Varos and Desteran raced across every corner of the pirate ship in their fierce duel. Since both wielded chain-blades, the battle wasn’t limited to the deck. They hooked their chains onto the masts and rigging, launching themselves through the air like spiders weaving through their webs.

Every time their silver auras collided, a thunderous shockwave rang out in all directions. And amidst this maelstrom of destruction, the pirates could do nothing but run in a panic.

"Move! Get out of the way!"

"Damn it!"

"Get caught in that and you’re dead!"

On a ship, there was nowhere to run. All they could do was scramble from corner to corner, desperate to stay out of the duel’s radius. As a result, the Osprey's Roar was left relatively untouched.

The necromancer pirates, now too busy dodging the two silver knights, could no longer send undead reinforcements to the other vessel. Meanwhile, the sailors watched the clash from afar in stunned awe.

"W-Wow..."

"So that’s what happens when two silver knights fight..."

"They don’t even seem human anymore..."

Serati and Lapicel grew increasingly anxious.

"We can’t just leave everything to Sir Varos. We need to help him somehow..." said Serati.

"But I don’t see an opening anywhere..." Lapicel responded.

Because the two fighters were so evenly matched, the intensity and precision of their duel made it near impossible to intervene. If Varos had been clearly losing, there might have been an opportunity to jump in, but charging in now could do more harm than good.

It seemed Leven, who had boarded the pirate ship earlier, felt the same. He stood at the ready, searching for a moment to assist, but unable to act.

Well, it makes sense for us to hold back... thought Serati.

She sent a telepathic message to Karnak.

—Why are you just watching?

Karnak, of course, had more than enough ability to intervene without endangering Varos.

He replied nonchalantly.

—Varos said he’s got this.

—What? I didn’t hear that.

—You can tell by his expression.

It seemed these two—master and vassal—had once again communicated with nothing more than a glance.

Serati scowled.

—And what if he dies?

—Then I’ll revive him.

—Even if he doesn’t die. What if he loses a limb?

—Then I’ll make him a vassal and reattach it.

—You said you didn’t have the resources to make more vassals.

—Well, I’ll make the resources.

It was an answer so casual, so devoid of hesitation, that both Serati and Leven were left momentarily speechless. Their glances sharpened at once.

Ah.

Of course.

They each drew their blades, focusing all their senses and refining themselves into honed weapons.

—If it gets dangerous, we’ll jump in right away!

—We can lose an arm or a leg—it doesn’t matter!

—What matters is keeping Sir Varos alive!

Milia was deeply moved. They were all thinking of their comrade first, without a second thought for their own safety. It was the kind of selflessness no servant of an evil necromancer should ever display.

Suddenly, an old saying she’d once heard as a child resurfaced in her mind: A sword doesn’t kill people. People do, by wielding it.

With new understanding, the young priest whispered to herself, "So necromancy itself isn’t evil. It’s the person who uses it who is..."

Karnak, standing beside her, gave a snort. "What kind of nonsense is that? Of course necromancy’s evil."

***

Fortunately, Serati and Leven’s concerns proved unfounded. As the fight dragged on, Varos began to overpower Desteran.

So Sir Desteran has his limits at this point in time.

In his final years, Desteran had never reached the realm of golden aura. Despite dedicating his life to surpassing the barrier of the martial kings, he’d never been able to break free from the rank of silver knight. Even so, back then, he had undoubtedly reached the pinnacle of that realm.

Now, though he still stood at the same level in name, he was little more than a fledgling within the silver-tier. Varos had received all of Desteran’s teachings in his twilight years. So it was no great feat to see through his techniques.

I’ve got the general picture now, Varos thought.

His movements grew even faster. His chain-blade danced with sharper, more lethal precision. The dazzling lash of the blade whipped against Desteran from all sides.

Desteran ground his teeth. Though the attacks narrowly missed his vital points, his entire body was gradually being drenched in blood.

Damn it... so it can be used like this?

Staring at Varos’s chain sword, he felt both rage and awe. This black-haired young man before him was undoubtedly his superior. He wasn’t just strong either. He was on an entirely different level. He had stolen Desteran’s technique and perfected it as if it were his own.

There was no way someone that young could pull off such a feat. Unless he used some wicked trickery!

With clenched teeth, Desteran unleashed all the aura remaining in his body. It’s not complete yet, but...

At this point, there was no choice but to gamble everything on a desperate counter. Suddenly, Desteran withdrew all the aura chains. He crossed his twin blade before him in the shape of an X.

At the same time, the raging silver aura that had surged so wildly vanished without a trace. All that remained was a calm pressure, flowing subtly, like the stillness before a storm. His red eyes suddenly flashed with a chilling light.

—Ultimate Art: Chain of Apocalypse!

From his body, countless aura chains exploded forth in unison. He had unleashed dozens of chains before, but it was different this time. Each chain was imbued with devastating flame, shadow, lightning, or frost. Interlinked, they multiplied in power and came crashing down all at once! The masts of the pirate ship were all swept away as that terrifying force surged toward Varos.

In that moment, a smile spread across Varos’s lips. Ah, this must’ve been back when he was still practicing this move.

Suddenly, a memory, no a future memory, surfaced. It was from the time he had inherited the chain sword technique from Desteran himself, long after he’d become a death knight.

—No, if your timing’s off, you leave this huge opening right in the middle!

—Then teach me how to get the timing right!

—You just have to feel it out.

—What kind of instruction is that?

—I can’t explain it in words. It took me ten years just to get the timing down.

Back then, even Varos had struggled to finish the technique properly, just like Desteran now.

Sure enough, there’s the gaping hole right in the middle.

Varos walked calmly through the swarm of destructive chains. The storm of aura didn’t even graze a single hair on his body.

Desteran’s eyes trembled violently. What the hell...?

As Varos closed the distance, he raised his aura blade. Having triggered the move, Desteran was now immobilized until the technique ended. He was completely defenseless and ready to be carved up at leisure.

Now then... what should I use?

An idea came to him, and Varos smiled faintly. He crossed his twin aura blades in front of him.

Karnak, watching from a distance, clicked his tongue. He could already tell what Varos was about to do. "Wow. That rotten bastard."

Varos’s aura condensed into a single point, and his eyes glinted with menace. Now here... this is the finished product.

Aura chains erupted from his body with explosive force.

—Ultimate Art: Chain of Apocalypse!

***

The pirate ship had already lost its sails, masts, and even its cabin. About half the vessel had been blown away.

Yet the ship did not sink. It simply remained, since it had never relied on wind to sail or buoyancy to float. Amid the storm of debris, Desteran fluttered like a leaf. He tumbled across the deck and coughed up a torrent of blood.

Varos didn’t seem particularly concerned. A silver knight’s not going to die from some shredded guts.

Of course, it was still a critical wound. It was more than enough to keep Desteran from fighting any longer. Even as he spat blood, Desteran quickly circulated his aura to stem the injury. Then, lifting his head, he glared at Varos.

"Y-you’re strong..." Then he said something strange. "No wonder the cultists worship you as the Holy Sword."

Varos, who had been approaching, halted mid-step. "Huh?"

"But I won’t hand him over to the likes of you." Desteran staggered to his feet once more. He was in no condition to fight, yet he showed no intention of kneeling.

"W-wait a second." Varos blinked in confusion. Cultists? The Holy Sword?

"Who exactly do you think we are?" Varos asked him.

"Is there any room for doubt?" Desteran shouted with hatred in his voice. "Filthy dogs of Tesranach!"

Varos and Karnak exchanged a flustered glance.

—Young master, how did we end up in this kind of misunderstanding?

—Beats me.

But on second thought, it kind of made sense. No wonder their conversation had felt so off. If Desteran had mistaken Karnak’s group for pursuers sent by the Cult of the Black God, then everything lined up.

Varos, dumbfounded, protested, "Wait, why do you think we’re from the Cult of the Black God?"

"You mean you’re not?" Desteran let out a mocking laugh, barely managing to raise his sword. "Then how do you explain your existence?"

They were a party composed of a silver knight, an 8th circle mage, and both purple- and blue-tier aura users. And yet not a single one of them was known to the world. It was a group of individuals so powerful that they could determine the fate of a small nation, and still, no one knew who they were? On top of that, they were all far too young. Far too young to have reached such heights.

Desteran shouted, "There’s no way anyone your age could have reached that level without necromancy!"

Varos gave an awkward smile. He’s... not entirely wrong.

In truth, everyone had increased their aura levels using the chaos mana Karnak had distributed.

Granted, it was only possible because their talents were near superhuman, and technically, it wasn’t necromancy but necromantic magic.

Still, at its root, it all originated from necromancy. Even so, Desteran had initially held back. Until he had definite proof that Karnak’s party was part of the Cult of the Black God, he couldn’t act rashly.

The moment he was convinced was when Karnak revealed his techniques. "And you still claim you're not cultists after using such vile necromancy?"

Watching from the ship opposite them, Lapicel suddenly burst out in anger. She couldn’t just stand by and watch Karnak be falsely accused. "That’s Redeemer of Necromancy! A method of dominating necromancy with order. It’s a form of magic!"

To be fair, Desteran had heard rumors about that kind of magic appearing in recent times. He’d even seen a few mages perform it. But those mages, at best, could control one or two undead. No one could command dozens at once, like Karnak. As far as he knew, there was only one explanation.

"Using magic and necromancy together is undeniable proof you serve the Cult of the Black God!" Desteran roared with righteous fury.

Varos, watching him with a blank stare, finally spoke. "Uh... we didn’t use necromancy, though."

He gestured toward the edge of the half-destroyed pirate ship, where several necromancer pirates were still barely hanging on. "Weren’t you the ones using necromancy?"

They were the ones who had shown up on a ghost ship and tried to plunder with undead in tow. Yet they had the nerve to accuse others?

This time, the pirates themselves exploded in outrage.

"Don’t lump us in with cultists like you!"

"Wretched dogs of Tesranach!"

That much was expected. But then one pirate shouted something utterly absurd. "We practice righteous necromancy!"

Karnak put a hand to his forehead. "These idiots are unbelievable. Completely nonsensical"

He was too dumbfounded to respond. Of all people, he knew better than anyone how necromancy worked, and even he didn’t deny that it was a dark art. But righteous necromancy? What utter nonsense.

"Who the hell started spreading that crap?" he muttered.

Just then, Desteran cried out as he pointed his sword forward. "Come, cultist scum! We fear nothing, for Serakal is with us!"