The Requiem Of An Empress - Chapter 36 1St Tuor

“Anyway, how do we permeate this thing?”

“Do not ask me what I have no clue of.”

“I was asking myself, you imbecile.”

“I was doing the same, you dunce.”

Israfel and Jibrail were now right outside the proxy dimension that Khamael conjured, allowing every second of opportunity to take a jab at each other. The two were able to traverse the sixty-kilometre distance within a matter of half an hour by enhancing their lower limbs with spells.

Their current predicament was that they weren’t judicious of a way to enter the cube unless the younger Percival deactivates the whole s.p.a.ce. However, they ought to discover a method to get inside in the event that they were promptly needed.

“Now what, Jibby?” Israfel asked n.o.body in particular as he patted the head of the swift that was leisurely settling on his shoulder.

Jibrail gave his companion a miffed glower, frowning his face along.

“Why do you have to name that bird Jibby?! Don’t you have anything better to do?!” He dandered while stomping his feet, utterly upset with the Israfel’s harmless antic. He felt insulted every instance that his comrade talks with the pet using a coaxing tone.

“Jibby is a suitable name for a feeble teeny creature.”

“I am taller than you, shorty!”

“So, are you admitting that you are feeble?” Israfel inquired smugly, knowing that he won the trifling argument.

Jibrail was deficient of an ingenious repartee in his vocabulary, so he merely sealed his mouth swiftly. Afterwards, the two did not exchange any more useless banters, and instead aimed their attention to the black wall that was separating them from the other Rounds.

Sagramore elected to survey the entire perimeter of the cube to ascertain if there were apertures that they could exploit. Meanwhile, Marquiss Morholt pondered by himself on what was their best course of action.

‘Lord Percival is a higher-level magic caster, and this is a spell of superior maturity. After all, the older the spell, the stronger it is. I do not have a spell in my grimoire that can damage, much less put a scratch on this. The sole thing that I can count on is my Holy Sword.’

Upon concluding his deliberation, he immediately hoisted his right arm. Subsequently, putting his hand in a grasping motion, Israfel began to gather mana to call forth his weapon.

“Cresco, Iseult la Belle”

The specks of mana started to whirl up in the air, forming the weapon from the pommel.

Iseult la Belle resembled a Nodachi, having a deep black groove on a stratus grey blade divided by a rugged edge pattern. The sword has a wrap, hued in royal blue, on the handle locked by a silver-plated pummel. Withal, the weapon was lacking a blade collar and a guard.

Israfel clutched the sword comfortably due to having a grip that perfectly fitted his hand.

‘To borrow the Emperor’s power, what spell should I apply again? I have forgotten since I haven’t used it even once.’

Whilst engrossed in attempting to remember the incantation, the knight unremittingly tapped his left foot on the ground. Although, he could’ve saved some time if he summoned his grimoire where the answer was written.

A few minutes have pa.s.sed, Marquiss Morholt was still contemplating on the ident.i.ty of the needed enchantment. Per contra, he was interrupted by the far-flung howling of Jibrail.

‘What is that dumba.s.s saying now?’ Israfel queried to himself, having discerned his companion’s words.

Blessedly for him, Sagramore increased the volume of his voice.

“The scroll!”

“What?!”

The duo was engaged in a shouting match in the interim of Jibrail’s sprint back to Israfel’s side.

“Chase the scroll!”

“Why would I do that?! It’s inside my poc-” As he was saying that, Israfel tapped on the breast pocket of his military knight uniform, but it was empty. He fumbled all his other pockets, yet no scroll was on his person.

“d.a.m.n it! Where is the scroll?!”

“It flew!” Jibrail said, pointing his index finger in the direction of the forest where they emerged from. “Jibby took it!”

Israfel nearly wanted to laugh at the way in which Jibrail p.r.o.nounced the name of the pet bird. Nevertheless, he quickly realized that he would die in the hands of the Emperor if he ever lost the scroll, expeditiously trailing where Jibrail was pointing to. He then lowered his arm together with his sword before nodding his head as an acknowledgement.

With that, Marquiss Morholt ran after the swift, shortly followed by Sagramore.

Suma Fief didn’t host that many elevated terrains and woodlands. In fact, the only forest that could be seen in the land was the one-hundred-kilometre long Orphema Forest, bisecting the fief into its northern and southern regions. The trees that inhabit the aforementioned area were termed Hutriwin Sempervirens, soaring to a height of a minimum of 120 meters.

Regrettably, both of the knights would be soon entering the Orphema Forest without even seeing a piece of the bird’s shadow.

‘Rather than coming back humiliated because of my incompetence, I’d prefer to die while fighting a Demon n.o.ble.’ Israfel thought about his conviction, regret eating his conscience.

Jibrail didn’t miss the contrition that flashed across the Marquiss’ countenance, so he went ahead and reproached him for it.

“Lord Morholt, I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do it.”

Israfel gave him a side-eye, laughing at his mortal enemy’s show of concern, ahead of uttering his proposal.

“That is my last resort. Want to have a lover’s death with me?”

“I’d choose to die now than die with you later. Beside, Marquess Vera won’t condone you if she knew what you were thinking.” Sagramore almost felt disgusted of the unwarranted proposition that he brought up the topic of the Marquiss’ wife.

Consequent to harking Jibrail’s statement, Marquiss Morholt faced forward as a wistful smile appeared on his lips.

“She is a strong and wise woman. I have no worries regarding the fate of our house.” Israfel declared with full a.s.surance.

His wife was the love of his life, and that would never change. Marquess Vera Morholt was the woman who could oblige him to watch boring plays for hours, tolerate his self-centred rulings, and get mad on his behalf whenever he couldn’t. They have been engaged ever since they could remember, leading pleasant days in peace.

Despite their fruitful relationship, Israfel’s was true to the end of his duty as a knight. The burden of confronting the Demon n.o.bles fell solely to a handful of people, and he is affiliated with that group. If they allowed the demons to run around, it is not only his wife who would be put in peril.

“I will prattle on your stupidity to the madame,” Jibrail announced, snorting at the absurdity of his comrade’s rationale.

“Please do.”

In due time, they reached the outskirts of the forest. Howbeit, the two Rounds strenuously ceased their advance will all the strength they could muster. They swigged in a mouthful of saliva as they took in the abominating sensation before them.

There was no such disaster underway nor an apprehension of calamity, forasmuch as Orphema forest was completely tranquil. Although somehow, Israfel and Jibrail didn’t venture to infiltrate woodland, letting dread circulate their systems.

‘What is with this atrocious aura?!’

‘Are these demon n.o.bles? If that is the case, how many of them are there to create an aura as awful as this?!’

Horripilation spread all over their body comparable to a contagious virus in a dense city.

A feeling akin to the heart crushing under pressure as the consciousness slowly fade away from the blood that won’t stop making their way out of every orifice; the limbs would feel like they’re being pulled to their limits on four different directions; the head continuously smacked on a concrete floor, whilst in the middle of a desert with the smouldering sun right on top, its heat burning the skin; the sensation was something unfathomable.

The pair couldn’t explain the extent of unease that the aura was giving them.

“We ought to not let go of the chance of taking down a couple of Demon n.o.ble, but if there are more than two, we might not be successful.” Israfel articulated their possibilities with an ambiguous confidence in his voice.

“They dubbed us as suicidal maniacs, yet I’d pick a heroic death this time. We need to turn back, Marquiss Morholt.” Jibrail self-confessed his eagerness to escape, stepping backwards to prepare.

Their fascination to take flight just substantiates the degree of apprehension that they were currently suffocated with.

“I beg to comply. On the other hand, I can’t even move my feet.”

“Honestly speaking, we are looking so flimsy as of the moment.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

All of a sudden, as they were gradually pursuing to flee, the sound of several dry leaves being successively trampled on resonated within the woodland. That made the couple turn their heads toward the source-

“—- — — ———!”

“—- — -”

“——— — — – ——-!”

And their sentience of this manner of speech drove them to a pitfall of penitence.