Regressing as the Reincarnated Bastard of the Sword Clan

Chapter 256

“Hah, I thought you’d be making a wide detour around the battlefield, but using them for defense? Bold move.”

Considering their specialty was assassination and stealth, it was reasonable to assume they wouldn’t show themselves on the battlefield. Yet the decision to place the entire Black Gentleman Corps in the rear guard for defense was unexpected.

Sixteen to one.

Black Dragon loosened his shoulders casually and rose from his seat.

“The so-called greatest assassins from the Gentleman’s Union? What a joke.”

A creak echoed.

The grotesquely twisted neck of one of the Black Gentlemen tilted further downward, as if to express doubt.

Sixteen against one—an overwhelming imbalance in numbers.

Each of the Black Gentlemen was an assassin notorious across the continent, their names whispered with fear. Yet, even in the face of such odds, Black Dragon laughed.

After all, when it came to assassination, Black Dragon stood unrivaled.

“In the end, those hollow titles of yours only matter until your heads fall at my feet.”

Black Dragon was already a master of the shadowed underworld, standing at its pinnacle. He had never relinquished that title to anyone, not even once.

While their names might echo across the continent, their notoriety was little more than noise—ephemeral, without substance.

In contrast, his shadow reached every corner of the land.

“Well then, come and show me what you’ve got.”

He gripped his sword, and in an instant, his figure vanished.

Swish—! Thud!

The head of one of the Black Gentlemen hit the ground.

“If any of your pitiful blades so much as graze me, I might even pay you a compliment.”

Black Dragon let out a sharp, predatory smile as he melted into the shadows.

A ghastly screech rang out.

The undead assassins hurled their daggers in unison, but they only cut through empty air before boomeranging back into their hands.

The chilling forest became a stage of eerie cacophony.

The sound of bodies falling one after another and Black Dragon’s faint laughter began to echo, haunting and unrelenting.

***

As the battle reached its climax, the tide began to shift decisively in favor of the allied forces.

The borders once occupied by the undead were steadily reclaimed by the Drake Division, while the remaining undead were systematically eradicated by the ground troops.

Even when Blue Beard attempted to cast his spells, the mages from the Tower, led by David's Star, countered with their full strength, nullifying his magic.

A shrill, enraged screech echoed through the battlefield.

Blue Beard stomped furiously atop the Bone Dragon’s massive head, his frustration palpable. For the first time, there was an air of desperation about him.

Finally, the Bone Dragon’s maw opened wide, its jaws stretching unnaturally.

“Retreat! Everyone, fall back!”

The command to retreat echoed unanimously across the allied forces.

Within the Bone Dragon’s mouth, darkness began to coalesce, forming a vortex of pure void.

In an instant, an artificial black hole emerged, consuming the sounds of the battlefield. As it grew, faint, mechanical clattering echoed ominously from the distance.

?Poor creature.?

In stark contrast to the growing darkness, a golden radiance began to form in the sky above.

The warmth and divinity of the light washed over the blood-soaked battlefield, cleansing it of its despair. The radiance grew brighter, taking on a distinct shape—a majestic dragon.

It was Lodbrok, the guardian dragon of the Ragnar Clan.

“The Guardian Dragon!”
“It’s true! They said Theo had made a pact with it, but to see it for real—!”

The troops of the Ragnar Clan, who had only heard rumors of Lodbrok, now witnessed its divine presence for the first time.

Some wept openly, overwhelmed by the honor of standing in its light. Without exception, every soldier of the Ragnar Clan knelt, paying homage.

Across the battlefield, the other factions erupted in shock.

• “The Guardian Dragon of Ragnar has descended!?”
• “So the rumors meant to rally the Northeast weren’t just propaganda!”
• “The Ragnar Clan’s dominance grows stronger with this revelation.”

The appearance of a mythical being once dismissed as mere legend sent ripples through the political and military spheres alike. Lodbrok’s presence was an undeniable testament to Ragnar’s rising hegemony.

• “We must align with Ragnar before it’s too late!”
• “This explains why they mobilized such a force, despite the lords’ warnings.”

“And so the rumor was true—that Theo, the Young Patriarch, is the dragon’s chosen companion.”

What was once mere hearsay became undeniable fact with Lodbrok’s descent. The implications were immense.

The legitimacy of Theo’s claim to succession was no longer in question. In this moment, surrounded by the allies of Ragnar, any doubts or accusations of favoritism regarding Theo’s rapid rise vanished completely.

Even beyond this, Lodbrok’s backing guaranteed Theo greater support when the time came for him to assume the position of clan leader.

?You have suffered long enough. Rest now.?

The Bone Dragon let out an ear-splitting roar, unleashing a Death Breath toward Lodbrok.

In response, Lodbrok exhaled a golden wave of energy.

At first, the two streams of power seemed evenly matched. But soon, Lodbrok’s golden light began to overwhelm and erode the Bone Dragon’s dark energy.

BOOOOOM!

The collision of their breaths sent shockwaves across the battlefield, toppling soldiers from both sides. Even the clouds above split apart, halting the rain.

The clash between the two dragons unfolded like a scene from myth, a battle that transcended mortal comprehension.

“This is a battle of legends. We have no place interfering here.”

From atop the Bone Dragon’s head, Blue Beard looked back, startled, as Black Dragon appeared behind him and severed his neck with a single, precise strike.

“It was an honor to fight alongside you.”

Black Dragon, sensing the gravity of the moment, offered only a brief courtesy before using Black Lightning God to retrieve Blue Beard’s corpse and vanish.

As Blue Beard’s life ended, the staff controlling the Bone Dragon shattered into pieces.

With its magical reinforcement undone, the Bone Dragon began to falter.

?You have done well.?

In a flash, Lodbrok seized the opening, exhaling another golden breath that cleaved through the Bone Dragon’s head, obliterating it entirely.

The battlefield fell silent as the once-imposing creature crumbled, its remnants scattering like dust in the golden light.

***

I dreamed.

Back then, the world seemed to be mine.

I took what I wanted, stole it, killed for it, and claimed it by any means necessary.

There was nothing I couldn't hold in these hands.
Nothing that could defy my grasp.

With a body blessed beyond compare and a fate seemingly undesired by the gods, I was granted the power of regression. It was enough to convince me I was chosen.

So, I killed.

And so, I died.

Each time I died and returned, the knowledge gained painted a guidebook of survival. It felt almost like a game.

I achieved my goals swiftly, accumulating wealth and fame at an unprecedented pace.

The world moved as if it wanted me to become a god, everything flowing precisely the way I desired.

And then, a child appeared.

A child blessed with neither an indomitable physique nor divine regression. But with tenacity, intellect, and unshakable determination.

A child who did not revel in talent, but instead devoted himself to sheer effort.

He was far too cautious for someone his age, and yet, when he acted, he was relentless.

I was convinced then.

Ah, this child must be a regressor, too.

But I was wrong.

He wasn’t.

That was why he was cautious, why he always thought ahead.

And why he drove himself harder than anyone, as though trying to become a monster.

He pushed himself so far, relentlessly cutting away at his limits, that in the end, he even felled his regressor father to claim the position of clan leader.

Perhaps it was then that I realized.

The chosen one wasn’t me.

It was him.

Kyle.

“A cursed dream...”

My vision was blurred.

Strength had abandoned my body, and even my breaths were erratic, as if death was moments away.

“Kyle...”

Through the haze, I saw a man.

He approached slowly, gripping Caliburn, his every movement a grim reminder of a reaper coming to claim his due.

‘Has the Bright Dragon Emperor fallen?’

The Emperor’s severed head lay on the ground, its lifeless face bearing an expression eerily similar to my own.

And then—

“Master.”

From behind, I heard Farell’s voice.

***

"You’ve Come."

Hilda’s face gained a faint flush of color.

The dire situation had not changed, but with Farell by her side, she felt a brief sense of psychological relief.

“Master.”

Farell’s gaze, however, was far from gentle.

It wasn’t directed at Hilda.

It was directed at himself.

“Well, have you killed that whelp, Wellington?”

Farell’s sword dripped with blood and rainwater, a crimson stream pooling beneath him.

He said nothing, standing still as if lost in thought.

Then, slowly, he moved toward Hilda.

Each step he took seemed heavy, laden with an unbearable weight.

Hilda understood.

She knew how deeply Farell cared for Wellington. She knew how much it must have pained him to take the life of someone so dear, all for the sake of his master.

Farell had always been a gentle soul, someone who carried too much fear and too much heart.

Perhaps that was why Hilda’s guard softened.

Thunk!

“What…?”

Hilda’s gaze dropped slowly to her chest.

There had been no warning, no indication.

A crimson bloom spread across the ground beneath her feet.

Kyle’s expression remained cold and indifferent as he looked at Farell, who stood silently with his bloodied sword embedded in Hilda’s chest.

Disbelief clouded Hilda’s eyes.

She hadn’t thought it possible. She hadn’t even considered the notion of betrayal.

She had trusted Farell deeply, enough to mistake the sword piercing her chest as Kyle’s, not his.

“Farell…?”

But she knew.

She knew that blade.

It was the sword she had seen countless times in Farell’s hands. The blood dripping from its edge soaked the ground, painting the battlefield in red.

Hilda’s body slumped forward, and Farell caught her carefully, as though cradling a precious treasure.

“Only now, after all these lives, do I understand what kind of man I’ve always been as your servant.”

Tears streamed ceaselessly from Farell’s eyes.

As though sharing her pain, he plunged his hand into the wound he had inflicted, gently brushing against it as if to soothe her.

“I thought… if anyone could understand me, it would be you…”

Hilda felt something leaving her.

Her lifeforce—or perhaps her mana—flowed out, rising in shimmering trails along the blade.

With each breath, her mind cleared.

As death approached, the connection between her and the external deity that had granted her power began to fade.

Crackle! Crack!

The torn sky slowly began to mend, and the presence of the foreign god retreated.

The rain returned, pouring relentlessly once more.

Farell’s face was blurred by the downpour, but Hilda noticed something strange: the rain felt warm.

“Please… forgive me for never offering proper counsel…”

Farell sobbed, his voice heavy with guilt.

He spoke as if everything—their current plight, her downfall—was entirely his doing.

“You’re Ragnar through and through,” Hilda murmured weakly. “Do you think this would have ended any differently if you had stopped me?”

“No,” Farell replied, his voice trembling. “But at least it wouldn’t have come to this. You… you were chosen by the heavens, my master.”

Farell pressed Hilda’s hand to his face, his sobs echoing through the rain.

The chosen one.

No, he knew. He had always known, even in dreams of past lives.

The chosen one had been Kyle all along.

And yet, Farell still spoke those words, offering them to her as his final act of loyalty.

Hilda’s chest burned, and blood spilled from her lips.

The sight of it brought fresh tears to Farell’s eyes.

Even though he had resolved himself, even though he had made his decision, he couldn’t help but feel as though his own heart had been torn apart.

“I will bear all the sins…”

Her vision should have dimmed, but strangely, it grew sharper with every breath.

Farell’s face came into focus.

He looked like a child who had made a terrible mistake, his expression a portrait of regret.

Hilda reached out, gently brushing her hand against his face.

In every life, from the moment she had first met Farell, she had kept him close.

She thought she had understood him better than anyone, known the depths of his heart.

But now she realized she had failed to see the full weight of his devotion.

This decision could not have come easily to him.

Understanding that, tears slipped from her eyes.

“Wait for me. I’ll follow soon enough…” Farell whispered. “It was an honor and a joy to serve you.”

Thrust!

With those words, Farell withdrew his hand from her wound and pulled her into an embrace before driving the blade into himself.

His face, though streaked with blood and tears, bore a peaceful expression as his body slumped forward.

“Farell…”

Hilda felt his heartbeat slow, then stop altogether where their skin touched.

Kyle approached, his expression as stoic as ever.

He stood silently, gazing at Farell’s lifeless body as it cradled Hilda’s.

Even in death, Farell’s posture reflected an unyielding determination to protect his master.