Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer-Chapter 132: Butcher With a Crown

⸢Aethelstan (Lvl 102) has slain the Boss, Hive Empress⸥

A long silence filled the golden chamber, like all the trust had been sucked out of a room.

Nessa glared at the Prince, shock written in her face. Corvell stood frozen, the dagger Nessa had given him hanging uselessly at his side. He looked small, like a child who had been promised a gift only to watch it be smashed in front of him.

Aethelstan didn’t notice. Or rather, he didn’t care.

He watched as a cinematic scroll unfurled before him, the System narrating the lore of his conquest.

"In the hives of the old world, the crowd was the ultimate testament of strength. The swarm consumed the lion; the army broke the mountain. But the only thing that defeats strength, is a greater one. The King who stands when the army falls. The Apex that devours the swarm. In the end, numbers are but dust before absolute power."

The scroll dissolved into motes of light that rushed into Aethelstan’s chest.

⸢Aspect of the Hive Empress claimed by Aethelstan (Lvl 102)⸥

⸢Description: When activated, increases the number of targets for any Skill by 50% for 60 seconds. During this time, the user is immune to crowd control effects but cannot receive external buffs from allies.⸥

The team whispered amongst themselves. They too were given the scrolls, but only Aethelstan had the power.

From what they read, Corvell had been right. Such an Aspect could be really helpful for him, especially since Healer Mages didn’t need to worry about external buffs.

They were the ones who supplied it.

"Cannot receive external buffs?" Bromm muttered to Dagna. "So he gets stronger, but cuts himself off from the healer? It’s a selfish skill. Perfect for him."

Aethelstan dismissed the window and turned to face them, his face the picture of innocent triumph.

"A good fight," he said, sheathing his sword.

"What are you doing?" Nessa walked up to him. "We agreed Corvell would take the Aspect. It was a Support Aspect. It could help us in future Gate World clearings"

Aethelstan looked at her, his expression bored. "Correction," he said smoothly. "I told you I understood, Nessa. I never told you I agreed with it."

He flapped his cape. "I did the most damage. I took the most risk. The prize is mine. That is how it is."

Nessa stared at him, her mouth opening to retort, but the sheer wall of his arrogance made words feel weightless.

"There is still loot," Aethelstan added, waving a hand magnanimously toward the piles of dead beasts and the Empress’s corpse. "I didn’t touch any of the materials. Cores, chitin, Mana Coins. You all can go ahead and take all of it."

He turned his back on them, walking toward a corner to check his stats. Liraeth watched him with admiration.

Silently, the team moved to the corpses. There was no joy in it as they harvested the materials. Corvell interacted with the Empress, claiming her core.

Still, his eyes were dull. He didn’t look at Aethelstan. He felt bad about himself, like something vital inside him had been discarded.

Ding!

⸢The Gate World now recognizes Aethelstan (Lvl 102) as it’s owner.⸥

⸢A portal is being created for return.⸥

A swirling red vortex opened at the far end of the chamber.

"Hurry up," Aethelstan called out, tapping his foot. "Master Omares is waiting."

Deron looked up from where he was looting, a rageful look on his face. Then he returned to looting.

Once they were gone, they filed toward the portal and stepped through.

They were out in the Glades again, the white leaves welcoming them.

Omares was standing by the side, hands tucked into the sleeves of his midnight-blue robes.

It was almost nighttime, yet he looked exactly as he had when they left. Not a wrinkle had shifted. He was a statue of patience amidst the falling leaves.

"How long has it been?" Deron asked, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the twilight. "You... you are still here, Master?"

Omares slowly opened his eyes. "Patience is the virtue for those who reside in the concept of time," he rasped.

He looked them over, counting heads. His gaze lingered on Aethelstan for a fraction of a second longer than the others.

"Let us enter the carriage," he said, turning around. "You can debrief on the way to the Duke’s castle."

The Maglev carriage sang softly as it glided back toward Serol.

Inside, the Awakeners sat in silence. Tension was clearly in the air.

Omares sat opposite Aethelstan. The old scholar’s presence filled the cabin, his aura almost taking up more space than their own bodies.

"So," Omares began. "You have cleared the Gate."

"We did," Aethelstan replied, leaning back and crossing his legs. "We climb the records, I believe. Less than a day in real-world time. We are efficient, Master."

"Promising," Omares noted. "In terms of speed."

His eyes narrowed. "But I noticed shortcomings. In all of you."

Aethelstan frowned slightly. "Shortcomings? Master, we annihilated the Boss. I delivered the final blow myself. Our strategy, the one I came up with, it was flawless."

"You failed utterly," Omares cut him off.

The words were spoken without anger, which made them worse. They were spoken as a fact.

Aethelstan recoiled. ’What?’

"You failed in your role as a leader," Omares continued. "A leader has the responsibility of his followers’ welfare. That is the contract. They give you their loyalty; you give them survival. Yet you ignored it all in search of glory. In fact, you had no problem with sacrificing your teammates just for your own victory."

Aethelstan stiffened. "I made tactical decisions to ensure—"

"You attacked your own Knight," Omares whispered.

The carriage went deathly still.

Aethelstan opened his mouth, but Omares steamrolled him.

"In the final Zone, you demanded Princess Corisande use her S-Grade skill, even though you had seen it deplete her mana to critical levels. You knew it would leave her defenseless. You did not care. You saw her not as a teammate, but as a consumable item to be used so you could reach the Source faster."

Corisande looked away, out the window.

Aethelstan’s face paled. ’Was this man really able to see everything? From outside the Gate World?’

"Stop caring about the privileges of your rank, Prince," Omares hissed, leaning forward. "And focus on your responsibilities. It is the fulfillment of those duties that gives you the glory you so desperately crave. Today, you were not a leader. Only a butcher with a crown."

Aethelstan looked away, his jaw clenched so hard a vein throbbed in his temple. He couldn’t refute it. Not when the old man knew every detail.

Omares turned his gaze to the others.

"Deron. You are skilled, yet you are passive. You allowed yourself to be bullied into silence. A shield that does not push back is merely a wall."

"Liraeth. You seek approval more than impact. You cast spells to look impressive, not to be effective."

"Bromm. Reckless. You rely on your constitution to cover for your lack of foresight."

Finally, his eyes softened slightly as they landed on the two women in the corner.

"Nessa," Omares said. "And Corisande."

The Shadow Assassin and the Healer Mage looked up.

"You two were the only ones who understood the assignment," Omares said. "Corisande, you acted when the leadership failed. You saved the party in the Tunnels at great personal cost."

"And Nessa..." Omares looked at the Shadow Assassin, who was still fuming about the Aspect. "You attempted to distribute the reward based on the survival of the group, not the ego of the individual. You tried to give the Aspect to the Healer."

Omares glanced back at Aethelstan, his voice dripping with implication.

"Perhaps," the old scholar mused, "the Shadow Assassin should be the one holding the sun. She seems to know better where to shine the light."

Aethelstan froze, his anger almost burning out of his blue eyes. He glanced at Nessa who looked away, then stared out the window at the passing white trees, his hands curled into fists on his knees.

The humiliation burned hotter than the bee venom. To be dressed down in front of his subjects... to have his leadership questioned...

Nessa remained silent, biting her lip in thought.

Dagna watched it all unfold with a devious smile.

The carriage began to slow once they arrived at the Palace of the Silver Bough.

"Here we are," Omares said, closing his eyes again, dismissing them as if they were unruly schoolchildren.

The carriage touched down, and the doors creaked open.

"Let us pay our respects to the Duke," the Scholar announced. "We return to the Tutorium tomorrow."