The name "Eugurd Volakia, the Thorn Emperor" was known not only within the borders of the Volakia Empire, but far and wide across the entire world.
The reason for this lay in the tragic love tale preserved in the empire's history—Iris and the King of Thorns.
The story of the kind-hearted girl Iris and the Volakia Emperor feared as the "King of Thorns"—their meeting and their parting—struck the hearts of countless readers, its tragic finale amplifying that impact all the more.
Their fated meeting, and their first parting. After that, betrayed by his retainers and cast from the throne, the "King of Thorns" reunited with Iris, and together the two took up arms in rebellion. Told across long and winding ages with the narrative reshaped from actual history, the tale still preserved without change the most vital core of all: that the two had loved each other deeply.
And so the unchanging love story of "Iris and the King of Thorns" continued to be beloved.
Yet precisely because of that, the tale told as a passionate, heart-rending romance unconsciously obscured the true face of history.
Iris and the "King of Thorns"—the two did not spend their days nurturing love in peace.
In a turbulent era, in an empire rife with betrayal and lamentation, they lived days on the razor's edge, fighting to seize the future they desired, burning with a love like flame.
And in truth, Iris and the "King of Thorns" overturned the entirety of the Volakia Empire, ultimately succeeding in seizing it. —Of course, the tragedy that followed went without saying.
But before that tragedy struck, the two had indeed accomplished their goal.
With her compassionate heart and selfless devotion, Iris won the allegiance of many. At her side, the "King of Thorns" achieved feats worthy of a Volakia Emperor.
Feats worthy of a Volakia Emperor—this was the iron-blooded creed of the empire, unchanged since ancient times: proof of strength.
"Eugurd Volakia, the Thorn Emperor" was the strongest emperor in the history of the empire.
"Son of a bi—!!!"
With a thunderous roar that seemed to split his throat open,
The instant it left his hands, the chain-sickle erupted into crimson flames in midair.
Had he hesated for even a heartbeat, those flames would have consumed him too. His instincts grasped this, and his fur bristled. But there was no time for relief.
"A little pup dancing well. But if it's a dance you want, mine are far more entertaining."
In a flat, emotionless voice laced with mockery, crimson trajectories bloomed like flowers and came streaking toward him.
What swung was the very weapon that had caused the chain-sickle to ignite on contact—the worst possible nightmare of a blade, one that wouldn't even permit you to parry. As befitting a treasure sword bearing the empire's name, its sharpness alone wasn't the problem; its special properties were equally troublesome. If he could, he'd love to forge a masterpiece like that with his own hands.
"At least let Lord Damn see it up close!"
A treasure sword that only its rightful owner could wield—opportunities to see one in person were exceedingly rare.
As he spat out his grievance about the treatment afforded a mere general, Groovy used the small stature his opponent mocked to his advantage, dodging the crimson slashes with agile footwork—evading, evading, evading again.
When you can't take the hit, you dodge. Primitive against this enemy, but the optimal play. If Goz or Moguro had been here, they would have tried to tank it, gotten burned to ash, and that would have been that.
The streets around him caught fire from the shockwave of the slashes; even as the acrid stench of burning seared his nostrils, Groovy evaded every last crimson arc. But he still couldn't catch his breath.
Even after dodging the "Sun Sword" that could incinerate the world, the next black flash cleaved it in two.
"—!"
Even his habitual stream of curses dried up.
Launched from the momentum of the "Sun Sword's" consecutive strikes, the "Cursed Sword's" slash whirled past, grazing mere centimeters above Groovy's head as he flattened himself to the ground.
The aftermath of that slash didn't end at sparing his neck.
Along the blade's path, everything within dozens of meters was mowed down in its wake—the Imperial Capital's streets tilted at a diagonal, and buildings sheared clean through toppled one after another behind him.
Such preposterous cutting power—that was the might of the blade called "Cursed Sword" Murasame, so devastatingly sharp that crafting a scabbard for it was a challenge in itself.
The "Cursed Sword" that defied reason naturally demanded an equivalent price from its wielder. For an ordinary person, a single swing could cost them their life—the realm it occupied was one of madness.
"Waving that thing around like it's damn nothing...!"
"Even as we face each other, you concern yourself with me? Then worry not. Creatures as insignificant as you need only fret about yourselves. I have my star for that."
"Talking to you is like talking to a damn wall!"
In his right hand, the "Sun Sword" Volacius. In his left, the "Cursed Sword" Murasame.
As far as Groovy's imagination could reach, the enemy bore the worst possible pair of blades. Though he hadn't given a name, anyone who could hold the "Sun Sword" without being incinerated was its legitimate wielder.
On top of that, green hair crowned with a wreath of thorns, and the fact that this was a corpse walking as an undead—the worst possibility surfaced in Groovy's mind regarding the identity of this worst two-sword wielder, and his curses knew no end.
Therefore— "Eugurd Volakia..."
"Even without being called, I know what I am. But that you recognized me across the passage of time—that much, I shall commend."
With instruments of instant death in both hands, he called out in a voice that seemed to squeeze the air from the space between them, targeting the opponent he'd driven back.
Across from him, standing atop the ruins of a burning building, the corpse inclined its chin solemnly in acknowledgment of Groovy's call.
At the corpse—Eugurd's response, Groovy snorted derisively.
"For what it's worth, among the damn generals, I'm actually the one who reads books. And if you'll damn well let me say it, I'm one of the 'Nine Divine Generals.'"
"The 'Nine Divine Generals'... Ah, that position still existed, did it?"
"Seems like it got wiped out in your time, though."
Whether interested or not, Eugurd's voice carried no inflection. Before him, Groovy reached behind his waist, drew two hand axes, and took his stance.
He still had plenty of "cursed gear." The problem wasn't how many pieces remained—it was how much life he had left.
Staring down Eugurd, Groovy glanced at his own chest in his peripheral vision. As before, transparent thorns burrowed into the chest where his heart should have been, writhing with sharp barbs.
He'd managed a makeshift countermeasure against the "Curse of Thorns"—the poison that coursed through his body, corroding his heart—but this reckless scheme was never designed for a drawn-out fight.
From all appearances, the "Curse of Thorns" was a powerful curse that indiscriminately engulfed a wide area centered on its caster. That was why he'd predicted the curse user would stay hidden, focused on maintaining the spell.
He'd been naive. Embarrassingly naive. His guess was dead wrong—the enemy wasn't hiding at all, but was instead brandishing devastating weapons head-on. No—the weapons were certainly devastating, but his struggle wasn't due to the weapons alone.
It was because the hand that wielded them possessed extraordinary power.
In the current Volakia Empire, the rank of "general" directly corresponded to the position of one of the "Nine Divine Generals."
This was a system revived by the current emperor, Vincent Volakia. Throughout history, it had risen and fallen repeatedly—but the first time the system of the "Nine Divine Generals" was lost was during the reign of none other than Eugurd Volakia.
Why had the "Nine Divine Generals" been abolished during Eugurd's reign?
The answer was— "—It was inevitable. They, weaker than I, sought to take the life of my star."
—Because the "Thorn Emperor" had personally executed every last one of the "Nine Divine Generals" of that era.
Of course, Groovy hadn't been among that generation's Nine, nor had there been transcendent beings like Cecilus or
In the end— "—We end this damn quick!"
"Stop piling filthy words atop one another. It is disrespectful."
Smashing through the slash-marked street, Groovy's body rocketed toward Eugurd.
With two hand axes in hand, it wasn't Groovy's weapons but his speech that Eugurd called out as the real offense, the ancient emperor calmly settling into a stance with the "Sun Sword." At that composed opponent, Groovy bared his teeth and brought his axes crashing down in a vertical chop.
Naturally, the blow was met and blocked by the "Sun Sword" raised in defense—which was exactly what he wanted.
"Hm."
The instant axe met "Sun Sword," Eugurd's face cracked. Literally.
A fissure ran along the cheek of that pale, composed visage—proof that Groovy's strike had landed.
"Did that sting, you piece of—?"
As the burning axe flew backward from the impact, Groovy grinned at Eugurd's perplexed expression.
He'd released the axe the moment it made contact with the "Sun Sword" to avoid the spread of flames—but the effect of this cursed gear didn't cut what it hit. Instead, it delivered an impact that struck through.
Originally designed to kill armored opponents in full plate and steel helms without removing their equipment, the axe's blade portion vibrated at microscopic frequencies. Even a momentary touch would transmit through flesh and blood, pulverizing bones and organs.
He wasn't sure how effective such damage would be against an undead—but— "Interesting. But if there's no follow-up—"
"Who says there isn't? I've got damn axes for days!"
Since two or four wouldn't be enough, Groovy drew even more axes, holding them in both hands. Hearing this answer, Eugurd raised an eyebrow slightly through his cracked face.
Groovy flung axes at him; Eugurd pivoted to avoid them and launched counter-slashes. Groovy dodged through the air and hurled axes in return.
"Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on!"
"—"
The howling Groovy and the silent Eugurd—a flurry of exchanges between them escalated into a fierce battle.
Whenever Groovy's cursed gear rained from every direction, Eugurd repaid the favor with a duet of "Sun Sword" and "Cursed Sword."
A fight where a single graze would tip the balance—it looked even on the surface. But in truth, Groovy was at a far greater disadvantage.
Remaining stamina, number of cursed gear left, lethality of each side's weapons—all of it favored Eugurd.
The potent poison flowing through his blood was whittling away at his life with every passing moment. The cursed gear he kept throwing would eventually run out. His gear could deal devastating damage on contact, but the enemy's swords meant death on contact.
Even to an untrained eye, who held the advantage was obvious—and between the two combatants themselves, even more so.
That was precisely why Groovy used his disadvantageous position to his favor.
"I'll show you something damn beautiful."
Groovy didn't consider himself exceptionally strong among the "Nine Divine Generals."
He'd once prided himself as the strongest in Volakia, but after Vincent summoned him and he laid eyes on those who shared the same rank of "general," that illusion shattered.
He wanted to be strong—but he didn't think he was an outlier, nor could he afford to be.
In raw power, he fell short of Cecilus. In explosive force, Arakiya. In versatility, Olbart. In intellect, Chisha. In capacity as a "general," Goz. In survivability, Moguro. In being beyond the pale, Yorna. In anti-army capability, Madeline. In anti-personnel capability, Barloy. He couldn't hold a candle to any of them.
That was Groovy's self-assessment—his ceiling as a "general."
But still, despite all that, there was one strength Groovy possessed that none of the others had.
—When it came to the sheer obsession of killing an opponent, and the ruthlessness of finding a way to do it, Groovy was the best.
"Guh—"
Mid-throw, a torrent of blood spilled from Groovy's bloodshot mouth.
The poison rampaging through his body had ruptured his blood vessels, which burst at various points throughout him and spilled outward. Seeing Groovy cough up blood, Eugurd's expression didn't change.
The opponent was an equally preeminent martial artist—he surely understood that Groovy was approaching while resisting the "Curse of Thorns" through some means, and that it was exacting a toll his body wouldn't sustain for long.
The vomiting of blood was merely confirmation of what he already knew.
Even without landing a blow, Groovy would collapse and die on his own. Yes—Eugurd, with his penetrating insight, should have seen that.
And yet, he couldn't dodge the blood mist that Groovy sprayed from his mouth.
"—"
Eugurd furrowed his brow slightly, using the "Sun Sword's" flames to evaporate the blood mist as he stepped back.
The blood contained traces of the poison Groovy had absorbed, but dousing in it would only inflict negligible damage on the enemy. His aim wasn't to corrode the opponent with poison.
It was to get his blood on Eugurd. —And with the sleeve he'd failed to cut through, he'd succeeded.
"Damn perfect setup."
The instant Groovy bared his blood-stained teeth in a grin, Eugurd's surroundings—all the countless hand axes he'd dodged until now—converged on him as though pulled by invisible threads.
Guided projectiles of the cursed gear "Blood Axe," locking on to their target through the medium of Groovy's blood.
"This is..."
Eugurd's eyes widened as he dodged the closing Blood Axes, only to see the ones he'd evaded circle around and come back again.
A storm of Blood Axes closing in from every direction. Eugurd dodged them with extraordinary physical ability—dodging, dodging, dodging—but unless he knocked them down, they would keep flying at him indefinitely, and eventually they would catch up.
And Groovy was far too impatient to wait for that.
"Wondering when it'll end? Let me give you the damn answer!"
What Groovy held wasn't more Blood Axes—it was the severed chain weight from the chain-sickle that the "Sun Sword" had burned in their first exchange.
The chain weight, modified with special treatment, he spun short and hurled at Eugurd's feet with the speed of an arrow while the emperor was desperately evading the Blood Axes.
"—!"
Eugurd caught the chain weight with the flat of the "Sun Sword," turning his wrist at the last moment.
His ability to distinguish this from a Blood Axe in the heat of the moment and judge that it was safe to block was masterful. But nothing in the arsenal of Groovy Gumlet, "Cursed Gear Master," was safe to touch.
The instant they collided, the chain weight glowed red, and a tremendous explosion engulfed Eugurd.
"Whoa—"
Tossed about by the blast and shockwave, Eugurd finally let out a groan and was blown backward. Even so, he righted his tumbling body mid-flight, immediately preparing for a follow-up attack.
At the reeling Eugurd, the momentarily stalled Blood Axes swarmed in.
One Blood Axe shatters bones. Two, the organs. Three or more, and life itself is crushed.
If ten or twenty rained down at once, even Eugurd could not endure.
So Groovy was certain he had killed him—and yet— "Be proud. You are stronger than any of the 'Nine Divine Generals' from my era."
In that instant, Eugurd's gaunt face was before Groovy's eyes.
A slash from the "Cursed Sword"—swung through with a full-body rotation—clipped Groovy's right ear, and a rising kick smashed into his solar plexus, sending his small body hurtling backward.
But even as he flew through the air, Groovy unbuckled his belt and drew a serpent-sword forged from fangs linked together, swinging it in a long, sinuous arc to sweep at Eugurd's head as the emperor pursued.
"Had there been a traitor of your caliber among them, my star's life might well have been in danger."
The serpent-sword undulated, its long, sinuous body lashing out like a coiled snake.
Eugurd dismantled it mercilessly with the "Cursed Sword," assessing Groovy's combat power against his own experience—and delivering this judgment from history's strongest emperor.
To honor that recognition, Groovy slammed his feet together and fired two grappling ropes from beneath his hem, aiming to shatter both of the emperor's shoulders.
"Even in this situation, you remain splendid."
Both his heels were sheared off along with the grappling ropes, and Groovy spat blood from the force of the kick—then tore the cloth wrapped around his neck and spread it in midair.
For an instant, it blocked both Groovy's and Eugurd's line of sight.
"Damn... you...!!"
Through that spread cloth, Groovy flicked the magic crystal he'd embedded in his throat, unleashing a concussive roar-wave at Eugurd—a vibration that shook the very atmosphere.
A sound-based attack from an invisible position—there was no dodging it.
But against that sound, Eugurd deployed the true power of the "Cursed Sword."
—There is a concept called "seizing the core."
It means to strike at the heart of things. Everything—every object, every phenomenon, even abstract concepts—possesses a "core" that defines its essence.
The "Cursed Sword" Murasame was a demon blade that bisected the "core" it perceived.
Once, Murasame had despised Groovy for melting itself down and reforging it. And to prevent Groovy's keen nose from ever tracking it down again, it had cut its own "core" of scent.
Since then, no one could pursue Murasame by smell any longer.
And now, Murasame severed the sound wave Groovy had unleashed.
Groovy heard the shattering of the magic crystal embedded in his own throat. The instant he realized it, the slash aimed to bisect Groovy himself— "—"
A sudden gust of wind saved the life that should have been cut in two.
"Whoa, that was a close one! I was just out for a walk and ended up saving your life, didn't I?"
The tall figure who appeared in the blink of an eye cradled Groovy—whose cursed gear had been systematically neutralized one by one and who had been a hair's breadth from being split in two—and announced this in a casual tone.
Neither Groovy nor Eugurd could conceal their shock at this sudden intruder.
Not only had he cut into the heart of this fierce battle—but he hadn't even been noticed until this very moment.
"You bastard..."
"Hey, don't push yourself. What got cut was the technique, but your voice caught the backlash too. If you force yourself to speak, you might never talk again."
Responding to Groovy's hoarse voice—which sounded as though it had passed through frozen blood—the intruder, having assessed exactly what happened, set Groovy down gently.
Then, narrowing his thread-thin eyes, the black-furred wolfman regarded Eugurd, who watched them with a cold gaze.
"So that's how it is. Cursed gear that pursues its target endlessly—such a handy thing, and you neutralized it with just one arm. And moreover—"
The wolfman paused mid-sentence. In his field of vision, Eugurd's missing right arm was regenerating.
As the wolfman had noted, at the precise instant the storm of Blood Axes erupted, Eugurd had severed his own right arm—sleeve and all—and avoided the attack entirely.
It wasn't that such a method of evasion was outside the realm of calculation, but losing an arm should have meaningfully slowed him down. Even accounting for the fact that he was an undead, that should have held true.
And yet Eugurd had shown no change in his movements before and after losing the arm.
That was beyond Groovy's expectations, and it was the wolfman's intervention that had prevented the fatal opening from costing him his life. —But what that implied was...
"Hey, Gutz..."
"...Did you just call me something bad?"
"The Thorns are..."
"I know, I know. You don't need to tell me—I'm well aware."
The wolfman tucked his chin in acknowledgment, then clamped a golden pipe between his teeth and lit the tip.
And then, letting the smoke curl upward, he lowered his voice slightly and continued.
"My, my. What a nasty curse user we've got here. —No love at all."
Seeing the same thing the wolfman saw, Groovy felt the same sentiment.
Eugurd, testing the sensation in his regenerated right arm—the ancient and mighty emperor holding the "Cursed Sword" in his left hand—had torn away his scorched jacket, singed by the blast.
—And on Eugurd's chest, the same "Curse of Thorns" that afflicted Groovy was at work.