Chapter 128
Chapter 128
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 128
Chapter Title: In Search of the Scream (5)
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‘This is...!’
Ronan’s eyes widened. The Savior’s swordsmanship bore a striking resemblance to Naviroje’s style. The vagabond he had encountered in the southern great forest had taught it to him, or so he claimed.
However, there was a world of difference in their proficiency. He could tell just from that single brief thrust. Naviroje’s style ranked among the finest sword techniques Ronan had ever seen, but next to the Savior’s blade, it felt like nothing more than a crude offshoot. His nonexistent hands began to itch.
‘...Can I copy it?’
For the first time, Ronan felt no confidence that he could mimic it after seeing it just once. As he wandered lost in the maze of sword paths, the robed man strode forward.
“You’ve done well.”
“Gather up the shattered horns. They’re valuable materials.”
“Understood.”
Even after the conversation ended, the man didn’t leave. Fidgeting with his fingers, he cautiously spoke up.
“...I could have killed him.”
“You probably could have.”
“You knew that and still stopped me?”
“Because Navardoje herself couldn’t be killed.”
Stung by the direct hit, the man fell silent. If Navardoje, enraged by the death of her kin, had come in person, he would surely have been reduced to a handful of ashes. After a pause, the man’s mouth opened again.
“...But you, Savior, could have done it.”
【That’s enough.】
Suddenly, the Savior lowered his voice. It carried the weight of authority, as if he were a different person entirely. The man flinched under the sudden wave of intimidation.
“...I’m sorry. I overstepped.”
“It’s fine. Go rest.”
The Savior’s voice returned to normal. After bowing, the man withdrew. Straightening his robes, the Savior turned to Alibrihe and said,
“Alibrihe. Would you oversee the nearby construction projects for a few months with Elsia and ■■?”
“What, you planning a trip somewhere?”
“It seems I’ll need to pay a visit to Lady Navardoje. Even if she’s a sore thumb, the fact remains that her kin were harmed.”
“Haha, smart way to handle it. I figured you wouldn’t care, but better safe than sorry.”
Alibrihe burst into laughter. He approved of the Savior’s respect for draconic customs. Thumping his chest, Alibrihe declared,
“Leave it to me. Oh, and be careful passing through the central Kainax.”
“Why’s that?”
“A young whippersnapper just set up his lair there recently. Fertile land means humans will keep bothering him, but he won’t listen to reason.”
Alibrihe grumbled. Reading the subtle expression, the Savior chuckled.
“Sounds like you don’t mind him much.”
“Haha, caught me? His fiery spirit reminds me of my younger days. And he’s a black dragon like me.”
“Guess I should say hello. What’s his name?”
“Orse. Four wings—you’ll spot him easily.”
Hearing the name Orse, Ronan let out a hollow laugh. The sheer depth of the distant past he was witnessing hit him anew.
‘What a sight. A child dragon.’
Orse’s defeat at the hands of the founding emperor and his flight westward had long since faded from history into myth and fairy tale. After a brief exchange of greetings, the Savior turned to leave.
“Well then, I’ll be off.”
Elsia and the others saw him off. The moment he left the village—
Flash! Ronan’s vision went black.
‘Damn it, what the hell?’
It was as if he’d gone blind; he couldn’t see a thing. Just as Ronan was about to curse—
Suddenly, light flooded his view, revealing the village once more.
But it wasn’t the Savior’s perspective. The footage shifted viewpoints, showing the evolving village like a broadcast relay from Naviroje’s midterm evaluation.
‘What’s it trying to show me?’
Ronan tilted his head. Time in the vision raced forward at a dizzying pace. With every blink, the sun rose and set repeatedly.
As Elsia had said, people gathered from all over. Spirits drew rivers that wound through the village. The growing settlement soon became a massive city worthy of the name.
The tribal chief became a village head, the village head a lord. The seeds planted on the day the dragon was driven off grew into great trees casting shade.
By the time flags bearing a seven-pointed star fluttered atop the brick city walls, the Savior and his group quietly departed.
But their plan to slip away like smoke failed. Even escaping at dawn while everyone slept, they were pursued. The Savior spoke,
“I am no figure worthy of your faith and following.”
“Savior. No one in this city is unaware of your miracles.”
“These are miracles you all achieved. Pray thanks to your ancestors and get some sleep.”
“If we cannot gaze upon the same stars, at least allow us to follow in your footsteps!”
Despite the Savior’s pleas, the people wouldn’t relent. In the end, he left with only a vague “do as you will.” Ronan nodded slowly.
‘So that’s how it grew.’
They wandered the continent for a long time before settling in the distant north. The native villagers, forming a small hamlet, cried out in alarm,
“W-Who are you!?”
“A harsh but resilient land. We’ve come to aid you.”
The Savior said. The same events repeated. The cluster of tents around the firepit transformed into a fine fortress within years.
Once settled, they soon left the north. By then, those calling themselves believers had multiplied several times over.
The Savior repeated the cycle of building thriving communities and departing. Decades later, atop the vast western plains under a clear blue sky, Alibrihe walking beside him spoke,
“We should probably settle on a name for the organization.”
The Savior raised an eyebrow.
“Is that necessary?”
“Everyone wants it. Gives a sense of belonging, right?”
“I’ve heard we’re already called the Nebula Church out there.”
“Sounds lame. And it’s what the heretic-hunters came up with.”
Alibrihe frowned. Elsia and the robed man nodded in agreement.
“I agree with Lord Alibrihe.”
“Yes. The word ‘church’ invites suspicion.”
Stroking his chin, the Savior glanced back. The crowd following him was beyond imagination. Ronan frowned.
‘Damn, how many are there?’
Thousands at least, regardless of age, gender, or race. All wore pristine white robes mimicking the Savior’s attire. Crossing the plains, they resembled a flock trailing their shepherd.
“A name...”
The Savior murmured. Gazing at the sky as he walked, he finally spoke.
“Nebula Klazie.”
“Oho, what’s that mean?”
“Nebula Church. Just the common name in the ancient tongue.”
“What, same thing after all.”
Alibrihe snorted. Pausing, the Savior hoisted a child following close behind onto his shoulders. Innocent laughter rang out.
“Kyahaha!”
“As long as we keep the meaning, what does the name matter.”
The sky was clear, the wind refreshing. Each step squished soft grass pleasantly. Staring at the horizon, he murmured softly,
“I believe people can become better beings. Even foolish races whose instinct is self-destruction...”
With that enigmatic mutter, the vision ended. Darkness fell. Just as quickly, light returned.
****
“Nngh...”
Ronan opened his eyes. A blood-red sky loomed overhead. Crackle. Pop. Somewhere, damp wood burned.
Suddenly, acrid smoke stung his nose. Grimacing, Ronan slowly rose.
Whoosh! A fierce gust of heat singed his bangs. Realizing his senses had returned, Ronan’s eyes widened.
“This is...”
His body was back too. The familiar eye level confirmed it was his own, not the Savior’s.
Both beloved swords, Ramancha and Imir, hung intact at his waist. But there was no time to rejoice. Hell lay before him.
“Fuck. What the hell happened?”
He stood atop a cliff. The high vantage revealed the surrounding devastation at a glance. The city was engulfed in flames.
No survivors amid the shattered inner walls. Writhing flames devoured corpses and debris, growing stronger. Smoke like dragon’s breath blotted out stars and moon.
The river winding through the city boiled red. Heat and embers made it hard to keep eyes open. Then, a familiar voice nearby,
“How futile. To think this would happen while we were away.”
Turning, Ronan saw familiar faces clustered, gazing down at the city: the Savior and his aides.
‘Damn!’
He instinctively ducked. The Savior’s face was shrouded in flickering shadows. Alibrihe, staring blankly at the horror, spoke,
“Another war?”
“Yes.”
The robed man nodded. As he said, distant clashes of weapons echoed, mingled with war cries on the wind.
“How many is this? Watching civilizations fall.”
“Over a hundred nations, at least.”
“Of those, how many did we help found?”
“Over seventy percent.”
Ptoo. Alibrihe spat. Elsia bit her lip silently.
Surveying the terrain, Ronan realized this was the first village he’d visited. Where he’d possessed the Savior and slain the dragon. Finally, the Savior broke the silence.
“Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“To save the survivors.”
“Everyone in the city is dead. Can’t you see?”
“There are survivors among the invaders. They abandoned their wounded.”
Alibrihe and Elsia’s faces hardened. The robed man took a deep breath and spoke,
“...Saving the faithful comes first. Return to the holy site and assess the situation.”
“Mortal lives know no hierarchy. Follow me.”
The Savior stepped forward. No one followed. An angry voice came from behind,
“...I refuse.”
The Savior turned. It was the robed man. Squeezing out the words, he continued,
“I can’t accept this anymore. Where is the value in saving them? I’ve followed you for thousands of years, trying to grasp your will, but this is the limit.”
“The limit.”
“Yes. This isn’t salvation. It’s pouring water into a bottomless jar—utter folly. No matter our efforts, mortals shove themselves into the mire.”
The robed man pressed on. He recited events from times Ronan hadn’t seen: humans killing each other, warring over trifles, destroying themselves at whim...
His passionate tone dripped with deep hatred. Spewing words like vomit, he glared at the Savior.
“Nebula Klazie must be reborn. This isn’t true salvation.”
“Is that how you both feel?”
The Savior looked to Alibrihe and Elsia. They averted their eyes, staying put as their answer.
“I see.”
“Savior...”
It seemed they’d discussed this beforehand. Watching quietly, the Savior nodded.
“Then no choice. Farewell here.”
“...You’re really leaving like this?”
“Yes. Words are pointless now. I wish you find your own answers.”
Without hesitation, the Savior walked to the cliff edge. For comrades of eons, it was too anticlimactic. The robed man cried desperately,
“Savior!”
“May the stars bless you.”
But he didn’t stop or turn. Then the robed man vanished from view. Sensing instinctive dread, Ronan opened his mouth to shout—
“Wait—!”
Squelch! A sound like a stone in mud. Silence fell like frozen time. The Savior slowly looked down. A white blade protruded from his gut.
“Kuhk.”
“Understood. I’ll find the answer.”
The vanished man reappeared behind the Savior. Blood dripped from the torn wound. Pressing close to the Savior’s ear, he whispered dryly,
“So leave your power behind.”
“■■...”
The Savior staggered. Clearly no ordinary sword. He made no resistance, just stared at the man.
The man pinned the Savior’s neck with one arm, keeping the blade in. A shimmering energy flowed along the sword into him. Ronan, grasping too late, cursed,
“Fuck...!”
Pure instinct took over. Ronan kicked off and charged. Closing the gap in an instant, he swung his swords and roared,
“You bastard! What the hell are you doing?!”
“What?”
The robed man turned. The two blades were already upon him. Yanking his sword free, he raised his arm. Clang! A ferocious clash rang across the cliff.