I Became the Youngest Disciple of the Martial God

The Sunken Swamp, one of the Empire’s Forbidden Areas, was Charon’s home.

It was also home to the largest undead population in The Empire.

The Swamp was a dangerous place.

People said it was the site of a once-powerful fallen nation from ancient times, but Charon had never really been interested in that.

However, occasionally, undead dressed in expensive clothing could be found roaming the Swamp.

The Swamp covered more than 30% of the Eastern Empire, but the reason such a large portion of land was left neglected was simple: Hundreds of years had passed, yet no one had found a way to completely get rid of the Swamp.

The Swamp was divided into three sections: the outskirts, the midzone, and the deep zone...

In truth, the outskirts were not as dangerous as rumored.

The Empire’s best ranger, Hyde Woodjack, had a cabin there, and monsters and wild animals could occasionally be found in the area.

Of course, being a forbidden area, the monsters in the outskirts were still formidable.

Charon recalled the most difficult, most grueling hunt of his life.

He had been twelve, and it had been winter.

His opponent was a crocodile called Predator, even by those in the Swamp’s outskirts, and it was smaller than the average crocodile.

It was only slightly bigger than young Charon, but despite its small size, the crocodile was clever.

It might be a stereotype to equate “small” with “clever,” but in the Swamp, where the law of the jungle prevailed, it was the truth.

Predator had white scales and golden eyes—unusual for a crocodile.

Just thinking back to it made the scar on Charon’s nose throb.

To describe Charon’s condition at that time: His left arm was shattered, and he had an open rib fracture, multiple bruises, excessive bleeding, and impaired cognition and judgment from prolonged sleep deprivation.

All that at an age where a scraped knee would bring tears.

But young Charon’s eyes were blank and lifeless, relieved that he was in better condition than his prey.

Predator's tail had been severed by Charon’s trap. Now, its belly was open, spilling its entrails.

After four days of brutal fighting, it was Charon who had emerged victorious.

It wasn't so much that Charon was human and Predator was a beast. Predator had incredible patience uncharacteristic of a beast.

The deciding factor had been simple.

Charon had simply prepared more.

He had learned its size, characteristics, and main attack methods, scouted its dens, and laid various traps along carefully analyzed routes. He’d even set up a small hideout out of its sight.

In addition, Charon had rubbed fragrant olive leaves, which gave off a distinct scent, on its body during his first attack, allowing him to track its location till the end.

He’d sated his hunger with jerky he had prepared beforehand and stayed hydrated with a canteen.

Pain had been no obstacle or hindrance for Charon.

This situation is better than back then.

At least physically.

A fractured skull, a crushed eyeball, and a dislocated left shoulder, none of which were life-threatening.

So, despite indiscriminate attacks, Charon’s remaining eye could still follow the princess.

Did she dodge?

No.

It had been a mistake on his part.

Overcome by bitterness, Charon bit down hard on his lip.

He’d been too hasty.

The wounds on his body were multiplying, and he could feel his mana and strength dwindling more and more.

If his condition worsened any further, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hit his mark even if he got closer.

Should he have waited a little longer?

Should he have gotten closer, enduring until the brink of death?

Was it his resolve that had been lacking?

Useless thoughts.

The past was the past. Rather than continue dwelling on his regrets, Charon focused on the present.

The blade aimed for the princess’s throat had lodged in her right shoulder blade instead. It had severed the tendons, so at least she would no longer be flailing her arms around “playing” her non-existent piano.

Charon would count on that, hoping that the princess’s strange movements hadn't just been something out of her crazy imagination.

If those bizarre movements were the only way she could command the puppets...

Then losing an arm meant the collapse of her chain of command.

“Ha, haha... P-pain! Is this pain? This makes... this makes everything so much more realistic than I thought...!” the princess shouted, her face pale.

She fumbled with her pierced shoulder, then brought her bloodied hand to her face. Soon, she lowered her hand and revealed her face covered in blood, looking like she’d just committed cannibalism.

Charon watched her.

Crazy bitch... he cursed inwardly, right as a chill swept through the air.

It was an ice storm, unleashed by Sellen.

Charon, who had been pinned down by the puppets and beaten senseless, finally managed to lift himself up.

“You okay? I directed it as best I could.”

“...Fine,” Charon replied while gripping his dislocated shoulder to reset it.

Pop.

Sellen looked at his face and wondered if he could even feel pain, but seeing the way his brow was furrowed, she dismissed the thought.

Evan joined them and asked, “Are you both all right?”

They looked at him and were surprised to see that he was the most intact of the three. Although he had looked to be in the most trouble earlier, he didn't look tired or particularly hurt now.

Evan noticed the stares and awkwardly said, “The puppets suddenly lost their coordination, I think because Charon took out one of her arms.”

Charon let out a small sigh mixed with relief. He’d honestly thought it was fifty-fifty, but his guess had turned out correct.

In a cold voice, Sellen muttered, “The tide has turned. Can you two still fight?”

Despite being a little uncomfortable with Sellen’s tone, Charon decided not to question it. He gave a brisk nod and replied, “Of course.”

“Same here,” said Evan.

“Good. I'll tie up the puppets since I’m best suited for that. In the meantime, you two finish off the princess.”

With no time to waste, they immediately got to work.

There was the sound of something cracking as the frozen puppets broke free from the ice containing them.

Then Sellen used her cold ki again.

Craaackkk...

The tips of her fluttering, silver hair froze up slightly, and Sellen thought, How many times have I used the blessing of the forgotten god so far?

While she didn’t remember the exact count, she knew she could only manage to use it one or two more times.

And she might be able to get an additional use out of the blessing if she put her life on the line.

That means three times at most.

With that thought, Sellen unleashed the first wave of cold ki.

Cold once again spread across the room.

Whoooosh!

The puppets that had just escaped their icy prisons were once again frozen solid.

Sellen, manipulating the scene, realized that her ability and the weapon she was holding were not a good match.

Ice and a rapier...

What a stupid combination. Did I really come up with it?

A large mace or even a club would have been much better; a blunt weapon could shatter frozen enemies.

She sighed.

Why do these realizations always come when I’m in combat?

Because, generally speaking, people did not think about the most efficient way to kill their enemies when they weren’t on a battlefield.

If, every day, she thought about how to kill people, wouldn’t that make her a psychopath?

Sellen couldn't help but chuckle at her own thoughts.

Had the cold ki that had frozen her hair affected her mind as well?

Sellen shrugged. She didn’t know the reason, nor did she really care.

* * * * *

* * * * *

On the other hand...

Tap!

Taking advantage of the opportunity Sellen had created, Charon and Evan sprinted forward.

For a moment, everything seemed perfect. No obstacles lay in their path, and their target was right there, within their sight.

It was too bad they couldn't escape the cold ki completely. They couldn’t stop the chills that ran down their spines, the goosebumps, and their slowed movements from stiff joints.

But that didn’t stop them from admiring Sellen’s blessing even more.

Their enemies were puppets, but even so, simultaneously freezing and immobilizing at least a hundred was impressive.

But that means she won’t be able to use it repeatedly.

Charon was on point.

His sharp, glaring eyes remained fixed on the mastermind of all this.

The princess sat slumped on the ground, bleeding from her wounds.

Her well-kept hair was now disheveled, and behind her curtain of black hair, her crimson eyes gleamed.

It was fascinating how much a person's expression could reveal things, especially in such a dire situation.

Her seriously wounded shoulder.

The puppet army, useless and unable to aid her.

Two enemies closing in by the second.

“...”

Despite seeing and understanding all of this, the princess’s eyes remained calm...

Thus, Charon and Evan shared a thought: She’s not done.

The princess raised her uninjured left hand. Her pale fingers twitched and wiggled, and she whispered something they could not make out.

CRACK!

The ceiling caved in.

Charon and Evan were not startled, but...

Their eyes narrowed as they recognized their new opponent shifting within the dust cloud.

That’s...

It was the ball-jointed doll the princess always carried around, named something like... Deathberry?

Only now did they recognize what she’d whispered under her breath: the name of the doll.

But it seemed a bit larger than the last time they’d seen it.

If the princess were to hug this enlarged doll, she’d seem like a girl three or four years younger than she was.

Because it was still small, it wasn’t particularly intimidating, but that only made Charon even more wary of it.

Just like Predator in the Sunken Swamp, size did not always indicate an enemy’s threat level.

Meanwhile, Evan was freaking out for a different reason.

What’s with this demonic energy...

Vice-Cult Leader Evan could tell.

It was ridiculous, but the demonic energy pulsing off from its entire body was deeper, thicker, darker than that of every other doll in the mansion combined.

Just because it was small, just because it held no weapon, that didn’t mean they should let their guard down.

Charon, running beside Evan, disappeared in an instant.

BOOOM!

When Evan realized, he looked around and found Charon slumped against a wall.

The whites of his eyes were proof that a single blow had knocked him unconscious.

“What the...” Those two words showed how flabbergasted Evan was.

If he had been the target of that attack, he would have been the one who ended up looking like a smashed squid.

Up until the moment Charon had disappeared, Evan had not sensed a thing.

Evan didn’t just tense up further; he also watched Deathberry’s every move with desperate focus. If he didn’t, he was basically as good as dead.

Then he saw something silver glint on the doll's pale fingers.

Thread?

He saw a thread extending from Deathberry’s fingers... but he realized too late.

The thread was stuck to his clothes.

“...!”

Evan immediately threw off the cloak draped over his shoulder. He watched the cloak twist sharply to the right in midair.

Swish!

Another silver thread came toward him. Quickly drawing his sword, Evan briefly considered using his demonic energy.

“...”

But with a grim expression, he dismissed the thought and responded with Raven.

Though darkness blanketed his surroundings, once he locked his eyes on the silver thread, he did not lose sight of it.

Of course, the thread was abnormally fast, requiring considerable swordsmanship to cut accurately, but...

This is doable.

Evan was confident.

He had trained Raven exactly for moments like this.

Like a scavenger pecking away at animal carcasses, bugs, and food scraps... no one had bothered with Raven. It had been forged from the ashes of an unbroken record of defeat.

If one were to describe this martial art using a single word, it would be “tenacity.”

Evan's gaze relentlessly followed the thread.

Shring!

He swung his sword at the ideal moment...

Shatter!

So when the sword shattered like glass, Evan went rigid.

“Wh—”

Faced with the unusual sight of thread-shattering metal, Evan was stunned.

No matter how much training he'd undergone, even if he was a vice-cult leader who'd awakened memories of evil, he was still just a sixteen-year-old boy.

Talent and aptitude could not fill up the bottle called experience.

Crash!

In a flash, Evan also slammed into a wall.

Damn it...

Just before losing consciousness, Evan thought regretfully, If I had used demonic energy from the start...

Would the outcome have been different?

____