those words? No, really, no.
That’s why it’s surprising. That they completely subdued each other without either of them getting seriously hurt.
“You remember almost everything. Then you must remember everything you said yourself, too, right?”
A fairy asked from the side. Dunbakel retold his memory.
“Include the old fairy in the fight. That old fairy is truly unsuitable for you, so kill her here and play with me.”
“How do you expect to seduce a man with such a flat body? Huh?”
“What did you say, fairy? Hahaha. How dare a mere fairy challenge the sensual charm of a beastman? Go eat some more peaches.”
Hey, Seonjo. What on earth did you just say?
Hmm, I don’t remember.
Dunbakel denied it. The fairy, with her ability to see through lies, instantly realized Dunbakel’s lie.
“……Right, you didn’t say that.”
Sinar held back. Getting angry here would be taking it out. Enkrid, who was waking up the old fortune teller on one side, was watching him.
There was no need to show a narrow-minded side in front of his fiancée.
“Right, right. It’s not like I did it, so let’s not be like this. Yeah, just bear with it. I’m telling you, the elder, to be patient.”
Dunbakel spoke after glancing nervously. Sinar opened his mouth, gazing at Suin with clear, spotless, lake-like light green eyes.
“Go back and rest, then let’s spar. It would be good training. Very good training.”
“How about magic counter training?”
Esther joined in, too. Dunbakel recalled how he had repeatedly irritated her with nonsensical words, telling her to stay out of it, asking why she was butting in, and claiming that her appearance clearly indicated she possessed a cursed soul. “
Ancestor, couldn’t you have just stuck to fighting?”
Well, that’s all well and good.
As he spoke, Dunbakel subtly revealed his confidence.
Because I’m not the person I used to be.
The sense of omnipotence has not yet faded.
“What happened?”
In the meantime, the old fortune teller opened her eyes. The crimson light of the temple had faded. After hearing a rough explanation of the situation, the old woman muttered things like, “The temple’s sacred object? The temple’s light?” before finally nodding her head.
No wonder whenever someone held that knife, they would foam at the mouth, faint, or go berserk.
Seeing how they left such an object in the temple so nonchalantly, the Beastmen were certainly an insensitive race.
Encred had a dream that night. Primahild
, perhaps having barely spared the strength to say a word, stepped out briefly and spoke.
“Hey, thanks, kid.”
He said only those words and vanished so quickly that Encred had no chance to answer. Afterwards, the boatman turned back into the hairless dwarf he had been before.
“Schreiber.”
Encred called him.
You haven’t forgotten my name.
And Schreiber began his story as if nothing had happened. It was as if Schreiber, the current boatman, had simply replaced Primahild, the previous one. Encreed listened to his story on the ship. It was different from the life he pursued, but it was quite an interesting tale.
