Reborn as an Yandere : Yandere X Yandere

The Knight of Death, or the Knight of Betrayal. One who has lost all honor.

The creature known as a Death Knight carried more derogatory titles than perhaps any other monster.

It was only natural. These beings had once been knights—sworn defenders of humanity—yet they had fallen, becoming monsters that preyed upon the very people they once protected. Sustaining themselves by slaughtering their own kind, they were traitors to humanity, forsakers of honor, the very definition of a true monster.

To knights, Death Knights were a stain upon chivalry, a blight that had to be eradicated the moment they were encountered.

...And yet, despite that, records of Death Knights being slain remained woefully scarce.

The reason?

It was simple—Death Knights retained their memories and skills from life. Not only that, but they also possessed the ability to learn.

If there was one thing that set humans apart from monsters, it was the ability to wield technique. But Death Knights turned that strength on its head. They were monsters that could wield techniques, and worse still, they only grew stronger as time passed.

Thus, when a Death Knight had lived for centuries, it could no longer be classified as just a monster—it had ascended to the ranks of the most powerful beings in existence.

They had reached heights of swordsmanship that even most knights never attained. They could wield stolen life force as if it were aura, using it to fuel regenerative abilities and enhance their already terrifying endurance.

For these reasons, slaying a Death Knight was no mere battle—it was a trial by fire, a challenge even the most prestigious knightly orders had to stake their very survival upon.

But this was no ordinary Death Knight.

This one had lived for centuries—and then, it had been granted the power of a Land God.

No longer just an undead warrior, it had become something far more grotesque, a chimera—a being of nightmarish, unnatural power.

This was not a monster that could simply be called strong.

It was the strongest.

It was the worst.

In truth, the fact that Garnok and the Hundred Specters Shield had fought against it this long without a single casualty was an incredible achievement in itself.

Because the Death Knight Chimera was an abomination beyond compare.

CRACK!

...Or so it should have been.

Hoo.

The blades and spearheads of the Death Knights moved like living creatures—like serpents twisting through the air, like butterflies flitting unpredictably.

In the time it took for an eye to blink, their weapons shifted in ways beyond human comprehension. It would have been no surprise if one's throat or heart were pierced simply by losing track of their movements for an instant.

And yet—

Hoo. Hoo.

“...So this is how it is.”

A man with fierce crimson eyes easily evaded them.

Even as more than five Death Knights unleashed the culmination of their lifetimes—countless sword strikes born from centuries of battle—he...

“Hmph. Sloppy.”

Tap.

With nothing more than a casual flick of his blade, he shattered their assault.

It did not matter how powerful an attack was—if it never landed, it was meaningless.

"So, you weren’t particularly talented in life either, huh?"

Rattle!

"Did I hit a nerve?"

Rattle...!

The Death Knights let out hissing, wrathful breaths.

Just like aura, their corrupt life force radiated outward. It was a vile energy, like murky, stagnant water—more fittingly, it was no different from the demonic miasma of Hell itself.

Dark Aura.

The essence of the underworld itself surged around them.

Already overwhelming, the presence of the Death Knights now grew even more menacing—

Crack!

"I told you already. You're sloppy. Why is it so hard to understand?"

Flash!

But even as the Death Knights raged, the spear-wielding knight before them only regarded them with a faint smirk—

As though their power were nothing to him.

They didn’t even realize when he had attacked. The force of his strikes slammed into them with such speed that their bodies had no time to react.

Boom!

Rattle!?

It was an unbearable sensation, like being a drum struck during a performance.

It was humiliation.

It was helplessness.

Since becoming monsters, they had never once felt such weakness. Yet now, they could not even follow their enemy’s movements.

They were being toyed with.

The battle could only be described in one word—mockery.

And in that moment, the Death Knights recalled the most wretched memories from their past lives.

The reason they had fallen into monstrosity in the first place—

- Unfair talent!

The kind of wretched prodigies who rendered all effort meaningless.

The kind that crushed fifty years of training in a single day.

Because of them, these knights had spent their lives drowning in humiliation and despair.

But after becoming monsters, those so-called prodigies had fallen before them like insects.

No matter how great their talent, in the end, they were nothing but fragile flesh—

So why, then...

Crunch!

...Why were their bodies being torn apart like insects now?

Splatter!

"Disgusting. Just looking at you makes me sick."

The crimson-eyed knight clicked his tongue as he carved through dozens of Death Knight Chimeras, reducing them to mere scraps of their former forms.

It was as though merely acknowledging their existence left a foul taste in his mouth.

“Hah....”

“Wh-what... this can’t be....”

The Hundred Specters were at a loss for words.

For them, these Death Knights had been enemies they had risked their lives to fight against.

Traitors to humanity they might have been, but their skill had been undeniable.

Yet now, watching them fall so effortlessly, they felt nothing but emptiness.

They knew it was wrong to think this way, but...

"Perhaps this is why knights fall to darkness."

For just a moment, they thought they could understand—just a little—why these knights had succumbed to despair.

“...That’s the Cursed Wolf....”

Raq de Duron.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Galahad’s champion, the knight ranked among the greatest of his generation.

The Hundred Specters had spent the past five years honing their skills, convinced that there was no opponent they could not face.

But now...

For the first time, they felt their confidence waver.

At that moment—

“Hah. Feeling a bit hollow, are you? That’s only natural. But don’t let it turn into despair—or worse, jealousy.”

“C-Captain....”

As if reading their thoughts, Garnok spoke with a knowing tone.

“Do not compare yourselves to others. No matter how far ahead someone may be, you must move at your own pace. If you lose sight of yourself and try to rush forward recklessly... the outcome will not be pleasant.”

His eyes turned to the shredded remains of the Death Knights.

“...And you may very well meet a fate as wretched as theirs.”

“......”

"More than anything, now is not the time for jealousy. If anything, you should feel gratitude toward the reinforcements who saved us. Do not mistake your priorities."

"Y-yes, sir!"

It was a sharp reprimand, a low but firm admonition that settled into their hearts. The Hundred Specters quickly turned their focus back to the battlefield ahead.

Indeed, they had no time to wallow in helplessness when they should be grateful for the arrival of such powerful reinforcements.

If anything, rather than dwelling on their own inadequacy, they should use that time to cut down one more monster!

“...Your eloquence remains as sharp as ever, Sir Garnok.”

"Eloquence? Bah, it's nothing special. If one's martial prowess is lacking, at least their words should carry weight, no? Haha."

"...You're mocking me."

What nonsense.

Lacking in martial prowess?

"If there is anyone in this world who would call the Deputy Commander of the White Dragon Knights lacking in skill, they are nothing short of a fool."

"Haha, and what am I supposed to do if you bring up names from a bygone era?"

Garnok merely shrugged, as if hearing that name brought back old memories.

But then—

"Nostalgia can wait. The younger generation is putting on quite the show, so I ought to make myself useful as well, no?"

"I shall look forward to it."

"And you? Are you off to find your own battlefield?"

"That is the plan... Though it seems the most glorious battlefield has already been claimed."

"Hohoho!"

Garnok couldn't help but laugh.

Even after utterly annihilating dozens of Death Knights, this man was still unsatisfied.

How utterly absurd.

And yet—

"Yes, this is what it means to be a knight!"

It was a sight to admire.

The young knight before him, and the other one...

—The one who had thrown himself headfirst into battle against the God of War himself, laughing all the while.

KWOOM!

Garnok’s gaze turned to the distance.

There, clad in black, was the Black Lion—charging straight toward the battlefield’s greatest threat.

Foolish, reckless beyond belief.

And yet...

"Ah, to be young."

It was a recklessness even he could envy.

* * *

Drip, drip...

"......."

Ninshubur furrowed his brow as he stared at the massive man charging toward him.

He had intended to deflect the attack.

But—

"The /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ sheer force behind it is absurd."

It was an impact so overwhelming that even trying to deflect it completely was impossible.

Ninshubur was still reeling from encountering a knight who had destroyed his arm earlier that day—he had not expected to face another of this caliber so soon.

"...This era is strange. In any given age, even a single true hero is considered a miracle."

"So why are there three of them?"

Ninshubur’s gaze sharpened as he focused on the hulking warrior before him.

A force more overwhelming than even the giants—

"KHAHAHAHA! The world truly is vast! I had thought myself quite strong after training anew from the ground up, but it seems I am still lacking! HAHAHA!"

The man’s laughter boomed like a war drum, so powerful it felt as though it could rupture one’s eardrums.

"Ah, I only gave you my ‘first greeting’ but forgot to introduce myself. Ancient specter, it is an honor! My name is Maximus Iron de Lionel!"

BOOM!

"I AM THE BLACK LION OF THE NORTH!"

The Northern champion, his frame now 1.5 times larger than the day before, introduced himself with a grin that could only be called gleeful.

Ninshubur tilted his head slightly.

"...A greeting?"

"A warrior's greeting is done with blades, of course!"

"...Are you insane?"

"Not insane—just logical. Take note of this, ancient specter."

"......."

For the second time in his life, Ninshubur found himself at a loss for words.

What was this man?

Were all the heroes of this era completely mad?

Each and every one of them was an enigma.

More savage than the warriors of old.

More chaotic than the ancient warlords.

Even the God of War himself shuddered at the madness that possessed this era’s warriors.