Chapter 420
Chapter 420
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 420
Chapter Title: Tribal War (59)
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Screams erupted.
They were heartrending.
Diar, the leader of the Light Dragon Tribe, shuddered at the horrifying sensation of his own body betraying him.
The sovereign of magic.
It was his pride, his very reason for existence.
The communion with mana that felt more natural than breathing, the flow of mana more familiar than the blood coursing through his veins.
All of it had now become a noose strangling his throat.
'Why!'
He couldn't understand.
His soul cried out in agony.
There were powers that could sometimes prevent the use of magic.
But this was beyond that realm.
A state where he couldn't take in external mana or expel it.
The immense river of mana trapped inside him had burst its banks, flooding wildly and tearing apart the very vessel that contained it—his flesh and blood.
"Kuhk, ugh... Uwaaak!"
Beside him, another dragonkin warrior collapsed, his form twisting into something grotesque.
His once-tough scales crumbled like fallen leaves, and in their place, writhing clumps of flesh sprouted, distorting his shape beyond recognition.
It was the most humiliating and wretched way to die—collapsing under their own power.
'I'm dying. Am I really going to die this pathetically?'
Diar's vision blurred.
He could vividly feel the scales on his own arm lifting and tearing away.
His muscles swelled unnaturally, gnawing at his bones with pain so intense he couldn't even groan properly.
The pride of the dragonkin, the truth of light, the blind faith in Sepiro—all of it meant nothing in this moment.
He was nothing more than a helpless beast suffocating under his own strength.
'Lord Sepiro...'
He thought of his god one last time.
But no one came to save him.
The crown's authority allowed no transcendent intervention.
Was this the end?
Before the power of a mere human he had called 'fake,' would the sovereign of magic vanish so pathetically? Was this the conclusion of the Tribal War?
Bloody tears streamed from Diar's eyes.
Park Chan-woo silently watched the wretched scene.
Quietly. With eyes devoid of emotion.
The only gaze present was that of an archmage, analyzing every phenomenon and calculating the next move.
'Crushed to death by their own power. Perfect self-destruction.'
The dragonkin were beings one with mana.
Stripping them of their racial trait to control mana was like taking away a human's ability to breathe.
The crown's authority, 'Sovereign,' acted as the deadliest poison against the dragonkin.
Darkan and the Twilight Tribe standing beside him turned their heads away, as if unable to watch with eyes open.
Though they were enemies, seeing a fellow upper-league rival—once their equal—collapse so miserably was shocking even to them.
Darkan's face was especially filled with complicated emotions.
It proved his choice had been right, but he couldn't simply revel in the suffering of his kin.
"...Are you going to leave them like that?"
An uncharacteristic anxiety laced Darkan's voice.
He couldn't bear to watch the horrific process of his kin's self-destruction with his own eyes.
At this rate, the dragonkin's greatest warriors would be annihilated here.
It meant a weakening of their race's overall power, which was far from pleasant for him and the Sloth Tribe.
Instead of answering, Park Chan-woo examined each writhing dragon in agony.
"You don't know the pain of the weak."
He murmured softly.
His voice was so low and quiet it nearly drowned in the dragonkin's desperate screams, but to Darkan at his side, it struck heavier than any dragon tongue.
That's right.
Those arrogant dragons had never once been weak.
From the moment of birth, they were granted absolute authority as the sovereigns of magic, enjoying that power as if it were natural.
They couldn't comprehend the despair of losing strength, of being unable to control one's own body.
So, realize it.
How hollow their arrogance had been.
How precious and wondrous a blessing the magic they wielded so casually truly was.
The cruel truth that their own power could turn into a dagger aimed at themselves at any moment.
But.
That realization shouldn't come at the price of death.
Not yet, at least.
"..."
Park Chan-woo moved.
He took a slow step toward the fallen dragons.
Every eye on the battlefield focused on his movement.
Diar, on the verge of death, saw him through his fading consciousness.
In his blurred vision, the approaching silhouette seemed like the grim reaper at times, a final ray of salvation at others.
Was he coming to mock them, or to end their suffering with a merciful death?
Diar wanted neither.
He only wished for this horrific self-destruction to end.
But Park Chan-woo stopped before them and spoke unexpected words.
"Let me teach you."
His voice remained calm, but the content was enough to shatter the dragons' common sense once more.
"How to handle magic."
For a moment, Diar thought he was hallucinating.
A mere human— the very culprit who had stripped them of everything—offering to teach the sovereigns of magic?
What greater insult could there be?
He wanted to roar in fury, but only blood-choked groans escaped his throat.
His body lacked even the strength to protest.
Ignoring their reactions, Park Chan-woo continued.
"You're not being consumed by mana. You've simply forgotten the 'breathing method.'"
He held out his palm.
Blue lightning mana rose from it like a living creature, then smoothly seeped back into his body.
Like inhaling and exhaling, a perfect, natural cycle as if becoming one with the universe.
It was utterly different from the explosive, overwhelming mana control the dragonkin had displayed—more primal, more essential.
"Your racial trait was powerful, but it made you complacent. So much so that you forgot even the most basic way to control mana. You grew accustomed only to 'using' it, skipping the process of 'understanding' its flow and making it one with your body. But all paths connect. I'll reopen the path you've lost."
Park Chan-woo's eyes gleamed.
His will resonated with the crown's authority, sending an invisible wave that directly affected the souls of all suffering dragons.
It wasn't a command or domination— it was 'teaching.'
Like a beacon guiding the lost in darkness, like a great hammer breaking through a blocked path.
-Inhale.
The moment his will touched them, the rampaging mana rivers in the dragons' bodies met their first faint resistance.
The flow that had been reversing and destroying everything halted briefly but clearly, as if blocked by an invisible dam.
-Exhale.
With his next will, the blocked dam opened in a new direction.
It was the simplest acts, yet the origin of all magic: two fundamental behaviors.
"Kuh... Ugh...!"
Diar felt a new path opening inside him.
Like floodgates forcibly shut now unlocking, stagnant water finally flowing along a new channel.
Excruciating pain surged as his veins and mana circuits twisted and realigned, but mingled with it was the thrilling liberation of fresh air after near-suffocation.
This wasn't the dragonkin way. Nor a human one.
It was the most primal breathing method, established only by one who had pierced the truths of all magic and reached the reality beyond.
The circulation law of mana itself.
Following the new path his will had opened, the rampaging mana was no longer a poison destroying his body.
Like a wild horse that had escaped its master's control, now cautiously galloping along a discovered trail.
Instinctively, Diar imposed his will on the flow.
Clumsy and awkward at first, but gradually, his soul and body adapted to this new breathing method.
In the pain, he shed all arrogance as magic's sovereign, learning the new truths purely like a newborn.
"Ah... Aah..."
One by one, the screams faded.
Agonized groans turned to sighs of awe.
Their grotesquely twisted bodies slowly regained their original forms.
Shed scales regrew tougher and shinier; bloated flesh subsided, reforming into firm muscle.
All of them stared silently at Park Chan-woo.
...It was the first time.
Learning how to handle magic, how to approach mana, from someone else.
The dragonkin had no need for such things.
"..."
Diar, leader of the Light Dragon Tribe, slowly opened and closed his palm.
Power was returning.
But qualitatively different power.
If the old power had been volatile, like a bomb ready to explode, this power flowed gently like a serene, deep river, at his command.
He looked inward.
The raging mana torrent had calmed to a peaceful lake, with the new 'path' Park Chan-woo had opened shining clearly at its center.
'This... is true mana control.'
Diar trembled.
He had lived his life with magic.
Handling mana was more instinctual than breathing.
He had prided himself on standing at magic's pinnacle, understanding its essence better than anyone.
But now, he realized.
What they knew was mere 'surface.'
The dragonkin had sought to 'dominate' mana.
Suppressing it with their overwhelming bloodline and forcing it into desired forms.
Domination, not communion.
To them, mana was a loyal tool, never a companion sharing hearts.
But what Park Chan-woo showed was different.
He didn't dominate mana. He became 'one' with it.
The lightning at his fingertips seemed not forced power, but mana willingly responding to his will.
'Breathing method.'
Diar now understood the simple word with his entire being.
Inhale and exhale. Receive and release.
Taking in external mana as one's own, returning one's mana to the world— ceaseless 'communication' between existence and the cosmos.
They had dominated mana.
But mana was another 'self' to breathe with, resonate with, understand.
This realization shook not just Diar, but every surviving dragonkin warrior's soul.
They fully grasped how shallow and foolish their arrogant beliefs, held for tens of thousands of years, had been.
They called themselves magic's sovereigns, yet they were blind before its primal truth.
"Aah..."
One dragonkin warrior let out a cry of rapture.
Thick tears streamed from his eyes.
Not tears of pain.
Tears of awe and ecstasy from a long-sealed door opening to face the true world.
They all felt the same.
The sensation of their existence deepening a level.
A fundamental change not of rising levels, but of their soul's very stature transforming.
From those who 'possessed' magic, reborn as those who 'shared' it.
How much time passed?
When all dragons finally halted their rampage and adapted to the new breathing method, a profound silence blanketed the battlefield.
Breaking it was Diar himself.
His face, twisted in shame and rage moments ago, now held only complex, deep contemplation.
"...Why."
Diar forced his mouth open.
His voice was still hoarse, but the prior hostility was gone.
"Why did you save us, human... No, Archmage."
He could no longer call Park Chan-woo human.
He couldn't dare label with a lowly race's name the one who had opened a new path in magic for them.
At Diar's question, the other dragonkin raised their heads to gaze at Park Chan-woo.
The same doubt filled their eyes.
They were clearly his enemies.
They had tried to kill him, despised his kind.
Letting them die would have eliminated humanity's greatest threat.
So why had he saved them?
Incomprehensible mercy.
Park Chan-woo looked down at the dragons silently for a moment.
Finally, his mouth opened.
"I didn't save you."
His voice was quiet, yet it etched directly into every listener's soul.
"I merely reclaimed what is mine."
"...Your, what?"
Diar echoed.
Doubt filled his tone.
Park Chan-woo nodded.
His gaze went beyond Diar, to all surviving dragonkin, and seemingly toward Sepiro somewhere far off.
"When your arrogant god abandoned you and your mana betrayed you, you lost your way. Like shepherdless sheep, you were withering in despair without direction."
Cold, but irrefutably true.
The dragons could only stay silent.
"I showed you a new path. Taught you a new breathing method, made you realize mana's true essence you'd forgotten."
Park Chan-woo took another step forward.
His shadow gently enveloped the dragons.
"You are reborn through my teachings, breathing anew within my laws."
His voice gained majesty.
"So I ask you, Diar. It is natural for disciple to follow master, flock to shepherd, subjects to king."
He met Diar's eyes.
Park Chan-woo's pupils pierced Diar's soul.
"How is it strange that I save you?"
It wasn't strange.
Rather.
"I am your god. Saving my people is only natural."