Chapter 447: The King and the Slave(1)
Chapter 447: The King and the Slave(1)
"It’s cleaner inside than I expected."
Benphis, a scholar from Savior, spoke up with a look of bewilderment as he surveyed the interior of the royal palace.
A man with a distinctive mustache and sparkling eyes befitting a scholar, he scanned his surroundings with intense curiosity.
The building itself was impressive for having endured the ravages of time so loftily, but the interior was surprisingly well-preserved. Aside from the layers of dust and sand accumulated from centuries of neglect, there was little damage, despite the fact that demons had once overrun the place.
"To think such a structure was built over three thousand years ago... The architectural techniques are comparable even to those of the present day."
"A structure of this scale in an era supposedly devoid of mana, magic, and advanced technology... Its preservation is excellent. It will make our research much easier," added Delphine, a female archaeologist.
Though the wrinkles on her face betrayed her age, her eyes shone with a youthful intensity fueled by curiosity. These two were world-renowned archaeologists, famous even beyond the borders of Savior. They had been handpicked by the Holy Kingdom for this expedition and the fulfillment of the oracle.
"Do you think the demons used this place as a base?"
"It’s highly likely. They might have used it as a gateway between dimensions, or as Xenon suggested, a site for rituals..."
Benphis trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.
The carnage—or rather, the traces of it—before his eyes made it all too easy to imagine what had transpired.
At the end of the white marble corridor stood a set of grand double doors. In front of those wide-open doors, the floor was stained dark with blood. It wasn't just the floor; the surrounding walls were covered in countless bloody handprints. There were even drag marks, left by those who had desperately tried to claw their way out, only to be pulled back inside.
Though time had faded them into mere stains, the evidence of a frantic struggle for survival was unmistakable.
"...No one. It seems no one managed to escape."
Just as Deimos said, there were traces of people being miserably dragged away before they could even make it halfway down the corridor. The outside had been completely razed, leaving nothing behind, but even those who sensed something wrong and fled inside would have been caught.
What could possibly be inside to leave such vivid marks, even after three thousand years? Given the total absence of skeletal remains, it was certain that everyone had been dragged away.
"...We should be careful. First..."
Just as Deimos was about to manifest his Divine Power as a precaution—
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The sound of footsteps suddenly echoed through the eerie corridor. Everyone turned their heads toward the source of the sound simultaneously.
At first, they thought Iker had entered without permission, but their thoughts changed the moment they saw the 'figure' walking down the hall.
"That's..."
"... ..."
Someone was slowly walking toward the group from the entrance of the corridor. However, their appearance was incredibly peculiar. They weren't entirely transparent, yet light passed through them, allowing the background to be seen in blurry patches. It was like looking at a translucent mirror.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
As the unidentified figure drew closer, the paladins began to draw their weapons one by one. However, Deimos raised a hand to stop them, signaling that there was no threat.
Though the paladins were naturally confused, Deimos explained the nature of the figure.
"It is a Wraith."
"A Wraith?"
"Yes. It is similar to an Earthbound Spirit, but it merely reenacts the events of that time. It poses no physical harm. The lingering malice held by the soul was so potent that even after the soul ascended, a trace remained."
While an Evil Spirit causes indiscriminate harm due to its intense resentment, a Wraith could be considered a higher-dimensional existence. When a grudge is powerful enough, it creates a lingering malice that coalesces to repeat the events of the past. Even if the soul passes on, the trace remains, leading to phenomena like this.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Meanwhile, the figure Deimos identified as a Wraith drew closer. The expedition members, including Deimos, examined the figure closely.
He had a face that looked like it had weathered many battles and a stoic expression. His hair was long and wild, like a lion's mane. From his massive, house-like frame to his muscle-bound physique, he looked every bit the 'warrior.'
But... there was something even more striking.
"...Horns? Is he a Demon?"
"He doesn't look like a demon, though..."
"Didn't they say the first generation of the Demon Clan was born from the demons' horrific experiments?"
There were horns sprouting from his head. Unlike the horns of the current generation of the Demon Clan, these were several times larger. However, since he lacked wings, it seemed he hadn't fully turned into a demon.
Regardless, the sight of a member of the Demon Clan walking boldly through the palace corridors, even as a Wraith, was enough to pique their curiosity.
"...Let's follow him for now. I'll deploy a barrier just in case."
Following Deimos's lead, the expedition began to trail the Wraith. At the same time, something else followed behind them.
Eventually, the Wraith reached the doors where the horrific carnage was presumed to have occurred...
[KYAAAAAAAH!!]
A blood-curdling scream erupted from the doorway.
"W-What?!"
"What was that sound?"
The expedition members jumped in fright at the ear-piercing, spine-chilling scream. It wasn't just a simple cry; it felt like an Evil Spirit's shriek, vibrating through their brains and causing extreme disorientation.
But it wasn't just one scream.
[Help me! Please, help... AAAAAH!]
[Outside...! We have to get outside...!]
[I don't want to die! I don't want to die! Sob!]
As soon as the Wraith reached the door, a torrent of screams poured out. Terrified cries from men, women, and children alike pierced their ears. The sounds were so invasive they felt as if they were tearing through their minds. It was impossible to imagine what would have happened if the barrier hadn't been in place.
This was chilling enough, but the 'sounds' weren't the only problem.
"O-Over there...!"
Benphis, the scholar who had been covering his ears, pointed to the floor with a trembling voice. The expedition members turned their gaze and turned pale in unison.
Just like the man walking the corridor, Wraiths—no, multitudes of Wraiths—were crawling desperately across the floor. Some were frantically trying to escape. Others were even more gruesome; some had their lower bodies completely severed or had only one arm left, yet they still dragged themselves forward.
[No...! No...! AAAAAAAAH!!]
But those Wraiths didn't get far before being dragged back toward the door. They struggled with all their might to break free, but it was futile. All that remained were the long, bloody gouges left by their fingernails.
With that final Wraith, the reenactment ended. The giant member of the Demon Clan had already entered the room long ago.
However, no one dared to step inside immediately. The scene the Wraiths had just shown them was far too vivid. If they went in, would they suffer the same fate? An inexplicable sense of dread washed over the expedition.
"... ..."
"... ..."
"... ..."
No one spoke first. Yet, they were all staring at the same place. The doors were wide open, revealing the interior, but they lacked the courage to enter. Nevertheless, the giant Wraith from before was silently making his way further inside.
"...Let us go in. Luminous will protect us."
"A-Are you sure it's okay?"
"Lord Luminous sent us here. Do you truly believe He would lead us into a death trap?"
Persuaded by Deimos's words, the members managed to calm their hearts. However, the scene from moments ago still lingered in their minds.
After steadying themselves once more, they began to follow the Wraith. The first place they had to pass through was the wide-open grand doors. Deimos stepped forward, his heart tight with tension.
[AAAAAAH! H-Help me!]
[R-Rex. It's me! It's me! Your...! Gurgle!]
[W-Why did it turn out like this? The sorcery went wrong...]
[Hehehehe. This is a dream. It's a dream. The King would never do this...]
The interior was even worse than the outside. While the previous scene had been filled only with terror, this place was a chaotic mix of every conceivable emotion.
Fear, despair, agony, denial, grief, and more.
The Wraiths were each reenacting their own deaths, and their screams and shouts forced their way into the expedition members' minds. Had it not been for Cardinal Deimos's divine barrier, they would have bolted for the exit immediately. Even now, Benphis and Delphine, who were mere scholars, were shivering uncontrollably.
"...It might be best to postpone the excavation. For now, we should follow that Wraith."
"Y-Yes, sir!"
There was no point in trying to excavate anything in this state. The expedition continued to shadow the demon Wraith.
[Hurry, move the books to the basement! They are our final legacy!]
[The records! We must leave a record! Quickly...!]
[This horrific sorcery must...! Oh, heavens...!]
When they reached what appeared to be a library, they heard the desperate cries of scholars.
[We die here! Rise, warriors of Gerios!]
[Fight to the bitter end!]
[Ah... I... go... to Valhalla...]
In what seemed to be a training ground, they heard the roars of brave soldiers.
[Lord of the Sea... we did not wish for this outcome.]
[Please, let your anger subside...]
[Blessings upon the Kingdom of Gerios... Blessings upon the Kingdom of Gerios...]
[Have mercy... Have mercy...]
In a room that looked like a chapel, they witnessed the despair of priests or sorcerers.
[Waaaaah! Waaaaah! Waaaaah!]
[T-There, there. My daughter. Mommy is okay. Mommy... Mommy won't turn into a monster... I won't... turn...]
Finally, they saw a woman struggling to save her child at any cost.
If one were to witness the end of the world, would it look like this? In contrast to the deathly silence of the palace, the scenes unfolding before them were a literal hellscape. The silence of the palace only served to make the visions feel more grotesque. It was impossible to even estimate the sheer strength of the resentment held by these Wraiths.
Yet, despite it all, the demon Wraith continued silently toward a single destination. Even as he was surrounded by despair and tragedy, he kept his eyes fixed forward and continued his march.
Stop.
How long had they been walking? Eventually, the demon Wraith came to a halt before a massive set of doors. Naturally, these doors were also wide open, revealing everything beyond.
And beyond those doors...
"...It appears to be the Audience Chamber."
It was indeed the Audience Chamber. One look at the throne towering upon the dais was enough to confirm it. Due to the aftermath of the Demon War, the ceiling had collapsed, allowing the harsh desert sun to pour into the room.
The demon Wraith looked up at the doorway as if seeing it for the first time, then reached out with both arms.
Creeeeeeak—
Even though the doors were already open, the sound of them being pushed echoed as the Wraith mimicked the motion. Simultaneously, the horrific screams that had been echoing from behind them cut off abruptly. It was a change the expedition hadn't even realized had happened.
Step. Step. Step.
Having 'opened' the doors fully, the demon Wraith entered the vast Audience Chamber. As soon as he crossed the threshold, a cold wind—no, a cold energy—washed over the expedition. It felt as if they were entering the private chambers of a master sleeping within ancient ruins. Deimos felt goosebumps break out all over his skin as the energy bypassed his divine barrier.
As mentioned before, the appearance of 'Wraiths' reenacting the past meant that a powerful lingering malice remained. While the Wraiths themselves had no souls, there had to be a 'subject' creating this phenomenon. In other words, the Wraiths they had seen on their way here were likely anchored by a specific soul with an incredibly powerful grudge.
A past that repeats eternally, unable to ascend. A chain that binds oneself rather than causing direct harm to others.
[You have come.]
And that subject sat upon the towering throne, greeting the demon Wraith.
The words were clearly directed at the demon Wraith, yet for some reason, the expedition members felt as if they were being addressed as well. They moved forward as if possessed by the voice that seemed to vibrate through the entire chamber.
[You look exactly the same as ever, Your Majesty.]
The demon Wraith spoke with deep respect. In response, the Wraith on the throne gave a scoff of disbelief.
He was a man of massive stature, much like the demon Wraith. Following ancient fashion, he wore a long, skirt-like lower garment rather than trousers. He had a rugged face and neatly groomed hair and beard. His exposed arms were thick with muscles that looked like carved stone. Finally, there was the 'double-edged axe' standing proudly beside the throne.
He projected the dignity of a king combined with the image of a general who had endured countless hardships.
Deimos and the rest of the expedition immediately realized who the Wraith on the throne was.
The last king of Gerios recorded in history: Morgan Yurk Via III.
According to the truth revealed by Isaac, he was the root and mastermind behind the Demon War.
'But for a mastermind, he still looks like an ordinary human...'
The Xenon Biography stated that the King was the first to become a demon. However, the scene before them was different. While the warrior before the King was slowly transforming into a demon, the King himself appeared to be an ordinary, albeit large, human.
[How do I look? My current form.]
As their thoughts grew more complex, the demon Wraith spoke again. He spread his arms wide as if inviting the King to look at him. But to a human from three thousand years ago, he must have looked like nothing less than a monster. Morgan, the last king of Gerios, seemed to share that sentiment, answering in a deep, gravelly voice.
[A hideous sight. What a waste of that red hair, the symbol of the royal house.]
[This red hair and these golden eyes bestowed by Your Majesty... and the power that allowed me to rise to this position. Naturally, I am filled with gratitude. And so, this humble slave now intends to repay his debts and grudges to Your Majesty.]
Red hair and golden eyes. The moment they heard those words, the expedition members thought of one person—no, one family.
Hawk Ducard Maishal, the knight who had saved the Minerva Empire from crisis multiple times. And his son, Isaac Ducard Maishal, the author praised as the Saint who saved the world.
The defining characteristics of that family were precisely the red hair and golden eyes mentioned just now. It was nearly impossible to find anyone else in the entire world who possessed both traits.
The situation was taking a strange turn. The expedition watched in silence.
[I have enough with my own proud red hair and golden eyes. I have no need for such hideous horns.]
[Ha. It sounds strange coming from one who has devoured hundreds of souls. If you were just a bit more ambitious, you could rule not just the West, but the East as well.]
[Is there benevolence in that process? Is there a self called 'I,' and is there a concept called 'us'? The rule I desire is one governed by clear reason. Is what I seek to be found there?]
[Then can you overwhelm those haughty pointy-ears with strength? Even if we grind up and drink thousands of souls, we humans will never defeat those pointy-ears.]
King Morgan and the demon Wraith continued their endless debate. King Morgan argued that ruling the world as a monster was futile, while the demon Wraith maintained that they couldn't live like this forever. It was a common enough argument, but the crux of the matter was that the 'monster' in question was a demon.
[In time, the initiative will pass to us humans. Those Elves are perfect in every way, but they are arrogant and, above all, lack the spirit of challenge. But look at our Kingdom of Gerios. Though we are situated at the western edge, much like Albenheim is at the eastern edge, we rule the vast 'sea.' He who rules the sea rules the world. Have we not learned the truths of the world that even the Elves have failed to notice?]
[What meaning do those truths have for us right now? What we need is not the rule of the sea, but the power of the sea. Just as the Elves were blessed by the Mother of Nature, why can we not receive power from the Father of the Sea?]
[The wrath of the sea, which has slept for so long, is not something mortals like us can endure.]
The mention of the 'sea' sparked questions among the expedition members. For some reason, it seemed this catastrophe had been caused by something they had done involving the sea.
But...
"The sea... wasn't it created by the demons three thousand years ago?"
"How do they know of the sea's existence?"
"Could it be that the sea existed even three thousand years ago...?"
That was the issue. To them, the sea was an environment that had only existed since the Demon War three thousand years ago. The established theory—the 'myth' everyone believed—was that the demons had caused rain to fall from the sky, creating the sea. If the World Tree hadn't absorbed the seawater, the entire world would have been submerged.
Yet, King Morgan and the demon Wraith were speaking as if the sea had existed since the beginning of time.
Deimos was equally confused, but he offered a plausible hypothesis in a calm voice.
"...Since it's a myth from three thousand years ago, there may be some exaggeration involved. However, it is a fact that the entire world was nearly submerged. Mr. Benphis and Ms. Delphine, you both know this well."
"Yes, yes. Of course. Evidence of sea levels rising and then falling has been found all over the world."
"Countless civilizations were destroyed because of it. Most ruins contain traces of salt. This confirms that the demons certainly attempted to sink the world beneath the waves. But..."
The idea that the sea existed even before three thousand years ago was a truth that would shock the entire world. Of course, more investigation was needed to understand the full context, but the revelation was nonetheless staggering. It wasn't that the gods had lied; records are often shaped by the subjective perspectives of mortals.
[What on earth corrupted you so? What did you lack? Power? Status? Fame? Wealth? You were raised as my slave, yet you were like a sworn brother to me. That is why I gave you the red hair and golden eyes. So what was missing?]
Finally, out of frustration, King Morgan cried out in a voice bordering on a plea. While the world outside was in the midst of an apocalypse, the Audience Chamber was peaceful. To put it another way, it showed just how much King Morgan had trusted the demon Wraith—no, the slave. He was in denial of a reality he refused to believe.
To that, the slave replied.
[It was for you.]
[... ...]
[You took me in, a boy with no connections, and raised me as a slave. You bestowed upon me the red hair and golden eyes, the symbols of a warrior. You were the master who trained me until my bones broke, and the benefactor who gave me a purpose.]
The slave paused for a moment, then looked King Morgan straight in the eye.
[And finally... you were like a father to me, the one who gave me a real 'family.']
[... ...]
[I simply wanted to gift you a world worthy of you, Your Majesty.]
They weren't merely king and slave; they were more like father and son. Comrades who had fought back-to-back on the front lines for a lifetime. A friendship that transcended status. The love between a father and son. The affection between a master and disciple.
The problem was that his way of repaying that debt was violent and twisted. The Kingdom of Gerios was a nation notorious for its wars of conquest. In that process, countless wars broke out, and Gerios expanded its influence by using sorcery that abandoned all humanity. Even if a shred of humanity remained, a mind already eroded would eventually be filled with darkness.
Now, even that humanity was completely lost, and he had committed an act that should never have been done.
[...I see.]
Morgan closed his eyes upon hearing the slave's words. His face showed him reflecting on where it had all gone wrong. But his thoughts didn't linger for long. The King opened his eyes and looked directly at the slave.
Wings had begun to sprout from the slave's back. He was transforming from a member of the Demon Clan into a true 'demon.' Looking at the form that could no longer be called human, King Morgan gave him a 'command.'
[Then, kneel.]
[... ...]
[Kneel and obey my word. Resolve all this chaos and take responsibility for everything. My faithful slave.]
It was a declaration that he would sever all ties and treat him as nothing more than a slave once more.
[I refuse.]
The slave’s retort was clear. He had declared to his king and master, face-to-face, that he would no longer be a slave.
A slave must obey their master’s commands unconditionally. In an era where slavery exists, this is an absolute truth. For a slave to defy a command is unthinkable. To refuse meant one of two things: to be flogged to the brink of death, or to simply die.
Though slavery is strictly forbidden now, it was a thriving trade a mere century ago. Three thousand years in the past, the practice would have been even more ruthless, never less.
[...I see.]
At the slave’s resolute answer, King Morgan shifted from his slouched posture and slowly rose from his seat. It was a simple movement, yet he exuded a crushing pressure, as if a great mountain were stirring to life.
If a mere wraith could radiate such power, it was impossible to fathom how formidable he must have been in life.
[In the end, it is the duty of your master—of Us—to see this through.]
Rising from his throne, the King gripped a double-edged axe—evidently his weapon of choice—and descended the steps. The slave watched in silence before slowly raising his arm toward the sky.
Clench!
In an instant, an identical weapon—a double-edged axe—materialized in his hand. He had summoned it through spatial magic.
They were king and slave, but also master and disciple. It was only natural that they wielded the same weapon.
Thoom!
Having reached the floor, King Morgan stomped his foot heavily, a thunderous prelude to the coming clash. His skirt-like garment billowed, revealing the legs hidden beneath—muscles as rugged as boulders and as hard as tempered steel. It was a physique that defied human limits.
He was a king, but above all, a warrior—the conquering sovereign of the Kingdom of Gerios.
[Our name is Morgan Yurk Via III.]
Amidst the swirling dust and wind, King Morgan spoke with a voice of absolute authority.
[Overlord of the Sea, and Sovereign of the Kingdom of Gerios.]
Even with the end looming, his voice did not tremble in the slightest.
[One last time, your master, Morgan Alchard Maishal, commands you.]
Morgan hoisted his massive axe high into the air.
[Die.]
It was a short, final command.