Chapter 334
Chapter 334
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: Can Those Who Have Seen the End of the World Plant an Apple Tree (39)
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“That’s....?”
“Yes. It’s what we used to draw in those mimics when we completely sank Kauladi Oasis.”
It had slithered right into the sea. There were the homes and cabins where the holy ones had dwelled, then the coral reef forest and the chamber maid nestled among it, and beyond the boundary of that coral forest, what had caught my eye was the serene moon and the relics floating around it like a Milky Way.
And my arm had been wedged among those relics. I’d been on high alert with all my senses sharpened as we descended, so there was no way I’d miss the scent of my blood on that holy forearm.
Half out of curiosity, half thinking it might come in handy, I’d pocketed it. But now that I held it, doubts crept in.
‘....It’s intact? Hasn’t been absorbed yet?’
Back then, I’d viewed the sunken moon as some kind of monster that devoured divine power, so this was pretty baffling.
Sure, the countless relics floating like a galaxy around it made sense. They were genuine articles crafted through elaborate rituals and rites by esteemed priests from famous temples, their inherent histories amplifying their sacred meaning. Relics tightly bound to the name of a god—ones that might need to be melted down carefully.
But my arm? Far from any sacred rite, it belonged to an ignorant heathen who didn’t know a single prayer, a sort of divine subcontractor courtesy of Professor Park, propped up solely by Lo Haram’s favor. A makeshift relic slapped together.
“To begin with, doesn’t it make no sense that a relic gets whipped up like that?”
Divinity doesn’t work that way.
If mere exposure to divine power turned something into a relic, then weeds near a grand prayer gathering, pebbles, even baker Hans’s broom from the sidelines would all be relics, right?
Naturally, I figured this one-time “relic-like thing” for mimic-summoning would lose its divine power over time....
Crackle, crackle—
The relic “The Severed Right Arm Whipped Up by the Holy Saint Professor” still brimmed with divine power, emitting a sound like burning oak from its cracked scar. An incomprehensible phenomenon. Divinity, as I knew it, didn’t operate like this.
“That.... Might be because Lo Haram is showing you an absurd amount of interest?”
I’d thought that at first too, but it was too convenient an explanation.
“More precisely, it’s not Lo Haram—it’s his followers who are interested in me.”
The professor shook his head and dumped out the relics he’d swept up like a net using his water dominion on the ascent, pulling them from his subspace pouch.
From familiar emblems of light to relics of the five major benevolent gods’ churches—mercy, abundance, wisdom, courage. And even those from heretical or long-extinct orders from centuries past.
Heaped out haphazardly, they still radiated divinity, some already turning the seawater they held into holy water.
“His followers?”
“Yes. Not Lo Haram himself, but his children. If divine power is the fruit, aren’t believers the roots?”
The most basic principle of divinity. I just hadn’t connected it to myself, so my brain hadn’t turned properly.
Simple logic: faith equals divinity.
“A year ago, if you told a follower of the God of Light to think of Lo Haram, what do you think they pictured?”
“....Scriptures, or a dignified statue, probably.”
“And now?”
“Light brings to mind.... Oh heavens! Merciful seas, good lord!”
“Exactly.”
“Th-this can’t be right. How could you—how on earth! These are the end times, the end times!”
Right now, anything remotely tied to light—even if just passing by a tavern or bard—inevitably evoked one thing.
Me. Empire-wide bards were belting out the legend of the new founding emperor’s ascension, hoarse-voiced, and right alongside were tales of Saint Professor’s divine star-shattering feat as witness.
The moment Light followers cried “Latura!”, the image rising wasn’t white stone anymore. It had long shifted to a superhuman of flesh and blood, living in their era, shattering countless upheavals.
More Light followers were deifying me than I’d thought.
‘No wonder Archbishop Norman was so desperate for me to return and accept sainthood. He must’ve foreseen this trend as a high church official.’
Respect for me, sure—but mingled with worry over my ballooning influence.
Like Christianity splitting into Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox, Light followers’ veneration of Saint Professor was surpassing normal worship, edging into deification.
Faith breeds fanaticism. And ironclad fanaticism, untouched by logic, perfects into miracles with a catalyst.
I’d wrought more than one or two, after all. From the sacrament of blood to rescuing the saintess’s soul. Purifying the fallen saintess, Mary Maria, and leaving massive footprints in the new empire’s founding saga. Compared to Gilgamesh or Guan Yu legends, mine held up just fine—no shame there.
While Ottoman floundered in the gulf between his common sense and reality, the cool-headed Yggdrasil asked with a sour face.
“So, Professor. Does that mean you’re.... a god?”
“To some extent? Parasite god? Subcontractor god? Something like that?”
“Guh.... End times.”
“More shocking than dragons, even.”
In the hierarchy, maybe on par with the Four Heavenly Kings under Buddha. You know, those scary-faced guys carved on temple gates.
Anyway, that was the only explanation for why my forearm endured as a rock-solid relic. I’d only seen one other relic operating like that.
‘Branch of the World Tree.’
Shed from a holy being’s body, it sprouted a tiny world tree upholding the elves’ barrier against that brutal blue line, or pierced my side in the empire to sever me from the world, inviting me into halted time. If that’s a relic, it counts.
A portion of the world’s Light faithfuls’ belief directed at me. Meaning, when they cry “Latura Lo-Haram!”, some of that gathering divine power is allocated to “Saint Professor”—and all the divinity I’ve used wasn’t Lo Haram pitying me, but me hijacking what was meant for him.
Next time I meet Lo Haram, I won’t bow in thanks—I’ll kowtow begging for my life.
Archbishop Norman’s longed-for sainthood rite was probably meant to fuse the split images of Lo Haram and Saint Professor, officially declaring us one team to the world.
But I’d blown it off and come to the desert, letting “Holy Professor Park”’s divinity grow stronger.
“....Of course, personal divinity still can’t match that thing over there—the ‘real creator god fused with creator-god-slaying dragon shell.’ Point is, realizing it’s granted to me personally means I can wield it now.”
Up till now, I’d bossed divine power around thinking, “Lo Haram! Please! Just this once!” But now I recognized it as fully mine. Before, I’d swung the bomb like a club; now I could throw it. I knew how.
‘Just like wielding aura.’
Aura was divine power, really. Turn your life into a scripture, body a temple, self a god—you’re a lone knight wielding aura. Like swinging 100 men’s worth instead of one.
Whoooong—
Focusing my mind, I felt divine power gather in the relic-arm I held. Light divinity, and the faith of countless followers crying “Saint Professor is a god!” somewhere.
Click.
Clatter. Thunk!
The relics dumped at my feet—centuries of chalices, scriptures, saints’ bones, and countless others piled under the desert—began trembling, especially the light-related ones, unleashing their pent-up power.
“Hm? That one.... Isn’t a light relic, is it?”
“....This is unexpected.”
Mercy goddess relics were chiming in too, releasing ancient divinity.
Crack, craaaack—
Boom!
The relic-forearm in the professor’s hand absorbed it all, then shed its human skin like molting, completing as a hand-shaped thing shimmering with two holy lights.
The professor carefully lifted the “holy arm,” folding fingers one by one with reverence.
“Is that.... a hand seal? Magical?”
“Not quite a full seal. But a water mage putting hands to it deserves meaning—not just slapping it on feels sloppy. It’s a ritual. That ‘feeling’ matters most.”
Ruuuuumble—
Glancing at the sea, it swelled upward from below like rising dough. The sunken moon, gripping the sea, ascended—pushing the surface up. That massive moon was nearly upon us now. With Palkatus dangling from it.
Whoosh!
Fingers fully folded, the professor eyeballed the spot and hurled it into the sea.
Splash!
The forearm hit the surface, wobbled, then bobbed upright like a buoy.
Location: the site of the biggest recent mimic outbreak. Right below the hole where they’d dropped.
Form: all fingers folded save the index, pointing skyward like directing the way.
Tossing the divinity-packed arm, I felt the makeshift divinity I’d gathered short-term slough off in a rush. Unlike thinking it borrowed, recognizing it as mine let me gauge the reserves clearly.
A booger’s worth piled up—I dumped it all in there.
‘In the end, divinity’s just pooled human power.’
Short-term, just a sideline from Lo Haram worship—Saint Professor’s personal divinity was barely that much.
Enough, though. Plenty to carve an exit from here.
Ruuuuumble—
Blub, blubblub!
Like a dragon cradling its orb, the moon-wrapped dragon finally breached the surface, scales gleaming.
Splat!
The makeshift light god clasped two holy hands together.
A guttural roar leaked through the dragon’s fangs.
『Flee not from the predestined outcome! The moon’s ritual wielding creation’s power is the world’s natural order!』
“And defying that order is called a miracle.”
Crackle, crackle—!
The dragon and moon surfaced. Before their snouts, the buoy-like forearm pointing skyward began glowing pure white.
Dragon and moon. Amid shipwrecks and desert ships rocking the waves, a serene yet resonant voice descended.
[The mildly holy Professor speaks.]
Whoooong—
[Even the deep desert floor holds light—not that junk moon’s LED glow, but real light.]
....Plop.
Shockingly lame prayer, but since the professor himself imbued it with meaning, no issue.
Divinity extracted from relic mountains, sparked by the professor’s own, coalesced into one will and ignited a miracle. The sea-borne arm sprouted a sliver of divine light at its sky-pointing fingertip, shooting it upward.
The dandelion-seed light pierced the sand sea ceiling.
Crackle, crackle-crackle—
Zzzzap—!
The risen light signaled, and white sparks linking extended finger and sky stretched long.
The dragon sensed the massive power surge.
『What have you.... done!』
“Holy-laser guided bombing. Lure it there, hand it off, and dodge—or block.”
『Such petty tricks! Not even desperate?』
“That’s how he is.”
Palkatus gnashed teeth, sensing divinity remnants blooming everywhere.
Power source right before him. Dragon body and moon—sunken moon couldn’t maneuver fast.
Palkatus decided swift as thought.
Craaaack—
Dragon mouth gripping moon gaped again, dragon breath-beam spewing toward the ceiling the holy ray had touched.
And just before that breath hit the sand sea blocking the sky.
Kwaaaaaaaa—!
A colossal light pillar from above pierced the thick sand sea, clashing with the dragon’s breath.
“Gwaaak!”
“Ottoman! Any water barrier! That breath’s wake alone will melt every sailor’s skin and flesh!”
“Water shield! Water shield!”
“Uwaaak!”
“Grab the ship! You’ll get swept by the waves!!!”
“Mom! Mooooom!”
“I’ll convert! I’ll convert, Lo Haram! Just spare my life!! My liiiife!”
Kwahaaaaak—!
The clash’s shockwave swept the sunken sea clean.
Yggdrasil, amid light and heat storm, thought: this must be how gods and dragons clashed in myth.
****
“Guh....”
Stifling steam-bath air choked breath.
Avery, clinging to the rail, watched trembling crew and forced breaths.
“What devil possessed this voyage....”
They’d broken taboos, meddled in the desert’s top two tribes’ war, plunged into forbidden mimics and survived—only to witness an ancient god and dragon spewing fire under the desert sea.
And that Saladin, who’d insisted on hanging from the mast to tan desert-style, summoned a light pillar matching the monstrous dragon’s intangible fire with one gesture.
Avery, veteran captain who’d danced life’s edge like backyard strolls, found his jaw perpetually dropped this voyage.
‘Retire. After this, find a good woman, start a family.’
Even a captain fleet wouldn’t match this voyage’s resume. Post-this, no more seas—sand or water. No priests either. Straight home. Home.
Then. As captain and most crew pondered alike.
The steam veil settled, a new heat—not choking—settled on skin.
Light. Wholly different from lifelong desert sun’s dry blaze.
Above the heat-melted smooth hole, blue sky gleamed.
Earthlight streamed through, settling on the charred-black finger floating on the sea.
“Outside....”
“Ooh, outside! We can get out again!”
“Water seas are done! Back to homeland, sand seas!”
Crew unfurled sails, gripped oars, steering toward the hole sans orders.
Up front, the old wizard argued loudly with someone, then both raised hands skyward.
Roooosh—
Rising. Riding the water pillar from below, the ship surged up!
“Waaaaah!”
“Wizards forever!”
“Latura! Latura Saladin!”
“Quit yapping! Get out before those bastards below snap to!”
Pfoooosh!
Ascent accelerated. Through the transparent-melt vertical tunnel from dragon-and-light heat, half-sunk ships and homes ghosted by; earthly heat blinded....
Pop—!
Swoooosh—
“W-we’re out.”
Finally. Bow touching familiar sand sea, crew embraced, weeping joyfully.
Kwahaaaak—!
....For about 3 seconds.
“Uwaaak! We’re out!”
“That thing! It came out too!”
“Dragon!”
Seeing moon and dragon in the explosively surging seawater behind, crew tears flowed chicken-shit style again.
Captain Avery bolted to Saladin.
“What now! If we flee, I’ll—”
“Why flee? Below was enemy turf prepped to the teeth. Now it’s our field.”
“Could you.... use ‘that’ again?”
“Campaign like a pre-election pol for months, maybe.... Not now, no way.”
“But why so calm! They show no fatigue, hauling the whole sea up! If we don’t climb high ground now, that damn water sea’ll—”
“Nah. Even a dragon can’t breath twice in a row. Look—Palkatus is half-baked. Eating a dragon doesn’t make him spit dragon words or magic on command, or we wouldn’t be here. He needs evasive maneuvers, but I can handle it.”
“Then.... the rest? Doesn’t that monster have minions? Strong enough to smash Nullak’s dread fleet....”
“Oh, that?”
To Avery’s question, the professor handed over two oval water droplets. Farsight magic. Like a telescope spell.
“See there—those white-glinting specks?”
“Desert ships.... tons of ‘em. Reinforcements? How’d you call ‘em?”
“Didn’t call. They saw and came.”
The professor swung farsight back, grinning.
Gregorius and guards sent to fetch the saint.
He’d said Lordric-bound via balloon, then veered off—so amid Archbishop Norman’s roars, they’d hunted fruitlessly.
Tracking via saint’s name to the barony was easy, but endless sand sea trail? Daunting. Finding one man in vast desert—star-picking. Especially under fake name Saladin.
But then.
Before their stomping frustration, that “pillar of light” from rumors and fresh icons plummeted. Lo Haram’s intervention, plain as day.
The professor dropped the spell, viewing paladins berating crew with man-sized morningstars atop desert ships, and teary-eyed Gregorius at the bow.
“Grunts to the pros—we focus on the head. Palkatus and named foes.”
The holy-objective-fired paladin captain looked determined not to be late this time.
****