Chapter 96
Chapter 96
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 96
Chapter Title: The Last Emperor
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* * *
Where did the memories end?
Where did the memories begin?
* * *
The difference in build between Cheon-ho and the Winter King was vast.
Cheon-ho, in his mid-180s, was by no means small—in fact, quite large—but the Winter King's height easily surpassed two meters, nearing three.
Of course, both Cheon-ho and the Winter King were superhumans. They had long transcended ordinary human limits, so differences in physique did not equate to differences in strength.
However, the gap in size also meant a disparity in attack range. There was no way around that.
Imperial Swordsmanship was direct and domineering.
Even though it was a single straight-line strike, Cheon-ho felt as if a wall was crashing toward him.
He did not clash blades recklessly. Instead of meeting straight line with straight line, he read the sword path and deflected it.
It was thanks to his brief but intensive study with Mitra, who could be called the creator of Imperial Swordsmanship, and her breakdowns of how to counter it.
But he could not close the distance.
It was as if a line had been drawn; he could not take even a single step forward.
The swords intertwined.
Each time Soul Eater clashed with Mitra, it let out a howl. Even suppressed by the Healing God's divine power, the Winter King's immense demonic energy still bared its fangs.
Cheon-ho did not rush.
He knew time was not on his side, yet he did not grow impatient.
The Dragon Armor aided in handling the solar mana. It granted Mitra a power that would not yield to Soul Eater.
The swords intertwined again. Soul Eater slid along Mitra's blade. It deviated from its fixed path as if repelled.
But it was only for a moment. The Winter King's superhuman strength suppressed the rebound. From an unnatural angle, Soul Eater lunged toward Cheon-ho.
* * *
It was a world of pure white.
A place blanketed in white snow—that was both the end and the beginning of the memories.
The empire's northernmost frontier.
Farther north than the Silphian Plateau.
Not far from the land where Holy Knight Lug slept.
There, he had been defeated and died.
It was the early days of the war called the Great Anti-Demon War.
* * *
Mitra blocked Soul Eater.
The superhuman strength created by the Dragon Armor converting solar mana withstood the Winter King's might.
There was no brilliant light.
No thunderous roar.
But at the moment the swords collided, a shockwave rippled out. Everything around them, except the Winter King and Cheon-ho, was swept away by the impact.
The fighting outside the magic circle had stopped.
Everyone on the battlefield gazed at the magic circle. They watched the hero and the Winter King battling within.
The swords crossed again. Unlike before, they clashed fiercely, repeatedly.
A gale rose from Mitra. Blades of wind slashed at the Winter King, and a wall of water blocked Soul Eater's domineering advance.
The crossings grew even faster.
Cheon-ho's sword was flashy; the Winter King's was steadfast.
Now, it was Cheon-ho taking the offensive, not the Winter King.
That was why the Winter King observed.
He watched the holy sword gleaming with golden light, radiating sacred power.
Mitra.
The first hero's sword.
Exactly as described in the legends.
A sword that scattered wind and lightning, burning away evil demonic energy.
A sword that cut down evil and protected the righteous—a holy sword of salvation.
A small, delicate voice whispered in his ear.
The Winter King did not hear it. Or rather, he could not hear it even if he wanted to.
The small, delicate voice had not yet reached the Winter King.
From within his helm, the Winter King let out a hollow laugh. He gnashed his teeth, unleashing his fury.
Cheon-ho's offensive faltered.
* * *
The empire's barriers crumbled under the endless waves of demonic beasts.
Even as the benevolent gods and angels descended to the mortal realm to help, the situation did not improve much.
He resolved to take personal command.
Just as the first emperor, Leonhardt, had led from the front.
But reality differed from the tales.
He was not the world-saving hero Leonhardt.
Over centuries, his blood had thinned, leaving only faint traces.
For this feeble vessel, even drawing and wielding the Empire Guardian Sword—like his ancestors—proved impossible.
There were several battles.
He did not always lose. There were small victories, a few times.
But that was all.
Small victories could not halt the tide marching toward annihilation.
* * *
The Winter King began pressing Cheon-ho once more.
His sword remained steadfast and simple. Because it was the empire's sword.
The first hero, Leonhardt.
The great hero who, through countless defeats and despair, pressed on unyieldingly to achieve world salvation.
It was his sword.
The sword passed down from him.
A roar erupted.
Each time Soul Eater's demonic energy tried to devour Mitra, Cheon-ho exploded with solar mana.
The Winter King's sword paid it no mind. Just like Leonhardt, it relentlessly pursued the enemy—Cheon-ho.
Cheon-ho's speed increased. Unlike Leonhardt, he displayed flashy, agile swordplay.
They clashed again. Collision and separation repeated. It was a conversation through swords, audible to both.
Mitra was roaring.
The holy sword, the sword that guarded the empire, was crying out.
There was one reason.
A singular, unwavering reason.
To protect.
The hero, the world, and now the fading remnants of the empire.
"Mitra."
The Winter King called out.
Even amid the fierce battle, he gave voice.
Once more, he awaited Mitra's response.
* * *
He did not die.
Thanks to the sacrifice of his loyal knights, he survived.
Even as his army was effectively annihilated, he clung to his wretched life.
But that did not last long.
The empire was eroded by the Great Labyrinth.
The world shattered, devoured by another world called the Great Labyrinth.
He collapsed beneath a sky dyed ash-gray. He had lost too much blood to walk any further.
Even as sensation left his body, he felt the cold.
With his last strength, he rolled onto his back. He took in the ash-gray sky and the white world.
And he intuited it.
That the empire would fall.
That his generation would bring that end.
The empire's last emperor.
The emperor who failed to protect the empire.
Tears flowed. He wept like a child.
In the world of pure white, unseen by anyone, he quietly and lonesomely closed his eyes.
* * *
What was the reason?
Why had he ascended from the 10th floor to the 8th?
Mitra responded with a roar of hostility. No, it was not hostility. He could tell because they were evenly matched.
She did not fight out of enmity, hatred, or rage.
Her battles were always to protect.
Just as in Leonhardt's chronicles.
The Winter King laughed. It was a slightly different laugh from before.
The fierce exchange continued.
Though considerable time had passed, both sides had grown faster and stronger.
Thus, the combatants themselves did not realize it.
Those watching noticed first.
The Death Knights— the loyal knights who had given their lives on the final battlefield to protect the emperor—recalled the past.
Rather than burning with hatred for the living gained upon becoming undead, they sifted through old memories.
The Winter King's form was changing.
The demonic energy enveloping him was gradually lifting.
That was why Lucas recognized him.
Even though the Winter King's appearance was still clear, he realized it.
Lucas swallowed a scream. His body went limp for a moment, and he staggered. Leaning on the ramparts with both arms, he barely held himself up.
He murmured the last emperor's name.
* * *
The memories began anew in the white snowfield.
He did not know why.
Perhaps he had been chosen.
With the hand unable to wield the holy sword, he grasped the demonic sword.
Devouring opposing souls, he pressed onward.
At some point, he stopped and realized where he stood.
The final battlefield.
There, he knelt. Following the demonic sword's whispers, he devoured the battlefield's wraiths. He reclaimed the souls of tens of thousands who had died fighting for the empire, granting them profane life.
The knights rose again.
Reborn as Death Knights, their loyalty remained unchanged.
He continued onward.
He felt the empire's fall in truth. The empire was gone. Thus, an emperor could no longer exist.
Winter King.
A king who could no longer welcome spring, doomed to remain in eternal winter.
He rummaged through the empire's remnants.
He halted in the shattered imperial capital Aiterium on the 10th floor.
There too, he devoured many souls, granting them profane life.
And he found her.
Before the passage leading to where Mitra was kept.
A small, young soul wandering before Mitra's chamber, which had vanished as if sliced away by a blade.
The Winter King could bear it no longer.
He surrendered everything to Soul Eater's demonic energy.
* * *
The God of Purification spat curses.
It was impossible any longer. The limit had been reached.
But collapsing here meant the end. The moment the magic circle vanished, the Winter King would regain his original power.
Thus, the God of Purification exerted every ounce of strength. The angels with him did the same.
But even so, there was an end.
The God of Purification finally collapsed as if crumbling. The magic circle lost its divine power and faded.
* * *
The Winter King thought.
Why had he come this far?
To corrupt and claim Mitra?
To pour out his resentment at Mitra?
The sword strikes crossed.
Soul Eater greedily devoured Mitra's sacred light with its vicious demonic energy.
Soul Eater's power grew stronger. The Winter King's own suppressed power was returning.
The time had come.
The moment he had planned from the start approached.
The Winter King's demonic energy grew wild. The fragments of the carrier enveloping Cheon-ho's body fell away. As if sacrificing themselves to protect Cheon-ho.
The solar mana weakened too. It could no longer push back the demonic energy.
But Cheon-ho did not fall. He did not crumble under the Winter King's strikes.
It was not mere stubbornness. Nor some hidden power awakening.
A conversation of swords.
The Winter King's sword guided Cheon-ho.
Though his body and spirit had surpassed human limits, Cheon-ho's swordplay had lingered at human level. It showed him the path.
At some point, the Winter King burst into delighted laughter.
Instead of relying on Soul Eater's demonic energy, he displayed faster, more refined swordsmanship.
Amid the dazzlingly swift sword exchanges, Cheon-ho saw her.
The woman with golden eyes.
Her swordsmanship.
As if demonstrating, she unfolded her strikes before Cheon-ho's eyes. Her form shimmered in his vision.
It was Mitra.
Her sword.
In the clash with the Winter King, Cheon-ho internalized Mitra's sword. And he realized—Leonhardt had been the same. He had forged his own sword from within Mitra's.
It was a conversation of swords.
The Winter King could see her too.
The woman with golden eyes.
The sword spirit of the world's most beautiful and noble holy sword, as described in Leonhardt's chronicles.
The sword dance continued.
The Death Knights knew. Their lord was gradually being pushed back. The hero's sword was beginning to overwhelm the Winter King's.
But they did not move. They watched their lord—who was shedding demonic energy bit by bit amid the sword dance with the hero—the last emperor of the empire.
* * *
Mitra now knew as well.
Though she had been asleep and never faced him directly, she did not fail to recognize him.
A descendant of Leon.
The empire's last emperor, whom she had failed to protect.
The demonic energy that had shrouded the Winter King vanished completely. The foul evil god's aura filled only Soul Eater now.
Cheon-ho's sword began to overwhelm the Winter King's.
But Soul Eater thrashed wildly, spewing demonic energy. It unleashed its final strike—the one that had taken the God of Plagues' life.
Cheon-ho met it.
With the vision of Mitra shimmering before him, he radiated blinding golden light.
But it was not enough.
The final clash belonged not to swordsmanship, but to raw power.
Soul Eater roared in mad laughter.
Weakened by the Healing God's magic circle and the clash with Cheon-ho, yet Cheon-ho had expended even more. At this rate, Soul Eater was assured victory.
Cheon-ho knew it too.
Thus, he used his prepared final card.
A visible hand drew a vial from Cheon-ho's waist. Uncorked it and poured it into Cheon-ho's mouth as he struggled against Soul Eater.
Elixir.
The miraculous potion.
'A prepared hero catches the beauty? No, the demon king.'
Father's words were always right. The elixir took effect. It instantly restored Cheon-ho's depleted mana and stamina.
Soul Eater, in panic, hastily amplified its power, but it was futile.
Cheon-ho roared. He summoned solar mana once more. The golden light suppressed Soul Eater's black demonic energy and repelled it outright.
Soul Eater howled in agony.
It was a literal last-ditch struggle. Cloaked in pitch-black demonic energy, it charged at Cheon-ho. Cheon-ho watched that Soul Eater. He looked at Mitra. Together with her, he unleashed the final technique.
The hero's sword.
A golden arc cleaved Soul Eater. It obliterated the black demonic energy without a trace.
The Winter King staggered. Soul Eater wailed in torment.
Then Cheon-ho reached out. With his left hand, he gripped Soul Eater's blade directly.
Soul Eater realized what Cheon-ho intended.
It screamed in terror, but Cheon-ho did not stop.
Divine Predation.
Solar mana devoured the black demonic sword's divinity.
* * *
The Winter King—the last emperor—finally understood.
The desire to corrupt and seize Mitra had been Soul Eater's will.
But not all the will that led him to the 8th floor was Soul Eater's.
It was like that day.
He lay fallen in a world of pure white.
But it differed from then. Now, before him stood the hero and the holy sword.
And at last, he could hear the small, delicate voice.
"Father."
Even when he had granted profane life to the empire's people and knights, he could not take that soul. Instead of profane life, he had merely held onto his child.
On the day the imperial capital Aiterium was incorporated into the Great Labyrinth, she had lost her life to the demonic beasts.
Why had her soul lingered before Mitra's chamber?
To beg Mitra for salvation?
To plead for Mitra's aid?
Mitra now knew too.
Who it was that had sought her help.
What that voice she had failed to answer had been.
Mitra burst into tears.
Her voice reached not only Cheon-ho but the last emperor and the crown princess as well.
Mitra said she was sorry.
She could do nothing else.
The last emperor shook his head.
It was not Mitra's fault. Even if he had been able to draw Mitra then, the outcome would not have changed.
The last emperor looked at Cheon-ho.
He expressed gratitude to the new world-saving hero he had wanted—and failed—to become.
For freeing him from the demonic sword.
For protecting the empire's people from him.
For letting him hear his daughter's voice once more.
The crown princess embraced the last emperor.
In her mid-teens, still a young girl, she reached out to Mitra. She caressed the golden gem and smiled at the still-sobbing Mitra.
Exactly as Leonhardt's chronicles, read countless times, described.
The world's most beautiful and noble holy sword—yet too kind, a crybaby.
"Please protect the empire."
The crown princess said.
It had not vanished entirely.
Remnants lingered throughout the Great Labyrinth.
Like the soldiers at Silphian Fortress, people of the empire—of the Labyrinth World—remained.
Mitra promised.
The crown princess smiled brightly again and gazed at Cheon-ho with the last emperor.
"Please take care of Mitra."
The crown princess said. The last emperor did too.
The holy sword that had saved the world with the first hero Leonhardt and guarded the empire for long after—the holy sword awakened once more to protect the world.
Cheon-ho promised as well. Caressing Mitra's golden gem, still hiccuping with sobs, he nodded.
"Farewell."
The crown princess and the last emperor bid goodbye.
Their souls scattered into light, ascending to the heavens. At that moment, the same happened across the entire battlefield.
"Thank you."
"Wish you fortune."
"For the empire."
"Still, tampering with the pillars was a bit much."
The Death Knights, restored to their true forms, offered final words before ascending.
All the undead who had marched with the Winter King shed their demonic energy, becoming pure souls.
Tens of thousands of souls ascended at once.
They filled the ash-gray sky and white battlefield with light.
Lucille prayed with clasped hands alongside the angels.
Lucas cried out the empire's name, and the soldiers saw off the departing souls.
Cheon-ho regripped Mitra.
Together with her, he looked up at the sky.