Chapter 39
Chapter 39
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 39
Chapter Title: Better the Dream Interpretation (7)
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The undead drained morale, stiffening bodies and sapping the will to fight.
Ordinary folk would be consumed by terror, trembling uncontrollably, and even seasoned soldiers would feel fear grip their weapons.
But for the old men fighting here, it was a different story entirely.
Standing against fear was their way of life.
Placing themselves before the weak to cut them down was their existence.
No matter if undead swarmed them or spells flew their way, their calm eyes showed no tremor.
The magic flying at Closel's gesture dispersed like mist.
The necromancer facing him couldn't even cry out in shock.
"Who said you could open your mouth?"
Slash—
A sharp gust of wind left a gash across his body.
"Remember this. The only thing you can do in my presence is run."
The necromancer's body vanished into thin air.
He had cast Blink.
But where he reappeared, flames were already waiting.
The necromancer crushed the ring on his finger, erecting a transparent barrier.
It was a spell barely cast by sacrificing an artifact, but it wasn't enough to block the blaze.
Whoosh—
The flames grazed him, burning his flesh.
As he moved to control his undead, a heavy gust slammed into him.
"Kuhuk...!"
"I said run."
Crunch—
The sound of shattering pierced the necromancer's ears.
He had no time to check what had broken.
The moment he looked away, even briefly, his body would vanish without a trace.
"Do those incomplete seven circles of yours look equal to mine?"
Spells tangled chaotically, bursting the air.
In the clash between the two mages, Closel held the advantage.
Still, the necromancer wasn't going down easily.
"...."
His face twisted in agony as he fled the magic.
All he needed was to curse the World Tree.
The elves had no means to stop it.
They wouldn't even know where the curse began.
High Elves had long been losing that ability.
Getting dragged into a fight like this was never part of his plan.
"Tch...!"
He even sensed the Death Knight's annihilation.
One more powerhouse to deal with.
Facing them all at once was impossible.
If he was going to die anyway, he'd sacrifice his soul to complete the curse.
Failure meant he'd never find rest in death.
The necromancer's mana surged, bursting his heart.
"...!!"
Sensing the anomaly, Closel hurriedly cast a spell.
The necromancer's arms exploded in chunks of flesh.
At the same moment, his head hit the ground.
It was Parmon's aura blade.
A perfectly clean strike.
Even after ending the necromancer, the two old men's gazes remained fixed on him.
More precisely, on his severed head on the ground.
"...."
"...."
A decapitated man is dead.
That's the natural law of the world.
Yet the head on the ground was still moving.
A horrific, scraping voice like metal on metal emanated from it.
"The curse has already begun to move. Even your magic can't stop it now."
"..."
"..."
"Human magic can't block this..."
Ting—
With the rattle's chime, the moving head froze.
Now, finally, his breath was cut off completely.
"Still a vile bunch..."
Closel spoke with evident disgust.
Blowing off the arms was an old habit.
Necromancers like this often cast spells even from severed bodies.
"Rosel, their numbers are smaller than expected. Makes me think this was just the vanguard."
Closel nodded.
He'd been thinking the same.
The curse on the World Tree.
The weakening elves.
If they'd been even a little later, they might have faced a much larger force.
Then it would have been a grueling fight while protecting the elves.
Parmon crushed the head underfoot and said,
"Their target clearly isn't just the elves. And their full plan..."
Only Chris could uncover that.
It was the thought shared by both old men.
"..."
"...."
The two old men's gazes stayed locked on the ground.
They couldn't bear to look away.
The frantic sound of the rattle filled the air.
The steady rhythm was now chaotic and unsteady.
If that were all, they might have moved.
Twitch.
Parmon's hand clenched into a tight fist.
Mingled with the rattle's chimes were Chris's screams.
The sound tore into their hearts.
He'd heard such screams countless times.
From those sending off loved ones.
"He said the curse would lift once the necromancer died..."
They lacked for nothing.
Yet being with Chris always brought this sense of helplessness.
What good was a lifetime honing sword and magic?
If they couldn't properly aid one young man.
Ting—
Ting—
The rattle struck the elf's body rapidly.
Awakening her soul while driving out the malevolent forces.
"Hah...!!"
To save the elf, the curse had to be lifted.
This curse stemmed from the elf's resentment.
Release the resentment, and the curse's source vanishes.
The problem was that this elf had no intention of letting it go.
"Please..."
If it spread further, her soul couldn't be saved.
Ting—
He drove the curse back from her heart with the rattle.
Following its path, he swung the rattle relentlessly to herd it.
How long had he chased it blindly?
Suddenly, the flow shifted.
The necromancer's soul was merging into the curse.
"Out!"
The curse flinched at his spiritual shout.
"You rotten bastard, where do you think you're slipping in?!"
Torment her in life, and now this even in death?
This soul had infiltrated silently, already fusing with the curse.
It was unprecedented.
He hadn't known magic could produce such a variable.
Ting—
Ting—
Originally, he'd planned to persuade the elf to release her resentment herself.
But now, time was short.
He had to break the resentment before it seized control of the curse.
"Haa... haa..."
Placing his hand on her heart, he shook the rattle.
Pouring his whole being into the sound so it reached her ears clearly.
Let me release it for you, so look at me.
If it's too much, dump it all on me. He shook the rattle.
Ting—
Even whistling only drew the curse's gaze.
The elf's soul was nowhere to be found.
"Branch...!"
The familiar sway of a branch he'd felt once before.
Clearing his noisy mind, he shook the rattle again.
Following the energy of harmony.
His arm swayed like a branch in the wind.
Perhaps because it was a familiar call.
A faint gaze responded to his summons.
Following that gaze, pity welled up, shaking his head.
"Child... look at me."
His mouth opened, words not his own spilling out.
And the moment their gazes met.
Deep resentment flooded into him.
"...!!!"
Fear, terror, despair.
Countless scenes flashed through his mind.
Before the deaths contained within, he couldn't utter a word.
Not even a scream escaped.
Speaking felt like it would kill someone else.
Ting—
Ting—
Forcing his mouth open, he gripped his throat.
Voicing the scream this elf should have let out.
Was the sound from his throat real?
It was the most horrific scream he'd ever heard.
"Haa... haa..."
Panting, he kept striking her body with the rattle.
Endless resentment poured through the rattle.
Another horrific scream burst forth.
This was right.
Cry when sad.
Scream when it hurts.
If it cleanses you, nothing is more proper.
He cried in her stead, raged in her stead.
All these were the resentments she couldn't express.
Ting—
Time passed in a blur.
He poured out emotions until his voice cracked and throat burned.
He felt the hard knot of resentment soften.
He hadn't expected it to unravel completely in one go.
Letting go of vengeance toward someone to this degree was impressive.
Revenge was the most futile yet tenacious of all.
"Haa..."
Her soul was tainted, harmony shattered.
Not the form an elf's soul should take.
Gathering spiritual energy, he infused it into the rattle.
Recalling the harmony he'd learned.
Ting—
Twitch.
Her body jerked with each chime.
The curse inside thrashed about.
With the soul reclaiming harmony, it had no place and clung desperately.
"Out."
Ting—
"Out!"
Raising his momentum, he struck her body.
A dull thud rang out, and something oozed from between her brows.
The curse fused with the necromancer's soul.
It wandered, lost.
Of course.
It couldn't reenter the elf's body, and the World Tree was warded with seals.
"Hm...?"
Its state felt off.
Something unknown was drawing it in.
Drooling greedily.
Whoosh—
He whistled to pull it in.
"These scum come in pairs..."
But before he could shake the rattle.
The soul and curse vanished whole.
"....Haa."
He didn't know what happened, but that soul's end wouldn't be peaceful.
"...You alright?"
It was Old Man Parmon's voice.
His eyes brimmed with worry, as expected.
"Didn't pass out this time... but the soul got away."
"Probably dragged off by demons."
"Pardon?"
"The priests said as much. They're the kind who sell souls to demons."
"Whoa..."
By the looks of things, it was over.
Irene sat on the ground, binding the unconscious necromancers, while the elf lay before him.
Both unharmed.
"Wipe the blood first."
He knew blood was streaming from his eyes.
"Not the curse's backlash..."
Just burst blood vessels.
"Such sorrowful resentment it brought bloody tears."