The Successor of the Underworld is a Cheat Player

The Successor To The Underworld Is A Cheat Player 100

“The Walnut Sundries Shop.”

Sain said.

“You’ve mentioned that before.”

It was different from the time with Galio.

“If I grow too old to wield a hammer, I plan to retire and build a forge named Walnut and live on.”

“That’s right.”

When Irené had completely disappeared, the old man, his frail body hunched over, continued speaking.

“Instead of a forge, it became a sundry shop, too shabby, almost passed by.”

The intersection of Sain and Galio was very small.

In a life of over a thousand, there had been a slight connection, but nothing more.

Originally, in the past, Galio never saw himself becoming a formal clergyman, let alone reaching the rank of Archbishop.

But now, before his eyes.

“Do you remember?”

The old man was different.

“How did you survive?”

He was one of his people.

Even if it was a game.

“But no longer able to wield a hammer, I ended up setting up this sundry shop.”

He wasn’t supposed to be in a place like this.

In a life of over a thousand.

Just like in the game of Shuteri, there were guides leading lives, whom they called masters.

The old man before him had once been Sain’s master, friend, and disciple.

“It’s been a while, Artel.”

Artel, the Empire’s greatest blacksmith.

Why on earth was he in a place like this?

“You haven’t changed either.”

Gritting his teeth, Sain clenched his fist.

The old man, Artel, had been blind from the start.

Being blind as a blacksmith could be a major disadvantage, yet throughout his life of over a thousand, he had always become the Empire’s top blacksmith.

– Insight.

The eye of the mind.

That’s why Artel could clearly recognize Sain, even though his appearance had changed from the past.

“…”

For a moment, Sain and Artel gazed at each other in silence.

If it were a previous life, who knows what might have happened.

However, the only thing Sein, a man who made distinctions clear, could say was that.

“I’m sorry.”

An apology.

“For letting you… die in a place like this.”

NPCs that were most precious to Sein.

Among them was Arthel.

“Your Majesty. It’s in the past. By the way, how long will you be standing here? Would you like to come in and talk?”

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He wasn’t one to chase wealth and honor.

-He will become the greatest blacksmith.

Making weapons was his everything.

-It’s a dream to make the best weapon.

-I will become the best.

In any relationship, Arthel remained consistent.

-So someday you.

-You will.

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The promise Arthel made when they formed a bond.

-I will make a sword to wield.

Sein looked at Arthel.

“You’ve aged a lot.”

“A hundred more years have passed.”

In fact, being alive was astonishing to a certain degree.

“How are you still alive?”

“Have you forgotten that some dwarf blood runs through me?”

Ah, that was it.

Mixed in with Arthel was the blood of dwarves, a race thought to have perished in the past like demons.

“The lifespan of dwarves is longer than that of humans. Although the blood mixed in me isn’t very strong, it’s thanks to that.”

“…A granddaughter?”

“A humble descendant. There was nothing I could do.”

Sein looked at Arthel’s hands.

Not the walnut tree forge, but Arthel who had set up a general store.

-Unable to lift a hammer…

That was true.

As he was blind from the start, his eyes that had gone distant didn’t bother him.

But what about those hands that had crumpled beyond repair?

“….Why.”

How did it happen.

“I was greedy.”

Arthel closed his mouth there.

“Please don’t apologize. It doesn’t suit Your Majesty.”

“I, had that kind of image… I suppose.”

Sigh.

Only then did a smile appear on Arthel’s lips.

“There were times when I harbored great resentment. Times when I wanted to ask, ‘Why did you do that?’”

Naturally, he would.

What Saint destroyed was an empire and a continent.

Their world, itself crumbled.

“But I understand.”

What.

“That Your Majesty loved strategy more than anyone else.”

“……”

“You were always running as if chased by something, never stopping to rest. If something blocked your path, you would break through and keep running.”

Arthel spoke.

“Some feared the cruelty you might show, worried you might become a tyrant due to your audacity. But I saw.”

Deep within, the eye of the heart.

“That more than anyone else, you loved strategy.”

“……”

“I thought there must be a reason.”

A reason.

Just a desire to see the ending.

“But I won’t ask.”

Arthel didn’t delve deeper into the secret that Saint couldn’t speak.

“Arthel, come with me.”

He knew it was an impudent request.

“I am in Demorus now.”

“…… Demorus.”

“He was there too. The grandson of Parriac.”

“It was Pargen.”

“I can mend your hands. I will take care of your grandchildren too.”

That seemed to be the only atonement Arthel could offer.

“Please don’t. It’s not like Your Majesty.”

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“……”

“But.”

Saint saw it.

The light dawning in Arthel’s eyes.

“How glad I am to see you again.”

It was desire and hope.

“I didn’t fail to fix my hand. I just chose not to.”

It seemed like vitality was returning to the old man who was on the brink of death.

It was something he had seen before.

“There’s no longer a reason to make a prosthetic.”

Sector 8, the blacksmith Aaron he had met in Borfeo.

Everything had been broken, he had lost his will, but in a moment of despair, he found hope and regained his youth.

“But I can lift the hammer again.”

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“They say your grandfather’s hand ended up like that because he was searching for something in the burning forge.”

Outside the general store, a man leaning against the wall handed Irne a candy.

“It’s something very precious.”

She seemed to know why Artel didn’t mention it.

On the day the empire was falling, crumbling into flames, he couldn’t let go of the prosthetic he was making inside.

And that must have been the carnage created by the man.

“Your granddaughter?”

“Isn’t it cautious not to ask that kind of question?”

“Well, I’m just not used to it.”

Irne chuckled and stuck out her tongue.

Whether it was a grape-flavored candy, her tongue had turned blue.

“He’s too old to be your granddaughter.”

“She’s not my granddaughter.”

Artel’s child.

“Your real children, they said they buried them together when your hand turned out like that.”

“Damn.”

“You curse too?”

Irne let out a sigh.

“Anyway, she’s not your granddaughter. What did you say…? Oh, even though she’s not your granddaughter, you decided to raise her because the same blood runs through her veins.”

Artel had saved Irne, who had been sold around as a slave.

It had been quite some time since then…

“Wait.”

The man looked at Irne.

The same blood.

And the things Irne had shown.

If he had any doubts when he met Artel.

“What?”

“H-how old are you?”

“I’m twenty-two.”

Fuck.

Sein almost spat out the curse he was about to say.

“Big sister, right?”

At least for this occasion.

“Do you know what kind of face you have? I won’t have you calling me big sister.”

“…I’m not your big sister.”

Physically, she may seem younger, but her actual age is much higher.

“Human beings, it’s what’s inside that matters.”

With a soul older than her physical age, it’s fine.

“So, who are you? There were only two guests with Grandfather and a face.”

“Two?”

“Don’t ask. I don’t know either. We couldn’t even have a conversation back then. We were really young.”

Irne said.

“I haven’t heard of anyone like you among the central nobles.”

Irne must still be cautious around Sein for that reason.

Like a relationship between a grandfather and someone familiar.

Clearly young in age, yet harboring some kind of secret.

“Sein Demorus.”

“Ah, Sein Demor….”

Irne’s eyes widened.

“Demorus…?!”

The genuine experts of the continent that even the central nobles wouldn’t dare to provoke.

“If you’re Sein….”

And the name Sein.

She had heard of it before.

“If you need help, sell my name. Convince Artel to bring in Demorus if you can. Treat me like family.”

“As Demorus?”

“No.”

Sein said.

“Something even more valuable.”

“….”

“Isn’t there anyone bothering you, pestering you?”

At that moment, Irne felt it again.

What the connection to the Dark Zone meant.

“There is.”

And Irne was a woman who knew how to hold onto it.

The Second Zone, seeming to be nothing but peaceful.

But that peace was only possible in a national perspective; ultimately, it was where people lived.

“You owe Irne thirty thousand gold?”

Late at night, when everyone was asleep.

Sein looked down at the man kneeling in a room that was unmatched in its splendor.

“Ugh!”

He was bound all over and even had a gag in his mouth.

Swiftly, Sein removed the gag.

“What is the meaning of this!”

The man shouted.

“Is anyone there!”

The guy was Garcia, who released debts in Zone 2.

Debts released in a place where back alleys did not exist.

“No one’s here.”

“Do you know who I am!”

“Garcia.”

“…Do you know who’s behind me!”

Naturally, nobles had to be involved.

“Viscount Aipar?”

“…Even knowing that, you’re doing this!”

In Zone 2, only the Empire and nobles had the proper power.

Elsewhere, equipment or even a simple weapon was not easily obtainable.

“Are you trying to become some third-rate underworld figure!”

Sein scratched his head.

“Or perhaps someone even higher than Viscount Aipar behind you…!”

“Both might be true.”

Sein sat crookedly, facing Garcia eye to eye.

“Demorus.”

“…!”

“There’s probably Lord Carnima behind me.”

“Carnima… Lord Marquis?”

Garcia’s face turned pale.

Impersonating a figure of authority was a common occurrence.