The Elder Brother's Fractured Soul
The Wild Hunt's assistance was something even Kriel hadn't anticipated. Though the Wraith King's message to don his armor and return had given him the impression of a far more flexible mindset than expected.
The Dullahan strode fearlessly toward Dein's limbless husk. Arunback cried out.
“Even if you step forward, do you think you can kill me! You'll only get past this one crisis. I will return, no matter what!”
[Killing you is not our role.]
“What?”
[Even if we smash every soulless lump of metal in this land, your twisted and corrupt soul will remain. But behold. The one who will bring retribution upon you—the proxy of His will, granted a war-steed by the King—has arrived here, has he not?]
The Dullahan's guillotine sword fell toward the body Arunback had seized. A single swing severed head from torso with unerring precision, like a headsman's blade.
“That thing... will... me...”
[How could the King not know your pathetic soul's hiding place lies within this very room?]
From Dein's torso, a grayish stream like ash billowed forth. It was a fragment of Arunback's self-consciousness projected onto Dein's flesh—a shard of his soul. The genesis of the power the Wraith King had bestowed upon the Wild Hunt's generals: the ability to absorb souls.
Yet the Dullahan swatted away Arunback's soul fragment with the flat of his blade, as if it weren't even worth claiming.
The light in the severed head flickered wildly, then finally snuffed out into darkness. The Dullahan carefully lifted the machine's head—forged from a steel frame and beautifully adorned with silver and gold. It seemed a trophy to offer their king as proof.
Armed's face hardened rigidly.
“A hiding place in this room? That means...”
The only ones present in the room were Countess Helbrinke, herself, and her father. Controlling Helbrinke Countess's body wasn't Arunback, but the Automaton Totality. The suspects narrowed to one.
[Inside Count Ket's body? But Arunback harbored nothing but pure hatred for Miakh Ket...]
Even Orishin couldn't hide his bewilderment at the Dullahan's words. What perplexed him most was the soul's extraction itself. Automatons had no souls. The ancient dwarves who built these murder-machines to purge abyss-corrupted beings had taken special measures to ensure no soul could ever take root, no matter how much time passed. Their reasoning: a soul made one vulnerable to the abyss.
A soul that should never exist had dwelled within an automaton. What connection did that have with the soul fragment seized by the Dullahan not being whole?
The shape of the soul shard the Dullahan had extracted resembled the warped souls of liches who stored their essence in reliquaries, splitting their own souls.
Kriel gazed at Tuon in his hand.
“Tuon.”
[I saw it. It's in the records. That's a fragment of a shattered soul. We can trace its flow.]
The phantom sword's power activated—the netherworld authority that devoured life. It tracked the lingering afterscent of the dispersed soul back to its source.
Kriel nodded to Armed. She bit her lip and said, “...Do it. Whatever the result, I can handle it.”
Toward the motionless count on the bed, Kriel stepped forward. The Dullahan watched his back, sword plunged into the floor.
[Deeper than the heart. Strange cluster of organs—something like a metal lump. A clever disguise, hiding the soul within mana flows.]
“A metal lump below the heart...? That should be the artificial mana circuit.”
“Mana circuit?”
“Father's natural mana circuit core in his heart was damaged in a battle against a powerful foe in his youth. He reinforced the injury with an artificial one.”
But in the process of treating her father's coma, mages and priests had repeatedly confirmed the mana circuit only stored and distributed mana, with no further impact on the body.
Kriel raised Tuon. Aiming between the ribs. Adjusting the angle to avoid damaging bones or other organs, he thrust the blade in without hesitation.
Crack.
A metallic clash that no ordinary human flesh could produce. Tuon's tip pierced the artificial mana circuit.
In that instant, Kriel's vision plunged into darkness.
Memories flowing from the mana circuit into Tuon, then from Tuon into Kriel.
Two men conversed on the outskirts of Ket territory. Kriel found one extremely familiar: Miakh Ket, the count. He looked decades younger, but the overall impression was the same.
Kriel couldn't guess who the count's interlocutor was. This was a first-person memory.
The count spoke. “Brother. There's no need to leave.”
“No, little brother. A defeated heir lingering in the family only sows discord. Let go of any lingering attachments.”
The one called 'brother' handed the count something—a tiny, palm-sized icosahedron.
“I know your mana circuit was damaged in our duel. This is an artificial one, made with all my abilities. Entrust the transplant to a skilled artisan.”
“...Brother.”
“Farewell.”
The man departed the county without a backward glance. Only after Miakh Ket vanished from sight did he murmur lowly.
“Yes. Keep it safe... until I reclaim my rightful territory...”
Right then, Kriel's gaze separated from the memory's protagonist. Arunback—still in human form—roared.
“Yes! The count's title! The land! All of it should have been mine!”
Arunback's body warped into the form Kriel had seen on the Western Front: an automaton conglomerate. Dozens of arms, bizarre weaponry of unknown origin—undoubtedly remnants of ancient dwarf civilization.
[I am the true Count Ket! Not that wretch Miakh—not I!]
Kriel realized something gripped in his hand: Tuon.
[Master.]
The knight looked at the sword. The sword whispered to the knight.
[A wretched ghost like that has no place within us.]
Indeed. Kriel gripped Tuon with both hands.
Arunback swelled like a mechanical tsunami, lunging at Kriel. The death-throes of the soul-spirit hidden in the artificial mana circuit, trying to transfer from Count Ket's body to Kriel's.
But in Kriel's hand was a sword bearing the netherworld, and he himself a knight bearing darkness heavier than any ghost.
Facing the oncoming mechanical wave, Kriel cleaved downward with the phantom sword. Heavier than all the metal Arunback had grafted onto himself—that single stroke's weight crushed it.
The machine scattered. At its center cowered a pathetic, aged, trembling Arunback.
“You... you!”
Kriel slashed the wailing wraith. Compared to the Wraith King, it scarcely deserved the name 'wraith'.
Kriel opened his eyes. Tuon's whining pulled him from his daydream.
[Master. The taste is off. The soul's form is too grotesquely twisted.]
The memory transmitted through the soul clinging to Tuon's blade-tip. Kriel made his diagnosis.
“A reliquary. A lich using automatons? What the hell...”
First, Kriel withdrew the blade from the count's body. Tuon's tip held a grayish stream similar to what the Dullahan had extracted—but far murkier and larger.
Kriel's gaze swept the count's wound. The artificial mana circuit was damaged, but not life-threatening. Call a dwarf later for proper repairs; for now, heal the stab wound first.
“Armed! Potions and healing magic! Your father should wake soon!”
“What?! Y-yeah!”
Orishin silently approached the count, unfolding a white halo. The unicorn's power of purity—to cleanse filth and prevent further infection.
Then Kriel strode toward Countess Helbrinke. His cold gaze pierced the countess—or rather, the Automaton Totality possessing her body.
“Toothwheel Count. Failure. Per the contract, the remaining 40.5% of the resonance organ—semantic linkage—is now mine.”
Resonance organ meant soul-spirit, no doubt. Facing unshakable Kriel, the Totality spat curses in an even tone.
“Kri-el. Congratulations. You have overturned Arunback's experiment. Humanity's steps away from the abyss threat—once more crushed by your brutish hand. Rejoice.”
The bizarre mix of formal and casual speech was the clash between the Totality and Helbrinke Countess's resisting will.
Kriel recalled the distorted voice of a broken audio from his Earth days.
“Arunback was a faithful comrade, standing in for me—unable to advance east due to fools like you resisting in vain. You have blocked progress, permanent salvation from the abyss.”
“Hey, scrap heap.”
Kriel raised his fist.
“They say the fix for a busted machine is a good whack.”