The Problematic Child of the Magic Tower
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
Chapter 280: Happy End (5)
The moonlight, long hidden by dark clouds, spilled over the rooftop.
All eyes turned toward Dust, or rather, toward the sword jutting from his forehead, piercing through the back of his skull.
“Hey, is that...?”
“Yeah.”
Oscar nodded at Veronica’s cautious whisper.
At last, the Heavenly Sword had intervened.
“Where is he, though? I can’t sense any presence.”
Veronica scanned the surrounding buildings, but it was useless.
The Heavenly Sword was probably still in his room.
When Oscar told her that, her expression twisted in disbelief.
“...You’re joking, right? That’s over nine kilometers away.”
“Think about who we’re talking about.”
Grumpy, small as a buttonhole, yet the strongest living human being.
For a man in the late stages of level 8, the entire city of Sicadel might as well be within striking range.
“So that’s the Heavenly Sword, huh.”
At that moment, Dust, who by all rights should have been dead, spoke up, perfectly unfazed.
He even let out a scoffing laugh.
“All that fuss about the ‘strongest human’ and this is it?”
He grabbed the blade lodged in his head and yanked it out with brute force.
Shraaak!
His skull split open in the process, but it healed in the blink of an eye.
Then he shouted to the sky:
“Heavenly Sword! Stop hiding like a coward and face me!”
“...”
No reply came.
“I’ll give you one minute. If you don’t show yourself by then, I’ll kill every last one of these mages. After that, for every minute that passes, I’ll kill a hundred random citizens.”
His chilling threat made several mages tremble with fear.
But Anatol Kincess, the wounded level-7 mage from the Tower of Blood, burst out laughing.
“What nonsense. Seems you still don’t grasp the situation.”
“You think I can’t do it?”
“Street rat, it’s not for you to decide that.”
He raised his index finger and pointed skyward.
“That’s for the Heavenly Sword to decide.”
“...Hmph. Fine. Maybe killing one of you as an example wouldn’t hurt.”
Dust’s calf muscles swelled.
Since reaching level 7, he’d never once been outpaced by anyone.
‘A mage’s reflexes can’t possibly match a knight’s eyesight.’
He kicked off the ground, closing the distance in an instant, and swung his hand down toward Anatol’s neck —
CRACK!
But when he came to, he was staring at the ground.
“...Huh?”
He had been charging straight ahead.
So why was his face against the floor?
He didn’t have time to think before —
“Ah.”
A searing pain bloomed in his chest.
It was pain, the kind that only comes when one’s heart has been sliced into hundreds of pieces.
“GRAAAAHHH!”
Dust screamed belatedly.
His eyes bulged as he saw the blade embedded in his chest.
That could only mean one thing.
He had been attacked, while moving.
Even children sparring with wooden swords could at least see the incoming strike.
But he hadn’t perceived a thing.
That meant the gap between them was unfathomable.
‘The Heavenly Sword is this strong?’
That wasn’t what the Great One had said.
He had promised that drinking his blood would make Dust equal to the Heavenly Sword.
‘Could it be... that even Lord Darwin doesn’t know his true strength?’
If that were true, Dust had to survive, to deliver this knowledge.
But that thought evaporated a moment later.
“...”
His mind blanked, like snow melting away.
He blinked.
‘What was I doing again? Oh, right. The battle.’
He reminded himself that he and the Heavenly Sword were equals.
With that conviction restored, Dust rose to his feet.
“Huuuu.”
BOOM!
He smashed the sword sticking out of his chest with a hammer-like strike, shattering it.
“Heavenly Sword! Come out! What’s the matter, lost your nerve?”
“...?”
Everyone stared in disbelief.
He looked completely out of his depth against the Heavenly Sword.
“Why’s he doing that? Has he gone mad?”
“Mad? Yeah... maybe he really has.”
Oscar nodded grimly.
Truth be told, he’d been suspicious even before the Heavenly Sword intervened.
‘With that level of skill, he hid inside the Heavenly Sword’s domain? Really?’
Dust’s strength didn’t add up.
Sure, he had drunk Darwin’s blood and forcibly installed his eighth mana circuit.
But that didn’t mean he’d joined the ranks of true level-8s.
‘It’s like carving stripes into a pumpkin to make it look like a watermelon.’
Even Yuribe from the Red Mountains, far stronger than Dust, had been among the weakest of the level-8s.
‘He forced his body into the eighth tier, but his mind didn’t follow.’
In other words, it was like giving a child a legendary sword without teaching him how to wield it.
‘If level 7 is the stage where you declare your individuality to the world, then level 8 is where two worlds must merge into one.’
That was why true masters needed enlightenment to advance.
If it were just about building mana circuits, there would be dozens more level-9s in history.
‘So that’s why the Heavenly Sword waited, observing first.’
Imagine a mosquito strutting in front of you, pretending to be dangerous.
You’d naturally suspect it had some hidden trick.
‘He probably searched the whole city to be sure.’
He must have suspected Dust was bait for a larger plot, and only acted once that doubt faded.
— ...I can’t understand it. But this will do.
The Heavenly Sword’s voice echoed from the sky.
A moment later, the heavens flared white, bathing the city in daylight.
“Veronica, watch closely.”
Oscar suddenly thought it was a shame Lloyd wasn’t here to see this.
“That’s the original form of the White Tower’s high spell, ‘Sword That Divides the Sky.’”
“What?”
Veronica’s eyes widened.
The name of a high-level spell being ‘sword’ had always seemed odd, but she hadn’t imagined its origin was literal swordsmanship, the secret art of a noble sword clan.
‘That’s why the old man hates our White Tower.’
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
Of course, the “Sword That Divides the Sky” hadn’t been stolen.
The eighth Tower Master had personally dueled the Heavenly Sword, studied his technique, and transformed it into magic, even with the Heavenly Sword’s own guidance, according to the records.
‘Though really, he just hates me.’
After all, it was the White Tower mages, not the Heavenly Sword knights, who earned the most glory with that spell during the war.
Petty old man.
“Ah?”
Dust let out a puzzled groan, then realized another sword had pierced him.
“...”
He could feel it, his endlessly regenerating cells were being destroyed.
The arrogance that had made him feel like he stood above the world finally collapsed at the brink of death.
In its place rose pure fear, and a single, haunting question.
‘Why did I act so recklessly?’
The Happy End’s ability to evade the Empire for so long had always stemmed from his own cautious nature, the man who’d test a bridge until it nearly broke before crossing it.
Yet now, with newfound power, he’d rushed headlong to fight humanity’s strongest being.
In hindsight, he must have been possessed.
“H-Heavenly Sword! Spare me!”
Dust screamed to the heavens.
CRACK! CRACK!
The Heavenly Sword’s answer was no.
Blades rained from the night sky, stabbing into him until not even a needle could fit through the gaps.
‘It’s over.’
Dust’s body stopped regenerating.
Oscar let out a breath of relief —
“...!”
Then a chill crawled down his spine.
Through the dense forest of blades, Dust’s cold, lucid eyes gleamed.
‘What?’
Did he still have one last trick prepared?
Oscar froze under the crushing aura, until Dust’s body slowly turned to ash and vanished.
“Wow, so that’s level 8?”
Veronica exhaled in awe.
Dust hadn’t left behind so much as a drop of blood or a scrap of flesh.
“That’s insane, right?”
“....”
Was it his imagination?
Oscar could’ve sworn he’d felt something vile, something deeply unsettling, in that final instant.
He stared for a long time at the spot where Dust had vanished, trying to make sense of it.
The Demon Realm, beyond the Red Mountains.
Inside the grand hall of a massive fortress, dozens of silhouettes sat around a long table.
No sound escaped them, only the faint rustle of pages turned by the figure at the head seat.
“Is everyone here?”
“Yes, it seems so.”
A tentacled demon, its head resembling an octopus, replied.
The Archdemon spoke without looking up from his book.
[TL/N: I think the Archdemon is the new Great Demon Emperor, what do you all think?]
“Descartes isn’t here. Nor a few of the counts.”
“...My apologies.”
“Not your fault. They’ve skipped again, haven’t they?”
It wasn’t surprising anymore.
They’d chosen a different path from his.
“If you command it, I’ll drag them here, torn to shreds if I must.”
“No need. Let them be.”
The demon’s casual reply made the octopus-headed one frown.
In the Demon Realm, where survival of the fittest was law, open defiance against the ruler was intolerable.
He swallowed his frustration and reported:
“The toy we placed near the Heavenly Sword has been destroyed.”
“The result?”
“It reached the late stage of level 8, close to ascending to 9.”
Rustle.
The turning of a page was followed by a calm question.
“Hm. You’re certain? That shouldn’t be possible.”
The voice sounded too light, almost playful for this grim council.
“To be sure, I linked directly with the toy before it broke. I confirmed it myself.”
“So the curse didn’t work?”
“Perhaps it struck someone nearby instead.”
“...A pity. What of the peace proposal we sent to the humans?”
“No response yet. But judging from the massive troop deployment beyond the Red Mountains, they clearly intend to refuse.”
“Really? Maybe they just didn’t get the letter. Send it again, and this time, ask politely for a reply.”
Rustle, rustle.
Silence fell once more.
Only the soft turning of pages filled the hall.
Finally, a woman tilted her head.
“That’s it? We just wait again?”
“Watch your tone, Maxwell.”
The octopus demon’s icy warning earned a giggle.
“He hasn’t said a word, and you’re the one scolding me?”
“Both of you, stop. The underlings are watching.”
The Archdemon still didn’t look up from his book as he spoke.
“And this will be our final offer. Let’s wait a little longer.”
“They won’t accept,”
Said a man wearing an eyepatch.
“You’ve seen the future?”
“As you know, I can’t see that far ahead, only make predictions based on experience.”
“...”
Whether Rafiros had truly seen the future or merely predicted it hardly mattered —
he had never once been wrong.
“Hmmm. If that’s the case...”
Thud.
The Archdemon closed his book. On its cover, written in Imperial script, were the words:
“History of Humanity, Volume 27.”
With genuine regret, he murmured:
“Guess I won’t get to read Volume 28.”
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]

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