An Evening Welcoming the Dawn (3)
A heap of earth crumbled away, revealing the gaping maw of a massive cavern.
Bran stood at its edge, peering down into the depths.
In the darkness, untouched even by the slanting rays of the setting sun, a writhing mass squirmed.
“...”
Only after staring for a long time did he realize the mass was composed of human shapes.
With lifeless eyes staring up at the sky, they were trampling over one another.
“They're corpses.”
Just as Bran wondered who he was talking to, the knight emerged from behind him.
The knight's thick armor was gouged with scratches big and small, the crevices caked with grime and dust.
Bran recalled what had happened just moments ago.
A tremor so violent it felt like a ship striking a reef, splitting in half and sinking.
The ceiling collapsing before he could even react.
Only when everything had crashed down right before his eyes did he finally comprehend the situation.
So this is how I die...
He could do nothing but raise his hands to shield himself until the suffocating air, rushing in with the darkness, crushed everything around him.
After what felt like an eternity.
Bran realized he was still alive.
A searing pain in his arm snapped him back to reality.
It was undoubtedly broken.
In the gaps of the collapsed rubble, a white light flickered a few times before vanishing without a trace.
The afterimage of the scene floated before his eyes, then quickly melted away.
“T-thank you.”
In that split second, Bran caught sight of the knight hunched over, shielding him.
A faint clink of metal echoed from the knight's helmet.
Assuming it was a nod, Bran hesitated for a moment before letting out a sigh of relief.
“But... what do we do now?”
They had survived.
But that was all.
He had no idea how they would escape a space so tightly sealed that not even a speck of light could penetrate it.
As the knight stood up, loose dirt showered down from above, covering Bran's face.
Blinking away tears brought on by the sudden pain in his arm, Bran slowly groped the wall.
The piled-up earth crumbled easily, revealing stone fragments that looked like the ruins of a basement.
He wondered if there was any real difference between being crushed to death by a wrong move or suffocating in an airtight space.
No. Perhaps it would be worse—trapped under the rubble by his limbs, dying a slow, agonizing death.
Maybe it's better to just stay still.
Just then, he felt the knight tap him on the shoulder from behind.
A bead of sweat rolled past the corner of his eye and down to his chin.
Realizing he had been holding his breath in his extreme tension, Bran gasped for air.
“Phew... Let's try going this way. If it looks like it's going to collapse, please pull me back.”
He had no desire to explore a pitch-black area that had literally just caved in.
One wrong touch, and they would be buried alive.
But Bran reminded himself that this wasn't the worst-case scenario.
It would be far more horrifying if his only companion got buried.
It was better to die quickly than to clutch a broken arm and perish slowly and miserably in the dark.
Bran closed his eyes tight, opened them, and pushed a stone fragment aside.
The pile of earth it had been supporting cascaded down, but the knight shielded him from behind, absorbing the impact.
The sound of shifting dirt faded, and silence returned once more.
Bran's breathing grew heavier.
“...Are you alright?”
He heard the faint rustle of the knight nodding.
Ignoring his pounding heart, Bran pressed forward.
And then, they encountered this cavern.
For the first sight they beheld after what felt like an eternity, it was deeply unsettling.
“How did they end up falling down here?”
The cavern was vast and deep.
Looking up, they could see a blood-red sky, with scattered embers and ash drifting through the air.
The distant roars of soldiers echoed down like a hollow wind.
The knight stared at the dried blood trailing down Bran's arm.
Bran, meanwhile, was scanning the cavern walls, desperately searching for a way out.
He showed no sign of giving up hope.
The knight gently tugged at the pondering Bran.
Though startled by the sudden touch, Bran nodded after seeing the knight's next action.
[RESCUE]
[WAIT]
“...Understood. I'll wait here.”
His broken arm throbbed.
In truth, "throbbing" was a massive understatement for the agony he was in, but Bran forced himself to downplay it.
He simply wasn't in any condition to climb out of this pit on his own.
And above all, he would be nothing but a liability against those monsters up there.
Once the knight saw Bran break into a cold sweat and carefully sit down, he gripped his halberd short.
Driving the spearhead firmly into the cavern wall, he began to scale the cliff face with powerful, deliberate strides.
Though chunks of the wall crumbled occasionally under his weight, it posed no real obstacle.
When he finally hauled himself onto the ground above, the knight was greeted by a landscape bathed in the crimson glow of the setting sun.
Along the edges of the burning pleasure district, the screams, both loud and faint, were dying down one by one.
Creatures that belonged to the night writhed on the ground, vomiting dark red fluids.
Yet, these mangled remnants posed no real threat. The knight marched forward, trampling over the hollow husks of the beasts.
At the edge of his vision, a ferocious beast caught his attention.
It was painting its white sword with fresh blood and flesh.
The tightly gripped shaft of the halberd creaked, letting out a low, resonant growl.
It was severed.
And with absolute precision.
By the time the black line bisecting his vision began to fade, the sword he had thrust forward split silently in two, clattering onto the dirt.
“How utterly fearless.”
Gyal's attempt to seize the opening and sever the tentacles connecting Taren Mors to the tumor had ended in failure.
Just how many lives had it consumed? The power supplied by the tumor far surpassed our own.
But it was nothing more than a final struggle.
Judging by how recklessly Taren Mors was squandering his energy, it was clear he would exhaust most of it before long.
The real issue was the collateral damage he would cause in the meantime.
Drunk on his own power, the man was entirely focused on obliterating everything in sight.
Heavy infantrymen clad in thick armor lay crushed on the ground, coughing up blood as they drew their final breaths.
The soldiers who had surrounded him in fury, thrusting their spears from all sides, no longer breathed.
Taren Mors snapped the spear shafts impaling his body and, in a fit of rage, began to pulverize everything within arm's reach into unrecognizable pulp.
A sword surging with black light clashed against Gyal's greatsword.
Seeing the blade that could cut through anything blocked for the very first time, Taren Mors's eyes widened. Trembling with rage at the realization, he snarled.
“For a foreign dog to interfere in the internal affairs of our kingdom... I should have hanged you and your master the moment you set foot on this soil. I showed you mercy and accommodated you, yet you dare cross the line by meddling in royal affairs.”
“...”
Gyal did not reply. He simply stoked the intensity of his flames.
Though the sheer heat scorched his own hands and face, Taren Mors, who had retreated with a savage shriek, quickly regenerated his wounds and let out a hollow laugh.
“So you were hiding such power. How absurd, it makes me laugh. You must have had something to rely on.”
With that, he glared up at the towering spires of the royal castle.
Dusk had fallen completely, leaving only the flickering flames of the pleasure district to illuminate the dark.
“Since an unworthy pretender has usurped the throne, it is only natural for foreign jackals to swarm.”
The tentacles connected to the tumor suddenly began to swell.
With a sickening tearing sound, Taren Mors's body bloated. Through his splitting skin, his raw red flesh cooled, exposing dark, bulbous nodules.
“I shall personally clean up this mess in your stead. So if you have eyes and ears, drag your wretched carcass out of my way and welcome your true king.”
In an instant, the white sword turned pitch-black and lunged toward Gyal's torso.
Sensing an ominous energy, Gyal dodged to the left, but Taren Mors's arm, which had been thrusting straight forward, bent at a grotesque angle and swept toward Gyal's waist.
Screeech!
Gyal tried to withstand the blow by using his greatsword, driven into the ground, as a pivot, but his blade began to grind away under the pressure.
But Gyal was not one to just stand and watch.
He kicked the embedded greatsword, kicking up a cloud of dirt to blind his opponent.
Then, catching the greatsword as it flew into the air, he thrust it straight forward.
“Evacuate the people to the coast.”
“...What? Aren't you joining the fight?”
“Getting involved over there won't help at all.”
Luke, who was already poised to charge, looked at Taren Mors and Gyal locked in their fierce struggle, then nodded.
As if reluctant to leave empty-handed, he hurled his sword with all his might before quickly vanishing into the alleyways.
With a sword suddenly impaled in his back, Taren Mors flew into a frenzy, roaring in fury.
But that was it.
He had no time to spare a glance, fully occupied with parrying Gyal's relentless, calculated strikes.
I moved stealthily, keeping to his blind spot.
Following the trail of tentacles, I swung my sword at the tumor sitting exposed in the middle of the street.
The membrane enveloping the tumor had already hardened into a tough shell.
As if it had decided to focus entirely on defense and channel all its energy into Taren Mors, the faint voice that had occasionally echoed from it had fallen silent.
Despite the arrival of night, the surroundings remained brightly lit.
The fires consuming the pleasure district showed no signs of dying down, and the screams of the people had faded, swallowed by the darkness.
All that remained was the clashing of steel and ragged breathing.
Gyal was tiring rapidly, whereas Taren Mors had not shed a single drop of sweat.
“What do you hope to achieve with such a pathetic body! Admit defeat now, and I shall grant you a peaceful death!”
Gyal, visibly annoyed by Taren Mors's tireless, arrogant boasting, narrowed one eye and unleashed a burst of flames.
The blast blew away Taren Mors's jaw, but before long, a new, heavily scarred jaw regenerated, twisting into a smirk.
“I feel a similar power within you. But it is insignificant. Can you not even heal your own wounds? You are merely hastening your demise with that paltry strength!”
“...Shut up.”
Displeased by Gyal's first actual response, Taren Mors thrust his sword forward and charged with all his might.
Slammed into the ruins of a collapsed building, Gyal coughed up blood. After shoving him back a few more times, Taren Mors stomped on Gyal's fallen greatsword.
“Consider it an honor to die by my hand.”
The black blade, raised arrogantly, vanished into the darkened sky.
Savoring Gyal's impending demise with the leisure of a newly crowned king celebrating his ascension, Taren Mors brought his sword down with crushing force.
The blade, capable of effortlessly slicing through tough leather and soft flesh alike, plunged straight down. In that instant, the body of the foolish man who dared resist him should have been split in two.
That was how it should have been.
“...?”
But what should have been there was gone.
Only then did his cleanly severed right arm begin to spray black fluid.
Baffled by the incomprehensible turn of events, he slowly turned around.
Beyond an axe blade painted in the crimson hues of the sunset, a suit of worn armor came into view.
Creeeeak.
His bisected vision slowly converged back into a single point.
Taren Mors raised both hands to grope his own head.
He could clearly feel the cold, hard touch of steel.