I'm the Crazy One in the Family-Chapter 341: River of Blood, Mountain of Screams (4)

The vassals who saw Endymion for the first time were left speechless. Part of it was that he was an elf, and part of it was the realization that the high elder they had believed to be a legend truly existed. But those were trivial compared to the real reason: they were overwhelmed.

Endymion’s eyes were calm and deep, his posture relaxed and unguarded. There was nothing outwardly threatening about him, yet every warrior present thought of a single word when they looked at Endymion: perfection.

There were no openings or weaknesses. A certainty formed in their minds that nothing they did would work against him. Even the civil vassals, who did breathing as their form of exercise, forgot to breathe.

It felt as though the very space itself had been devoured by Endymion. They were like butterflies caught in a spider’s web, unable to move.

Endymion walked into the conference hall. Only then did those who had been dazed return to their senses.

“Huff... Huff...”

“Ha...”

What they felt was more than simply coming back from the brink of death—it was like dying, chatting with the Grim Reaper, and returning.

“Greetings, High Elder.”

At that moment, Hissop bowed his head toward Endymion. The current patriarch of Sefira formally acknowledged him as a high elder. This was not submission born of force.

Through his preparation to be the patriarch, Hissop already knew of Endymion’s existence. Even beyond that, he instinctively felt that though they were of different species, they shared the same blood.

When Hissop bowed first, the elders followed. Then the vassals bent deeply.

“Greetings, High Elder.”

All who bore responsibility for Sefira bowed before him. Endymion gave a slight nod, accepting their greeting.

“I am Endymion El Sefira, the guardian of Sefira.”

Gulp.

At his introduction, the vassals tensed. The overwhelming pressure from before had vanished, but they could not guess what Endymion would say.

The vassals were all wondering the same thing: why did he decide to appear all of a sudden? They all stared at Endymion with more hostility than friendliness.

Endymion paid no attention to their reactions and continued, “I will protect Sefira.”

“Ahem.”

“Hmm.”

Panir and Reganon cleared their throats at the same time. Though long forgotten, they too had once uttered the same words while undermining the patriarch and dividing the family from within. Had Keter not exposed and crushed their actions while giving them a chance to atone, they would not be standing here now.

The vassals knew this to some degree, and Endymion’s words made their toes curl with tension.

“Patriarch Hissop.”

“Yes, Lord Endymion.”

Though he tried not to show it, Hissop stiffened, and his voice trembled.

“My strength stands equal to the Four Lords of the Lillian Kingdom. Keep that in mind.”

“...!”

Endymion had just declared that he possessed power capable of battling the Four Lords. In other words, he was an eight-star or a Transcendental close to that.

“Lord Endymion, may I ask what you mean by ‘keep that in mind’?”

“It means you must judge wisely where to use me.”

“...Pardon?”

Hissop blinked rapidly. The statement was so unexpected that it took him some time to understand. Endymion drove the point home.

“You, as the patriarch, are the bow. I am the arrow. You only need to release me. But when and where to fire—that is your responsibility. Do you understand?”

“Ah... I understand.”

Hissop felt dazed. Only five minutes earlier, he had lamented that Sefira lacked even a single seven-star Prime. Now he could dispatch a Transcendental—perhaps an eight-star—to the battlefield with a single command.

The vassals were no less stunned. Endymion was Sefira’s high elder and an elf. He was also a Transcendental being beyond seven-star. If he wished, killing or subduing everyone present would be easier than flipping his palm. Yet he had volunteered to become a tool. It felt unreal.

But they were not done being shocked.

“Besil and Gasilius have reached seven-star.”

Endymion skipped the preamble and got straight to the point. Everyone’s jaw dropped. Besil and Gasilius reaching seven-star was incredible news.

“Are they returning now?” Hissop asked eagerly, elated by the news that they were safe and had become a Prime.

Endymion’s arrival alone had already strengthened Sefira immeasurably. If Besil and Gasilius, now seven-star warriors, joined as well, even two Masters of Swordsmanship united would pose no fear. Sefira had no reason to fear them, as they could face the Four Lords themselves.

But Endymion shook his head.

“They will not come. They reached seven-star through an irregular method and cannot yet control their Authority. Until they resolve this, their power would only become poison.”

“Oh...”

Seeing Hissop’s disappointment, Endymion offered reassurance.

“There is no need to worry. I guided them until the end. They should return soon.”

Hearing that, Hissop’s face brightened immediately.

“If I may ask, roughly how many days should we expect? It would help with strategic planning.”

“Hm.”

After a brief pause, Endymion raised his hand. It clearly showed the number five.

“Ah, five days!”

Though not exactly soon, five days was manageable. However, Endymion shook his head. Hissop faltered.

“...Then five hours?”

He hesitated between fifty days and five hours, but fifty seemed too long for Endymion to describe as “soon.”

Endymion looked slightly frustrated and said, “Five years.”

* * *

The security in front of Keter’s treatment room was not tight. If anything, it looked lax as only a single boy stood there.

But the boy was a homunculus, one that even an ordinary seven-star Prime could not easily defeat. Moreover, the treatment room was twisted like a maze. Without Daat’s permission, the architect of this spatial labyrinth, even a Transcendental could not easily approach.

Yet someone opened the door and entered as if it were nothing. It was Endymion, the high elder. He had just delivered the good news that Besil and Gasilius had reached seven-star along with the sobering message that it would take five years before they could return.

In any case, he was an uninvited guest—an intruder who had not received Daat’s permission. He unraveled the maze-like space in an instant and stepped into the treatment room.

Decameron, the homunculus attacked immediately. Daat had granted permission to strike any target that approached through an abnormal route. Decameron had evolved. Though he had not distinguished himself in battle, he had grown through hardship alongside Keter. What he learned from Keter was simple: go all out from the very beginning.

Kahh!!!

The magic core fusion reactor roared as if it were about to explode, radiating blinding light. From the very start, Decameron unleashed his finishing technique: Phoenix Blade, a seven-circle fusion spell.

Ordinarily, Phoenix Blade was a spell that launched a blade of inextinguishable flame. But Decameron grasped the Phoenix Blade in his hand and used it as a sword.

All-Calming Sword, Ultimate Technique: Dawn.

The Phoenix Blade descended as Decameron executed the strongest technique of the Samael Empire’s Eight Great Swords.. It was both a line attack and an area attack—an absurd and impossible strike that could not be evaded. There was no space in which to dodge.

Area attacks spread the energy across a large surface and therefore had low power; that was common sense. However, Dawning was different. It was an area attack composed of multiple line attacks; this method eliminated the weaknesses of both types. And with a sword of flame capable of melting even orichalcum, it caused even space itself to warp.

Faced with this terrifying combined technique, Endymion frowned.

“A copied soul using copied techniques. The pinnacle of unpleasantness.”

As if tossing away a piece of trash, Endymion released an arrow.

It was small, barely the length of a finger joint. No matter how powerful it was, compared to Decameron’s Phoenix Blade and Genesis, it seemed as meaningless as an ant challenging an elephant.

Decameron was certain of victory. This was not emotional judgment, but cold logic.

Attack range, power, speed, heat, follow-up potential... I surpass him in every respect.

The moment he reached that conclusion, his torso and legs separated.

“...?”

Decameron could not comprehend what had happened to him. Humans lost fractions of time to blinking and other micro-movements, but he did not. Yet he still failed to perceive what had occurred.

It was severed.

Only after 0.2 seconds did Decameron realize that the Phoenix Blade and Dawning he had unleashed had vanished. But they had not shattered from force colliding with force.

Area attacks were weaker than line attacks, which in turn were weaker than point attacks like arrows.. However, that did not mean absolute superiority, only an advantage. Even if one line was interrupted, countless others should have remained. Severing one line might collapse the plane, but the remaining lines should persist.

So how had Endymion cut all the lines with a single arrow?

He targeted the precise link between techniques. How is that even possible?

Had Phoenix Blade and Dawning been used separately, it might have been different. But Decameron had fused them into a single technique. Inevitably, that required a connecting point where the two forces harmonized.

That was a weakness, but even knowing that, how could anyone identify and strike it? Calling it a coincidence would be like lightning coincidentally striking the same spot seventeen times in a row.

Not only had Endymion dismantled the ultimate technique, but he had also inflicted a fatal wound. Of course, as a non-human, Decameron could regenerate, but...

“Stay still. Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to tear you to pieces.”

The second lesson he had learned from Keter: never yield to threats.

Decameron ignored him and continued regenerating. Endymion released another arrow. It pierced Decameron’s forehead.

“Your head will take a little longer to recover.”

Decameron’s movements stopped. Only then did Endymion step before Keter.

Keter still lay there like a corpse. But when Endymion pulled back the blanket, a shocking sight was revealed. His chest lay exposed. A dragon heart was embedded where his own should be. Veins extending from it clung to Keter’s body like parasites.

Endymion looked down and murmured, “I see. Now I understand everything.”

Through Keter, he had seen the future. It was only a fragment, but in that fragment, Keter was smiling, and the Sefira mansion was burning. It was clear that Keter himself had set it ablaze. Otherwise, how could he smile while Sefira burned?

Endymion did not want to believe it. From what he had seen, Keter seemed far more likely to help Sefira than destroy it. But in this moment, Endymion realized the truth.

“That was not Keter’s doing. It was the dragon that seized his body.”

He knew about dragon hearts. He knew Keter was battling a dragon in the mind world, but he also knew that no human could possess greater mental strength than a dragon.

“That he has endured four days is already historic.”

Those who took in a dragon heart usually awakened within a day. When they woke up, they were transformed into someone else with their bodies seized, memories and techniques stolen. Dragons were a cruel species that even impersonated the original owner.

“If this goes on, you will burn Sefira, just as I foresaw.”

When Keter opened his eyes, it would not be Keter; it would only be a dragon for whom this life was mere amusement.

A low hum filled the air. An arrow formed in Endymion’s hand. It bore the violet hue that symbolized Ein, yet something was different. A white band encircled its outer edge. It was Ein Sof, the next stage beyond Ein and the power that approached divinity.

Endymion’s Ein Sof was unstable, like dough mixed at the wrong ratio, ready to collapse at any moment. But it was powerful enough to kill a dragon before it fully awakened.

“This is something only I can do.”

Without hesitation, Endymion drove the arrow toward Keter’s heart. But then, somebody grabbed his wrist.

“...!”

It wasn’t just somebody—it was Keter! Still lying down, he had seized Endymion’s wrist and halted the strike!

Slowly, Keter’s eyes opened, and Endymion’s expression hardened. The violet pupils and golden irises of the Sefira bloodline remained, but the pupils were a little different; a tiny cosmos shimmered within them.

Endymion bit his lower lip.

“...In the end, I was too late.”

They were the eyes of a dragon.