Chapter 95
Chapter 95
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 94
Chapter Title: The Viper's Revival
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Slightly rewinding time.
The Holy Kingdom's forces, having crossed the border of the Providence Kingdom, marched straight toward a single destination.
A wasteland filled with stone tombs where countless corpses lay buried instead of people.
Amid these nameless, rootless stone tombs, the Holy Kingdom's army headed to just one spot.
Since the Holy King was too exalted to attend personally, Stewart, captain of the Ironclad Knights, oversaw the site in his stead.
"The tombs?"
"The priests have disarmed the alarms. They're preparing to move the body and begin the ritual."
"Good. Just make sure the Overlords don't catch wind of it."
Originally, they'd excavated the tomb with utmost care to avoid detection by both the Providence royals and the Twelve Overlords.
But now that the Saintess had defected to Providence's side, there was no need to tiptoe around them anymore.
"It didn't trip the alarm magic, right?"
"Yes. We slipped in without disarming it and pulled it out."
The very fact of the alarm being disarmed could leak information.
So they'd tricked the magic itself to pull it off.
"Good. And don't forget—before turning it into a Seraphim, make damn sure you collar it."
"Got it."
The vice captain headed back to manage the site, and Stewart twitched his thick, caterpillar-like brown eyebrows.
'So that's Opfir?'
In the distance, at the tomb entrance, holy knights were extracting the mummy.
Even in death, it sat sternly upon a stone throne, hinting at the man's character.
More astonishing still: mana emanated from the dead mummy.
'Mana this strong, even from here.'
The mummy alone registered at 6th rank.
Reviving it as-is would birth a 6th-rank undead—a national calamity.
But the Holy Kingdom didn't stoop to such crude, villainous methods.
A Seraphim: preserving 90% of its memories, utterly obedient to the Holy Kingdom's commands.
That was the noble being they sought to create.
'The ritual's about to begin.'
Stewart gazed at the mummy on its jade throne at the magic circle's heart.
Above the array, its lines formed from wriggling script.
Mountainous piles of sacrifices for flesh and life force; high priests stationed at each vertex.
Assistants followed, fitting a crown upon the mummy's head and wrapping its body in chains.
"All set, Captain."
The vice captain approached once preparations were complete.
Stewart drew the ritual's final component from his bosom.
The vice captain stared in awe at the purple amethyst cradling a crimson orb.
"Is that a Necrolite?"
"Yeah. His Holiness the Holy Emperor entrusted it to me personally."
A forbidden Imperial-era relic, one of the few left in the world.
Its moniker: Fall of the Underworld.
Eating it induced the sensation of one's soul tearing asunder, granting a taste of underworld coma—hence the name.
"What're you gawking at? You've eaten the diluted stuff yourself."
"I'm a Virtue—Powers rank. Even the version diluted billions of times nearly trapped me in the underworld forever. Can't even imagine the raw agony."
"That's Opfir for you. Laughed even after they carved out his heart. He'll hold."
Stewart indifferently jammed the Necrolite into the mummy's chest.
The knight captain stepped back from the mummy,
"Begin."
And at his command, the priests commenced the ritual.
"Mundus currit — cur ego steti?" — The world races on, yet why do I stand still? "Caelum nimis altum est, et animus meus adhuc obscurus, velut lunam in speculo persequens." — The heavens are too high, my mind still shrouded, chasing the moon in a mirror. "Sed in illa silentii quiete unam veritatem intellexi:" — But in that silence's hush, I grasped one truth: "In immobilitate motus omnis latuit, ibique initium finemque simul conspexi." — In stillness, all motion hides; there I beheld beginning and end as one.
⟨ Resurrection Rite ⟩
The hole in the mummy's chest, where the Necrolite had gone, sealed shut.
A twitch.
Then the mummy's chest began to pulse.
"It's coming! Brace for impact!"
At the knight captain's shout, the knights formed a barrier.
Moments later, the magic circle etched beneath the mummy sucked into the ground at its feet,
Boom!
A fierce explosion centered on the mummy shattered the barrier.
Though the barrier crumbled, it fulfilled its role before vanishing.
Beyond it, thick dust shrouded the mummy.
"Success...?"
From the dust came a response to Stewart's mutter.
"Success at what?"
Beyond the dust, golden eyes bored into Stewart with utter boredom.
Then came the owner's disheveled hair and dissatisfied smirk,
And as the dust fully cleared, a crimson robe fluttered alongside armor dubbed "Two-Layered Scale."
The 13 Reverse Heavenly Stars.
The serpent that devoured the Empire, scarring the continent.
"Opfir...!"
Seeing those golden eyes, Stewart let out a cheer.
"At last, our secret weapon—!"
"Shut it."
Splat.
The knight captain's head vanished.
Without warning, as if it had simply detonated on the spot.
The holy knights present needed a moment to process it.
The vice captain snapped back first.
"You bastards! Did you fuck up the chains?!"
"No! The crown and chains were both secured perfectly..."
Their exchange drew in the once-mummy—now Opfir.
"Seeing you fools think these flimsy restraints could control me... I can guess how the outside world changed while I slept."
Opfir had appeared behind the vice captain.
Locking eyes with those golden orbs, the vice captain merely gaped.
Opfir posed a question.
"You revived me, so war must be calling, right?"
"Y-... Yes, Lord Opfir."
"Same as a century ago—war never ends."
"Indeed. That's why we dared summon you for aid."
Opfir, gazing indifferently at the camp, finally met the vice captain's eyes.
"Summon... Fine, rephrase: Who sparked this war?"
"Well..."
As the vice captain hesitated, a senior priest listening silently interjected.
"The Providence Kingdom!"
The senior priest, eyes gleaming with fanaticism, appealed to Opfir.
Opfir's attention shifted from the vice captain to the priest.
"So the kingdom's stronger?"
"No! We are heaven-blessed. Neither worldly blades nor hellfire can break us..."
The priest fervently professed his faith and patriotism.
"Fear has no place beside us. Thus, Lord Opfir, join us in justice—"
But he never finished.
Opfir, his bored expression unchanging, suddenly curled his lips into a smile.
As the priest froze at that ominous grin, Opfir's murmur reached his ears.
"I see. So the Holy Kingdom's the stronger one."
Only then did the priest realize his blunder.
Opfir.
Mercenary for the underdog.
A war maniac who always sided against the Empire—for the thrill of fighting the losing side.
Recalling history, the priest paled.
The vice captain shot curses with his eyes at the priest.
"N-No, that's..."
"One guide's enough."
Splat!
An ill-omened watermelon burst.
The senior priest's torso crumpled beside the knight captain's corpse.
"Can't trust a patriot like you."
Opfir smiled at the vice captain.
"I'll give you a shot too. Would you die for your nation?"
The vice captain shook his head for dear life.
That sufficed as an answer.
Opfir promptly carved a canyon there, filling it with the army's blood,
"Urk... blegh...!"
And when Opfir finished his verse and sealed the canyon, the vice captain retched atop the earth's fresh scar.
Word reached the main force that the unit tasked with Opfir's revival had been annihilated.
"Your Majesty! Opfir has—!"
"Calm yourself. I never expected leashing that monster would be easy."
Yet the Holy King remained unflustered.
"That's why I sent the knight captain."
In case chains and crown failed, he'd kept distance so the King wouldn't die there at least.
"From now, we'll bind him via the Necrolite in his heart. Meanwhile, send heroes and captains to subdue him."
With that, the Holy King headed to the Oracle Hall housing the leyline spring.
Erasing the divination circle, he inscribed a new one upon the spring.
Kneeling atop it, the King offered holy prayer skyward.
As he prayed, golden light streamed along the leylines.
Spreading across the land, it reached Opfir, binding his heart.
"Cough!"
But it was the Holy King who spat blood, not Opfir.
A haughty voice echoed in the King's mind.
[Heh. Thought this world dull, but someone's got decent tricks.]
"Your Majesty!"
Eyes squeezed shut, the King shouted at the approaching priests.
"Hurry! I can't hold him long! Send the army before he vanishes!"
The priests bit their lips at his sacrifice and dispatched troops posthaste.
Resolved to find and subdue Opfir before he bought more time.
But contrary to the King and his aides' expectations, Opfir neither hid nor fled.
Before the Empire-era fortress, sturdiest in the Holy Kingdom.
Atop a vast plain's hill, he simply played a reed flute.
Made from scout corpses' blood.
"Finally here."
He ceased as troops poured from the fortress horizon.
Turning to the hollow-eyed vice captain, he asked,
"That's where your boasted heroes wait?"
The vice captain barely nodded at Opfir's question.
"Y-Yes..."
"Feels right. Good work. You're free now."
At Opfir's declaration, the vice captain turned and stumbled away.
Pausing, he knelt toward his homeland and prayed.
"Forgive me... Sorry for surviving..."
Opfir ignored him, eyes on the army.
"Impossible..."
Lightning Hero Kaikusu, joining the Opfir subjugation force, muttered.
His gaze fixed on the lone man exuding presence even across the horizon.
"Wasn't he restrained? What's he doing moving freely?"
"His rank's down to 5th at worst. Not long awakened, and the binding's this loose already."
Subjugation commander Nihil, Shield Holy Knight Captain, replied.
A bead of cold sweat trickled from the commander's gleaming bald head; the hero's eyes naturally followed.
Noticing, the commander scowled.
"You focusing?"
"You bet. Fate of the world on the line—no distractions."
The hero replied brazenly, like he'd donned a mask.
His wavy black locks swaying with each word grated on the knight captain.
That lush mane waving before him just soured his mood for no reason.
Definitely not jealousy.
"Enough chit-chat. We need to subjugate Opfir quick—Huh?"
Pulling eyes from the bald commander, the hero blurted dumbly.
"Commander."
"Speak."
"Wasn't he Lv. 57 at first sight?"
"And?"
"Why's he Lv. 58 now?"
At the hero's question, the commander hastily appraised Opfir.
True enough—up one level, as said.
"Adapting to the binding already?"
"What're you doing? Send the troops before he finishes adapting!"
"Wait. Formations aren't set, strategy meeting's—"
This subjugation was a coalition: various knight orders, fortress priests' private troops, mercenaries.
Assembled just yesterday, they hadn't synced yet.
But the hero slammed the commander's desk.
"Waiting till that monster hits Lv. 80?! Strategy's pointless then!"
Torn, the commander agonized.
Then the hero bellowed, veins bulging.
"Now 59!"
A comms priest burst in, echoing the shout.
"Urgent from His Majesty! Binding's weakening!"
Angels were weakest fresh awake, gradually nearing peak like rousing from slumber.
Recalling this, the commander ordered the full force.
"Charge! Full assault!"
Superhumans on horseback surged toward Opfir's hill in response.
Behind, knights nocked arrows.
Surveying the scene, Opfir rose from the hill.
Hand withdrawing from pocket—toying with the binding Necrolite—now arms crossed atop the hill.
He amplified his voice for the whole army to hear.
"Finally moving, eh, heirs of the Emperor. Then let war begin."