Episode 317
On the outside, the Iron-Blooded Lord didn't look like someone barely clinging to life. Aside from his slightly pale complexion, there were no visible injuries. He simply appeared to be in a deep sleep.
This wasn't strange. Any physical trauma would've been healed by pouring the best quality potions into him. The wealth of the Badnikers was no less than that of a wealthy merchant family.
Then what about the inside?
I rudely lifted the Iron-Blooded Lord's quilt and grabbed the wrist underneath it. His wrist was thinner than I expected, and it had a chill that one wouldn't normally feel from the skin of a living person.
The first step was to do a pulse diagnosis, but my method would be a bit different from that of normal doctors. I intended to observe the insides of the Iron-Blooded Lord through his pulse.
At first, I thought his heart wasn't beating at all. I held on for a long time but couldn't feel a pulse. However, that wasn't the case. There was a weak beating that was very intermittent as if it would stop at any moment.
Suddenly, Assad's words popped into my mind. He seemed to have said that the Iron-Blooded Lord's heart rate was only one to two beats per minute.
It's a miracle that he's even alive. How the hell did he end up like this? I thought as I slowly looked inside the Iron-Blooded Lord to figure out the reason why.
Normally, it would be impossible to examine the insides of the Iron-Blooded Lord even with physical contact. Now, however, all the defenses in his fortress-like body weren't working. I moved through the Iron-Blooded Lord's veins as if jumping over shabby walls.
Then I found out that his condition was more miserable than I first thought. There were twisted meridians all throughout his body, as well as messy blood and qi flow. The major organs were infested with dark qi that clung to them like leeches.
The problem isn't just the heart.
On the contrary, it was only thanks to the Iron-Blooded Lord's strong heart that he was still holding on. Beyond that, his physical condition was a complete mess. It was a miracle that he was alive.
Honestly, I had thought about something before observing the Iron-Blooded Lord's body. I hadn't planned to, but I had now become a priest. I wondered if I could control the dark qi inside him to heal him.
However, I realized that it was difficult the moment I faced it in person. It wasn't a problem with my proficiency, either. Now I could finally understand what Lise Ladygoth said.
"I will only hasten his death if I act clumsily."
That wasn't all. In order to control this dark qi, I would be forced to reveal the dark qi within myself as well. It would be like announcing to everyone that I was a priest in the land of the Badnikers.
I was feeling at a loss when I noticed something strange. There wasn't just one type of dark qi inside his body. Just as mana varied greatly in quality depending on its owner, the same was true for dark qi. The demon kings and their subordinates, the legion commanders, each had dark qi that gave off a different feeling.
Now, the dark qi deeply embedded in the Iron-Blooded Lord's body was surprisingly eating away at his flesh. I found it strange. My eldest senior brother's Forest Planting Technique wasn't a martial art technique known for causing internal injuries. No matter how weak the Iron-Blooded Lord was, I doubted dark qi could penetrate into his heart when he had dozens of blessings.
My question was answered the moment I felt the dark qi inside his heart. In order for dark qi to leave a deeper mark than that of my eldest senior brother, its owner had to have the same status as my eldest senior brother. There were very few such beings among the demons.
A demon king.
I hadn't wanted to, but I had constantly met demon kings: Black Swamp Demon King Ahop, Green-Tongued Demon King Tantata, and Blood Moon Demon King Hadenaihar. However, this dark qi I felt now was different from them.
The only demon king I hadn't met yet was Kingarodtus, the Golden Horned Demon King, but this felt a bit different from him. I hadn't faced Kingarodtus in person, but I'd felt his dark qi from Ymir's heart.
The dark qi I felt now was fundamentally different from all of them. It was dense, heavy, and ominous. Even I, who had tremendous resistance to dark qi, felt my body tremble at the residual traces.
Behemoth?
That creature was a great demon, a disaster, and a leader among demons. Why was Behemoth's dark qi in the body of the Iron-Blooded Lord when he had headed to Spirit Mountain?
I didn't know why or how, but there was one fact I clearly knew now: The Iron-Blooded Lord would die.
I was shocked, as if a large bell was ringing inside my head.
When I first heard the news from Kayan, when I came to the main house and spoke to Assad, when I asked Lise Ladygoth for help, and even when I discussed the future with my siblings whom I hadn't seen in a long time—in every one of those moments, I hadn't believed in the Iron-Blooded Lord's death.
After all, this was none other than the Iron-Blooded Lord. I'd figured that perhaps I misunderstood, the Iron-Blooded Lord was trying to deceive me, or the elders were playing some kind of trick. Maybe I was too distrusting, but this was a sinister family.
And yet, I knew what I was seeing now: A pale complexion, dry lips, and faint breathing that could only be heard if I listened closely. They were all signs that only a person who was dying would show. It was a frailty that didn't match the Iron-Blooded Lord at all.
Maybe that was why, seeing it with my own eyes, I couldn't help but laugh.
"Puhuhu."
The Iron-Blooded Lord, Delac C. Badniker—the man who could be called the empire's strongest—had headed to Spirit Mountain only to be thoroughly beaten. He was now barely clinging to life. How could it not be absurd?
"You look completely pitiful," I muttered. I collapsed onto the chair next to the bed and laughed like a madman for a while.
Normally, it would be unacceptable for someone like me to laugh at the Iron-Blooded Lord, and it should never have happened. Yet the person who should've risen to scold me didn't even open his eyes.
"This is something I thought I wouldn't see in a lifetime. The Iron-Blooded Lord is dying." I continued with a smirk, "Or are you putting on an act? If you are curious about my reaction or something, please stop now. It isn't fun."
I continued, "Give me an answer, family head. You really don't look good like this."
There were times when talking to yourself was tiring. This was one such case. I chattered away beside someone who had lost consciousness, but there was no response. For some reason, even the obvious fact before me was still too unbelievable.
Of course, the nature of talking to oneself was knowing that I wouldn't get an answer in the first place.
"Answer me." I slowly stopped smiling, and the voice that finally emerged from my throat was thick and damp like the remnants of chewed food. "What on earth is this?"
I had only ever seen his strength. In my past life, he was untouchable and someone I could never reach; back then, I'd wanted to reach him. I'd wanted to be recognized. I'd wanted to stand shoulder to shoulder with him if possible.
At some point, that dream was crushed. It was too grand a wish for Luan Badniker, the incompetent child of the Badnikers and the only blemish on the Iron-Blooded Lord's reputation. I'd lost my qualifications, my talent, and my opportunities. Even in the midst of such frustration, however, I couldn't completely let go of my secret admiration for him.
Despite that sense of pride, however, the Iron-Blooded Lord had been the worst father to me. Even though I respected him, the bond of blood was light. That feeling persisted to this day. I'd naturally never opened my heart to him or trusted him.
But still, there was one unwavering belief I had. It wasn't the faith, trust, or love between a parent and child, let alone the warmth of a blood relative.
After my mother died and I was kicked out of the family, I wandered the streets with the pride of a minor noble that I hadn't been able to let go of. Then I found him on the front page of a soaked newspaper I discovered while rifling through a trash bin.
In all those moments, only his strength was unwavering. He was noble, untouched, and still active on the front lines of the battlefield. Absurdly, that fact had been a comfort to the idiot with a starving stomach who was rummaging through trash bins. The pitiful pride and ugly self-esteem of sharing the bloodline of the strongest person had allowed me to keep living.
Then what is this? I thought. I'd believed he wouldn't lose to anyone, and never imagined I would see him look so pitiful. An Iron-Blooded Lord who was seriously wounded, unconscious, and barely clinging to life was a strange sight.
At that moment, I realized my blind belief in the Iron-Blooded Lord's strength had been greater than I thought. I hadn't thought this man would be defeated miserably even when the opponent was my eldest senior brother.
Then the future had changed.
You, who never wavered and maintained your position as the strongest, are lying unconscious on the bed and the flame of your life is going out.
The only person who could change the predetermined future was me, a regressor.
So is it because of me that you're in this situation? Did I make you like this?
"Wake up," I muttered. Maybe my words were nothing more than the childish tantrum of an idiot.
My fists clenched tightly. The taste of blood spread in my mouth. I didn't know whether it came from my cracked lips or from my gums.
"Wake up."
I didn't know if I was feeling anger, resentment, or something else. I couldn't name the emotions I was feeling right now. However, I could tell that they were sincere.
"You shouldn't be like this."
I poured out my true feelings in the dark room.
"You are the strongest. The strongest of humanity and the strongest in the empire. You aren't supposed to be lying here like this."
There was no response.
"So open your eyes."
The Iron-Blooded Lord didn't move. My voice didn't reach him.
And yet, I couldn't bring myself to accept it.