The Distinguished Mr. Rose Chapter 138: Chapter 137: To You, My Past and Future

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Chapter 137: To You, My Past and Future Charlemagne wordlessly nodded and lifted its umbral blade. The memories it had lost, all that it wished to forget… everything had nearly returned, except for one last name. The name of its beloved home. As the suns set and heralded the coming midnight with the rising pale light of the moon, Karolus planted his feet firmly into the dirt and held his breath. Here, a duel that would decide the very fate of the continent was about to commence. Beads of sweat ran down the young emperor’s forehead. His teeth clenched. His hands lightly shook as his blood burned and rushed through him like a river of flame. Karolus couldn’t afford to make any lapses, for he knew that the Demon King’s strength and its experience was of such heights he could never hope to match—not as he was now at least. But regardless how impossible the task seemed, he remained undeterred and bravely prepared for battle. His only hope and the sole advantage given to him lay in the Demon King’s name. For who else would know more about it, than one who once shouldered the very same curse himself? How it would move, where it would most likely strike, the imperial swordsmanship it was forced to learn through muffled sobs: Karolus knew it all too well. It was because of his training and the culmination of his life’s ordeals that he could now turn trauma into strength, and memory into prediction. The first move would be a thrust. “Ah, courageous and noble Karolus… it is time.” No sooner did the Demon King finish its declaration did a gleaming black sword appear mere inches before Karolus’s throat. Had the young emperor not stepped to the side beforehand his life would’ve been taken right there. The second move would be a horizontal slash. Karolus dropped to the ground as quickly as he could and watched as the Demon King’s sword narrowly missed his head. Every step he made was done so while tottering precariously on that razor-thin precipice of death. His back plunged into the mud and he quickly rolled away, smearing his armor in dirt. Undignified, daresay even filthy, was Karolus’s appearance now, especially as the holy and venerated lord of a nation. Yet against such a menacing foe and with the fate of his people on the line, maintaining decorum was a useless endeavor. Rather than pride, he fought with cunning. He strove to survive this duel by exhausting every sliver of knowledge and instinct he could muster. The third move would be a stomp. The Demon King raised its boot and sent a shockwave rumbling deep below. Karolus jumped up just in time to avoid falling. In the air however he had nowhere left to dodge. The final move would be an upward cleave. A brief light flashed across Karolus’s eyes. With both hands, the Demon King gripped his implement, stamped his foot, and then swung in an arc. The wind howled in terrifying squalls. It was as if the world’s fabric was being split apart by the seams in the wake of the sword’s trail, and soon the young emperor would be consumed by it, leaving not a trace of his existence as everything disappeared into the umbral void. But intimidating though the display was, Karolus was the one person who knew its weakness, the habit he had never been able to break regardless of how he trained. That one slight opening, when his wrists were exposed. Karolus gripped the Joyeuse, spun, and then severed the thing’s hand with one fluid slash. A spurt of rotted blood flew out from the stump. For the first time, the Demon King was well and truly taken aback, but it had not a moment to accept its new handless state before Karolus swiped the other sword and then lunged in with both aimed at its chest. “Once in an age long passed, I, too, tried to rid myself of this quirk. Yet as I fought many more enemies, that wariness dulled with time, for there was not a soul who took advantage of it. No one was there to threaten me into improving; and so I mindlessly repeated the same movements, along with its weaknesses.” T