Chapter 51: Who are you?
Loertisa stepped forward.
No longer needing to build up momentum.
At this moment, golden will-o’-the-wisps swirled around the girl’s body, and countless shimmering specks flowed like liquid across her beautiful golden hair.
Norsehn blinked several times in astonishment at the sudden intrusion of the young soldier captain. It was hard to tell whether it was disbelief or that the radiance was simply too blinding for the fathomless darkness.
He recognized that golden hue—the gold that had haunted his dreams, the gold he had longed for and resented in equal measure.
Golden Loertisa.
How could she be here?
Watching the brief exchange of words between Loertisa and Weiss, even though it was only a short conversation, beneath the young soldier captain’s calm exterior shone an unmistakable sense of deep care.
That concern, that unquestioned trust, stabbed at Norsehn.
He was furious and resentful.
Why?
Why, even now, did he still not understand why that insignificant little mercenary, like a mere insect, could earn such favor from her?
Yet even burning with rage and wanting to cut off their communication immediately,
Loertisa’s punch, unleashed in full bloom moments ago, still lingered with overwhelming force.
It was as if the very space itself twisted; the magic and air refused to flow back smoothly, becoming as sluggish as congealed swamp.
No matter how hard Norsehn tried to gather “Dread Dark,” to swirl the black mist into a storm, it simply could not take effect right away.
—Yes, this was Loertisa’s power.
Though jealousy churned in his chest, a surge of admiration soon took hold.
Admiration for this pure and absolute power.
Not for the young soldier captain herself,
but for his own once-made decision to claim this woman as his possession.
To be precise, it was less admiration for Loertisa and more a self-approval of his once-keen taste and judgment.
Only a woman like her deserved to become his prized possession,
worthy of being the vessel to carry forward the noble bloodline of the Higrivell family.
“Truly worthy of Lady Loertisa, to have found this place—truly incredible.”
Norsehn spoke to the approaching young soldier captain with his usual noble elegance.
“But then again, since it is Loertisa, it’s understandable that she could find this place.”
He lavished praise without restraint, every word filled with acknowledgment of her abilities.
Yet to Weiss’s eyes, it was the manner of a noble inspecting oddities at an exhibition.
This person seemed never to regard others as “people” at all.
Combined with Norsehn’s current undead form, corrupted by the Dread, Weiss felt nothing but disgust after seeing his true nature.
Loertisa’s reaction was calm.
She stopped, slightly narrowing her eyes as she scrutinized the figure composed of black mist and shattered armor.
“Can it… speak?”
This question startled everyone present—Norsehn and Weiss alike.
Weiss felt a black line instantly form on his forehead.
Really? Captain Loertisa?
Is that what you’re focusing on?
And didn’t you recognize who the upper half belonged to? It should be obvious.
Though Norsehn’s hair was disheveled and white, his face corpse-pale and drained of blood,
the ghastly pallor only made the bloodshot eyes even more horrifying, completely overshadowing the original sea-blue irises.
But his knightly upper body armor remained intact.
The armor of a Holy Patrol Knight, the emblem of the sacred cross and lion crest—though tarnished and stained by the Dread’s corruption—was still recognizable.
Norsehn’s moment of shock lasted only an instant before it was swallowed by anger, and the gathering “Dread” around him began to surge anew.
Is this an insult? An insult, right?
But his anger was quickly drowned out by his laughter.
“Hahaha, as expected, blessed with grace, such a transformation makes recognition difficult for anyone.”
He arrogantly found the perfect excuse for Loertisa’s “rudeness,” maintaining his proud posture.
“I understand your surprise, Lady Loertisa.”
Loertisa’s golden hair gently swayed as she narrowed her eyes.
“No, do we know each other?”
Norsehn was completely stunned.
His smile froze on his deathly pale face.
She wasn’t pretending ignorance.
She truly didn’t know what exactly the thing before her was.
Weiss couldn’t stand it any longer and hastily added loudly,
“It’s Norsehn! The Holy Patrol Knight Captain fused with the Dread!”
Not to save Norsehn’s face or emphasize that disgusting monster’s identity,
but as vital enemy intelligence, sharing information before the fight was crucial.
This merged catastrophe—whether called Phase Two or Resonance—was far more complex than mere addition.
“That thing is not only stronger than the previous Soul Eater, it can still use the magic the Holy Patrol Knight once wielded… something like sorcery.”
Weiss didn’t understand complicated magic theory, especially the secret arts passed down through noble houses.
Rather than explanation, conveying what he’d grasped through firsthand combat experience, in the simplest terms, was most important.
After all, he had nearly died by this monster’s hand moments ago.
Even with confidence in the young soldier captain’s strength, caution was paramount; excess power was no reason for arrogance.
Having heard Weiss’s supplement, Loertisa seemed to realize something for the first time and cast her gaze back at the humanoid figure at the heart of the catastrophe.
“So, that… is Norsehn?”
Her tone carried a faint, almost imperceptible note of surprise.
At last, a trace of emotion flickered across the forever icy face of the young soldier captain. Norsehn’s heart brightened instantly.
So she still cared.
Even if only surprise.
He sneered, his laughter full of self-satisfaction and arrogance.
“Now you know, Loertisa! Like gold, silver can shine as well. But the Higrivell inheritance is not just silver—it also bears the grace of moonlight—”
He boomed proudly, launching into his usual noble family glory speech.
However, Loertisa seemed completely uninterested.
The golden-edged figure of the girl soldier merely said dismissively,
“Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”
Before Norsehn could finish his long-winded preamble,
her radiant figure left only a faint afterimage in place.
The next instant, a dazzling streak of light appeared before Norsehn.
She merely raised her fist.
The punch wind was fierce.
Neither the Dread mist body nor Norsehn’s original form,
nor the surging “Dread” and corrupted breath, nor his unfinished words—all were shattered together by the resounding blow that seemed poised to shatter the very space.