Divine Beast Invocation.
The Divine Archer’s signature technique—the very skill that had elevated him to legendary status.
Naturally, it wasn’t something just anyone could master. The technique demanded perfect Aura control coupled with a Master’s reserves of power.
In short, only one archer in the world possessed the ability to wield it properly.
My master.
Though I had managed a crude imitation, as I’d just demonstrated.
If Master saw this, he’d laugh himself to death.
He would have clutched his sides and rolled on the ground, cackling like a madman. He would have pointed at my pathetic attempt and asked if that was supposed to be a divine beast.
“Hah.”
I released a shallow breath, staring down at the arrow that had clattered to the stone. The medium for Divine Beast Invocation lay there, ordinary and spent.
The technique itself had absurdly high requirements, yet once you possessed the fundamentals, the learning curve proved surprisingly manageable. Not that such mastery was remotely achievable for most.
I mentally reviewed the mechanics while catching my breath. First, you infused an arrow with Aura. Then you manipulated that energy as if it were alive—every joint, every scale, every minute detail controlled simultaneously through will alone.
The catch? Since the Aura contained no actual life force, you had to orchestrate everything manually.
It was an insane technique that relied purely on control, traditionally manifesting as massive divine beasts—dragons, white tigers, creatures of legend.
Not the pathetic snake I’d managed to cobble together.
The real problem is that even this pitiful attempt will require weeks of recovery.
I exhaled again, watching my arms tremble like leaves in a winter wind. At this rate, I’d need a month before I’d be anywhere near functional.
Thud.
My arms dropped to my sides, and I covered my face with shaking hands.
Still, I’d won. That counted for something.
The Gargoyle had been formidable, even for me. My hunting approach only worked because my opponent had retained his human side—complete with exploitable habits and emotions.
If he’d been an actual Gargoyle from the Demonic Realm rather than a corrupted human, victory would have been far from certain.
I’d probably be the one lying motionless over there instead of him.
“Barely scraped through alive,” I muttered.
Just as I closed my eyes—
“Sir Louis! Are you in there?!”
A familiar voice echoed through the ruins.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Punctual as always.”
With those final words, I released my grip on consciousness and surrendered to exhaustion.
* * *
“What in the world…”
The imperial knight commander surveyed the destruction with bewildered eyes.
Ruined buildings stretched in every direction. A crater had been punched clear through to the basement levels, and above it all loomed the overwhelming presence radiating from the Gargoyle’s corpse.
Every sight deepened his curiosity about what had transpired.
“How did all this come to pass?” He turned to a subordinate, who stammered through an explanation of recent events.
Initially, the commander nodded with stoic composure. As the tale continued, however, his jaw began to drop.
By its conclusion, he stared at Louis Berg with complete bewilderment.
So he wasn’t some manufactured hero after all.
He’d been certain the young man was a political convenience. Apparently, this hero was genuine.
“Absolutely mad.” Taking down a Gargoyle with Expert-level Aura was unthinkable. If this account held even a grain of truth, the Empire would have another Grand Master within years.
What had the commander himself been doing at that age? Far from Gargoyles—he remembered struggling desperately against a single Goblin Lord.
And that final technique the knight had described... that had to be Divine Beast Invocation.
Different from the Divine Archer’s version, certainly, but that was natural given the Expert-level execution. Even managing a pale imitation would be news worthy of spreading across continents.
“The emergence of a new Divine Archer, perhaps,” the commander murmured.
Others might call him foolish for the assumption, but anyone who’d witnessed the Divine Archer firsthand would understand what it meant to replicate even the faintest echo of his techniques.
To manage even that much means his Aura control rivals a peak Master’s.
An Expert with control matching a Master’s pinnacle meant only Grand Masters possessed finer technique than Louis Berg.
Between the Divine Archer’s methods and that faint camellia scent, the thought occurred that Louis might actually be the Divine Archer’s disciple.
That would explain everything.
Yet anyone who’d met the Divine Archer would know better. That old monster would never take students—a man consumed by vengeance had no time for disciples.
Still, the possibility nagged at him. If Louis truly was the Divine Archer’s student, and they could leverage that connection, the Empire would become formidable beyond measure.
More importantly, they’d be safer from the crises yet to come.
His gaze drifted to Mark Leian’s corpse. For a knight once known as “The Cruel,” it was a remarkably pathetic end.
Stupid bastard.
He suspected how Mark had become a Gargoyle.
Though not public knowledge, research suggested consuming demonic substances could grant powers similar to the Demonkin. The fool had probably ingested something Demonic for exactly that reason.
A Demon related to Gargoyles... nothing comes to mind.
The Duke of Praha might have known, but he was currently exploring the Demonic Realm. No one remained to answer such questions.
I’ll have to research the Demonic texts when I return.
The Knight Commander sighed, thinking of the stern-faced head librarian who would certainly have words for him.
He’d deal with that when the time came. For now, priority meant securing the remains.
“Commander! Where are you?!”
The rest of the Imperial Knights arrived, and the commander addressed them with quiet authority.
“Secure the Gargoyle’s remains for the Imperial Scholarium. Collect that ice as well—it contains the mastermind behind this incident.”
* * *
Following the Imperial Knights’ arrival, the situation resolved with remarkable speed.
The rebellious Elder Council knights threw down their weapons in surrender. Their leader—architect of the rebellion—was bound in chains after thawing from his frozen prison.
Naturally, he didn’t submit quietly, but the knight commander’s appearance shattered his spirit entirely.
Thus concluded the rebellion within the House of Praha.
As for me…
“So you’ve brought me the Elder Council’s leader.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I see. Things proceeded according to your plan, then.”
Well... that’s not exactly accurate, Your Majesty.
Honestly, nothing had gone according to plan.
My original scheme hadn’t included Mark Leian’s transformation, nor had it featured Lin Praha’s triumph over the High Elder.
While everything had worked out splendidly, calling it “according to plan” felt uncomfortable.
All’s well that ends well.
Still, I simply nodded without correcting him.
“Magnificent. The title of Hero suits you well indeed.”
The Emperor closed his eyes with a rueful smile. “Now then, where is this High Elder wretch who murdered my son?”
“He’s imprisoned in the underground dungeons, Your Majesty,” the imperial knight commander replied.
Something had clearly transpired while I was unconscious, because he kept regarding me with profound respect—the sort of gaze one might direct toward a promising protégé. It was frankly burdensome.
When I deliberately avoided his eyes, the commander’s expression turned wounded.
“Let us proceed to the underground dungeons,” the Emperor said, rising from his throne. “I must look upon that damned bastard’s face.”
“I shall follow.”
The knight commander fell into step behind him, accompanied by guards moving with practiced stealth.
I followed suit, trailing toward the depths.
* * *
The underground dungeons were dungeons in name only—in reality, they served as torture chambers. Bloodstains and scraps of flesh decorated the walls in grotesque patterns. Endless screams echoed from within the cells.
Gaaaaaaah—!
I grimaced as we entered that hellish place. The stench of sulfur stabbed at my nostrils—apparently they used it during interrogations.
Even a sane person would go mad down here.
I quickened my pace with disgust.
After walking for what felt like an eternity, we reached the High Elder’s cell.
“Open it.”
“Sir!”
The guards snapped to attention and promptly unlocked the door.
Creeeeak. Clank.
The rusted lock gave way, revealing the High Elder’s gaunt features. His skeletal frame testified to the humiliations he’d endured.
“You!”
Rattle!
The moment he spotted me, he lunged forward—only to be yanked back by chains binding his limbs.
He collapsed with a crash, glaring with naked hatred, then released a self-deprecating laugh. “What a pathetic sight I make.”
He seemed embarrassed at having forgotten his restraints.
“Come to mock me, have you? How delightful. I’ve become the perfect object of ridicule.”
“Mockery? You misunderstand.” The Emperor stepped into the cell. “Have you ever mocked an ant you happened to notice on the street?”
His guards tried to dissuade him, but the Emperor ignored them, walking deeper into the chamber until he stood before the prisoner.
“If it isn’t His Majesty. It’s been so long, I’d nearly forgotten your face.”
The Emperor gazed down with calm composure. “How fortunate. I cannot even remember who you are.”
“You’ve no talent for provocations.”
“Fear not. An emperor does not provoke—he merely inquires.”
“Arrogant to the bitter end. No wonder others hold you in such contempt.”
The High Elder’s mocking laughter filled the air.
The guards bristled with killing intent, but the Emperor raised his hand and uttered, “Stand down.”
“Yes, sir.” The guards froze, prompting fresh chuckles from the prisoner.
“What a spectacle.”
“Laugh to your heart’s content. I have but one question for you.”
“Oh? What could possibly compel His Majesty to grace this place with his presence?”
The Emperor fixed him with an intense stare.
“Why did you kill my child?”