WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Ceaseless

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ The Northern Grand Duke’s Mad Son-in-Law ◈

Chapter 42: A Gift Never Given

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‘Phew...’

Gilbert let out an excited breath and readjusted his grip on his sword.

Blue aura wavered as though stirred by the wind.

Everything was dark. Pitch-black. It was hard to breathe.

‘The Demon Realm...’

For the Demon Realm to appear in the north...

‘Those damn bastards...’

Gilbert ground his teeth. He had used too much aura, and his mind felt hazy. He shook his head and gripped his sword tightly.

“Are you all right over there?”

When he turned, he saw Velogrime, the old commander of the Seventh Battalion.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Fine, my ass. Your eyes are out of focus.”

At Velogrime’s remark, Gilbert punched himself in the face.

Thud!

His vision returned with a satisfying sound. Velogrime’s stunned face came into sharp focus.

“It’s fixed.”

“...You’ll make a fine knight.”

“I’m already a knight.”

Velogrime chuckled at Gilbert’s answer.

“There’s something I’m curious about.”

“Yes.”

Gilbert nodded as he steadied his breathing. Velogrime spun his staff.

Velogrime’s aura was faint. It was hazy as mist and looked weak at a glance, but it possessed the smoothness of long refinement.

A Monster that appeared from behind was drawn in by the spinning staff. Its posture shifted, completely exposing an opening.

Velogrime’s staff smashed the Monster’s wide-open jaw.

Such seasoned mastery. Gilbert was genuinely impressed.

“This knight business. Why do you do it?”

Velogrime asked as he shook the staff clean. Velogrime was not in good shape, but that was because of imprisonment. He had not been injured in battle.

“You mean, ‘Knight Gilbert!’?”

“Yes, that.”

“My father taught me that words have power.”

“Power?”

“Yes. I wanted to become a knight ever since I was little, so I kept shouting, ‘Knight Gilbert!’ It became a habit.”

“I see.”

“Explosive Fireball!!”

Gwen’s voice rang out then. The space, darkened by thick ash, lit up for an instant. Beyond it stood Gwen, her eyes bloodshot. A fireball flew from her hand.

Boom!

A blast louder than before erupted. Gwen’s face was drenched in desperate tears and sweat.

Damian was in that direction. One of his arms was bent outward and dangling as he rolled among the Monsters. He was smiling.

Gilbert spat into his palm and tightened his grip on his sword.

“Knight!”

As he shouted with all his strength, aura rose again. His body, heavy as though drenched in water, began to move.

Being a knight was both glory and a heavy responsibility.

“Gilbert!”

His aura rose even higher. His muscles creaked as they screamed. He kicked off the ground, his body sliding forward.

A blue line slashed across the Monster aiming for Damian.

The Monster’s back split open, spraying hot blood. Without closing his eyes, Gilbert twisted at the waist. His sword drew another line.

The Monster let out a long scream. Damian, beneath it, thrust a sword into it. A louder scream erupted.

Another Monster thrust its sword at Damian. Gilbert gritted his teeth, grabbed Damian by the collar, and pulled him away.

Crack.

His muscles screamed as though they had slipped out of place.

The Monster’s sword carved a long gash across Gilbert’s shoulder. His grip loosened. Gilbert drove his head forward.

Thud!

The Monster staggered. Damian’s sword tore into its neck, but without aura, the wound was shallow.

Damian’s emotionless eyes stared at Gilbert.

‘Annoying little brat...’

Gilbert muttered a low curse and stepped forward. The Monster’s attack struck him squarely in the chest.

Gilbert endured it through gritted teeth and drove his sword into the Monster’s head. Blood sprayed everywhere.

Only then did the breath he had held back burst out. The pain, pushed aside by his heightened state, came rushing in all at once.

As he struggled to control his breathing, Damian stared at him.

“How do you do that?”

“That?”

Damian pointed at Gilbert’s aura.

“Aura?”

“Yes. It looks nice.”

Aura was the ideal of everyone who wielded a sword, the symbol of a knight. To call it merely nice...

Gilbert was dumbfounded.

“Tch, aura is...”

He stopped before he could explain. Trying to put it into words was difficult. Still, he did not want to say something stale like, “Aura is conviction.”

“Aura is conviction.”

“Conviction?”

Velogrime, who had come up beside them, nodded.

Damian frowned after hearing the explanation. He did not seem to understand.

Gilbert clicked his tongue. Such a vague explanation would not help the brat much.

“So, aura is...”

As Gilbert opened his mouth, everyone naturally turned to look at him.

With the corner of his mouth raised, Gilbert explained.

“It feels like taking a shit with your hands when you don’t even need to shit. You shit with your hands.”

Gilbert even kindly showed him the hand motion.

Gwen recoiled in horror. Damian copied Gilbert, curling and opening his hand.

“Of course, just because I told you doesn’t mean you can do it right away.”

Not every swordsman could attain aura.

Gilbert readjusted his grip on his sword as he spoke.

Then Damian’s sword flickered for a moment.

‘Huh... No way?!’

Gilbert hurriedly focused his eyes. There was nothing above Damian’s sword.

‘Of course not.’

He must have seen it wrong.

“Oh, right. Where did the youngest go? That stupid bastard didn’t go off somewhere and die, did she?”

Gilbert looked for Noad. The youngest had disappeared somewhere earlier and had not returned.

“The youngest went with the commander!”

“What? The youngest went somewhere dangerous...”

Gilbert clicked his tongue and gripped his sword again.

“Where do you intend to go?”

At Velogrime’s question, Gilbert pointed ahead.

Lightning flashed beyond the thick smoke. A massive shadow appeared through the haze.

...!!

It was a size one would only expect to see in legends.

And this was the north, not the Demon Realm...

“If I’m late, the commander will chew me out.”

“You intend to fight that thing now?”

“Yes.”

Gilbert punched his loose right shoulder back into place.

He could still move, and he had a sword in his hand.

For Gilbert the knight, that was enough.

“Youth is good.”

Velogrime clicked his tongue and stood beside him.

Then a massive tentacle came crashing down toward Gilbert.

It was so enormous that his fingertips ached just looking at it.

That tentacle could crush a castle with a mere graze.

Compared to that, Gilbert held only a single sword.

‘Enough.’

He did not entertain weak thoughts.

Gilbert had never been one to think that much in the first place.

He would simply act like a knight.

“Knight Gilbert!”

He readjusted his grip on his sword.

Aura blazed fiercely.

‘Cut!’

Just as he swung his sword at the massive tentacle...

“Move.”

A low command came from directly behind him.

A voice like a beast lurking deep in a cave.

Gilbert stepped aside without thinking.

A body as huge as a Monster. Despite the freezing northern cold, the Grand Duke wore nothing on his upper body. Thick scars covered muscles that writhed as though alive.

He held nothing but a rough, massive axe.

‘...Your Grace?’

Gilbert bowed his head.

The Grand Duke casually spun the enormous axe.

There was no aura.

No, it was more accurate to say he did not need it.

That absurdly huge axe was an executioner’s blade for Monsters.

The Grand Duke raised his axe high.

His scar-covered muscles writhed, making strange sounds.

It was joy.

At the sight of the falling tentacle, the Grand Duke was rejoicing with his entire body.

The Grand Duke swung his axe in a wide arc.

Crunch.

The movement was simple, but its result was not.

Boom!

The severed tentacle lost its strength and collapsed.

The ground shook violently under the heavy impact.

The Grand Duke lightly swung his axe a few more times.

The tentacle was cut into suitably sized pieces.

‘...Suitably sized?’

The Grand Duke picked one up and brought it straight to his mouth.

Crunch.

His throat bobbed deeply with a chilling sound.

“Not bad.”

For some reason, Galahad came to mind as the Grand Duke smiled.

“It is an honor to meet the ruler of the north.”

Velogrime paid him the utmost respect.

Gilbert watched the Grand Duke quietly, then belatedly bowed his head.

* * *

‘The First Mage...’

Galahad stared at the magic circle engraved on his forearm.

He had carved it in a hurry, so the blood had not stopped flowing yet.

The magic circle left behind by the First Mage was certainly unlike any other.

Its overlapping layers were crude, yet unusual.

It differed from the methods used today.

The most peculiar part was this.

‘It compresses mana through the heart.’

Mana normally settled around the heart. The Egg of Pain was located beside the heart for the same reason.

But the heart was not used to move mana.

Mana was formless to begin with.

The heart could not be involved in it.

Yet this magic circle, which they called Selection, made it possible.

It was almost like...

‘The Egg of Pain, isn’t it?’

Galahad felt a deep interest.

It functioned much like the Egg of Pain.

This magic circle used the heart as an Egg of Pain.

The difference was that the Egg of Pain automatically extracted something from Demonkin blood and supplied only mana, while this magic circle...

‘Uses the caster’s blood.’

It was a similar method. It seemed to imitate the ability of the high-ranking Demonkin from which the Egg of Pain originated.

It was only an imitation.

‘It compresses mana with the life force contained in the caster’s blood.’

If mana were an imaginary engine, this magic circle used life force as oil.

To compress mana faster.

‘Ah, it was life force.’

Galahad realized that the Egg of Pain had been pocketing life force from Demonkin blood.

Tremble.

The Egg of Pain quivered slightly.

‘So that was it.’

Using life force for magic was unfamiliar to Galahad.

It was likely because it was magic from an older age.

“You carved a magic circle in such a short time?”

A voice full of disbelief interrupted Galahad’s thoughts.

Looking up, he found the executive staring at him with a stunned expression.

Galahad could not understand the executive’s question.

“Why would carving a magic circle take long?”

He had simply looked at it and copied it. It stung a little, but the pain lasted only a moment.

Besides, the magic circle interested him so much that he did not even feel pain this time.

“Don’t lie! This is an eight-layer magic circle! There’s no way you could imitate it after seeing it for only a moment! How much did that traitorous bastard tell you?!”

The executive shouted, spraying spit. Galahad clicked his tongue.

“Ah, to be precise, I didn’t copy it. Perhaps because it is an old magic circle, it had some unnecessary parts. There were some questionable sections as well, so I revised it.”

Galahad kindly showed him his wrist.

There was a magic circle similar to the executive’s, but a closer look revealed more differences than similarities.

It was certainly an appealing magic circle, but it came from an outdated age. Since he had the Egg of Pain, there was no reason to use his heart, so Galahad had altered it to suit his taste.

“...Revised? Shut up!”

The executive shouted as though having a fit. There was no talking to him.

Clicking his tongue, Galahad looked away.

The thick ash scattered all around clearly marked this place as the Demon Realm. To recreate the Demon Realm itself, rather than merely Demonkin Territory, was quite interesting.

“Let me ask one thing. How did you create the Demon Realm?”

“It is not the Demon Realm. It is the Sanctuary.”

“Yes, the Sanctuary.”

The executive smiled at Galahad’s question. His mouth trembled as though he had forced the expression.

“You think I would tell you?”

The executive raised his staff high. The magic circle engraved on his wrist emitted a brilliant light. That light flowed into the staff.

The staff, set with a Magic Stone, supplied mana, while the magic circle engraved on the wrist used the caster’s blood to compress it.

All the caster had to do was choose the target of the spell and provide blood.

It looked convenient at a glance, but could one really call the executive a mage?

‘Even Sir Gilbert could do that.’

Galahad felt a deep revulsion.

“Pour it on him!!”

The mages holding staffs hurled things that could barely be called magic at him.

‘Hmm.’

The Egg of Pain beat wildly. It throbbed as though it would leap out at any moment. Joy rippled through every beat.

Then the magic circle engraved on Galahad’s wrist began to shine as though burning.

Galahad had not drawn the magic circle left by the First Mage exactly as it was. He had the Egg of Pain to replace his heart.

Rather than using the caster’s blood, he intended to use the life force the Egg of Pain had pocketed from Demonkin blood.

‘The Egg of Pain compresses mana, then life force compresses it once more.’

The First Mage probably never imagined such a method.

The Egg of Pain vibrated as though resonating with the magic circle. It shook forcefully, as if demanding to know whether Galahad truly had to take even this from it.

‘If we catch that thing, there will be something even tastier.’

Galahad whispered about the enormous presence behind them.

‘You should always look at the bigger thing.’

Only then did the Egg of Pain nod. It lightly bit Galahad’s heart as though threatening him. As if to say it would not let him off if he lied.

‘I do not lie.’

The Egg of Pain throbbed in resonance. The magic circle shone brighter. Mana vibrated rapidly.

Ashen fireballs fell.

“Disgusting.”

Galahad snapped his fingers with deep irritation.

* * *

‘Stupid bastard.’

Deblian sneered at the man concealed by the fireballs.

The Mark of Selection was on the man’s forearm, but he was still alone.

Then a faint breeze blew.

‘...What is that?’

The falling fireballs lost their strength in an instant.

They lost their shape as they fell, flickering like ordinary flames.

There was only one reason mana would lose its strength.

The opponent’s mana concentration was greater.

‘...His mana is denser than mine?’

Deblian had a staff set with a high-grade Magic Stone and the Mark of Selection left by the First Mage. He had also opened the Sanctuary.

Could that man’s mana concentration be denser than Deblian’s?

It was an impossible assumption.

Then...

Something flew out from between the flames. Deblian could not even see what it was. There was only a small sound.

Tap.

Something fell.

One mage collapsed backward. There was a hole through the center of the mage’s throat.

Tap.

Another one fell.

A hole in the throat. The exact same spot.

Red blood pulsed like a warning.

“Cast barriers!”

Deblian hurriedly chanted a defensive spell.

A translucent barrier instantly rose before the mages. The others gathered together, layering several barriers over it. Their fear of death needed no words.

Then...

Tap.

Another mage fell.

The several layers of barriers had been pierced with ease.

As though they were paper.

Tap.

Another one fell. There was not even a scream. Only a sharp intake of breath.

What in the world was this?

Deblian could not make sense of the situation.

Then the flames parted, and the man walked out.

His face was still relaxed, his hair neatly swept back.

He looked exactly as he had when he entered the banquet hall.

The man snapped his fingers.

Tap.

The last remaining mage collapsed backward.

Deblian’s legs gave out, and he fell to the ground.

Hot blood drenched Deblian.

The man approached at a pace neither hurried nor slow.

Once he stopped directly in front of him, the man looked down at Deblian.

Meeting his eyes, Deblian let out a scream filled with terror.

“A... Are you perhaps Demonkin?”

“Hmm, I’m sorry, but I’m human.”

The man’s voice was calm.

It was clean, strangely out of place amid the thick scent of blood.

“Ah, thank you for the gift.”

A gift?

The man pointed to his forearm.

The Mark of Selection there was giving off a clear light.

Brighter than the one Deblian had carved.

“I never gave you...”

Deblian’s voice trailed off.

* * *

“Thank you. I’ll put it to good use.”

Galahad thanked him again and turned away.

The massive tentacle was moving as it diligently destroyed the castle.

Below it, a white light stood precariously, yet proudly.

Adrianna was facing that enormous Monster alone.

It was an astonishing sight, but...

‘Not enough.’

Galahad frowned.

Adrianna would one day have to face the Demon King.

Struggling against a Monster forcibly raised from upper rank to top rank was somewhat lacking.

‘She needs to grow.’

There was no better environment for growth than real combat.

Then...

...!!

The Monster let out a howl as though in pain.

For that enormous Monster to feel pain...

The tentacle writhing in agony moved violently, pushing away the ash.

His vision cleared for an instant.

Far away...

A savage man was tearing into the tentacle as if it were octopus. A huge piece protruding from his bearded mouth writhed as though begging to be spared.

The Grand Duke, drenched in red blood, pointed at Galahad.

Crunch.

It felt as though the chilling sound reached him from that far away.

‘Hmm, this may be dangerous.’

The ash soon covered his surroundings again.

Galahad absentmindedly rubbed his chilled neck.

“Wife!”

Galahad hurried toward Adrianna.

No parent can prevail over their child.

And the Grand Duke was a parent too.

Footnotes:

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