Chapter 453
Chapter 453
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Vine
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: Another Solo Play (12)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
****
Clatter—
There was no consideration in his hurried footsteps for anyone who might follow.
Not that there was anyone to follow in the first place.
[Go on ahead. I'll catch up soon.]
[The path to the capital undercity—I already showed it to you.]
“...You idiot. That doesn't add up. Why ask if the guy you're going with knows the way?”
He had probably fulfilled his duty of mercy to the very end, enduring the pain alone before returning to the goddess's embrace. The echoes of battle sounds, now unheard, lingered in his mind like a haunting reverberation.
‘This path was carved in the early days when the curse first afflicted the capital. All the brothers of the order and the knights who came from outside rushed to make it.’
‘You know this: just as the mutants endlessly spawn and swarm, the emperor's cursed knights and soldiers are endlessly remade. More precisely, their numbers never diminish. Knights and soldiers who die in the capital walk out from the imperial palace the next day in equal numbers, fighting again to defend the capital.’
Frauk's voice echoed in his memory, from just hours ago as he returned to the temple through this very passage.
‘That's why battles between mutants and the emperor's forces have raged without a single moment's rest for the past three years. The mutants rooted at the capital's outskirts absorb nutrients from their dead kin to spawn new ones, while the emperor binds knights sworn to the empire and him with curses, turning them into brood beds for cursed blossoms. And so the endless war continues.’
‘This has made it impossible to break through on the surface without massive casualties. That's why the knights and brothers created a path underground to the imperial palace.’
‘That fissure. Born from the leyline distortion that shifted the earth's layers, it reaches to the heart of the capital undercity. The end of this tunnel, carved through buildings, connects to that fissure leading to the capital's depths.’
...Perhaps he had instinctively foreseen a grim end. For a man of few words, his explanation had been remarkably detailed.
“A fissure... It must be that one I nearly fell into when I first entered the capital.”
The end of the tunnel approached, announced by the sounds.
Thud thud thud thud thud thud—!
Vibrations shaking the ground and the buildings.
“Ka- Wubliak, tr! Hume Knight! Uraka!”
『Tread not... upon the emperor's soil... with lowly feet...!』
Shouts in the mutants' native tongue, met by the cursed army's staccato roars.
The sound of shattering, of breaking, and the swarm-like buzz when auras beyond measure are swung.
“From the imperial palace direction. Numbers... about 10,000 combined.”
Hidden behind the building's wall, he shrank back further. Some mutants had exceptionally keen eyesight.
He had heard that the path to the capital undercity via the surface was plagued by such “skirmishes” nonstop. “Skirmishes” where cursed knights—like the one he and Frauk had barely taken down together—mingled in units of hundreds at least.
‘Too risky to sneak through.’
If it were just the cursed army, he might've tried slipping past. But the problem was the swarming horde gibbering in an unintelligible tongue right in front.
A race with wildly varying traits per individual. Back in the 3rd World, he'd struggled against their unique quirks one by one. In the 4th World, the single queen had splintered into hundreds of mutant lords, each spawning at will, making it even harder to find commonalities.
Among that rampaging pack ahead, there could be one that distinguished every scent individually, or one with hearing sharp enough to detect a crawling human's breath held tight, or one sensing positions via ground vibrations—any freakish ability imaginable.
Dangerous enough as is, without knowing the enemies' powers? Entering would be suicide.
...Thus, the surface path might as well not exist.
The only option left was descending into the fissure visible through the window below...
Whoooosh—
“...No choice but that.”
Truly, staking a Pathfinder's honor, what lay below was no “path.”
Someone had gone that way, sure. The wind rising through the ravine carried eye-watering stench, the brewery passage had already proven it a man-eating abyss, and merely peering down twisted vision and churned guts. Still, someone had chiseled out stair-like formations.
Yes, stairs existed. Like a third-rate stonemason hacking with the mightiest chisel, or knights carving with aura—the cliffs bore stair shapes leading downward.
Above: monstrous cursed knights drawing aura taller than themselves, and mutants no less mad and distinctive.
Below: an abyss in the capital's heart, screaming “this is cursed as hell~” even to curse novices.
“No room for choice.”
Between certain death and probable death, the answer was obvious.
He glanced back at the passage behind, hoping faintly, but no clanking armor reached his ears—not even a speck.
Regret quelled by carving an arrow at the tunnel's end.
Reluctant feet turned toward the stairs.
The wind off the cliff wailed like sobs.
****
Whummm...
Crackle, fizz!
“Magic power depleted? Already?”
Four hours since descending the cliff stairs.
Air hung damp, wind bore an eerie breath-like warmth, and exposure turned the stairs—already lush with moss like the western imperial frontiers—into a grotesquely slippery decline.
Worse, the carver was a hasty aura mason who'd swung a sword his whole life.
Wielding sword to guard all sides while descending lasted but a moment; soon he crawled on all fours, forehead lamp hung.
Fizz, crackle—
Whumm—
Swapping a magestone into the depleted magic lamp brought scraping sounds and bright light anew. “Bright” meaning just enough for his feet. The darkness here could be scooped by the handful.
Whoooosh—
The upwind now blew forward. Proof he neared the ravine's bottom.
“Hey...”
Then, from the unseen below, a whisper.
‘A person?’
“Hey, that light...!”
Fwoosh!
He maxed the magic lamp's output, shining downward. Gentle-sloping stairs to the floor, and below—a hunched black robe.
“...Faceless Darik?”
“Hyde, that light... kill it now!!”
‘Why's he here?’ The thought unfinished, urgent whispers made him hurl the lamp.
Whoosh—!
The lamp spun in darkness, desperately beaming upward.
As its light groped toward something approaching,
Crunch—
Only the small lamp's devouring by darkness remained.
He crouched on the stairs, ears straining till certain it receded into the depths.
“...Feels like the second time I've helped you.”
Silence broken by a familiar loathsome voice.
“Black mage Darik... right?”
“From the temple parting: why I'm here, how I arrived first, why we meet again—curious?”
“You know well.”
The black mage, face melted featureless, had crept close unseen once more.
Fortunately, experience let him press blade to throat in time.
“Heh heh heh heh, like this? Between us?”
“Really? Can't recall bonding with you.”
“In this rotting capital, saved twice—aren't we close? Precisely, you owe me big time. Both rescues mine.”
“Normally, yes. If there's 'intent' behind, better to shove this in now—helps me all ways.”
Before, suspiciously helpful. Now, suspicion overflowed.
“What's your deal? Why tail me? What do you want?”
No proper answer to any? Off with his head. No intel in enemy heartland, no backup—wouldn't drag unclear intent beside him.
“Three. Three questions to overlook a baffling creep... generous, eh? Heh heh heh heh!”
Darik chuckled nastily, answering.
“This fissure to the capital undercity? Not leyline twist. Just earth's warp from curse bursting imperial palace underground.”
“...Hey.”
“Straight on: survivors like the temple, gathered. Temple lacked spots. Latecomers followed knights here en masse, stuck amid mutant-emperor turf war, awaiting rescue.”
“That smothering your lamp? 'Living Darkness' curse. Magic-wise, 7th-8th circle powerhouse—devours light sources, as seen. Famous darkness-curse catalyst. Likely leaked from palace labs below.”
“That's not answering my questions.”
“But what you need! Right, pathfinder Hyde!”
The choked laugh vibrated through the blade.
“Ah, yes. Sharp mind—you get I'm tailing with purpose. To the palace? Gotta help. I need to go too!”
“Frauk—I pinned big hopes on him! Thought when that pus-filled mercy temple burst, he'd blaze the trail; I'd tag along to palace. But him... too damn kind. Instinct screamed wrongness, yet he rejected thinking it. Knew gut-deep: bursting the rot meant doom for temple folk, his duty. True mercy paladin. Fulfilled to end.”
Darik raised excited voice, then whispered wary of surroundings.
“Three questions, three answers. Enough?”
“Not what I wanted.”
“But what you'll want. And if I say here 'who I am-what I'm after'—believe it? Accept as answer?”
“...”
“See? Guidance forward beats worthless words a hundredfold.”
“I'll aid sporadically, where I can appear. You take it, head to palace. I'll follow; we help each other.”
“If your intent's foul?”
“Your risk. Better known threat you can watch than blind ambush on capital road, no?”
Heard him out, dissected, pondered.
...Click.
Blade withdrawn.
“Thanks.”
“Traveling together then?”
“No. As said: can't move where emperor's curse reaches. You need magic symbol.”
“Symbol?”
“Yes. Past three years, knights symbolized curse defiance, charging palace. Paths they took gain 'curse breached-' magic mark. That catalyst lets me move some in curse zones. Need someone charging palace.”
“...Plus, that 'charger' must permit? Magically.”
“Urgh. Rituals like this—complex, tedious steps.”
Last bit hidden? Uncomfortable sigh from darkness.
“So, reach palace safe. I'll aid materially, morally.”
“For now. Got it.”
Permission granted, his presence faded as desired.
One thing he said resurfaced.
“Darik.”
“What?”
“Sounds like you watched Frauk awhile.”
“...Three years straight. While other knights pushed palace, wished that heavy-ass would climb some.”
“Then. Watching till just now?”
“...Heh heh heh heh.”
Grasping intent, quiet laugh.
“...One thing: had temple not fallen, you'd suffer bad, Hyde. That mob to temple now? Original servant-city lurkers. Mercy followers always lose. Goddess, her lot.”
“True to form this time.”
With that, Darik silent. Took time to note his soundless vanish, like arrival.
“...So you drew me in.”
Darik's actions clear.
[Heading to palace.]
[Needs someone to blaze trail.]
His words.
[Unlike black mage's hope, Frauk showed no palace signs.]
[Found me, hoped.]
[Guided to mercy temple. My sharp eyes spotted festering issue, burst it—as he foresaw.]
[Temple's divinity gone. Emperor's guard on servant-city mostly diverted there; new hoped guide 'Hyde' reaches ravine safe.]
And the aftermath.
He'd truly done utmost to propel me palace-bound.
Sacrificing mercy temple, clerics, refugees therein.
“...Damn it.”
Pre-Darik, couldn't admit hoping Frauk followed.
That aid's value weighed steps heavier.
****
****