Chapter 122: Weak Convictions Are Meaningless (1)

The office was made entirely of swords. It was not a metaphor. The floor, the ceiling, the walls, and even the windows—everything was composed of swords. And they were not mere decorative replicas. Every single one gleamed with a razor-sharp edge, each a masterpiece that could easily be called a legendary sword.

Amidst this chamber of tens of thousands of swords, five individuals entered: the three brothers—Myle, Anis, and Taragon—along with Keter and Katherine.

Eslow was sitting on a throne of swords at a table also crafted of swords. His presence alone was sharper and more imposing than all the swords in the room combined.

The moment his gaze fell upon them, Myle, Anis, Taragon, and Katherine trembled. It was not simply the weight of his authority; it was terror. A chilling sensation, as if the edge of a sword was pressed against their throats, made their hearts beat in fear.

Whoosh!

Without warning, Eslow flicked his wrist, tossing something through the air. It was a business card, and it flew toward Myle.

Keter caught the card mid-air. At that moment, a glint of intrigue flickered in Eslow's gaze. The card had been infused with sword energy. If one had carelessly tried to grab it, even a Master would have lost their fingers. But Keter had caught it by the flat surface, not the edge, showing his exceptional aura sensitivity and sheer boldness.

“So, you're the one they call Keter.”

“Keter El Sefira greets you, Lord Eslow.”

“You neither bow your head nor avert your gaze as you greet me. You must think you have multiple lives to spare.”

“I'm simply too overwhelmed by your presence to move, my lord.”

“Hah. Bold.”

Without any warning, the suffocating pressure dissipated. The weight that had made the group breathless suddenly lifted, allowing them to exhale. They all gasped for air.

Myle was the first to kneel on one knee, lowering his head in reverence.

“Myle El Sefira greets Duke Eslow, the great Lord of the South.”

Following suit, Anis, Taragon, and Katherine introduced themselves. Eslow, seemingly indifferent, remained fixated on Keter. It was like he was asking why Keter wasn’t doing the same.

“You already heard my name earlier, didn’t you? And you’ve seen my business card.”

Myle, sweating profusely, whispered through gritted teeth, “Keter, kneel and bow...”

Before he could finish, Keter placed a hand on Myle's shoulder.

“Myle, what are you saying? Lord Eslow isn’t deaf. He’s not someone who needs things repeated twice to understand.”

“I-I wasn’t implying that at all! My lord, please don’t misunderstand!”

“

Hmph

, enough. Myle, you said? How is Endymion?”

Myle hesitated.

Endymion?

It was a name he had never heard before.

“...I’m afraid I do not know, my lord.”

“So you don’t know. Very well.”

Eslow rose and approached Keter.

“

Gasp

...!”

“

Hrk

...!”

All Eslow had done was approach them, yet the pressure was suffocating. His mere presence was enough to make them freeze in fear.

Only Keter remained unfazed, standing in a relaxed posture, waiting for Eslow to close the distance.

“Leave us.”

Eslow’s command was directed at Myle. Though his body was stiff with tension, Myle forced himself to move.

“...I am grateful for your consideration,” he responded in a strained voice.

Katherine and Taragon exited first, followed by Anis, and finally, Myle.

Now, only Eslow and Keter remained in the office.

“Why am I only hearing of it now that there was someone like you in Sefira?”

Keter shrugged.

“I've only been in Sefira for about three months.”

“Explain in detail.”

“I'm a bastard son. I come from the Lawless City.”

“You mean Liqueur?”

Most would assume the Lawless City referred to Absinthe, but Eslow mentioned Liqueur first.

“Yes.”

“You’re not bothering to hide it. If word spreads that you escaped from an inescapable city, wouldn’t that be troublesome for you?”

“The moment I mentioned my master, it was as good as revealing it anyway.”

“So, Franken told you about me?”

“Not really. But I figured you would be familiar with my master’s history. You must already know he went to Liqueur.”

“

Hah

. Yes, I know that Franken went to Liqueur. And I also know that he has never returned. But you called him your master?”

“He doesn’t consider me his apprentice, but since my medical skills come from him, I call him my master as I please.”

“What is Franken doing now?”

“He went underground in Liqueur. I haven’t seen him since.”

“So why did you come to me? I’m curious why you chose to invoke Franken’s name.”

There was something Eslow wanted to hear.

Franken told me to cure your son.

But Keter had no intention of saying that. Because if he did, it would make it seem like he came here on his master’s behalf. If so, even if Keter treated Eslow’s child, he wouldn’t be able to ask for anything in return. The debt of gratitude would belong to Franken, not him.

“I would like to stay here during the tournament, so I came to ask for your hospitality.”

“My palace is not a hotel, Keter.”

Eslow’s tone hardened, but Keter simply smiled.

“You may not accept guests, but surely, you accept honored guests.”

“And why should I treat you as an honored guest? Because you're Franken’s apprentice? That’s a weak claim."

“You’ve seen my business card. I’m a Solver. If I solve a problem for you, wouldn’t that be reason enough to treat me as an honored guest?”

“You think I, the Lord of the South, need the help of some measly Solver?”

Clang...!

The entire office shuddered. The swords howled, their blades ringing in resonance and exuding sword energy. They screamed, pleading to be unleashed to shred Keter to pieces.

Yet Keter stood there, still smiling. This was a battle of intimidation. But intimidation only worked if the target could be frightened. Keter remained unfazed, which meant that Eslow was only wasting his time.

Eslow narrowed his eyes.

This one... it’s as if he doesn’t know death.

Not fearing death was one thing, but Keter’s reaction was something else entirely. Even humans who could come back to life were afraid of death. However, Keter didn’t flinch as he was being threatened with death. This was not mere toleration; it was disregard. Keter simply ignored the concept of death, which meant intimidation had no effect on him.

Are all those who come from Liqueur like this? Or could he be a pawn of Godfather Alkione? No... impossible. Franken would never teach his medical techniques to one of Alkione’s subordinates.

Eslow frowned. The young man before him was an enigma.

His power is nothing remarkable.

The energy within Keter was not even at five-star. At best, he barely reached four-star. Impressive for his age, but not significant enough to shape the world.

No matter how bold or cunning he is, strength is everything in this world.

Intrigued but not threatened, Eslow took a step back.

“You mentioned Franken. That means you know about my son’s illness, yet you still feign ignorance.”

“Your son is ill, my lord? How unfortunate. But surely, the kingdom’s greatest physicians would come running at a word from you, even if they were in the middle of surgery. Is there a problem?”

“Enough with the act. My son suffers from Extreme Mana Overload Syndrome. You know the cure, don’t you? That’s why you came.”

“

Hmm...

Extreme Mana Overload, huh? Sounds like a serious condition. I did learn medicine from my master, but whether I can treat it... I would have to see for myself.”

Snap!

Eslow flicked his fingers. Immediately, Forty-Seven, the butler, entered the room.

“Take Keter to Ryse.”

“Yes, my lord. Lord Keter, please come this way...”

When Keter turned to follow Forty-Seven, Eslow said, “Like you asked, I will treat you and Sefira as honored guests and allow you to stay at my palace. But if you fail to treat my son, I will burn Sefira down to the ground.”

Even at Eslow’s clear threat, Keter calmly replied, “Thank you for your support. Really lifts my spirit.”

“Go.”

* * *

The group waiting outside the office for Keter tensed at the sound of the door opening. They had heard nothing of the conversation inside. For all they knew, Keter could be lying on the floor as a corpse.

“Keter!”

“You’re alive!”

Keter emerged alongside Forty-Seven and winked.

“I told you to trust me.”

Then, in a solemn tone, Forty-Seven spoke, “This is not over yet. If you fail to treat Lord Ryse, the lord’s wrath will descend upon Sefira.”

Myle frowned in confusion, but before he could speak, Forty-Seven turned to the other butlers standing in the corridor.

“The lord has decreed that the present members of Sefira shall be treated as honored guests. They are the first honored guests in the history of Eslow... As such, you must take extra care in attending to them.”

Butlers numbered fifty-two through fifty-eight nodded stiffly, their expressions tense.

Fifty-Two stepped forward to address Myle.

“Lord Myle, I will escort you and your companions to your rooms. The carriage and knights waiting outside will also be accommodated, so please follow us without concern.”

Myle asked for a moment and grabbed Keter’s arm.

“Keter. Are you sure about this? I don’t know what’s going on, but I can trust you, right?”

“Of course. Just relax and rest easy.”

“...I expect a full explanation when you return.”

“I never get tired of bragging, so don’t worry.”

“

Hah

, thanks.”

Myle chuckled, his tension easing at Keter’s usual nonchalance.

And so, their paths diverged. Myle and his group were led to comfortable guest rooms, while Keter, under the watchful escort of knights, headed toward Ryse’s chamber.

After walking through what felt like an endless series of staircases and corridors, Keter finally arrived at a silver hallway. Everything in the corridor was made of silver. It was not merely for aesthetics—there were no decorations, no windows, nothing extraneous.

Forty-Seven led Keter to a room beside the corridor and said, “Lord Keter, Lord Ryse has been severely weakened by his illness. Even minor germs could be life-threatening. You must undergo purification procedures and wear medical garments before entering.”

“How troublesome. But if it has to be done, so be it.”

What seemed trivial to one person could be a matter of life and death for another. That was the case for Ryse. Had Keter not studied medicine, he might have scoffed at the precautions. But knowing better, he cooperated without complaint.

He was thoroughly cleansed from head to toe. Obviously, he didn’t have to do anything himself—graceful maids handled it all, even drying him off. The entire process took less than five minutes.

Once dressed in a white medical coat, Keter was permitted to step into the silver corridor. Forty-Seven, also wearing white, escorted him to the end of the corridor before a silver door.

Creak.

The door swung open on its own, without anyone knocking. As expected, the room beyond was entirely silver. There were no windows, either. The sight was almost suffocating, as if the very walls were draining one's sanity.

At the center of the room was a bed, in which there was a boy. He was so emaciated and pale that it was impossible to determine his age. Beside him stood an elderly man, likely his attending physician.

The doctor’s face twisted in disdain the moment he laid eyes on Keter, and with good reason. He had just received a ridiculous order: Keter from Sefira would examine Ryse, and he was asked to cooperate fully.

The doctor had never heard of a family called Sefira, nor the name Keter. And now that he was face-to-face with him, he was even more dumbfounded. Keter was absurdly young. To make matters worse, his attitude was utterly disrespectful.

“Look at this room. It’s a wonder the kid hasn’t lost his mind already. Stay in a place like this for a day, and you would develop a mental illness even if you didn’t have one.”

Keter strolled forward with a casual gait, completely lacking the dignity of a noble or the respect a physician should show a patient.

The doctor stepped forward to block his path.

“Greetings. I am Curette Lajes, a physician of the Blood Cross.”

“Keter from Sefira.”

“Pardon my ignorance, but I am unfamiliar with any medical institution by the name of Sefira. Is it a newly established one? To which school of medicine does it belong?”

Before Keter could answer, Forty-Seven interjected.

“Doctor Lajes, Sefira is not a medical institution. It is one of the seven master families of this kingdom, renowned for their archery. Lord Keter is the sixth son of that family.”

“Ah, I see. Then, Lord Keter, from which medical academy did you graduate? You don’t seem to recognize me, so I assume you are not affiliated with the Blood Cross. Hippocrates, perhaps? Ah, I know! You must be from Caduceus! A man like you surely studied under Caduceus.”

“What’s this old toad rambling about? Move aside. I need to check his pulse.”

Ignoring Curette’s incessant chatter, Keter shoved him aside and began examining Ryse.

Curette, undeterred, continued speaking.

“There is no need for an examination. I have already diagnosed him with absolute precision. Excess mana buildup has affected his nerve nuclei, causing widespread functional decline in both the cerebral cortex and subcortical structures. Additionally, his prolonged unconscious state has led to gradual organ deterioration. To mitigate this, I have administered various sedatives and supplements, as well as an elixir made from blue phantom lilies to stabilize his unstable mana...”

“Shut up. I’ll give you credit for keeping him alive.”

Ryse appeared stable, but that was only because, as Curette had stated, he was being sustained by an exorbitant amount of expensive medicine.

Keter ran his fingers along Ryse’s cheek. A fine layer of powder coated his fingertips.

He shook his head.

“No wonder his complexion looks good. You put makeup on him. Fantastic job.”

“The powder is made from natural ingredients that pose no harm...”

Ignoring Curette, Keter placed his palm on Ryse’s abdomen.

“...Wowza.”

Keter let out a low whistle.

“Normally, the human body can hold about a hundred years’ worth of mana at most. But look at this... This kid’s got nearly three hundred years' worth packed inside.”

“...You realized that so quickly... Lord Keter, if you are not affiliated with any academy, then who taught you medicine?”

“This will be a dangerous procedure.”

“A procedure? What nonsense! Even the slightest cut on his skin could be catastrophic! It would be like puncturing a water balloon on the verge of bursting!”

Ignoring Curette, Forty-Seven looked at Keter and said, “Lord Eslow has ordered that whatever you require, we are to provide it.”

“I’ll need quite a few things. Write this down.”

The butler immediately took out a pen and paper.

“Four Pure Spirit Pellets, four White Flower Pills, six Dragon Essence Pellets, a generous amount of Eternal Snow Water, a good supply of Gray-eyed Drake horn powder, a handful of sea troll mucus, and most importantly—this is crucial—half-elf blood. Specifically, half-elf. Not full elf, not quarter-elf. It must be half-elf. And just in case, an elf’s blood turns into poison if you get it forcefully. You have to have their consent.”

“...Is all of this truly necessary?”

Forty-Seven did write them down, but he couldn’t believe it. The items Keter requested were elixirs and alchemy ingredients that were extremely rare and difficult to obtain, even with immense wealth. Of course, he could get them with Eslow’s command, but the hardest one was the half-elf blood acquired voluntarily.

“Oh, and one more thing. Get me a thousand-year-old liquor. Something clean and sweet.”

“...Is that for the procedure?”

“Nope. That’s for me. I do my best work with a little buzz.”

“...Understood. I will do my best to gather everything.”

“How long will it take? I need it before the tournament starts.”

“Two weeks.”

“I don’t have time for that. Get it in a week. If you can’t, find someone who can.”

“...I will see to it personally.”

“Good. Diagnosis complete.”

As Keter turned to leave, Curette voiced his frustration.

“Wait, just how exactly do you plan to operate? At the very least, you must explain your method to me. I am Lord Ryse’s attending physician, and I must determine whether your procedure is even feasible!”

“Don’t worry. I was planning to have someone wipe my sweat during the operation anyway.”

“I do not trust your medical expertise! Prove to me that your treatment is possible!”

“I already did.”

Curette was about to shout that Keter was lying, but then he froze. He heard something, and it came from the bed where Ryse was. His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. Ryse’s pale complexion, once masked by makeup, now showed a natural flush of color. His fingertips trembled ever so slightly.

As Keter stepped out of the room, he said, “I temporarily removed the excess mana clogging his brain. In an hour, he’ll regain consciousness for about ten minutes. Don’t feed him or move him.”

Keter was nonchalant, as if the whole matter was trivial.

Thud.

Curette collapsed into a chair.

He was not only a top graduate of the Blood Cross Academy but also a professor of mana pathology. His pride as a physician was immense, yet he had failed to cure Ryse. For decades, he had poured millions of gold into treatments, only to slow the progression of the disease. Yet Keter, in mere minutes, had improved Ryse’s condition with nothing but a touch. And now, he claimed the boy would even regain consciousness, albeit briefly.

Despair, which had taken over Curette, disappeared, and a glimmer of excitement returned. Then, he smiled. It was because Keter had agreed to let him assist in the surgery.

Meanwhile, the noble families keeping a close watch on Sefira caught wind of an unexpected development: their carriage had arrived in the city earlier than expected, and, most shockingly, it had entered Eslow’s palace.

Laughter erupted among the nobles.

“Sefira has finally gone mad!”

Even if no hotel in the city would accommodate them, daring to march into the lord’s palace was an act of sheer lunacy. None of them imagined that Sefira was being received as honored guests.

“They’ve doomed themselves before the tournament even began. Saves us the trouble!”

The hostile nobles snickered, raising their glasses in mockery.

Yet, not all nobles found this amusing. Among them were those gravely concerned: the four-noble alliance, the unseen power behind the Ultima Trading Company, had also heard the news.