Carpediem (1)
The Revelry Emperor’s star is beautiful.
In stark contrast to her horrific deeds, her star shone with an exceptional beauty. Multicolored and radiant, it glittered as if fireworks had burst across the night sky—so lovely that it was hard to believe it belonged to a demon.
But the moment he drew back the curtain, Najin understood.
It was a lie.
What he saw when he looked up was not a beautiful star. A bizarre, grotesque, bone-chilling constellation hung there instead.
It did not shine in beautiful colors. Quite the opposite. It held a hue that looked as if every pigment in a paint pot had been dumped in at random—something closer to filth than light.
Its shape was no more consistent.
Like wet mud oozing downward, like iron heated white-hot in a forge melting into sticky streams, it endlessly dripped and swallowed the stars gathered beneath it. Every star subjugated by the Revelry Emperor wore the same filth.
……
Even Merlin, who had faced every manner of hideous star, was left speechless. Najin glared up at the Revelry Emperor’s star and stretched a hand toward the sky.
So that’s it.
A star that possessed neither its own color nor its own form.
That’s your true face, Revelry Emperor.
A star that could become anything, and for that very reason could never possess a self. Looking upon the Revelry Emperor’s star—his complete opposite—Najin crooked the corner of his mouth.
That hideous constellation was the only star that truly suited her.
He had witnessed the ugly naked face hidden behind the beautiful mask. The instant her true form was exposed, the Revelry Emperor’s star flashed madly. It was both luminescence and lunacy. In a way, it looked as if the star itself were screaming.
A thicker curtain closed over the Revelry Emperor’s star.
When the rippling fabric settled, her star shone once more in its familiar colors, as though nothing had happened. Yet the fact that what lay beyond had been briefly exposed remained unchanged. It had lasted only a few seconds, but Najin had seen it clearly.
What the Revelry Emperor had tried so hard to hide.
Drip, drip.
As the price for peeking beyond the veil, blood ran from Najin’s eyes and nose—the cost of trying to see what should not be seen.
H-hey, you…!
I’m fine.
Najin wiped the blood from his eyes and exhaled a long breath. He had pushed himself, but it had been worth the risk. He had gained precious information—and in his judgment, it was something that needed to be delivered without a moment’s delay.
The Revelry Emperor’s star he had glimpsed beyond the curtain.
Among the countless stars arrayed beneath it, he had seen four constellations that shone brightest. Two of them were already known: the Star of Contempt and the Demon King of Grief…
The remaining two.
One he did not recognize; he merely burned its shape into memory. But the last was a star Najin knew well—and one no citizen of the Empire could possibly fail to know.
The Empire’s Third Pillar.
Chingsonggak, Akut.
The transcendent currently participating in the subjugation of the Demon King of Grief was none other than the Revelry Emperor’s third court jester.
Hidden measures, daggers, and traps hold value only while they remain hidden. The moment they are exposed, that value evaporates in an instant. And the Revelry Emperor had just allowed Najin to observe what she had kept concealed.
So what would she do?
Before their worth could drop any further—while their value still stood at its peak—she would try to dispose of them all.
Tock.
Knowing this, Najin burst from the sacred domain and began to run. He had to deliver the information as quickly as possible.
The subjugation of the Demon King of Grief is still underway.
The stars of the Demon King of Grief and those of the subjugation force still shone. That meant the battle had not yet ended. Therefore the information he carried still held value.
To think she had planted a jester at the very heart of the Empire.
Najin’s expression twisted. There was a traitor. He realized that the Revelry Emperor had not kept two of her court jesters hidden merely to protect the Forbidden Territories of her domain.
To strike from behind at the decisive moment.
He had to warn the subjugation force that a traitor walked among them. But the Revelry Emperor would already have sensed that he had seen her, and she would know that her hidden traitor had been discovered.
From this moment on, it was a race against time.
Unlike the Revelry Emperor, however, Najin had no means of transmitting information while ignoring distance. He was not a transcendent. In speed, he was inevitably slower.
Running won’t be enough.
Najin looked up at the sky. He was no transcendent, yet he was a being who drew the gazes of transcendents.
And he knew.
Ever since the day the Revelry Emperor had revealed herself before him, a certain constellation had been watching him—one that had taken an interest in him.
The gaze she directed at him was favorable.
It could not be otherwise.
To her, anyone who opposed demons was a friend, no matter who they were.
“Martyr of the Thorn Vines.”
The chief deity of the Holy Blood Church. A star that, even after losing her physical body and ascending, had never abandoned the slaughter of demons—a star that existed solely to kill them.
Najin looked at her.
She looked back at him.
Unlike in the past, his star was no longer small. The light cast by his six stars clearly reached her own.
“I need your help.”
Najin did not speak at length. She did not answer at length either. She merely made her star flash once.
“Ah.”
“What is it this time, Executioner?”
“My chief deity is sending a signal.”
“A signal?”
“Yes. It seems we must change our destination, Star Incarnation.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve already fulfilled my duty. Now I’m going back to my cozy mansion for some sweet rest—”
“‘The Holy Body must fulfill its duty,’ she says.”
“Who does?”
“My chief deity.”
“……”
Dammit. The Star Incarnation muttered the word under her breath and dragged a hand down her face.
“What is it this time?”
“Simple enough.”
Yuel Razian flung open the carriage door. The carriage was meant for conserving stamina and traveling in comfort, not for speed. What carriage could outrun a transcendent? And right now, speed was what they needed.
“Purge the traitor to humanity.”
Yuel and the Star Incarnation leapt from the carriage at the same time.
“……Are you serious?”
“Yes. I am.”
“You truly mean to do this? Have you gone mad? Do you not know what waits at the end of that path? Ruin. Shall I explain the meaning of ruin to you as well?”
“I know.”
“And yet you still intend to proceed? Unbelievable. From the look of you, this was not decided overnight. You’ve been planning this for a very long time. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“I see. So that’s how it is.”
“Therefore…”
“In that case.”
A flash.
“Give me even one good reason why I should not kill every last one of you right now.”
“If you take that stance, we are in a difficult position.”
“Difficult? Did you just say ‘difficult’? Now?”
A hollow laugh echoed through the chamber.
“I have refrained from interfering, so you must have thought me utterly worthless. Snap out of it. I possess both the power and the will to turn this place into a wasteland. Do you think I will not?”
“That would violate the covenant—”
“Shut your mouth.”
With a wet pop, a head exploded. Blood sprayed across the pure-white marble. As if the mess offended him, he flicked his hand and burned every trace of it away before speaking again.
“From this moment.”
Space itself groaned under strain.
“From this moment you will choose your words with care. My considerable patience is about to run dry.”
The Revelry Emperor’s court jester.
The Demon King of Grief, Carpediem.
Originally the subjugation of the Demon King of Grief had been conducted in absolute secrecy—an operation built entirely around words like classified, rapid, and guerrilla. The force was small; those who even knew of its existence were fewer still.
In a battle between transcendents, the number of troops was meaningless anyway. To superhumans who could slaughter dozens or hundreds with a single swing of a sword or a flick of a finger, quantity meant nothing.
Thus there were only four.
The Empire’s First Pillar, Jeilgak—Gerd.
The Empire’s Second Pillar, Seomyeolgak—Entikles.
The Empire’s Third Pillar, Chingsonggak—Akut.
And the master of the Sword Church, Sword Saint Caron.
The subjugation force consisted of those four. They had been carefully selected as trustworthy, and their combined strength was more than enough to kill the Demon King of Grief. Conceal their starlight and launch a sudden raid on the demon king’s domain—that was the core of the plan. There were no gaps.
Therefore the operation should have gone smoothly.
No—it had to go smoothly.
It did not. If anything, it bordered on failure. What awaited them after they stormed the Demon King of Grief’s territory was a throng of jesters; the Demon King of Grief herself was nowhere to be seen—as though she had known of the attack all along.
Cackle, cackle-cackle-cackle!
On a stage filled only with the laughter of revelry, they were forced to fight the jesters.
Somewhere, information had leaked.
They had walked into a trap.
They realized it, yet even that was not a fatal problem. They were transcendents. A handful of jesters could never halt their advance.
Every time the Sword Saint or the Empire’s First Pillar swung a blade, jesters were swept away in heaps.
They tore through the domain in search of the Demon King of Grief, who had to be hiding somewhere nearby. Variables had appeared, but they possessed more than enough skill to ignore variables of that magnitude. Who in the world could prepare for four powerful transcendents?
And above all, retreat was impossible.
Escaping the domain the Demon King of Grief had prepared without first killing her would be difficult. In the end, they had no choice but to kill her.
Time passed.
Then one day, high in the night sky, the Revelry Emperor’s star convulsed violently. The star that flared without warning looked as if it were sending a signal—or as if it were screaming.
“……”
The subjugation force’s gazes were drawn to the change, if only for a moment. The sight of ten stars writhing was more than enough to seize the eye.
To the Sword Saint, to the Empire’s First Pillar, and to Seomyeolgak as well, it looked like nothing but a scream. They believed the Revelry Emperor’s star was thrashing and howling.
But to exactly one of them—the traitor hidden in their midst—it was no scream.
It was a signal meant for him.
Chingsonggak, Akut, rejoiced.
At last the moment had come to prove his worth to her. The long-awaited hour had found him, and he exulted. Akut’s hand moved.
According to the original plan he would have drained a little more of their stamina, worn them down further, and only then cooperated with the Demon King of Grief hiding somewhere nearby to bury them all.
But the plan had changed. His beloved princess desired it—desired that they be buried this very instant. Akut did not question what his princess wished.
The Apostle of Revelry revealed his true colors.
A flash.
The ambush was both stealthy and swift. No matter how superlative a transcendent’s reflexes or near-future-sight prediction might be, reacting to a surprise attack from a fellow transcendent—especially one believed to be an ally—was never easy.
Thrust.
Akut’s spear pierced Seomyeolgak through the back, driving from behind straight through the heart. Seomyeolgak, Entikles, was a mage. Compared to transcendents who trained in armor and close combat, his reaction speed was inevitably slower. Entikles’s eyes flew wide, but by then it was already too late.
Aura erupted from Akut’s spearhead like an explosion, seeking to wound not only Entikles but Caron and Gerd as well.
It was a fragment of a second sliced thinner than thin.
Yet from the very instant Akut thrust his spear, Caron was already moving. He could not prevent Entikles from being run through, but he answered the attack that followed.
KAAAAAAAAANG!
“What.”
Caron’s sword blocked Akut’s spear.
“Do you think you’re doing, Chingsonggak?”
Instead of answering, Akut leapt far backward. Gerd’s blade was already descending on the spot where he had stood. Retreating, Akut covered his face with his palm. When the hand fell away, a jester’s mask sat upon his features.
That was answer enough.
Immediately afterward, the stage tore open.
The Demon King of Grief, who had been hiding within the stage, did not miss the moment. The instant the balance tipped, the demon king intervened.