Chapter 149

The Drakeblade was sheathed in dragon scales, every rattle of the overlapping plates producing a metallic resonance that carried immense waves of energy. It was as if the weapon itself were a living relic, a fragment of a mythical dragon twisting its form.

‘Unreadable…!’

Dien, an assassin from the Black Shadow Blade Group, gritted his teeth. His guild, rooted in the northern territories, was known for harboring the finest killers. Among them, Dien was one of the elite, second only to the guild master. His skills in stealth and silent movement were unparalleled.

Yet, even he couldn’t anticipate the earlier attack.

Despite the blade’s palpable energy, it had been impossible to sense—silent, swift, and devastatingly precise.

‘I cannot win.’

As Dien kept the Drakeblade in his sight, he searched for an escape route. Engaging an opponent of this caliber in direct combat was a death sentence.

Just then, the trembling Drakeblade shot into the air, a violent burst of energy scattering its surrounding aura.

Startled, Dien immediately activated his stealth technique.

****

He wrapped himself in shadow, dissolving into the environment as though melting into the air. The dense white smoke lingering from Barossa’s **** offered plenty of cover.

Barossa, sensing Dien’s retreat, thickened the mist, but—

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Ray slammed her frost-covered hand against the ground, sending out a rippling shockwave of ice.

*Crack!*

The frost quickly spread, freezing the mist midair. The crystallized vapor caught Dien mid-movement, rendering his stealth incomplete.

“You said you’d end my life before I could bare my fangs, didn’t you?”

Shepherd seized the opening.

“Funny how that didn’t work out for you.”

Dien’s wide-open eyes reflected Shepherd’s charging form.

Unlike before, Shepherd was now dual-wielding—a broadsword in his dominant right hand and a reverse-gripped dagger in his left.

His movements were sharper, deadlier.

****

The dual blades slashed in tandem, the broadsword relentlessly pursuing Dien while the dagger struck like a bolt in every exposed gap.

The Gardner family’s signature technique required mastery of two separate sword styles, applied simultaneously for seamless execution.

*Clang! Clang! Slash!*

Dien flailed desperately, trying to fend off Shepherd, but the broadsword’s relentless assault left no room for counterattacks, preventing him from properly deploying his stealth.

Finally, the dagger found its mark, sinking into Dien’s neck.

*Splurt!*

Blood sprayed over Shepherd’s face.

“You should’ve finished me when you had the chance. Thanks to you, I had to pull out a skill I never wanted to use.”

Shepherd’s blood-soaked eyes radiated pure rage and madness.

Dien gurgled, trying to form words.

“You… traitor…”  n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

“Save it for hell.”

Shepherd didn’t bother listening. With one clean motion, he swung his broadsword and decapitated Dien.

Without pause, he turned and sprinted toward Barossa’s position, leaving bloody footprints on the frozen ground.

*Splatter!*

“Damn it! This wasn’t supposed to happen!”

Barossa pushed his mist to its toxic limit, desperate to escape.

‘That’s no ordinary swordsman,’ he thought, beads of sweat forming despite the freezing air.

‘That’s the Gardner patriarch’s technique… the legacy of the mad dragon clan! How the hell am I supposed to fight this?’

The Gardner patriarch, known as the Mad Dragon Emperor, had vanished during the rebellion against Kyle. Along with him, his loyalists—dubbed the **Mad Dragon Circle**—had also disappeared.

The **Wolf Fang** technique was believed to have been lost during that era, replaced by the more accessible **Wolf Tooth** style.

Yet here it was, resurrected in the hands of a mere swordsman from the White Scale Brigade.

‘The White Scale Brigade has been hiding their claws all this time.’

Barossa realized his survival was no longer guaranteed.

Worse, Ray’s frost aura continued to intensify, neutralizing his mist’s effectiveness.

“You should stop running.”

*Boom!*

Shepherd’s broadsword landed on Barossa’s shoulder, barely intercepted by the assassin’s narrow blade.

“Damn it!”

Barossa retreated, his expression twisted in frustration.

****

*Whoosh!*

His body dissolved into smoke once more.

But—

“Are you stupid? Your footprints are still visible.”

Shepherd scoffed coldly, stepping aside to reveal shallow impressions in the frozen ground.

*Boom! Boom! Boom!*

Shepherd resumed his relentless pursuit. No matter how Barossa tried to evade, the hunter was always one step ahead.

“Damn it! You’ve seen through everything!”

Barossa’s frustration grew with each failed escape attempt.

Worse, his repeated use of techniques was draining his mana faster than anticipated.

“Kill him! Protect me at all costs!”

Barossa bellowed, his voice tinged with desperation.

His subordinates—warriors of the One Sword Society—responded instantly. Their eyes rolled back, foam forming at their mouths as they charged Shepherd.

They were no longer human.

****

Barossa had been dosing his subordinates with hallucinogenic drugs, turning them into mindless berserkers under his control.

“These drugged-up lunatics!”

Shepherd fought them off with Ray’s assistance, their combined effort barely keeping the frenzied mob at bay.

Barossa, meanwhile, cackled as he sprinted toward the crypt’s entrance.

“Fools! Tear each other apart while I escape—”

*Thwack!*

Barossa’s laugh was cut short as a hand shot out from the shadows and gripped his face.

“What are you doing here, Barossa?”

“Mmph! Mmmph!”

Barossa’s eyes bulged in terror, his muffled protests ignored as the fingers tightened.

“Even the Rose House managed to preserve their pride. But you? Look at you now.”

With a sickening crunch, the hand crushed Barossa’s skull, dropping his lifeless body to the ground.

“A-Arin!”

Shepherd’s voice trembled as he recognized the figure holding Arin’s limp form.

Kant Thomas, the leader of the Wandering Knights Union, stepped forward.

“I’ll return your friend unharmed,” Kant said, tossing Arin’s unconscious body toward Shepherd.

Shepherd caught her and checked her pulse, sighing in relief. Ray stepped forward to shield them, her icy aura intensifying.

“She’s just unconscious from mana exhaustion. She’ll live.”

Shepherd exhaled sharply, his gaze hardening as he looked at Kant.

“What do you want?”

Kant smiled faintly.

“The girl—Cassandra. Hand her over, and we’ll leave peacefully.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s simple. We’re not interested in prolonging this battle. You don’t want any more casualties, do you?”

As Shepherd prepared to refuse, Kant’s gaze shifted past him.

*Step… Step…*

The sound of footsteps echoed on the frozen ground.

Theo Ragnar approached the center of the battlefield, standing before the trembling Drakeblade.

‘He’s changed again.’

Shepherd could no longer read Theo’s aura. The boy exuded a refined, overwhelming power—calm yet poised to explode.

“Theo Ragnar,” Kant said, his voice steady but his eyes betraying awe. “I’ve wanted to meet you. And now, seeing you in person, I see the stories don’t do you justice.”

Theo drew the Drakeblade, its massive form a perfect fit despite his slight frame.

“Kant Thomas, the ‘King Slayer.’ You killed your lord, burned down a castle of hundreds, and left behind a trail of ash and corpses.”

Kant’s face tightened at the mention of his dark past.

Theo smirked.

“I’m not interested in your excuses. I just want to see how strong you are. Come at me.”

Kant unsheathed his blade, his expression darkening.

“Ragnar arrogance. Let’s see if you can back it up.”

*Crash!*

Kant leaped forward, shattering the frozen ground. As the shards of ice reflected his distorted smile, it was clear—

He was exactly as they’d said. The same man who had laughed as he burned a kingdom to the ground.