Crown Prince Sells Medicine

An unusual sensation permeates the atmosphere.

Javillon couldn’t help but feel a shiver. Why? Initially, he was perplexed. But soon, he comprehended the cause.

‘This individual.’

…What?

The dark-haired escort who had appeared before him. The one who had surprisingly held his ground. Didn’t the Crown Prince refer to him as Demian?

But how? How could this individual deflect his sword? And a sword infused with aura at that.

‘How?’

Numerous questions swirled in his mind. Naturally, they would. Demian’s sword exhibited no sign of aura.

Furthermore, it was a partially shattered sword. Yet, it had blocked his aura.

A sensation of common sense collapsing.

A sensation of defying the laws.

‘How, precisely?’

Inconceivable.

Aura can ordinarily only be countered by aura.

Yet this person had intercepted his aura with a partially shattered sword, without sustaining any damage and maintaining a composed demeanor.

So he couldn’t comprehend.

He continually felt uneasy.

Because the adversary, standing close enough to exchange breath with, felt impossibly distant, beyond reach.

Javillon soon had to come to grips with what he was experiencing.

It was… fear.

‘Me? Afraid of this insignificant individual?’

He couldn’t fathom.

Simultaneously, he was furious. It couldn’t be.

‘Conceited!’

Swoosh!

His sword moved, gliding, carrying a luminous aura, traversing along Demian’s partially shattered blade. The target was Demian’s thumb.

‘I’ll sever his finger first!’

Slice the thumb, gash the wrist, and with the same momentum, pass through the armpit and diagonally behead him.

There wouldn’t be any time to block, no opportunity to react. Naturally. Demian was only a mid-level Sword Expert. Meanwhile…

‘I am a Swordmaster!’

…Swoosh!

Javillon’s sword, brimming with determination, traced a deadly diagonal trajectory. It ascended, its target being Demian’s thumb, emitting a chilling gleam before rebounding.

Screech-!

“…!”

In that fleeting moment, Javillon witnessed it. Just as his sword was about to sever Demian’s thumb, Demian’s wrist responded with lightning speed.

A very brief pause. Within that pause, an immense resilience pushed back the blade, deflecting his sword. A sword infused with aura!

‘What is this…?’

Javillon’s eyes were filled with astonishment. It was scarcely believable that his sword strike aimed at the Crown Prince had been thwarted.

But this was the second instance. Once again, a sword without aura had intercepted and repelled a sword filled with aura.

So it was undeniable.

‘Is this individual countering aura without aura?’

Twice is not a mere coincidence.

Especially not in the realm of dueling.

Javillon rapidly absorbed the current situation inwardly. He ceased pondering the reasons.

All that mattered now were the outcomes. Demian was obstructing his aura without deploying aura himself. That was the fact. He needed to concentrate solely on that fact.

From the moment he discarded extraneous thoughts,

Javillon’s vacillating momentum solidified. It became menacing. Finally, he started to reveal the true prowess of a Swordmaster.

…Extraordinary.

Incredibly refined movements.

Javillon, towering over 190 cm, moved like a leopard, gliding with fluidity. It was a step that had shed all excess, a step befitting someone who had attained the pinnacle of swordsmanship.

His step dictated his body’s movements, his body summoned his sword. The sword indicated, and the body followed; wherever the body went, the steps followed suit.

Thought and sword strikes occurred simultaneously. All actions flowed seamlessly. An aura shower descended.

Screech-!

He thrust and slashed.

Just when it appeared he was slashing, he swung. He swung and struck. Striking, he thrust. He moved, twisted, cleaved, dug, struck, pulled, and sliced, stabbing from both ends.

All in a single breath.

It was a miraculous series of attacks that unfolded in an instant. Previously, when facing Raciel, he had hesitated to reveal his true capabilities, considering the possibility of killing a healer who could have alleviated his headache. Now, he had fully unleashed them.

On one hand, he felt confident.

I’ve triumphed, he thought.

And then, he was horrified.

This can’t be right.

Thump-!

An almost imperceptible sound resonated. The numerous unleashed strikes came to an abrupt halt, condensing all shockwaves into that brief moment.

At that precise instant, he should have comprehended.

“……!”

He was thwarted. Completely, utterly thwarted. He couldn’t land any blows; his sword’s aura didn’t even graze the edge of the opponent’s aura.

Javillon gazed at his adversary with vacant eyes. Demian stood there, having halted all the strikes with a single movement.

As if simply swatting away an annoying insect, he had deflected all the strikes with his fractured sword.

Yet he appeared to have sustained no injury whatsoever.

The black pupils of Demian, who turned his gaze toward him.

Chills ran down his spine from those emotionless eyes.

‘How?’

He became bewildered. Then,

“Your Highness. Shall I kill him?”

A frigid voice.

Demian inquired of the crown prince standing behind him. The crown prince promptly responded,

“No, capture him alive! Just incapacitate him for now!”

“Understood.”

An unreal conversation unfolded right before him. He couldn’t fathom what he was hearing, but there was no time for anger.

Just as Javillon was on the verge of erupting in fury, Demian glanced back at him. At that very moment, Javillon’s vision flickered.

……!

There was neither sound nor impact.

It was the moment something flickered.

“……Cough!”

Javillon sensed a distant impact. He had instinctively reacted to the sense of danger, defending himself with a sword imbued with aura.

But then, it shattered.

What?

‘My sword… the aura… shattered in one hit?’

He looked up with bewildered eyes.

The powerful impact sent him stumbling backward, and fragments of metal soared through the air. His cherished sword lay in ruins.

It had been reduced to dozens of pieces of scrap metal.

His aura had also dissipated, the dazzling, destructive flame that only a Swordmaster with complete mana circulation could command—Flash. All signs of such magnificence were obliterated.

All from a single strike. Because he had blocked a broken sword without aura. It felt so inexplicable.

‘Does this even make sense?’

Grrrr-!

Javillon, pushed back over 10 meters, just managed to avoid falling. But that was all; only the hilt of his sword remained.

In a single strike, the muscles and tendons in his arm were stretched out. He could barely grasp the sword hilt. There was no strength left in him.

His waist and legs were no different. Just standing was causing his legs to quiver.

‘Unbelievable… Unbelievable!’

It was like a nightmare.

It was utterly unbelievable.

Of course, it was.

He was just a Swordmaster. He had no knowledge of the martial arts of the ‘Devil Sword Emperor’.

In the face of the Reversal Core Technique, which unleashed the initial roar of mana reversal, in the face of Demian’s unprecedented power, in the face of the characteristic that Demian exuded, always displaying a power level one step above his opponent, all he could feel was absolute helplessness.

But Javillon was still Javillon.

‘But… don’t think this is all I’ve got!’

Javillon clenched his teeth.

He was a Swordmaster. Being a master wasn’t just about wielding a sword skillfully. It also involved reaching the pinnacle in the management of mana and technique.

Of course, he was no exception.

Javillon possessed his own specialized mana manipulation techniques, separate from his swordsmanship skills. Additionally, he had a secret weapon born from the characteristics of those techniques.

“……Grrrr!”

Crash-!

Maintaining his balance with great difficulty, Javillon stomped his foot on the ground. He paid no heed to the pain from his injured muscles.

He discarded the sword hilt that was all that remained. He charged. Toward Demian. He reached out with his bare hands.

Was he recklessly charging in?

An act of desperation?

No.

He had a definite target in mind.

‘If I can grasp him with this hand… just once!’

It would work.

Then he could win.

He could completely reverse the current unfavorable situation. He could defeat his opponent. Javillon was confident of it. He recalled the secret weapon he possessed.

His covert weapon.

His final trump card.

It was a technique that pitted the pure mana fundamentally present in both his and his opponent’s body. A technique that clashed mana by seizing hold of the opponent.

And then?

Both sides’ pure mana would collide and be depleted. An intense battle of attrition would unfold. Ultimately, the one whose pure mana ran out first would have their lifeline severed.

And Javillon was confident in this form of attritional battle. The reason was simple.

The amount of pure mana in a human body is directly related to its size.

‘That’s why it’s pure mana. The natural amount of pure mana that the body contains from birth and growth, not amplified or increased by any technique!’

In simpler terms, the quantity of pure mana was tied to a person’s physical stature.

And him?

He stood over 190 cm tall with a physique to match. He had rarely encountered anyone with a larger build than his own.

That’s why.

Javillon had confidence in his ultimate trump card. He could defeat anyone smaller than him, regardless of the circumstances. This included the Demian before him.

With certainty, he reached out.

“I’ve got you!”

His outstretched palm.

Demian showed no signs of caution toward it. He probably had no knowledge of this final trump card.

His hand drew closer, almost at the point of grabbing. A burning desire for victory blazed in Javillon’s eyes.

But then, at that very moment.

“Whoa, stop!”

“…!”

An unexpected voice intervened. The Crown Prince stepped in between Demian and Javillon.

Javillon’s arm suddenly extended, not grabbing Demian but the Crown Prince instead.

Javillon’s eyes widened.

“What…?”

Startled, he tried to retract his hand hastily, but he couldn’t. The Crown Prince’s outstretched hand had already gripped his wrist.

Normally, he could have easily shaken it off, but not now.

He couldn’t muster the strength due to his injured ligaments and muscles. He couldn’t break free from the Crown Prince’s slender hold!

“What… What the hell!”

An alarmed Javillon exclaimed.

He had already activated his final trump card technique. Once activated, this technique could not be halted.

And if he kept holding onto the Crown Prince like this? He would unintentionally end the Crown Prince’s life, which was not his intent.

“Do you realize what you’re doing by intervening like this?”

He urgently shouted.

The Crown Prince replied calmly.

“Yes.”

“…What?”

“I understand.”

“You can’t mean you’re sacrificing yourself in place of a guard?”

He couldn’t believe it. The notion that the Crown Prince was aware of his secret technique seemed like a bluff. But observing his actions, it appeared he genuinely knew.

He wondered if this Crown Prince was in his right mind. A sudden self-sacrifice didn’t make sense.

“Why would you choose such a senseless death…”

He was about to ask, but the Crown Prince cut him off.

“Sacrifice my ass.”

“What?”

“I’m not sacrificing myself. I plan to defeat you.”

“What…?”

He didn’t comprehend any of it. He had no clue what the Prince was attempting to do.

Why was the Crown Prince wearing such an ominous smile? Why was he abruptly putting red sunflower seeds into his mouth? Why was he chewing them with such gusto?

He understood nothing.

… That was what Javillon thought at that moment.

Boom-!

“…!”

Javillon, who had been so self-assured in his stature of over 190 cm and had attempted to employ a technique that maximized his physical advantage, found himself in an unexpected situation, holding hands with Raciel, who had grown to a towering 600 cm, performing an unusual dance.

(To be Continued)

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