Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer-Chapter 50: Mercius Seagrave

The moment the word left Percival’s lips, blue flames erupted from Percival’s hand, engulfing the sarcophagus in a silent, blue inferno.

Soon, however, the rest of the world around him was swallowed by the flames as well. The tomb, the light, the amateur carvings, all of it faded into a wash of blue.

A dark, grave blue.

Percival found himself standing in a concept of place, rather than a place itself.

Around him was a dull azure expanse that stretched into infinity. The ground beneath his boots was invisible, yet solid.

When he lifted his foot, it rippled like water at night.

Drifting through this emptiness were ribbons of light blue smoke, twisting and curling from the azure flames that burned in the far distance.

Then, from those distant flames, a figure approached.

The legend.

The Blade of Brackenbridge.

Mercius Seagrave.

He was a colossus. Taller even than Percival, with a bulky, husky build that spoke of his raw, unrefined power.

He had short, cropped dark hair and a thick beard that framed a rough, handsome face.

His eyes glowed with the same soulless blue as Percival’s Skeletons, and the blue flames crackled around the edges of his armor.

As Percival had predicted, Mercius was wearing the Descending Steel Lotus armor set.

In his right hand, he held the Paragon Blade, an S-Grade weapon of grave power, and on his left arm was the Paragon Shield, a mobile bastion.

Mercius halted a few paces away. Then, he fell to one knee.

Percival, overwhelmed as he was, fought to maintain his composure.

"My name is Mercius Seagrave," the Brackenbutcher boomed. His voice reverberated in the void, louder than Percival anticipated.

"I was a Lvl 131 Knight. And I held the record, once, for the Knight with the most Demonspawn kills in the history of the Realm."

As he spoke, the light blue smoke around them began to thicken and swirl. It formed moving images, displaying what he spoke.

"I was born into House Seagrave," Mercius continued.

The mist formed the image of a crumbling manor and a man drinking himself to death.

"A minor noble family of Valoris. My life was not gilded. My father squandered our wealth in court intrigues, trying to buy status he did not earn. He left me nothing but a name stained by failure. I had to climb through grit and blood, not privilege."

The smoke shifted violently. It showed a younger Mercius, battered and bloody, standing over the corpse of a beast, his armor dented.

"When I Awakened, I began my journey in earnest. I earned respect by standing where others fled. I learned the way of the Knight not in a classroom, but in the mud. I cleared hundreds of Gate Worlds. I stopped migrations that threatened to swallow provinces."

The smoke expanded, forming a chaotic scene of war. A ruined fortification. A lone warrior surrounded by a sea of dripping monsters.

"In the Battle of Brackenbridge," Mercius said, his voice heavy with memory, "I became a legend. My men were dead. I should have retreated, but I fought through waves of Demonspawn alone. My blade split their dreadful flesh. My shield broke their ugly horns."

Percival watched the smokey reenactment. It was brutal. He watched Mercius slaughter and decimate.

Different from him, Mercius fought like a brute with a slight sprinkle of tactics. He was like a blend of Swordsman and a Berserker.

"By the end, demon corpses paved the ruins. But so did my blood."

The smoke showed three towering figures descending from the sky: Demon Knights.

"I was overwhelmed when three Demon Knights descended upon me together. Even then... I dragged one to hell with me before I fell."

The smoke dissipated slowly, leaving only the image of a grave being dug by weeping soldiers.

"My comrades carried what was left of me and entombed me beneath the ruins. They gave me a warrior’s burial. Songs were written about Mercius Seagrave. Songs that history, in time, forgot."

Mercius raised his gaze to Percival.

"You have summoned me with the intent to own my soul as a soldier," the ghost said. "Does the knowledge of my history change your mind? Do you still seek my service?"

"Yes," Percival replied instantly.

Mercius nodded slowly, then bowed his head.

"You are the Lord of Bones and Souls," he intoned. "You are the King of the Dead. You are my Master by right."

He raised his gaze again. "But we cannot escape design. I willingly submit to you... yet, I cannot serve you until the Ritual has been completed."

Percival narrowed his eyes. "Then tell me, Mercius. What is your lingering desire? What is the unfinished business that you plead your Master to conclude on your behalf?"

Mercius stayed kneeling, but the smoke around him began to swirl again.

This time, the shapes were not of war, but of something softer. Maybe even sadder.

"I was betrothed," Mercius whispered.

The smoke formed the silhouette of a woman.

A truly elegant, beautiful woman.

"Her name was Alenya Crestveil, daughter of the then Duke of Brackenbridge. We loved one another fiercely. But politics is crueler than steel."

The smoke showed a scene of separation. The Duke shouting, a woman weeping, a door slamming shut.

"On the eve of my departure to Brackenbridge, the Duke annulled the engagement. I was considered ’too low-born’ after my family’s disgrace. I was unworthy of the Crestveil line."

Mercius’s spectral fists clenched.

"Alenya was forced to wed another nobleman for her family’s political gain. A man from the Highbard family. But I knew the Highbards. They were wolves, Master. Hungry for power and wealth, with no honor in their hearts."

The ghost looked up. He had an expression so tortured, it could have broken Percival’s caged heart.

"I died never seeing her again. When that Demonspawn’s claw pierced my heart, my final thought was not of the battle, nor of the Kingdom. It was of her."

"I abandoned her. I left her to the wolves."

There was silence for a short time as the smoke settled again.

"What I want more than anything," Mercius said, his voice trembling, "is to be certain that she is living a happy and comfortable life. I feared that she suffered in my absence. That fear... it corrodes my soul even in death."

He looked at Percival with pleading eyes.

"Seek her out, Master. Bear witness to her fate. Assure me that her life was good and full... that I did not abandon her to a cage of misery."

Percival’s eyes widened slightly.

This was a surprising turn of events.

The Great Brackenbutcher had a lover?

From what he read in the history books, Mercius was a stoic wall of iron, a man married to his shield.

This was his first time hearing of Alenya Crestveil.

"Very well," Percival said. "I will find out for you."

He paused, considering the timeline.

"But Mercius... you must know. It has been decades since you died. The Battle of Brackenbridge was a long time ago. It is very likely she is dead."

"No," Mercius said firmly. "Were she dead, Master, I would have seen her in the abyss. I would have sensed her spirit. I do not. She lives."

Percival considered this, then nodded. "Okay. I will find her."

"Thank you," Mercius’s head bowed lower, "Master."

Percival gazed down at him with narrowed, curious eyes.

"But is this truly all you want from me? Mere observation?" he asked the ghost.

"The Highbards... you called them wolves. If I find out that they have been treating her horribly? If I find out she has suffered all these years because of them... what then?"

Silence stretched in the void for a moment.

"If... that is the case..." Mercius finally spoke. He raised his gaze to his Master.

There was no more sorrow in his eyes. It had morphed into severe resentment and agony.

"...then I beg you, Master. Exterminate every member of the Highbard family from the face of the earth."