Chapter 48: The Lastbane

Elias blinked in surprise as he stared at Erick, who had just insulted Belthon without the slightest hesitation. The man had spoken to an Exalted swordsman as though he were talking to an old drinking companion, and considering the stern reputation that surrounded the Kilmir Relief Order, Elias had expected considerably more respect from someone who worked directly under the City Lord.

However, Belthon didn’t seem offended in the slightest.

Instead, he simply smiled and looked down at Erick, who was still lying comfortably on his mattress beneath the sunlight.

Erick stared at Elias for several seconds; he could guess what the young man was thinking.

"Hahaha! You must be wondering whether I know who he really is, right?" he said, slapping his stomach as he laughed.

Elias nodded.

"That bastard is an Exalted, and I am merely the master of this miserable armory, but what does that matter? If I treated everyone according to their status, I would have to spend half my life bowing."

Belthon chuckled.

"You have not changed at all."

"Neither have you," Erick muttered before sitting up and scratching his beard. "Besides, you are only an Exalted because you are too stubborn to die."

Elias’s eyebrows rose slightly.

In the deep west of the Dracarian Kingdom, an Exalted swordsman was not someone ordinary people could casually disrespect.

The region had far fewer Lords than the central territories, and because of that, anyone who reached the Exalted realm possessed a status considerably higher than that of commoners and was generally treated as equal to a nobleman.

If someone managed to advance even further and become a Lord, their position would become even more significant, because they would eventually be absorbed into one of the three great clans that dominated the western territories.

The first was the Draveon Marchional Clan, which controlled the western ports and nearly every major trade route passing through them. The second was the Belmont Comital Clan, renowned throughout the west as the finest weaponmakers in the region, while the third was the Meldome Comital Clan, a clan of mages which by themselves were rare in the west.

The Draveons maintained a close relationship with the Crimson Ducal Clan because the Fifth Lady, while the Belmonts and Meldomes were long-standing allies who exchanged weapons, magical resources, knowledge, and other valuable goods.

That was why Elias found Erick’s attitude so strange.

Belthon wasn’t merely an ordinary Exalted swordsman.

He was a member of the Kilmir Relief Order and apparently someone who had fought alongside Priest Mekah in the past.

Yet Erick treated him like an irritating childhood friend.

"It is good to see you again, old friend," Belthon said with a faint smile.

Erick’s expression immediately turned sour, and Elias blinked in surprise.

"Friend?" he asked incredulously. "We only met a few times, you creepy bastard. I still remember how you were laughing while slaughtering those bastards from Jorn."

Belthon’s smile became awkward as he rubbed the side of his nose.

"I had fallen into madness for a period of time," he explained.

"Madness?" Erick scoffed as he rose to his feet. "The only thing mad was that whore who tried to stab me. Tch. Tch."

Elias’s expression became slightly strange.

’What exactly happened between these two?’

He glanced toward Belthon, but the swordsman merely sighed as though he had already accepted that Erick would never let the matter go.

Erick stretched his arms before finally looking toward Elias.

"Who is this lad?" he asked.

Belthon turned toward Elias and gestured toward him.

"This is Lord Elias Crimson, a part of the rangers," he said.

Erick’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"Elias Crimson..." he muttered thoughtfully.

Elias instinctively prepared himself for another insult. Considering Erick’s personality, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the man remembered some rumor about the Crimson Ducal Clan’s so-called Trash and decided to mock him for it.

Instead, Erick shrugged.

"Who the fuck cares?" he asked casually. "If it was interesting, I would not have forgotten it in the first place."

Elias stared at him.

Then Erick suddenly smiled widely.

"Come on, lad. Let’s get you armored up. I hate seeing young men lose their lives."

Elias blinked.

He hadn’t expected that.

A moment earlier, Erick had seemed like the laziest and most unpleasant man he had encountered since arriving in Kilmir, yet there was something unexpectedly sincere in his words.

Perhaps Elias had judged him too quickly.

"Thank you," Elias said.

"Don’t thank me yet," Erick replied as he walked deeper into the armory. "You still have to survive long enough to return everything I give you."

Belthon chuckled and followed them.

Elias walked between the racks while examining the various weapons and armor stored throughout the building. There were rows of swords arranged according to their lengths, spears hanging from wooden supports, shields stacked against the walls, and several sets of armor placed inside reinforced display cases.

Unlike the armory itself, the equipment wasn’t particularly extravagant.

Most of it had clearly been designed for practical use rather than appearance.

Erick stopped beside one of the armor racks and pulled out a set of light-plated armor.

"Try this."

Elias accepted it and examined the armor carefully.

The plates were light enough to allow quick movement, yet they covered the chest, shoulders, forearms, thighs, and shins well enough to provide reasonable protection. What caught Elias’s attention, however, were the dark strips running along the edges of each plate.

"What are these?" he asked.

"Melted rubber," Erick answered while pointing toward them. "I added it to the edges so the plates don’t make unnecessary noise when they move."

Elias’s eyes brightened slightly.

That was exactly the sort of equipment a ranger would need.

"You thought of everything."

"Of course I did," Erick said proudly. "I may sleep during work, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know my craft."

Belthon snorted.

"You sleep during most things."

"Shut the fuck up."

Elias couldn’t help smiling faintly as he took the armor.

Erick then looked him up and down before asking, "What kind of sword do you wield?"

Instead of answering, Elias looked around the armory, and eventually his gaze fell upon a sword resting against a wooden stand.

It was slightly longer and wider than the average knight’s sword, with a silver blade that reflected the light entering through the armory windows. The hilt was equally distinctive, because a dragon’s head had been carved from pale bone and attached directly under the hilt.

Something about the weapon immediately caught Elias’s attention.

He pointed toward it.

"That."

Erick followed his gaze.

The moment he saw the sword, a wide grin spread across his face.

"The Lastbane," he said, his voice suddenly carrying a strange amusement.

"A fine choice."

Elias’s eyes remained fixed on the silver blade.

"The Lastbane?" he asked.

Erick nodded.

"A sword with a rather interesting history," he said, his grin widening as he pointed at it.

"Go take it."