The Indomitable Martial King

“Yes, yes…”

Still dazed, Siris followed Repenhardt as he activated the Tidaen Daiman Portal this time. Passing through the portal, they emerged in the underground of a half-collapsed relic from the Silver Age, naturally swarming with all sorts of demonic creatures. However, Repenhardt, as if it was nothing, promptly activated a side path. Soon, a secret passage, devoid of any demons or undead, brazenly revealed its entrance, allowing Siris to comfortably exit the midst of the Silver Age ruins without a single battle.

“…”

With a lost expression, Siris blankly surveyed her surroundings. Just about thirty minutes ago, she was enduring the harsh northern winds in the midwinter mountains, and in an instant, the season had changed.

An endlessly stretching desert and the scorching heat intensely beating down from above. The air was stifling.

It was undeniable. It was her homeland, the land of wailing, the Spelrat Desert.

Siris shook her head in disbelief.

“To activate a relic from the Silver Age would require a very high-level sorcerer…”

Repenhardt humbly downplayed it.

“The magic to activate a portal isn’t that high-level. It’s just about rearranging the tangled mana flows into their correct sequence. If you know the arrangement method, even a 6th circle magic can suffice.”

Still, Siris looked suspicious.

If there’s a key and the strength to turn it, anyone can open a door. But making the key oneself requires the skills of a professional locksmith, right?

Having been trained as a slayer in a slave auction house, Siris had learned the basic common knowledge about magic. Opening a portal and discovering the formula to do so were entirely different matters. A portal that a 6th circle practitioner could open would be impossible to research and discover the activation formula for unless one were a great sorcerer of at least the 8th circle or higher.

“This wasn’t taught by your master, was it?”

There were no rumors that the Fist King Gerard was well-versed in magic. Repenhardt responded in a calm tone, as if he had anticipated her question.

“One of my master’s friends was a sorcerer. Otherwise, where do you think I learned magic?”

Siris rolled her eyes.

‘Something’s fishy…’

If Gerard was the Fist King, it only made sense that a friend who was a sorcerer would be a great sorcerer indeed. Thus, it was quite plausible that Repenhardt learned magic from this friend.

“Indeed, there’s nothing to nitpick. It all seems to add up,” Siris muttered to herself.

‘But why do I feel so deceived?’

Siris irritably pursed her lips. She tried to accept the explanation, but her intuition kept screaming that something was off. Yet, she couldn’t quite challenge it…

“Fine!”

With a defiant response, Siris stepped out from under the shadow of the rock. The hot sun intensely beat down on her smooth brown skin. However, Siris seemed to enjoy it. It was a harsh sunlight, but one that brought a sense of longing.

As Siris strode ahead, Repenhardt sighed.

‘Why is she upset again?’

Ah, whether in a past life or this one, understanding the hearts of women is beyond me! Once I regain all my magical powers, I might just have to create a 10th circle spell that ‘deciphers’ the hearts of women.

With this ambitious (?) plan in mind, Repenhardt shook his head and followed Siris.

As they broke through the sand, a creature over two meters tall bared its teeth at them.

“Kaaa!”

A sand lizard, covered in pale yellow scales reminiscent of a crocodile, known as a Sandrizard, emerged. Its powerful jaws could crush rocks and its tail had enough force to kill a cow or horse in one strike, making it a monster feared by the nomads of the desert.

“But for now, it’s just my lunch.”

Smirking, Repenhardt calmly watched the Sandrizard charge at him. Then, as the tail came flying towards him, he reached out his hand and simply caught it.

“Kwing?”

A human catching its tail swipe with bare hands? The Sandrizard was taken aback by this unprecedented situation, its eyes widening in shock. Repenhardt then lifted his hand. Despite the Sandrizard’s stature of over two meters, Repenhardt stood at an impressive 192 centimeters. Raising his hand, the Sandrizard dangled helplessly in the air. Just as the audacious human stunned it, and it was about to spit its venom…

Thump!

Repenhardt slammed the Sandrizard to the ground. The ground being sand rather than rock meant that it didn’t die from a single blow. But that was just a start. Repenhardt, as if doing laundry, repeatedly slammed the Sandrizard into the ground. The Sandrizard tried to struggle to live, but it was futile.

What kind of human is immune to venom and impervious to bites, and in the midst of all this, consciousness fading…

“Kwe…”

With a modest cry, the Sandrizard ended its troubled life. Repenhardt turned to Siris with a broad smile.

“Siris, let’s eat before we go!”

A typical woman might have been dismayed by this foolish spectacle. However, Siris, who called the desert her homeland, had been excitedly looking forward to eating sandrizard, a treat she hadn’t had in a long time. The expression she wore didn’t quite seem one an elf would make, yet it was oddly natural.

“I’ll peel the skin,” she offered.

“Okay, I’ll start the fire.”

An impromptu camping session was set up in the middle of the desert. It might have been too warm for a picnic, but it was not a problem for the two of them.

“Barrier of Dark!”

Repenhardt cast a shadow barrier above them, quickly creating a cool shade.

“Flame Field!”

He laid down a small flame field on the ground, allowing them to start a fire right on the sand.

As Repenhardt cast his spells, Siris expertly skinned the sandrizard and drained its blood. She didn’t discard the blood; instead, she used the peeled skin as a container to store it. In the desert, water was precious and not to be wasted carelessly.

While Siris chopped the sandrizard into suitable pieces for cooking, Repenhardt cast another spell on the blood-filled skin container.

“Aqua Drain.”

He applied a moisture extraction spell to the sandrizard’s blood, separating it into blood curds and clean water. This secured their water supply for the desert journey, showcasing that magic was often more effective for practical purposes than combat.

‘Ah, to think I hadn’t used such convenient magic until now…’

Repenhardt was impressed with his own efficiency as he watched the sizzling sandrizard meat. The meat crackled, dripping fat and emitting a delicious aroma that tantalized the nose. Siris seemed much happier than before, probably feeling nostalgic for her homeland.

She even offered some meat to Repenhardt.

“Would you like to try some, Repenhardt? See if it’s cooked well.”

“Sure! Yes!”

It was delicious! How could the meat lovingly fed by a loved one taste bad? Repenhardt eagerly accepted, and for a moment, Siris smiled, though she soon returned to her usual cool demeanor. However, her expression was noticeably more relaxed than before.

The two enjoyed their lively lunch. Midway through chewing, Repenhardt asked,

“Siris, how much further to your hometown?”

He actually knew the location, but couldn’t act as if he did. Siris paused to observe the surrounding terrain and feel the wind.

True to her elven nature, she didn’t need to look at the stars like humans did; she instinctively sensed the spirits in the atmosphere to approximate their current location. After determining where they were, she nodded.

“About half a day’s walk toward the setting sun.”

It had been nearly 50 years since she had last seen her hometown. Although she tried not to show it, anticipation was evident in her eyes. But then Siris realized something. The land might remain, but the people wouldn’t be the same.

“Of course, none of them would have survived…”

Her voice faltered, and she hunched her shoulders. Repenhardt spoke kindly to her.

“You never know how things might turn out, right?”

“…?”

Sensing that he might know something, Siris tilted her head curiously.

* * *

Half a day later, Repenhardt and Siris arrived at the Dahnhaim clan’s village. Siris looked around in silence, at a loss for words.

“……”

Beneath the sandy dunes, primitive huts made of blackthorn intertwined haphazardly, and beside them, a modest oasis.

Compared to human villages, it looked more like an animal’s den, dilapidated and ramshackle. This was the current state of the once-noble High Elves, heralded in distant past times as descendants of a great spirit.

Siris gazed at the huts with a nostalgic look. No signs of life could be felt anywhere.

‘Indeed…….’

Underneath the fragile blackthorn roofs that seemed ready to collapse at any moment, wooden dishes filled with sand dust were visible. They were all crudely made, seeming as if they might crumble with the slightest touch.

With a sorrowful smile, Siris knelt and touched them, hallucinating voices from her memories.

-Our daughter, ……. You too must grow up and protect our clan.

-Well done. That’s how you must swing the sword. …….

-Look at this, ……! Now I can help Father too!

Voices of numerous elves filled her ears, memories of all her fathers, mothers, and the young elves she had played with echoing alongside her recollections. Like a dam bursting, her memory endlessly spouted reminiscences.

Siris tightly closed her eyes. The dry desert wind blew under the eaves, shifting the gritty sand.

‘Now, they’re all gone…….’

A flood of memories harshly lacerated her heart, leaving behind traces of devastation. Her heart ached, as if pierced by hundreds of needles.

Siris kept her eyes closed. Regret washed over her.

‘Why did I come here…….’

If she hadn’t come, if she hadn’t seen, if she hadn’t remembered, perhaps this pain wouldn’t exist.

But once surfaced, memories turned into cruel waves, endlessly crashing at her ears.

-Look at this, ……!

Suddenly, she realized.

There was something she couldn’t remember.

-Let’s go together, ……! Today we’re going to catch desert scorpions!

Even now, as the faces of her parents, the voices of her friends, and the breath and scent of her beloved siblings vividly surfaced, there remained an unrecalled memory.

The voice that used to call her.

-……!

She couldn’t remember that name.

The name she used to be called by everyone, the name she was known by, she could not remember.

Bang!

Siris punched down nervously, shattering the wooden bowl she was holding. But no matter how angry she got, what she wanted did not come to mind.

“Sigh…”

Siris sighed. She felt like crying her heart out, but no tears came.

Her tears had stopped 50 years ago.

Meanwhile, Repenhardt was looking around in confusion.

“Huh? What happened here?”

He clearly remembered. In his past life, when he had visited this place, the Dahnhaim clan was still intact.

Despite living a tough life, these pure-blooded High Elves had steadfastly preserved the teachings of their ancestors. Repenhardt remembered them clearly.

Where on earth had they gone?

“Why is no one here?”

As Repenhardt was bewildered, he saw Siris sighing in despair. This was not the scene he had hoped for. He had brought her here wanting to meet the surviving clan members and see her smile brightly. It was not his intention to make her this sad.

“Could it be…?”

Repenhardt frantically looked around.

Suddenly, he felt a chill. Could it be that because of his regression to this era, the Dahnhaim clan, which should have survived, had been destroyed? It might seem like a leap, but causality can bring about tremendous consequences from even the slightest distortion. It wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility.

“I don’t think I did anything that distorted…”

As Repenhardt looked around anxiously, something suddenly struck him. There was something odd about this ruined village.

“Odd? What’s odd?”

He pondered and soon found the answer.

Repenhardt called out to Siris with a relieved expression.

“Siris!”

“…Yes?”

Siris turned her head listlessly to look at Repenhardt, her expression scolding him as if to say, what are you so excited about when I’m nearly dead tired?

Repenhardt pointed around and asked her.

“Doesn’t something about this village seem strange to you?”