The Evening That Welcomes the Morning, Part 4
Amidst the strewn corpses, a sudden silence fell.
At that moment, a brilliantly burning building collapsed, sending sparks flying into the dark shadows.
How long had it been since I last saw a landscape so choked with death?
The only difference was that while before, the scenery itself had lost all vitality as if time had stopped, now the deceased before my eyes moved relentlessly, hungering for the lives of the living.
A tongue writhing inside a split throat let out a grotesque sound.
I felt as though I had locked eyes with one of its two split pupils.
Clang!
The sword struck a hardened membrane, ringing out sharply.
The red-hot blade scraped across the surface, exposing the scarlet flesh beneath.
Just then, a limp tentacle snapped taut, casting a long shadow.
As I leaped backward, the ground shook violently enough to kick up a cloud of dust, and Taren Mors, who had lunged in an instant, revealed himself.
"...Why?"
His mouth, somehow restored to its original shape, split wide open as a raspy voice escaped.
I stared blankly at him.
Through his torn garments, his skin looked grotesque, studded with black, tumor-like lumps.
His appearance could no longer be called human, so what should I even call him?
I quietly steadied my breathing, taking in the sight of a man who was once human but had now fallen to the level of a beast's minion.
"Why do you block my path so desperately? When you harbor the same power as I do, why do you stand with that wretched bastard and hasten our ruin?"
"I wonder if you've ever once considered the price you'll have to pay."
Gyal replied, wiping his blood-stained face as he approached.
"I have no desire to meddle in your political games, nor do I care to take anyone's side. It's just that they wanted to protect, and you didn't."
"Nonsense. A mere puppet leashed by a woman, yet you speak so boldly. Do you even know who is truly eating away at this kingdom before you run your mouth?"
But I had seen it.
The soldiers stabbing to death a dancer who was fleeing with a nursing infant in her arms.
Aria, covered in burns, with nowhere left to return.
"I didn't side with the king."
My mouth felt bone-dry.
Was it because of the raging flames?
I watched the pleasure quarter, which had once been someone's home, being swallowed by the inferno.
"I merely stopped you—a hollow shell stuffed with the carcass of a beast."
"I must ask what you saw to judge me so."
"Look around you."
Taren Mors obediently turned his head.
Hands reaching out toward him.
The vacant eyes of a soldier crawling forward, his broken jaw twitching.
Scattered chunks of flesh and torsos with exposed ribs squirmed tenaciously.
Where was the grand, righteous cause he had prattled on about?
Where was the justification of rising to protect his kingdom while calling others cowards?
Staring at the devastating landscape around him, Taren Mors spoke.
"An army no longer holds any meaning. Why don't you answer me instead? Do you truly believe an army of mere mortals, even if they rushed me by the thousands or tens of thousands, could ever harm me? Look. As long as I stand strong, the kingdom will shed no more noble blood. Nothing will dare encroach upon my kingdom. Why on earth should I choose a coward who hides away, concealing his insidious intentions, over someone like me?"
Luke was right.
There wasn't a single bastard who ordered people to be killed whose heart wasn't pitch black.
Whether the tumor had scrambled his brain, or whether he had simply been this way from the very beginning, there was no longer any way to find out.
Therefore, there was no reason to listen to his sophistry any longer.
The tip of my drawn sword pointed at his chest, aiming for the heart of the tumor hidden deep within.
Gyal lunged lightly with his greatsword, while the knight's halberd cut off any path of retreat.
"How dare you lowly insects!"
An enraged Taren Mors charged straight at me.
Three tentacles erupted from his severed wrist, thrusting toward my neck, my heart, and my flank.
I deflected the topmost tentacle aiming for my neck and deployed a barrier over my chest.
The force of the blow, clearly intended to kill in a single strike, left my wrist and chest quite numb, but I managed to avoid a fatal wound.
The problem was the third attack, which got through because I couldn't form more than one barrier at a time.
The tentacle, sharply bent at its joints, tore into my left flank, spraying crimson blood.
The pain was dizzying, making it hard to even breathe, but I barely managed to stay on my feet.
I immediately pressed my hand against the wound and focused my energy.
I could clearly feel the hot, wet sensation of my entrails slipping through my fingers.
Meanwhile, the knight's axe blade hooked around his neck, and Gyal's greatsword pierced through his lower back.
"I won't fall for that twice—!!"
Using the pulling force of the knight, Taren Mors threw his body weight to crush Gyal, but a sudden burst of flames scorched Taren Mors's torso just in time.
At that moment, his hand shot out from the fiercely raging fire.
The knight's armor, seized in his grip, began to glow bright yellow with heat.
"Ugh... Ahhh...!"
A voice that sounded like a swallowed scream erupted from the vertical slit of the helmet.
Gyal hastily pulled his sword out, but the smell of burning flesh roasting inside the scorching armor already filled the air.
"I do not die! Did you truly think you, whose very origins are different, could ever stop me?!"
The knight collapsed to his knees, writhing in agony.
With a loud metallic clash, Taren Mors swung his tentacles.
Gyal's greatsword collided with the tentacles with a deafening clang.
Should I join them?
The wound was deeper than expected, and it would take quite some time to heal.
If I took any more injuries in this state, the situation would only worsen.
Just then, something glinted in the corner of my vision, catching my eye.
The clash between Taren Mors and Gyal dragged on.
The knight lay sprawled on the ground, a clear fluid—whether saliva or tears—dripping from the slits of his helmet.
I must concentrate.
I gathered the energy throughout my body, doing my best not to draw Taren Mors's attention.
The wound greedily sucked in the energy, and the gouged flesh rapidly filled back in.
It didn't matter what it looked like on the inside.
As the skin knit itself shut, fresh energy began to flood the empty space.
Before long, the sound of clashing blades ceased.
Taren Mors, his chin tilted up arrogantly, glared down at Gyal.
"Ah... you are but a half-breed. I see it now. To think that creatures who haven't even escaped the shackles of death would dare act so insolently, completely unaware of their place."
Black blood dripped from his hand as he caught Gyal's swinging blade barehanded.
Yet, as if it didn't matter in the slightest, he yanked the greatsword—gripping it so hard his hand seemed on the verge of being severed—and aimed his tentacles at Gyal's head.
Veins bulged on Gyal's forehead as he twisted the greatsword.
Taking advantage of the opening created as flesh tore, Gyal swiftly pulled his greatsword free and barely managed to deflect the incoming attack.
A single breath.
The scenes that unfolded in those fleeting moments repeated over and over.
Though he relentlessly pressed his attack in the exact same manner, Gyal had no choice but to react to his speed; there was no room to try anything else.
Watching them, I raised the halberd gripped in my hands.
The halberd's axe blade glowed red-hot as I drew it back past my shoulder.
My shoulders rotated violently, back muscles contracting, and I leaned my upper body forward to lead the weight.
I felt the shaft of the weapon vibrate wildly against my palms, ready to leap forward.
Screeech—!!
The membrane protecting the tumor buckled and collapsed.
Unable to withstand the impact, the membrane finally tore open, splitting in two to reveal the pulsating tumor beneath.
"What have you done...!"
Taren Mors, noticing too late, lunged forward, but he was stopped in his tracks before he could go far.
The knight's hand had grabbed his ankle.
He gripped with such force that the smooth surface of his gauntlet warped, accompanied by the screech of twisting metal.
And then, the second strike slammed down.
Accompanied by a scream from an unknown source, the soft flesh of the tumor split open, spewing black fluid.
As if a ripe fruit were being squeezed, the black liquid burst in all directions, and the stench of blood began to blanket the area.
The tumor let out a screech loud enough to make my head ring.
Wailing in agony, the tumor thrashed its tentacles.
The tentacles torn from Taren Mors's body began to twist grotesquely and shrivel, and Gyal grabbed them with brute force.
My flank was soaked.
It seemed my wound had burst open.
Forcing my blurry vision wide open, I plunged my hand deep into the split body of the tumor as I fell forward, and ripped out its pulsating heart.
At last, absolute silence fell.
White ash drifted on the sea breeze, and only after seeing it did I realize that dawn had broken.
The corpses—fragments of flesh whose owners could no longer be identified—finally ceased their movements.
The Chancellor looked down at Arselion through the window, lost in deep thought.
In just a few days, they had suffered unexpected damage, and the situation had taken another sudden turn.
She decided to take some time to ponder how her superior had redefined his relationship with the esteemed guest from the north through this incident.
As she imagined various scenarios and conjured the worst possible outcomes, the Chancellor began to experience a fundamental internal conflict over what any of this even meant anymore.
Fortunately, before long, the ornately decorated doors of the audience chamber opened, and a woman draped in various shades of red made her appearance.
The Prophet gave a slight nod to the Chancellor.
Unable to contain her curiosity, the Chancellor followed behind her, trying to think of a suitable topic to break the ice. However, she received an answer before she could even ask a question, which only served to further muddle her thoughts.
"What do you mean you have nothing more to say to me?"
The Chancellor had no memory of ever having a proper conversation with her.
A conversation, by definition, was meant to share perspectives and foster mutual understanding.
But the Prophet remained nothing more than a mass of incomprehensible enigmas.
The Prophet looked at the Chancellor with pitying eyes.
"If there were such a thing, would someone not have summoned you already? Yet here you stand by my side, and those who seek you are nowhere to be seen."
Myself included, that is.
The Chancellor felt as though she had heard the Prophet's unspoken words.
And so, she decided to quicken her pace.
The Chancellor stepped in front of the Prophet, glancing sideways at the firmly shut doors.
"Do you mean His Majesty the King?"
"Who can say? While those who can summon you are few, those who seek you are countless. The only answer I can give you is that we must soon depart from this place."
The Prophet said, pointing to her own eyes and ears.
"Strive to see clearly and listen closely. For the day will come when you shall need to."
The Chancellor stared for a long time at the red hair disappearing down the stairs.
