Berserk: The Prophet

Chapter 314 Father and Son Sword Fight

"...Thank you for informing me, sir."

Just then, a guard rushed over and whispered a few words in the young man's ear. The young man's expression changed slightly, and he said to Green, "I have important business to attend to, so I'll take my leave first." With that, he led the guard away quickly.

Green watched his departing figure, a sense of unease creeping into his mind, wondering what important matter had occurred. Jacob walked over and patted Green on the shoulder. "Don't overthink it. Let's get back to business."

Green nodded and went back to his stall to start selling.

After that commotion, the stall's business actually improved a lot. After a busy day, they sold several bags of bread and wheat.

"...Sigh." Green waited until sunset, and although business was good, he didn't see the person he wanted to see, so he couldn't help but sigh.

Sales were good; nearly two thousand copper coins were sold in one day. However, it would take at least ten days to half a month to sell this cartload of bread and wheat at this rate. There were still more than ten bags of bread and twenty bags of wheat to go.

"Closing up, closing up! There's a curfew tonight. No one is allowed to go out. Get back to your lodgings before dark. All citizens, please go home..." The guards on the street began urging people to go home, spreading the news from one place to another. Today, everyone learned that Yuri's wife, Miss Diana, had been assassinated.

...They were supposedly assassins sent by Juda.

Green reluctantly began packing up his stall, still thinking about the girl. It was a pity he hadn't seen her today; he had come to Wyndam specifically to see her.

I wonder if that guy Kadi is still rotting in the sewers. I'll go check on him later.

.........

Meanwhile, on the other side of Wyndam, in a small house in a wealthy neighborhood, an old man lay on his bed, already nearing the end of his life, when he fell seriously ill and caught a cold.

“Young master, no matter what your father thinks, I still hope that you can devote yourself to the career you love.”

The old man's name was Ciridom. He had also participated in the assassination attempt last night. The child he had watched grow up... had actually turned into that inhuman, grotesque creature.

...The burning desire for revenge was threatening to consume him, and the more pain he felt, the more resentful he became.

He couldn't even see his son face to face one last time. When they met for the last time, Faircody was wearing an iron mask to cover his unrecognizable face.

“Grandpa Hildemon... Father didn’t force me to do anything. This is my own will. However, I will not choose to restore the country. That country itself has no meaning to me.”

"What I truly want is to rely on my own hands, whether it's to obtain, to seize, or to create..."

"What I want is a country that truly belongs to me." As he said this, the boy's pure blue eyes gazed at the castle outside the window, as if nothing could be more alluring.

Looking into the boy's determined eyes, Hildemon felt a mixture of relief and a sigh. That boy had always been like that; once he discovered something he loved, he would relentlessly pursue it, like an eagle eager to seize its prey.

"Young Master, I am very happy that you have such ambitions."

"However, being too persistent is not always a good thing. If you have such aspirations, if you want to become that kind of man, the hardships along the way are unimaginable to ordinary people."

The silver-haired boy gripped the old man's calloused right hand tightly. "I'm not afraid. I will realize my dream step by step and become the new protagonist engraved in the storybook. My deeds should be even more widely known than the story of Moon Knight."

“It sounds incredible, but I have a feeling about it.” The silver-haired boy took out the bright red Behemoth from his chest, the incredible mysterious pendant hanging around his neck.

As if sensing its master's gaze, the eyes on that distorted human face, like its master's, shone with a clear blue light, surveying everything around it.

...that ancient cursed object.

Hillidmon was lost in memories of yesterday, of the sword fight between Felcodi, who arrived in an iron mask and black robe to see his son one last time.

The child also showed amazing talent under his tutelage. Although he had only practiced for three short years, he was in no way inferior to Faircody when he was a child, and even slightly surpassed his father.

Although the final confrontation ended with Griffith's hand being stabbed, the fact that the young master, who was not yet ten years old, could fight that adult for several rounds already made him one of the best among his peers.

"The strength isn't enough; let's go faster."

"...On the battlefield, you must be prepared to kill the enemy. The enemy is the enemy, and the enemy has no mercy."

The man showed no mercy and stabbed Griffith's palm. He could see that the young master was in so much pain that he almost dropped the sword.

"Keep fighting! Putting down your sword means death!!" Felcodi showed no mercy just because his opponent was a child and his own son, and his offensive continued unabated.

Griffith had no choice but to hastily engage in battle, suffering repeated defeats, yet he gritted his teeth. The pain, however, overwhelmed his entire being, making each swing of his sword feel incredibly heavy.

"Clang—" The blade of the military knife broke in two, and Griffith's wrist bled profusely. He slumped to the ground, his right hand trembling uncontrollably.

"...You still have a long road ahead of you, but I don't have much time left." The man left with those words.

Hildemon snapped out of his reverie, looked at the boy, and said earnestly, "Young master, while Behelit is mysterious, since it's called a 'cursed object,' it inevitably comes with unknown dangers. Everything comes at a price; you must use it with caution."

Griffiths nodded and carefully put away the bright red Behemoth. "I understand, Grandpa Hillidmund. I will handle it well."

Three years can change a person a lot. Hillidmon's life was already as fragile as a candle in the wind. He really hoped that the boy in front of him could just be an ordinary child, get married, start a career, and live a happy and peaceful life.

"...As intelligent as you are, I think you should be able to guess who that person was practicing swordsmanship with you, right?" Hildemon felt his vision blurring, and he could not even see the boy's face clearly.

“...Hmm, I guessed it, that’s probably my biological father, right?” Griffiths calmly sat on the edge of the bed and responded to Hillidmund, still vaguely remembering his father’s voice and appearance.