Chapter 194
Chapter 194
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 194
Chapter Title: Where the Sky Thins (5)
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“It feels like they left it there specifically knowing you'd find it...”
“Exactly.”
Ronan nodded heavily. The circumstances under which he'd found the map were just too perfect. Especially since even Navardoje hadn't been able to detect it, which proved that the map had been prepared for someone specific.
“Elsia left this place five years ago, right?”
“Yes. Around that time.”
“Then it's safe to assume that woman left the map here. I'll take it.”
No matter how much he thought about it, the only answer was to go there himself. Ronan folded the map neatly and tucked it into his inner pocket.
“Do that. It's clear there's something on that island, but... ugh. If things here weren't so busy, I'd help you...”
Navardoje muttered with a tone laced with regret. He'd thought it from their first meeting, but she really was a fine dragon. Enough to worry about her well-being, even knowing she was far stronger than him.
Her pretty face still bore traces of fatigue. No doubt she'd be heading back to the battlefield soon. Ronan, lost in thought, finally spoke up.
“Well, since I'm here anyway, how about I cut down a few before I go?”
“Hmm? What do you mean by 'cut down'?”
“No bragging, but killing those weird monsters is my specialty. It'd be good training too, so I'll stand in for you on the front lines. You could rest easy for a few days.”
“Oh?”
Navardoje raised an eyebrow. Her sharply narrowed eyes rounded again. Ronan scratched his cheek awkwardly. Expressing goodwill verbally could be embarrassing at times.
“I could just send word to Phileon... Ah, seriously, why are you looking at me like that?”
Ronan, stumbling over his words, finally couldn't hold back. It was hard to endure the meaningful smile in Navardoje's eyes.
She laughed out loud and patted his head. The height difference was significant, so she had to stand on tiptoe.
“Ahaha, it's because you're so admirable and cute. Iril has a good friend.”
“Ugh.”
Ronan grimaced. Being treated like a kid never got easier, even considering she was the longest-lived being in the world.
“But I must refuse. I'll see you off, so head back once this is done.”
“You serious? I'm confident I can fight better than most of the idiots here.”
“Yes. Because you're a much kinder child than you think.”
Ronan tilted his head, not grasping her meaning right away. Navardoje continued.
“Child, I know you're special. You could be thrown onto the front lines right now without issue. I have no doubt you'd outperform most immortals, given the ■■ ability to sever magic you inherited.”
“Then why...”
“But that's precisely why you can't leave here. Situations like saving Brnihar and Iraniell will happen over and over, and each time, you'll hesitate to leave Drimuir.”
Navardoje's voice was gentle yet earnest. Ronan swallowed the retort that he wouldn't care about such things.
'Damn. She's got a point.'
It didn't seem like an impossible scenario. Ronan twisted his lips. Looking back, even in the Penal Legion days, similar things had happened a few times.
He hadn't wanted to watch them die pointlessly, so he'd ended up looking after one or two, then suddenly a bunch of those parasites. They were hopeless criminals, but he'd grown fond of them anyway, and they'd repaid the favor in their own way.
By throwing away the lives he'd saved to carve a path to Ahayute. Navardoje continued.
“I want you to aim for a bigger picture. Like ■■ wandering in search of a way to save everyone, or Elsia.”
“Navardoje.”
“So leave this place to us without worry.”
She removed her hand from his head and began stroking his cheek. A soft sigh escaped her dry lips. Predicting what came next wasn't hard.
'I'd definitely handle those monsters without issue. The nagging immortals would eventually acknowledge my skill, and while not like Phileon, I could have a decent time... enough to grow attached.'
She was right. Ronan admitted his sticky personality made it likely he'd get bogged down. He bit his lower lip lightly.
'I don't like being used like a chess piece, but no choice.'
He had to settle things within five to seven years at most. As Navardoje said, defense against alien forces could be left to Drimuir; he needed to figure out how to hunt those winged baldies. Having decided, Ronan nodded.
“Got it. I'll head back today.”
“Good child.”
“But I have something to say first.”
“Hmm?”
“It's serious. Might sound far-fetched, but these are facts I've uncovered. I'd appreciate it if you'd believe me.”
This was why he'd asked for this private time as compensation. Navardoje tilted her head, as if wondering why the buildup. Ronan took a deep breath and spoke.
“Nebula Clazier. How much do you know about the Nebula Church?”
“Nebula Church... Ah, that group that suddenly went strange. They're linked to recent events, but honestly, I don't know much.”
Navardoje's reaction was as tepid as expected. Fitting for an immortal. To her, the rise and fall of humans was as natural as changing seasons.
The church's founder, the Savior, had once cut off a horn from her kin Gargarens, but that was before Nebula Clazier was even founded.
'Say the wrong thing, and Asel’s screwed.'
He briefly considered linking it to the Itargand murder attempt to stoke her anger but dropped it. That was more the Winter Witch's crime than the church's, and blurting it out could backfire on Asel, who was under her tutelage.
Straight confrontation it was. Muttering to himself, Ronan pulled the Dawn Token from his inner pocket. Navardoje's eyes widened at the blood mithril's beauty.
“What's that?”
“An ID from His Majesty the Emperor.”
Ronan explained his Dawn position and duties step by step. It was necessary for persuasion. Listening, she hummed with interest.
“Oh ho... An imperial agent. More capable than I thought.”
“The Empire just hates those bastards more than I do. What I'm about to say is about what those zealots will do next.”
Having organized his thoughts, Ronan began. He cited Darman's giant transformation in Farzan as evidence for the impending 'Descent of the Stars'.
The baldies descending from the sky seven years from now, their unreal strength. Up to the future where everything is lost. As the story progressed, Navardoje's face hardened.
“So you're saying monsters that become the original Darman will descend in seven years? And Drimuir falls around then?”
“Exactly.”
“...Hard to believe. I don't know what they are, but Drimuir pierced by just three?”
“If my info's right, even one would be hard to stop. Forget destructive power—they come with barriers that block all damage by default.”
Ronan gestured vividly to describe the giants' abilities. Key was framing past-life experiences as recent findings.
He couldn't say he'd regressed. Even with a Darman chance, it'd sound like nonsense. Navardoje sighed.
“If what you say is true... hmm. Definitely a problem.”
The difference now was he could deliver dreamlike tales convincingly. Many influential witnesses had seen giant Darman.
'That idiot really drove it home.'
When leaders take tales seriously, the board shifts. Darman's transformation was the perfect pivot. Minutes passed, and finally, the response Ronan wanted came.
“I'll review it seriously. Need to send a letter to Adrien today.”
Ronan clenched his fist instead of replying. From this moment, Nebula Clazier had turned a force rivaling or surpassing the Empire against them.
The day those worms faced dragonfire wasn't far. Whatever secret weapons they had, the most perfect race since creation wouldn't be pushovers. Calming his excitement, Ronan bowed.
“Please take care of it.”
“I'm grateful for such vital info. Time for you to go.”
The talk ended soon after. An hour of searching the room yielded nothing but the initial map. As Navardoje advised, Ronan left the fortress promptly.
“Sorry I can't escort you personally.”
“It's fine.”
Time constraints prevented Navardoje from seeing him off. Her pre-made portal was at his initial Drimuir landing spot. The black sky contrasting vivid stars was still beautiful. The Mother of Fire herself, the elf Iraniell he'd just fought with, and an unfamiliar woman saw him off.
“Take care, Lord Ronan. If you change your mind or desire eternal glory, come find Iraniell Remation.”
“Next time, I won't count punches.”
“If you let me research, a few hits are fine.”
Iraniell offered a handshake. Ronan chuckled and shook it up and down. The pouting woman blurted out.
“Farewell, human.”
“Hm?”
Ronan turned to her. Fierce expression, but undeniably beautiful. The issue was he had no idea who she was to see him off.
“Uh, excuse me, who might you be?”
“Ha, did you hit your head?”
She scoffed incredulously. Her rust-red hair to her waist and assertive figure were striking. Not Navardoje level, but violently alluring. Violently... Suddenly realizing, Ronan's eyes widened.
“No way... Brnihar?”
“Quick on the uptake.”
Brnihar snorted. This seemed her human polymorphed form. Obvious in hindsight, but impossible to link to her dragon shape. Stunned, Ronan spoke.
“You resemble Navardoje. In many ways.”
“Stating the obvious. Suddenly polite—finally realized my greatness?”
“Er... let's say that.”
Ronan nodded, gaze fixed. Dragons, once just annoyingly unlucky in his past life, were growing on him. Brnihar laughed, hands on hips.
“Wiser than you look. Heh heh, keep that respect.”
She seemed as dim as Itargand at first meet, but who cared. Navardoje sent a whisper-telepathy.
[Understand her. Niv's not bad, just...]
She gazed at her daughter with equal parts affection and pity. Side by side, they made a fine picture. Ronan subtly gripped his sword hilt.
'Lynn. Your next owner could be a dragon.'
Time to go anyway. Unforgettable experience all around. Sky-over-sky monsters, father's chamber, fire curse, vicious dragon mother-daughter. Good book material. As he stepped into the portal, Navardoje waved.
“Farewell then, child. See you again.”
“Thanks for everything.”
Grinning, Ronan stepped forward. Space twisted, bringing gut-wrenching nausea like organs dancing.
Exactly 30 minutes to return to Phileon's grand plaza. Vision cleared to a moonlit night sky. Confirming he lay spread-eagled, Ronan murmured softly.
“Back.”
All events felt dreamlike. Who'd have thought he'd touch the sky beyond the sky. Only the spark of Navardoje lingering in his chest proved it real.
Time to plan a northern trip. Muttering, Ronan rose, brushing dirt from his back. Then a familiar voice from behind.
“Taking quite the bold breather. Stargazing?”
“Huh?”
Familiar yet long-unheard. Ronan turned. His eyes widened at the gaunt man.
“...Professor Jarodin?”
“Long time. Finals go well?”
The unparalleled earth mage Jarodin stood straight, gazing at him. Two years since they'd met. His bony wrists and sunken cheeks still pitiful.
“Really been ages. Me... huh?”
Ronan was about to greet warmly when he noticed the woman peeking from behind Jarodin. Cicada-like cling, cute face poking out.
“That lady?”
“Ah, you wouldn't know.”
Ronan pointed. Face seemed familiar. She flinched and hid again. Jarodin smiled faintly.
“Introduce yourself. My wife.”