Knight and Wand

Chapter 394 Father and Son

Footsteps echoed in the blood-soaked, dark hall, and a low growl of pain lingered in Azerian's ears.

"Kill me! Kill me!"

Bound by chains, the victims struggled on the rack, their eyes gouged out as they tried to call for help.

The young knight's gaze swept over the blood-soaked sinner before him, his eyes filled with hatred, yet also reflecting a hint of wavering.

He looked away and gazed at the horrifying figure drinking blood in front of him.

"Father."

Azerian called out.

The crimson figure paused slightly before putting down the mangled body in its hands.

As the withered body slid down, Sharleman slowly turned his head, his dark, menacing eyes staring at the newcomer.

Azerian felt a sense of estrangement, as if countless illusory figures were overlapping his father's body. He couldn't help but wonder if it was still his father.

“.Aqi”.

After a long while, when he called out his eldest son's childhood name, Sharleman's hoarse voice showed a slight strain before slowly regaining some calm.

He turned around, his hands covered in blood and bits of flesh melting into his pale skin like snow. With a clench of his sharp claws, wisps of blood were drawn from the emaciated, dying man he had just abandoned, swirling and seeping into Shaleman's palm.

With a soft cracking sound, the drained corpse instantly crumbled into a pile of grayish-white dust, like broken plaster.

Witnessing that inhuman power, Azerian smiled bitterly, knowing that his father could drain the blood of all the living people around him with a single thought. The reason he used such a cruel and barbaric method to drink blood was simply to torture these prisoners.

These people, imprisoned here and forced to serve as food to keep their father sane, all came from Uria and Kantadar. Most of them were members of the Eastern Invasion Army who had not died in the calamity, or relatives of members of the Eastern Invasion Army. They were all captured and brought here by their father's clansmen, either for revenge or as ordered.

But Azerian was also forcing himself not to think too deeply about whether there were any innocent people being blamed.

He didn't want to admit that the familiar face before him had become a monster equally stained with sin.

But the beliefs he carried reminded him that he could not escape the reality he had to face. The clearer he was of this, the stronger Azerian's hatred for the demons became. His hatred for the blood demon his best friend spoke of even surpassed his hatred for the Eastern Invaders.

As his father slowly approached, Azerian watched as his father stepped forward and extended his hands to him. He stood still, without flinching.

Soon, a cold touch came from his face. It was cold, yet it also made Azerian feel warm, causing him to involuntarily close his eyes.

Schallerman gently stroked the handsome, no longer childish face, his gaze sweeping over the eldest son's upright figure, examining his armor, sword, and the ribbons of honor for his outstanding military achievements. His bloodshot eyes gradually softened.

“If Vina were still here, she would be so proud of you, my child.”

As his soul was immersed in the warmth of the past, the maddening roars and cries that had been raging in Schallermann's ears gradually subsided.

“I used to worry that you were too weak, but it seems that’s not the case. The fearless flame in your soul burns so brightly that it seems you could become an excellent warrior, a noble Flarell knight, even without my guidance.”

Faced with his father's proud praise and hearing him mention his mother, Azerian's eyes couldn't help but redden slightly.

He gritted his teeth, barely managing to suppress the turbulent emotions surging within him and regain his composure. When he opened his eyes again, the young knight smiled.

“In the two years you were gone, I gained a group of respectable friends, from whom I was fortunate to learn a lot. If you want to hear it, I can tell you little by little later. You know, Father, I have a wife and children now. The Frarell bloodline has not been broken.”

Schallermann's expression shifted slightly, a hint of relief appearing on his pale face.

He was enjoying a rare moment of peace in his soul, and was about to say something more, but his smile was frozen on his pale face by his eldest son's words.

“But Father, the revenge should end now.” Azerian met those blood-red eyes without fear.

Schallerman slowly lowered his hands and placed them on his eldest son's shoulders. His voice was low and calm, as if he were pondering.

“I know, we know, you’ve come for Count Navarreis and those nobles of Orland.”

Azerian frowned at his father's incoherent self-identification, but he made no attempt to conceal his intentions.

"Lord Eliver and the knights of the Thornflower family have never harmed Rolandar and Serian. Under no circumstances should your revenge be inflicted on the innocent." Seeing that his father was much more rational than when they last met, confirming his suspicions, Azerian pressed his advantage, eager to clarify the truth with his father.

The resurrected loved one turned out to be the murderer of his benefactor, and for more than a year, guilt has tormented Azerian every night.

"Really!? But they are indeed protecting those Kantadar bastards! Those scum who slaughtered the people of Rolandar and killed your mother!!"

Without warning, Shaleman's frenzied roar reverberated, and the condemned on the rack in the hall instantly exploded into clouds of blood mist. His clenched fingers caused Azerian's shoulder armor to cave in deeply.

Azerian's face trembled slightly, but the pain in his shoulder did not faze him: "I beg you to wake up, Father! Lord Eliver and my friends are protecting the land of the living, sheltering innocent civilians from the slaughter of the undead, and ending the scourge of the demons! Our enemies should be the invaders who have committed bloody crimes, the sinners who have ravaged the people of Serian, not the farmers struggling to survive in the fields. Slaughtering the innocent only defiles your soul step by step."

Azerian's stern rebuke, delivered with all his might, left him almost drenched in sweat. He paused, then took a deep breath.

"I've come not only to make you fulfill your promise and release Lord Elif, but also to stop you from falling into the abyss. The Eastern Invaders have been defeated, and their souls are now in your hands. The sinners who killed my mother and the people of Rolandar will receive the harshest punishment, and the innocent victims have already paid a price they should never have paid. I will not condemn the countless lives you have shed, but enough is enough; the atrocities you have committed are more than sufficient."

Azerian raised his hands and gripped his father's wrists tightly: "Stop! Our only enemy left is that demon that turned you into a monster! I don't want you to fall in the wrong direction and end up becoming another 'demon'."

The young knight's voice trembled, his resolute words also a plea to his father.

Shaleman's face twitched uncontrollably, his burly body trembled, and a surge of power rose within him. The entire hall shook violently like an earthquake, amplified by the rampaging, terrifying magic.

The hatred in the Blood Lord's soul wavered for only a moment before the bloodlust in his eyes surged.

Hundreds of thousands of suppressed roars and screams resurfaced in his mind, and anger drove him to want to kill anyone who defied his rage on the spot.

Rumbling--

The crimson magic, unleashing its fury, bombarded everything around it. The pillars collapsed, and boulders buried the surrounding blood, leaving only the two people in the center of the hall shrouded in the rising dust.

In his resentment, Charleman suddenly felt that his eldest son was like a stranger.
Is he really his child? Or does he really have a child? Is he really Charlemagne?
A shrill scream of resentment swirled in my mind, and countless bloody memories surged into my heart.
Slaughter, torture, and cruelty echoed through the air, accompanied by the grating laughter in Uriah. Shaleman seemed to have fallen into a vortex of fear and resentment.

However, in the endless darkness, he suddenly heard a call like a wind chime in his ear.

This voice calling out to itself seemed to pierce through a deep, abyss-like sea.
“That’s Vina.”

Muttering absentmindedly, Sharleman's bloodshot eyes slowly regained their clarity as he looked up at the gloomy sky above.

That's right, those painful memories weren't mine.

He died on the battlefield, and the experiences those vengeful spirits had were not his own.
Schallerman felt as if a long time had passed, yet it also seemed like only a moment. His consciousness slowly regained its senses, and he looked around in a daze.

The hall has been reduced to ruins.

Countless ghoul lords and blood descendants who rushed to the scene stood helplessly around the collapsed hall ruins, looking in fear at the Blood Lord who controlled their own destiny.

As Sharleman lowered his head, the moment he saw the bloodstains on his hand, a wave of fear washed over him. He frantically looked up, trying to find his eldest son.

Fortunately, the next moment he smelled the scent of blood belonging to his blood relatives. Shaleman looked into the distance and saw Azerian lying on the ground with his armor shattered, being protected by the Orland bloodline.

Frustration, self-blame, and uncontrollable rage caused Sharleman to clench his fists, letting the sharp claws pierce his palms, drawing blood.

The pale-faced Earl of Elliv felt his heart, which had stopped beating for a long time, begin to pound wildly again due to tension.

Having barely snatched Azerian from the crazed Shallman, the risky move left Elivor gasping for breath, even though he had long since stopped breathing.

"Please calm down, Your Excellency Charlemagne, he is your child."

Seeing the Lord of Blood looking over, Eriever moved his left hand behind his back, trying to signal his subordinates to quickly take Azerian away.

Seeing how deeply disturbed Sharleman was, Erliver regretted in his heart that he had agreed to help the boy meet with his father alone.

It wasn't just concern for Azerian's personal safety; more importantly, if Azerian were mistakenly killed by the madman Shallman, Erliv knew that perhaps no one in the world would be able to persuade him to restore his and the other courtiers of the Farorius family's freedom. The loyal Balf helped Azerian to his feet from behind his lord, his crimson eyes silently sweeping over the surrounding bloodlines and ghoul lords, understanding that these high-ranking undead had no intention of interfering for the time being.

But that's only temporary. Let alone them, as long as Shaleman has a thought, Balf knows that even he himself would do anything against his will under that irresistible magic.

Balf put his arm around Azerian's shoulder and helped the boy up, intending to leave immediately using the Blood Mist technique. However, Azerian struggled and pushed Balf away.

The young knight wiped the blood from his face, ignored the obstruction, and walked forward through the protection of the Thornflower family, his voice still as firm as before.

"If you are unwilling to stop making mistakes, then you may kill me now. Otherwise, I will have no choice but to become your enemy and stop you from committing further bloodshed!"

Elliv, standing to the side, frowned and quickly pulled Azerian back, realizing with surprise that he had never noticed before that this seemingly refined and gentle young man was actually an impulsive and stubborn person.

"Go quickly! He's not entirely your father anymore. Go back to Leon! Let's find another way and plan for the future!"

But Azerian kept staring at his father and stubbornly shook off the count's hand.

"Lord Elif, only my voice can awaken my father's consciousness. Let me try again!"

Azerian's decision to confront them was not made on a whim; it was a well-thought-out one.

His repeated interactions made him realize that only he could bring his father back to his senses, even temporarily.

Now that Aviut is dead and the spirits of the Eastern Invaders have fallen into his father's control, the time to avenge our great grudge is now. Now is the best opportunity to persuade his father to let go of his obsession.

It might be the only chance.

If the father, having completed his revenge, is still driven by the power of the demons into a mindless monster of hatred, then if things continue to drag on, he may never have another chance to bring back his father's soul.

Whether his father ultimately becomes the enemy of all people, turns against them in arms, and is condemned by the world, or continues to slaughter more innocent people and even kills his own friends, this is something he absolutely does not want to see.

For Azerian, the worst that could happen today was death. If his life could awaken his father's rationality again, the price was insignificant.

"As a pioneering knight, I will not bring shame to the name of Flarell, nor will I fall from the noble honor bestowed upon me by the prophet. This is what you have always taught me, and it is the belief that I will uphold, as always."

Azerian gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, standing ramrod straight before his father.

Even though his father had nearly killed him many times, and even though his father had committed countless atrocities, he would never give up the chance to redeem the souls of his loved ones.

".Azerian."

Schallerman felt the noise around him lessen a bit, and he inexplicably took a few steps back, afraid of hurting the other person again, but the madness in his eyes had been replaced by guilt.

The silence between the two made everything around them quiet, and only the breathing of the Holy Sun Iris Knight remained in this dead zone.

After a long while, Shaleman looked up at the gloomy sky. When he looked down at his eldest son, a ripple of pride washed over the madness and resentment that had been entangled in Shaleman. The Blood Baron's hoarse voice was filled with a sense of relief.

“You’re right. I’ve gone too far down the path of tarnishing the name of our ancestors. Do you hear me? Vina’s voice.”

When his father mentioned his mother, Azerian paused, taken aback.

Schallermann's eyes lost focus as he gazed into the distance, as if communicating with some being.

Suddenly, a whistling aura of blood swept past him, and a demonic sword and a demonic blade, two undead soul weapons forged by demons, appeared in Shaleman's hands.

"I will release the Bloodline as promised, and I will end this slaughter as you wish, but you must promise me two things," the Blood Baron said in a low voice as he spoke again.

Azerian's eyes widened in surprise. Realizing that he had truly succeeded in avoiding becoming enemies with his father, his joy was palpable.

"Please speak, Father!"

"First, I was born from the blood of Skush, and this body cannot fight against that demon. But you are different. I want you to promise me that you will spend the rest of your life slaying that demon for me! This is my condition, and it is also the condition of 'them' all."

Azerian immediately swore an oath, clutching his chest: "Even if you hadn't mentioned it, I would have made that demon pay for all the deaths it caused you, including the deaths of millions of people, my mother, and everything it did to you!"

"Very well, then, the second thing..."

Shaleman looked at the Serian bloodline not far away.

A tremor of mist flashed by, and Blood Knight Angor, obeying his master's will, came to the side of his lord and young master.

Schallermann nodded, as if he had spoken a great deal to him without saying a word, and then looked back at his eldest son.

“From now on, you will continue to uphold the extermination of the sinful souls in the Blood Sword on my behalf until you believe they have atoned for their sins. I believe in you, my child, that under the watchful eye of the prophet, you are qualified to judge their sins.”

Azerian was stunned, a strange feeling creeping into his heart. His father's words gave him an ominous premonition.

“I’ll take that as a yes, son.” Sharleman smiled.

The flash of blood was so fast that Azerian couldn't see it clearly. In the blink of an eye, the demonic blade wreathed in blood had already pierced through Shaleman's body.

Do not! ! !
No!! Despair filled Azerian's heart in an instant. He tried to salvage everything, but his body was frozen in place by an irresistible force, unable to move or speak.

"I shouldn't have let you see me in such a sorry state." Stepping back, with a sigh, Shaleman plunged the Blood Demon Sword deep into his heart. He felt no pain, but rather a profound sense of relief.

"Forgive me, this is the only moment I can decide my own life or death." Looking at the terror in his imprisoned eldest son's eyes, Sharleman shook his head slightly.

"There has always been only one way to free the Bloodline Clan, and you need not grieve for me. They are simply going to where they were meant to go." The Blood Baron's voice grew softer and softer, and the terrifying power within him transformed into a surging torrent of blood flowing from beneath his skin, converging into a river.

Hordes of vengeful spirits churned within the blood-red eye of the gushing spring, their piercing shrieks intertwined. Hundreds of thousands of hazy spirits, under the laws of the world, rose into the sky like soaring rays of light, their torrents of souls piercing through the dark clouds above.

I release you, people of Rolandar.

Come with me, our revenge is over.

May Iraq judge my sins.

Having utterly destroyed his body with the Blood Sword, Shaleman experienced the continuous loss of his near-immortal life, feeling no pain, for the tormenting voices had finally vanished.

He felt himself falling, falling until he sank into a bottomless abyss.
The crimson pool of blood dissipated into the air without leaving a trace.

Azerian's body was freed from its restraints, and for a moment he staggered, almost losing the strength to stand.

He dazedly pushed away Sir Angell's support and stumbled towards the handful of shattered, pale dust.
I have lost another loved one.

The young knight wanted to cry, but found that he seemed to have already shed all his tears in front of his mother's body.

He is no longer a child capable of crying out loud.

Angor did not disturb the young master, but silently walked towards the two demonic blades that had lost their masters, and then, as his lord had given his last instruction, he pulled out the heavy demonic blades.

The moment he made contact, he breathed a sigh of relief. Sure enough, this demonic longsword was not difficult to wield now.

Looking at the crimson sword beside him, Sir Angor did not touch the ominous demonic sword.

That was not an evil thing he could touch.

All the Blood Knights loyal to the Frarell family paced around and gathered, subtly protecting Azerian in the center, their cold gazes fixed on any high-ranking undead that might be stirring.

Fortunately, most of the undead who are still able to move freely in the present were Serian and Orland people in life, so Shallman's death did not immediately cause chaos.

At least for now, none of the freed undead have shown any intention of trying to seize the Demon Sword and Demon Blade.

Of course, Angel did not dare to let his guard down, and he immediately looked at the bloodline of the Farolis family.

Although he knew very well that it was he and his men who had killed these Thorn Flower Knights on the battlefield of Sobonitz, he also understood that if he wanted to stabilize the situation, Count Thorn Flower, who had a deep bond with the young master, was the most suitable ally at the moment.

(End of this chapter)