Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer-Chapter 160: Reunion Outside the Gate

Well, this was... unexpected.

Percival wasn’t a fan of surprises, and at the moment, he was full-on surprised. At least, it seemed that the people in front of him were just as surprised.

The silence was proof of it. The distant waterfalls and chirping birds were now audible, one could hear a pin drop, or a pupil move.

The red light of the Gate poured Percival’s shadows across the dead grass, framing him like a dark omen.

To save himself and his province, Duke Ithalan initiated movement, his emerald robes rustling as he stepped forward and stood beside Percival.

"This... this is the one!" Ithalan exclaimed, his voice cracking. "The brave Awakener I spoke of! He offered his services to the province just as the Gate appeared. A wandering blade, looking to test his mettle!"

Percival’s eyes shifted toward the Duke. He didn’t miss the way the Elf’s hands gripped his velvet sleeves.

He caught the subtext instantly: Ithalan was terrified.

If the Heroes or the Great Scholar discovered that Percival had arrived via an illegal portal—a direct result of the Duke’s treasonous deal with Baron Eutheo—the High Boughs would be forced to lose their precious autonomy.

Percival stayed silent, playing the part of the convenient mercenary, though he remained guarded.

"But it’s him," Stenya muttered, sharp with disbelief.

She approached, her big yellow eyes locked with Percival’s rigid face. "It’s him from the Gate World Hall back in Wolsend! He cleared those Gate Worlds in record time! He’s the Hero!"

Gasps came from everyone. Others froze. Nessa stared at Percival with a heavy heart.

Stenya was right. It was him, Percival. She recognized him from the Awakening Ceremony, and when she had watched him defend his Gamma Gate from the Golden Spire.

But he had grown. Something had changed. He must have gone through a great deal to reach this point and that Level 50 floating above his shoulder was proof.

How?

Prince Aethelstan didn’t speak. He remained perfectly still, his eyes narrowing as he studied Percival.

This was the Hero. The Outworlder. He had last seen him in the Ceremony, but this was his first time being this close to him.

Strangely, the Hero wasn’t even looking at him. It was like he didn’t notice him. This was strange because well, to Aethelstan, he was the only one worthy to be looked upon.

He tried to hide his contempt, silently measuring the boy who had the audacity to refuse his father.

"Is this true?" Omares spoke to Percival. "You are the summoned Hero?"

Percival’s gaze landed on the man in the midnight-blue robes.

Master Omares.

Percival felt his heart freeze. His master, his teacher, the man who had led him and supported him throughout his early days as a Hero.

He was here.

Percival stared helplessly at the old man, memories of the Tutorium racing through his mind. He remembered the Scholar’s raspy voice lecturing him on the "Spirit of the Sword" and the "Duty of the Prophesied."

Omares was the one who had taught him that a Hero’s life was not his own, but a shield for the weak. It was unfortunate that Percival had abandoned most of the things the Scholar taught him.

Somehow, it hurt even him. He felt like he had betrayed a memory.

’You have the eyes of a King, Percy,’ the old man had once said, resting a hand on his shoulder. ’See that you do not let the crown of expectations crush the man beneath.’

Now, those same white eyes were studying Percival without the warmth of a mentor, but the clinical curiosity of a constable looking at a suspect.

"You cleared this Gate World?" Omares asked with the same raspy voice Percival remembered.

The unwilling Hero tried to firm his stance. "Yes. It is sealed."

"You did it... alone?" Omares asked with a more intense gaze.

"Yes," Percival replied plainly. "I found someone inside. An Arcanist. But they are dead now."

He thought of Lewis’s cooling corpse and the way he had begged. Omares’ interest deepened, his white eyes narrowing as if trying to pierce through Percival’s black metal breastplate to see the two Soul Cores within.

"So you are the summoned Hero then?" Omares said.

Percival looked down at him with a softer gaze, he almost wanted to hug the old man. But instead, he gulped and squared his shoulders. "I was."

The Awakeners reacted again, muttering amongst themselves and eyeing Percival.

"Ah!" Ithalan exclaimed pretentiously. "How come I was unaware of this, wanderer? You told me that..."

The words became white noise as he moved his head a thread... and caught a face.

In the middle of the crowd of Awakeners stood a girl who was so dazzling that he felt like he had been struck to the chest.

Her skin was pale, like ivory if it was translucent, matching the deep purple of her hair that cascaded over her shoulders. Her eyes were a constellation of stars—silver and sparkling—and her lips were full and red.

But it wasn’t her beauty that had struck him, not that truly. It was the memory of her.

Princess Corisande.

She was looking back at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and a strange, innate curiosity.

"Cori..." The name escaped his lips before he could catch it.

Corisande’s brows narrowed immediately, her head tilting in a subtle, wary gesture. The slip-up snapped Percival back to the present.

He quickly looked away where his gaze was met with Liraeth’s angry expression.

"How did you get here?!" she demanded. "It’s just like you to ruin everything. This Gate World was supposed to be a mission for us! The Heroes’ Party!"

Percival blocked out his anger for a moment. "The Heroes’ Party?" he asked. "Without a Hero?"

"You dummy!" she snapped. "We are all Heroes! Do you live under a cave or something? How don’t you know about the Heroes’ Party?"

"The better question should be how he’s in Lvl 50, already," Vadrian said. "Don’t you think so, Princess?"

"Yeah. That’s right!"

"I mean..." Deron chimed in. "It’s not that surprising. He is the chosen Hero after all."

"Summoned!" a voice boomed in the front. "Not chosen."

Percival’s eyes snapped open. That voice functioned like a switch, turning on something inside of him.

He turned his head to the source of it. To the person who was in the front and center—who he should have noticed from the very onset.

Aethelstan Highcourt.

Percival felt the air around him turn cold. Everything became blur and the only thing he could see was Aethelstan’s horrible face of betrayal.

"So you’re the Outworlder," Aethelstan spoke calmly, pride tainting his words. "The one who dared refused my father."