Chapter 49…
Isabella is the ruler of the Everhart Principality.
But the people of the continent preferred to call her not the Princess Duke, but the Sword Queen.
The reason was simple.
Isabella was one of the strongest knights on the entire continent.
So much so that she was even called the Marquis of the Sword.
But then, just how strong was Isabella?
To be honest, Dante didn’t know.
From the first time he met her in the imperial court until now,
he had crossed swords with her countless times.
And yet, never once had he managed to draw out Isabella’s true strength.
The same was true when facing monsters.
Behemoth.
Balrog.
Gorgos.
And countless other calamities.
For the past three years, Isabella had singlehandedly subdued more than a hundred thousand monsters.
No knightly order—not even Acracion—could compare.
And still, she had never once gone all out.
She saved her strength as much as possible.
Because this war was not a short skirmish, but a long campaign.
She knew very well that if she exhausted herself,
the other knights and soldiers would be put in danger.
That was why Dante had never seen Isabella’s true power.
Until now.
As she slowly approached Nergar, she was different.
Vwoooom, vwooooom—
Her white sword vibrated heavily, scattering a faint, serene light.
It was not Dante’s flame-like brilliance,
but a blue radiance, vast and endless—
like the sky itself.
Just watching from behind was enough to make one’s mind waver.
The magic power she usually restrained to the utmost was now being released fully,
smothering even Nergar’s suffocating presence.
Grrr… grrrrr…
Unbelievably, the monster stepped back.
The same creature who had grown more savage even before Dante’s flames,
now curled its tail before Isabella’s blade.
Watching this, Isabella suddenly spoke to Dante.
“Watch closely. This is my sword.”
Her blade rose high.
Ah…
A simple motion.
But Dante saw it.
The white sword linked with the heavens.
No, it became the heavens.
The blade, not even a handspan long,
spread endlessly outward until it covered the world itself.
Only Dante could see it—
for he alone had brushed against its edge in the moment of death.
And then, the sword, raised high, fell upon Nergar.
Yes—this was a fall.
The vast sky itself crashed down upon the beast.
Not merely slashing, piercing, or breaking.
But a crushing obliteration.
Isabella’s sword was one that smothered and destroyed.
Nergar stamped the ground.
It had no time even to roar or scream.
Its abyssal maw clamped shut—
and it turned to flee.
But there was no escape.
How could anything run from the sky?
Born not of providence it might be,
but Nergar too was a mortal bound beneath heaven.
Realizing it could not escape,
the beast whipped hundreds of tentacles in defiance.
If it could not flee, it would break through.
And then—
CRAAAAAACK!
They all snapped.
SKREEEEEEAAAAH!
In an instant, every tentacle was broken.
Unable to endure, Nergar vomited forth a final scream.
But the sword of the heavens never stopped.
Slowly.
Rending darkness, tearing space.
It merely pressed down,
crushing all enemies within its domain.
Crunch, craaack!
Nergar’s foul body crumpled like an insect beneath a human’s heel.
Its frantic struggle to escape only made it look more pitiful.
Bit by bit, Isabella’s sword crushed it smaller and smaller,
until no trace of its form remained.
BOOOOOOOM!
Only then did a colossal scar carve itself into the mountainside—
a sword mark so vast no one could believe it was left by a human.
And through that scar, Nergar was utterly annihilated.
Dante gazed upon it all with awe.
This is Isabella’s true strength.
He had no idea how he could ever reach such a level.
But he must.
And he must surpass it.
With eyes full of reverence, Dante watched Isabella turn back toward him.
“How was it? My sword?”
She smiled.
That smile looked nothing like the wielder of overwhelming power moments ago.
It was her usual, playful grin.
Which only made it more astonishing.
Dante nodded.
“It was magnificent.”
“Do you think you can catch up?”
A mischievous question.
But Dante answered without hesitation.
“Of course.”
Her smile deepened, as if she had expected nothing less.
“It won’t be easy, though, will it?”
“That’s true. At least ten years. Only after swinging my sword for that long
might I even begin to imitate it.”
Dante said it seriously, after deep thought.
But Isabella could only stare blankly.
What? The realm she had trained her entire life to reach…?
He thought he could touch it in just ten years?
By then he would only be twenty-three.
In all the history of the continent,
no one had ever reached such a level at that age.
Not even the Four Great Martial Gods.
And yet Dante’s face was utterly certain.
“Haha… ha, hahahaha.”
In the end, Isabella could only laugh.
Absurd as it was,
somehow she truly believed Dante might pull it off.
“Then I’ll look forward to ten years from now.”
Her eyes curved like a crescent moon.
Dante pressed his lips tight and nodded firmly,
as if vowing to fulfill that expectation.
“Sir Dante.”
It was then Miléon’s voice came from behind.
Only then did they remember what had been momentarily forgotten—
the aftermath of battle.
Isabella turned quickly.
Miléon and Elaine were standing with Acracion,
supporting the wounded.
“All the injured have been rescued. However…”
Miléon’s expression was grim.
Dante immediately guessed.
We’ve lost someone.
And he was right.
“Sir Yurian has fallen.”
Yurian Rophel.
Once a soldier of the principality,
he had been knighted by Isabella herself for his outstanding talent.
A cheerful, kind man who got along well with Zionhac…
“His body?”
Miléon shook his head.
Too mutilated to recover.
“We recovered his sword.”
In his hands was Yurian’s blade—
broken in half.
Dante stretched out his hand.
“Give it to me.”
Miléon handed the shattered sword into Dante’s trembling grasp.
It’s still warm.
Had he gripped it until the very moment of death?
The hilt still carried a trace of heat.
Dante quietly stared at the weapon in his palm,
then tucked it into his sword-belt.
“Report.”
“Five injured. Four are gravely wounded, unable to move.”
Trisiel, Cain, Yelodi, Seiran.
For these four, the expedition was over.
Without proper treatment, they might never recover.
Zionhac was the only one in somewhat better condition.
Though bones were broken and organs damaged,
he could at least move—though combat was impossible.
So Dante entrusted him with the wounded.
“You must protect them until I return.”
He didn’t ask if Zionhac could.
He simply ordered it.
For even wounded, Zionhac was strong enough
to hold back most monsters.
“Just in case, assign a few more. Not Acracion—other knights.”
Guarding ten with one is no easy task.
Especially when injured.
He was honest enough to ask for what he needed.
Dante nodded.
It was a request that had to be granted.
“Knights of Lumière Guard will join you.”
“Five will be enough.”
“Very well.”
As Zionhac said,
five heavily armored knights specialized in defense were assigned.
Though from another order, none refused.
Not a single knightly order in the coalition had not received Acracion’s aid.
So Zionhac, with his five, stayed behind to protect the wounded.
“Is the preparation complete?”
Isabella asked as she watched.
“Yes.”
“Then let us depart.”
“Your Highness… are you well enough?”
Even before the expedition, Isabella had been weary.
Battle upon battle had drained her.
And slaying Nergar must have consumed much strength.
Surely she was not yet in peak condition.
But Isabella only answered with a faint smile.
“…Very well. We’ll move now.”
Dante was worried, but he too was impatient.
They had to finish the fight quickly,
so the wounded could be healed.
Sighing inwardly, he looked around.
Not far away was a vast hole.
It seemed to be where Nergar had emerged.
“If we go through there, we’ll find them.”
His sacred flame, fused with his magic, pulsed with certainty.
Beyond that hole waited the corrupt beings.
“From here, I’ll take the lead.”
Isabella stepped forward—
But Dante blocked her.
“No. The vanguard is always ours.”
The crimson storm that ruled the battlefield—
the absolute hope of the coalition.
“Acracion.”
At his call, six knights lined up.
Half their number gone,
but their faces burned with pride and determination.
“Advance.”
“We obey!”
Dante and Acracion marched toward the gaping hole.
