Chapter 116
Chapter 116
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter Title: Daily 700mL of Whiskey
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The old man strolled through the academy with his hands clasped behind his back. His age had now reached 76.
The old man recalled the martial arts novel he'd been enjoying lately.
If this world were one from a martial arts tale, his age would still count as that of a fresh-faced rookie, green and full of potential. Regrettably, however, reality was no martial arts novel.
By ordinary standards, it was an age for grumbling like a cranky old codger, counting down the days until death. Fergus Dee had reached that age.
"Heh heh."
Sensing the impermanence of time, Fergus let out a feeble laugh.
Of course, that didn't mean he was on his last legs, teetering on the brink of death. He had once ranked among the top heroes, and even now, his body was vigorous enough to head to the front lines and fight. His back hadn't bent, and his manhood still stood firm.
He had simply gazed upon the empty academy halls and suddenly realized that he, too, had reached an age where he ought to start scouting out his gravesite.
Since he was lost in thought anyway, why not indulge in some age-appropriate griping? With that in mind, Fergus slowly ascended the academy stairs, muttering to himself.
The state of the world was deplorable.
It was 3 p.m. The academy, where students should have been deep in their lessons, was utterly devoid of even a single pupil. They had all been dispatched to the field shortly after enrollment.
In the past three years, countless heroes had perished on the front lines. As a result, heroes stationed in outlying regions had been called up to the front, and the resulting vacancies filled by rotating in those from the central areas.
Heroes on the front lines kept dying, and the cities slowly suffered from manpower shortages. Refugees grew ever more unruly, and in the end, even the fresh-faced students who should have been enjoying their youth were being mobilized.
Ah, the state of the world was deplorable. Truly deplorable.
The corrupt Hero Association remained mired in hedonism and power struggles. The weak were left to fend for themselves.
No one was willing to yield. No one extended goodwill or sought to save others. Those scraping by in back alleys were too busy fixating on the present day, while those luxuriating in their grand mansions couldn't see even an inch beyond their own comfortable lives.
Heroes had no room in their hearts for respite. Up front, they waged daily battles for survival against magic beasts. In the rear, they endured the abuses of corrupt powers whose allegiance was questionable at best.
Unable to trust what lay ahead or behind, they were hounded by obsessions that narrowed their vision. They had no leisure to contemplate tomorrow, let alone the future.
In the end, someone unable to stomach it all had even staged a coup.
Sigh, what a goddamn mess. The world truly was a madhouse. Fergus wore a self-mocking smile.
Yes, self-mockery. What he passed off as old-man griping was laced with self-directed scorn.
The world's descent into chaos bore some share of blame on Fergus himself. Or perhaps more than he cared to admit.
The association's rot had deepened because he had turned a blind eye to its corruption, pretending not to notice all this time.
He sneered at the deplorable state of things, but that sneer ultimately turned back on him.
All the injustices and corruptions he had ignored. If only he hadn't overlooked a few of them. If he had tried to set them right instead of standing idly by. If he hadn't run away like a coward.
Things might have turned out a little differently.
"Hmph."
Guilt was like a drug—chewed over endlessly without ever losing its bitter taste. Disgusted with himself for wallowing in remorse without taking action, Fergus let out a scoff and continued up the stairs. Toward the academy's top floor.
He arrived at the principal's office. The interior was quiet as he opened the door and stepped inside.
Fergus waved his hand in the air. A hidden door concealed by spatial magic revealed itself. He stood before it and knocked.
"...Lady Yeriel. Are you awake?"
A brief silence. Then a voice drifted from within.
―Come in.
Fergus opened the door and entered. The dark room, its lights extinguished, assaulted his nose with the thick stench of alcohol the moment he stepped inside.
Glancing downward confirmed it: Yeriel sprawled on the sofa, drinking. The table was littered with empty bottles.
"...Drinking again?"
"What's with that look, like you're staring at a drunkard?"
She might look this way, but she was moderating herself—no more than one bottle a day. Yeriel said this, clutching a bottle.
"The empties make it look messy. I'm not there yet."
"...I'm sure I cleared them out just a few days ago."
"Really? They've piled up quite a bit in that time."
"......Hmph."
The penalty for interfering with her divine authority had grown ever more agonizing. Unable to endure it any longer, Yeriel had turned to alcohol—something she'd never touched in her life—and that had been quite some time ago.
A quick glance at the floor revealed empty bottles scattered everywhere. She'd drunk a lot. Some were shattered, as if hurled in frustration.
Fergus crouched down and swept away the glass shards. Yeriel watched from the sofa as she chugged straight from a 700mL bottle of whiskey.
"...Sorry."
"It's fine."
Whether by nature or not, Yeriel remained composed even when drunk. Even blackout intoxicated, she retained basic judgment, and aside from occasionally smashing bottles against the wall or floor, she didn't cause much chaos. If there was any silver lining, that was it.
"So, why are you here? To clean up trash?"
Yeriel asked with a wry smile.
"A coup has broken out in the capital. They're purging upper-level corruption and calling for humanity's unity."
"......... "
Fergus replied dryly as he cleared the shards. Yeriel's smile vanished instantly.
"And in the process, they've roped in some traitors for a decisive blow."
"...I see."
In the end, blood had been spilled in mutual combat. Yeriel nodded in resignation.
"Many must have died."
"A number of executives, including the association chairman and the city lord."
Yeriel took a swig of whiskey without responding.
"Unity, unity."
It had a fine ring to it. If only it weren't stained with each other's blood.
What was the problem? It all stemmed from her own failings.
Before corruption took root, before things veered off course, she should have steered them properly onto the right path. It was her own shortcoming that everyone had holed up, unable to bear the pain.
Yeriel tilted the whiskey bottle again. The amber liquid filled her mouth, burning its way down her throat.
For a moment, she drank in silence.
"...And."
"Hm?"
Fergus hesitated briefly before speaking again.
"Miss Anis is alive."
"......... "
Yeriel froze for an instant.
Why?
No, how was she alive?
Three years ago, the thread of her divine authority connecting them had snapped. She should have been dead.
How?
"...There are some questions, but she's been confirmed as a traitor who defected to the demons."
Cahatel.
Cahatel had severed her divine authority.
She had thought demons incapable of interfering with divine power, having never seen it before. But they could. They were able.
Which meant.
"...Defected to the demons?"
"...That's the working theory, at least."
Cahatel had cut her divine link and undoubtedly told Anis everything.
'...Revenge.'
Judging by her turn to the demons, it was vengeance. Perhaps they had even formed a contract three years ago. Vengeance against Yeriel herself, or all of humanity, or maybe the entire world.
It was righteous revenge. Could there be any more justified reason in this world? Any human would burn for retribution upon learning the truth of the suffering they had endured.
Poor girl. Dragged into a world with no ties, ignorant of everything, enduring incomprehensible torment—all because of Yeriel's selfishness.
What emotions had she felt upon learning the truth? Upon realizing that all her past actions had been compelled by obsessions etched into her soul?
She must have been confused. Unable to discern where her true will began and the compulsions ended.
Doubting her own emotions, wondering how much of them were genuine, plunged into an absurd situation that might have surged with emptiness.
"...Ha."
Should she have tortured her soul right then and erased it on the day she summoned it? Things might not have spiraled this far. Peace might have arrived a hundred times over by now.
To think that fleeting pity from back then would return as a blade. She couldn't help but chuckle at how ridiculous her hesitant self from that day seemed.
"Fergus, what do you think?"
"......... "
Fergus remained silent.
"......... "
Yeriel bowed her head. Clutching her dizzy, alcohol-fogged mind and resting quietly for a moment, she stopped drinking—and the pain began to surge.
It was a proper snarl. Nothing went right; everything twisted backward. Just like her whirling field of vision.
Her thirst for revenge directed at Yeriel was just. The crime of arbitrarily summoning her, infusing her with demonic energy, and toying with her soul warranted death.
However.
She could not die.
Not until peace came to humanity. At the very least, not before killing Cahatel and eradicating the magic beasts.
There was no choice. With things tangled beyond repair, the only way to the right path was to sever the knots.
"...Hoo."
With a heavy sigh, Yeriel lifted her head.
...In the end, she had to kill her.