Chapter 67
Chapter 67
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>Translator: Lord First
>Chapter: 67
>Chapter Title: Saint Yansk University and the Chamber of Secrets (10)
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*
*Smack!*
The cheek is a mysterious thing. A slap can snap a person back to their senses or knock them out entirely. (Its primary application was usually the latter.)
Ivan was a highly skilled agent, and he succeeded precisely in bringing Elfihera to her senses.
“Ack… W-why…?”
“Snap out of it.”
“Snap out of it…? What are you talking about? I haven't lost my senses. I was just thinking about how to divide that up for your sake, you... you rude human...! No... 'rude' and 'human' are redundant.”
Even as she spouted nonsense, Elfihera kept glancing back at the pile of beard combs.
“What does that look like to you?”
“Huh? It's a treasure room, of course! Since I'm a merciful elf, I'll share it with you, half and half. Oh, but the Lorraine is off-limits. I have a specific use for it. You can't just eat it as is; I'll have to brew it for you. It's a very tricky ingredient….”
“To my eyes, it looks like combs.”
Ivan said nonchalantly to Elfihera, who had started muttering in Elvish again.
“Huh? Combs? What are you talking about all of a sudden?”
“Literally, combs for grooming hair.”
Ivan spoke as he pulled Elfihera's arm, slowly backing away.
“That's a trap.”
“A trap… uh… really? You see combs? But what kind of trap….”
“The kind that shows the observer what they desire most. Probably the same kind as the dream you had when you first arrived at this temple.”
“Does that make any sense…? What kind of life does a human have to live for their greatest desire to be a comb…? And not an aphrodisiac, with an elf right next to you?”
A terrible trap, indeed. To shatter an elf's mind like this.
But Ivan wasn't surprised. It was common knowledge that elves had an innate lack of character, which naturally meant they were a species with weak minds. Those with healthy minds do not consider other races inferior.
Ivan stared coldly at the hill of glittering combs.
If it's a trap, it must have a purpose.
He scanned the room from end to end, narrowing his eyes. Temptation always has a purpose.
A trap without intent cannot exist.
The pile of treasure lures its victims. Like the lantern on an anglerfish's head. Now, it was time to find the anglerfish's teeth.
‘The scent I smelled the moment the entrance opened.’
Then this is a trap that disrupts two senses: sight and smell.
The kind that dismantles the victim's subconscious guard with a pleasant aroma, then draws them in with a pile of treasure they desire.
“Elfihera.”
“Yes?”
“Do you still not feel any mana?”
“Uh, yes. If there was, I would have known it was a trap right away, but there's no sign of it at all.”
“Hmm.”
If it's not a mana-based mechanism, let's assume it's a physical trap.
Ivan closed his eyes, blocked his sense of smell, and slowly listened.
*Tsk, tsk, tsk...*
Beyond his closed eyes, sound reverberated, scattering in all directions. The sounds, bouncing off the terrain and objects, returned with different refractions, slowly beginning to give form to the space.
A basic application of echolocation.
In this wide room, there is 'a pile of something' and 'something jutting out'.
They are stationary objects. The chances of them attacking with hostile intent are low.
“In the pile of treasure you see, right in the center, do you see something sticking out?”
“Sticking out?”
“The shape doesn't matter. Just think about what comes to mind. When you first saw it, was there something you wanted to pick up first?”
“Ah, yes. If I had to say... it is sticking out. Since it's a plant, after all.”
“I see.”
Ivan opened his eyes. In the middle of the pile of beard combs, at the location of the 'jutting object' he had identified with echolocation, a single, exceptionally well-made comb was stuck in at an angle.
If this trap was designed to make one want to pull it out.
Ivan moved carefully, wary of his sense of touch. He could feel the combs crunching and breaking under his feet.
He strode over and grabbed the comb.
It was so well-crafted that he suddenly felt the urge to pull it out and take it with him. It was precisely to his taste: a simple shape with no particular ornamentation, yet possessing a beautiful, practical functionality.
Moreover, it was forged from steel, giving it a solid sense of reliability, and even had a small spring mechanism designed to be used as a dagger in an emergency.
He committed the shape to memory, just in case he wanted to commission one later, and then squeezed his eyes shut.
*Ssshhh...*
Then, he channeled mana into his nerves. So precisely that he could faintly feel the flow of air against his skin, even the vortex created by his own breath.
Thump, thump. He could hear his own heartbeat. Pushing his concentration to its absolute limit, he projected all his senses into his sense of touch.
He reached for the magnificent comb again. Slowly, with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel.
A cold touch. The distinct weight of metal. A grip of about 13 centimeters.
Applying slight pressure with his fingertips, he shook it minutely, deducing its remaining shape from the resistance he felt.
Only after gripping it tightly could he finally deduce its complete form.
“A sword... I see.”
“Huh?”
“A long, vertical piece of metal, stuck in something, designed to make you desperately want to pull it out. The heart of this trap, and its trigger. This is a sword.”
Ivan slowly opened his eyes.
He was standing on a pile of countless skeletons.
Both hands gripping the sword embedded in the chest of a black stone statue.
He wasn't surprised. He had already guessed as much from the feel of the 'combs' crunching under his feet when he heightened his senses.
That crunching sensation was less like small combs and more like bones.
“An illusion that dissolves the moment it's recognized. Not a physical trap.”
“What? But there's no mana at all...”
“Even without mana, there is one other condition that can manifest an illusion into reality, isn't there?”
It seemed Elfihera was still unable to see the trap's true nature. Otherwise, she wouldn't have reacted that way.
Ivan gripped the hilt and stared straight at the statue as he continued.
“Divinity. This trap is woven with divinity.”
Before him was a black statue in the shape of a kneeling, praying figure.
The material was marble, and a long steel sword was embedded at an angle in its chest. If it was a trap triggered by pulling it out, then this statue must be the subject of the seal.
Ivan stared at the statue, his hands still on the hilt.
The statue's black pupils rolled, turning to face Ivan.
[Correct.]
*
Mana permeates everything in the world—thicker in some places, fainter in others. If one had to define it, it's close to the source of all things.
Every object holds a certain amount of mana, as it naturally absorbs the mana scattered in the atmosphere.
But divinity is different. Divinity belongs only to the God of Light. That is, the Heavenly Lord.
It is a fragment of God that descends upon a priest during prayer. An unprecedented power that warriors and mages cannot dare to wield, a power whose source can neither be analyzed nor understood.
Therefore, one couldn't say something like, 'Tch, the divinity of a demon god...!' There is no basis for comparison. However, by observing the phenomenon and eliminating impossible conditions, one could arrive at a rational deduction.
‘Aleksandr was right.’
To think a sealed god actually existed. And beneath the academy, no less.
Is this the second stage? For the children of the Hero's Party?
No, the difficulty is too high for that. The first stage was difficult as well, but this is on a completely different level.
Perhaps it was meant to be a hidden event that would appear later. And through a series of coincidences, I've ended up uncovering it.
Ivan gripped the hilt and glared at the statue. An unprecedented power held him fast, as if refusing to let him look away or take his hands off the sword.
[In a world left with only those who grasp one truth from one phenomenon, and the sophists who preach it as the only truth, what great suffering it must have been to be born with the quality to perceive true wisdom. Child. I know your heart's burden.]
The statue's eyes warped into a strange shape as they looked at Ivan.
It was a bizarre smile, as if it were forcefully mimicking a human's.
Ivan stared at the statue expressionlessly, slowly tightening his grip. It still wouldn't move.
‘The Church would not have set a trap.’
Ivan was a man who always had to suspect and deduce from even the smallest clues. His entire life had forced that kind of thinking upon him. On the battlefield, nothing kills a soldier more easily than 'certainty'.
Therefore, Ivan could deduce it the moment he saw the trap. Assuming 'something' was sealed in this place, there would be no reason to set a trap that cleverly manipulates perception to encourage its release.
The conclusion, then, is simple. Two thousand years ago, this seal had no such trap.
All kinds of 'structures' have an unavoidable lifespan. Ruins without continuous maintenance are bound to crumble. For that reason, if this seal had also 'loosened' in some sense...
And in that time, the sealed 'something' exerted its influence, planting some kind of trap in these ruins...
To guide someone to completely undo its own seal. And if it wasn't even a trap that used mana...
If one could deduce these conditions, anyone who couldn't grasp the full picture was no Earthling. All Earthlings know this kind of cliché. That is, 'common sense'.
On 21st-century Earth, a situation like this is called 'an ancient evil god sealed in an underground dungeon.' It's a scenario that usually appears in hack-and-slash action RPGs.
[Your thoughts are correct.]
The statue continued, wearing that bizarre smile.
[Yes. Your reasoning is accurate, and the thoughts that will follow are also correct. I am one you once praised as a god, condemned as a demon, and will again hail as your savior. I have many names, but you may call me Salvation. I know the wish you harbor. Desire it, and it shall be granted.]
Ivan looked at the statue with dry eyes.
The statue spoke in a voice laced with laughter.
[Pull. And you shall receive. Just as you wanderers always have, are you not also lost, soaked in nostalgia for the distant stars? I tell you, you will obtain what you have sought your entire life. Raise your hand and pull.]
*Clatter.* The steel sword gripped in Ivan's hand twitched.
Ah, yes. Temptation.
The temptation of being sent back to Earth. The price is merely pulling out this sword, is it?
How simple, and how alluring.
Ivan stood still, not loosening the strength in his grip.
[You resist. Is it lingering attachment? Pity? Longing? Or... is it fear?]
“No.”
Ivan forced down his arm, which was trying to rise on its own, and opened his mouth.
“Your words are lies.”
[Do you have faith? Like those sophists?]
“No.”
Ivan slowly closed his eyes.
He tore away his sense of hearing.
He tore out his sense of smell.
“If you truly read my thoughts and knew about my home, this trap would have contained things far better than mere combs. That would have been dangerous.”
If it had been a hill of things from Earth, Ivan would never have been able to resist.
The very fact that it couldn't show him those simple things, the things he truly yearned for, defined this being's limits.
Combs, at best. These cheap, meaningless trinkets were the extent of this being's power.
It cannot recall Earth, nor can it manifest items from Earth.
In other words, it has no power to send him back to Earth either.
[Most who have faced me began with doubt, passed through certainty, and were left with only praise. You too shall be the same.]
“You were sealed by human hands.”
Ivan spoke nonchalantly, paying no mind to the statue's nonsense.
[What…?]
“If the remains in this place are the traces of people from long ago.”
The pile of remains Ivan finally saw after breaking the illusion had human skeletons. The shape of the limbs, the structure of the bones, the length of each part—all of it.
Therefore, he deduced, this being was sealed by human hands.
He knew of beings who were revered as gods while they lived. He had even faced some of them himself.
The Seven Dragon Generals and the Demon King.
The monarchs of each race, great kings who ruled their entire species through the strength of their individual power alone.
And the Demon King, who ruled over those seven monarchs and was finally hailed as the emperor of the seven races.
They were all gods in their own right. Unapproachable beings.
Tens of thousands of soldiers fell before the Seven Dragon Generals. Half of the more than twenty kingdoms vanished into history, and more than half the human population died—too many to count.
It was a terrible era. One where no one could resist. An era where one took up arms not for victory, but for survival.
In that time, when everyone whispered of despair, the Hero appeared.
*
Ivan understood this unprecedented power that suppressed his grip.
It was 'happiness.' An instinctual bliss that made it impossible to even imagine anything other than pulling the sword and breaking the seal. A supreme happiness, like a whisper from hell, like a melody from heaven.
But Ivan's hands still did not move.
Slowly, his fingers peeled away one by one. The fingers that had gripped the hilt so tightly came loose, arduously but surely, as if pried from glue.
Because he remembered the Hero.
*
The Hero did not wield his sword for his own happiness.
When the Hero first cut down one of the Seven Dragon Generals, what he brought back was not merely a head. It was hope.
He swung his sword for hope. Like gazing at the morning star through a break in the dark night clouds.
If one dared to guess at the hope he wished for, it might have been something like peace for all.
Ivan is a selfish man. Therefore, he could not harbor the same hope as the Hero. His hope was merely for himself.
The desire to return to Earth.
At the same time, it meant this. In this world, this primitive, pre-modern fantasy world, there was no happiness.
[What…? What are you…?! How can a human think like this…!]
His left hand was finally free.
He lifts it. Ignoring the screams of his muscles and nerves, which cried out for rest, which howled at him to stop.
Ignoring the pleas of fatigue, the whispers of how sweet a moment's rest would be.
[Stop, stop…! Listen to me!!]
“No.”
His right hand was free.
There is no happiness in this land. Only duty.
He only does what must be done. Any joy he could personally contemplate had already died over the past thirty years.
His hands slowly rose and gripped the statue's head.
[Stop, stop!! You cannot kill me! I am your god!]
“I have met those who believed themselves gods.”
The veins in Ivan's grip writhed like snakes.
“They died.”
*
He knew of beings who were revered as gods while they lived. He had even faced some of them himself.
The Demon King and the Seven Dragon Generals.
And one of them died at his hands.
Therefore, this was not the first time he had killed one who believed without a doubt that they were a god.
And since Ivan was an efficient man, he felt no difficulty in doing something a second time.
*
*Crack!*
Beneath his grip, the marble statue's head shattered.