Chapter 150
Chapter 150
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Reunion(?)
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The True Ones.
To those zealots, pain was simply a part of life.
The rituals they performed daily. Bloodshed and sadism.
They willingly kept pain by their side, reshaping their perception of it in the process.
They were prepared to accept any kind of suffering.
Fulfilling their duty as True Ones was the most meaningful thing imaginable—and at the same time, the most fulfilling.
No suffering whatsoever.
No experience whatsoever.
Nothing could change the minds of the True Ones.
It was their unyielding pride.
But now.
A ritual centered on one man was underway, and they were plunged into utter chaos.
There was no such thing as eternal pain, no wound that wouldn't heal.
But this pain was different.
It felt like their blood was boiling over, melting their insides.
And in the instant that pain struck, they instinctively knew.
This pain was the signal that their bodies had undergone complete collapse.
Proof that they had crossed an irreversible line.
Terror. Despair. Loss.
All of it mingled together, transmitted alongside the agony.
"Ah... Aaaah... Aaaah...!!!"
Groans leaked from the lips of the True Ones.
There wasn't a trace of their usual twisted emotions in them.
Just pure, raw suffering.
For the first time since becoming True Ones, those zealots experienced pain in its truest sense.
The time spent with that pain was nothing short of horrific and utterly draining.
Please.
Just let this moment pass.
That thought alone dominated their minds.
There was no sense of fulfillment in carrying out their duty as True Ones.
And so.
As the True Ones writhed helplessly in agony.
"Ah...!"
If that had been the most intense pain they'd ever felt.
Then it was also the most intense sense of fulfillment they'd ever known.
That fulfillment enveloped them like a soothing hand easing their torment.
Fulfillment following pain was familiar.
But this was different.
This pain was something they could never have imagined creating.
And this fulfillment was something they could never have produced.
'Ahh... Bearer of the Burden...'
Before they knew it, Hella was praising that name inwardly.
Reliving the sensation as it slowly faded.
Picturing the being who had brought it to them.
On the surface, perfectly fine-looking people were rolling on the floor,
while the man whose face was caked in blood stood stock-still, gazing at them with concern.
"Everyone... are you alright...?"
The collective seizure had finally subsided.
Rishir asked after their well-being.
"Haa... haa..."
As expected of a former Swordmaster.
Dwen was the first to react and regain her senses.
She propped herself up with her sword thrust into the ground, but her legs trembled like those of a newborn goat.
"Ah! Let me help you!"
Rishir hurried over to support her.
And just as their arms intertwined—
"Eek...!"
The touch of another person's hand on a body hypersensitive from the intense pain and fulfillment.
A shrill cry escaped Dwen's lips, utterly unlike her.
She flinched!
Her body shrank back.
As if ice had suddenly touched the nape of her neck.
Even as she barely held herself upright with shaky legs, her strength gave out in an instant.
Just as the Iron Sword was about to collapse—
"Ah! Careful—"
Rishir swiftly caught her body.
By embracing her from behind.
Platinum blonde bob drenched in cold sweat.
And skin that, despite its training, still retained a softness—pressed against the man's sturdy frame.
"Ah, ah... ah...!"
That vulnerability.
That whirlwind of sensations.
All of it was utterly foreign to the Swordmaster called the Iron Sword.
Dwen thrashed about in Rishir's arms like she was spasming.
She meant it as struggling to escape the situation, but to Rishir, it looked entirely different.
'Is this because of the pain I inflicted(?) that she can't get her bearings? Oh no... this is bad.'
For such a stern woman to be unable to even control her own body.
Guilt twisted his blood-smeared face.
"It's okay. It's all over now... probably. So—"
To calm Dwen, who couldn't compose herself from the pain, Rishir tightened his grip on her arm.
"...!"
Her body jolted violently!
"N-no..."
No.
Please let go.
Dwen couldn't force the words out.
She was afraid that opening her mouth would let something else entirely escape.
So Dwen could only clamp her lips shut, helplessly flailing in Rishir's arms without a word.
A frustrated sigh escaped her tormented, anguished form.
In the process, her position shifted from being held from behind to clinging to him.
"It's okay."
Misinterpreting it again, Rishir gently patted her back.
She flinched!
Twitched!
Rishir continued to "soothe" her(?) until the seizure(?) from the pain fully passed and Dwen stabilized.
"Ugh..."
"What the hell was that..."
Finally, Jane and Felix rose to their feet.
Dwen's body, which had just settled, jerked once more.
She urgently pulled away from Rishir's arms, where she'd been nestled so obediently.
"Ah, are you alright now?"
"..."
Rishir asked calmly.
Dwen merely nodded, head bowed.
With that, people began coming to their senses one by one.
"Tilla! Are you okay!?"
"Wait!"
"Huh!?"
"Don't touch her right now..."
"Ah, uh. Got it."
"Ugh, Bellota... sorry, can you help me up...?"
"Camilla... yes..."
"Wait, you two! Let me help—"
"“Don't come near!!!”"
The hero's party.
"Poien sisters, are you alright!?"
"Ah... and what about all of you..."
The True Ones.
Seeing them all unable to recover from the ritual's effects, Rishir felt considerable guilt.
"Everyone! Is anyone hurt? Any injuries!?"
The ritual only shared pain, nothing more.
Confirming no one was injured, Rishir let out a relieved sigh.
"Good thing nothing happened."
"..."
All eyes turned to his blood-soaked face.
"Ah!"
Then, Rishir remembered something and looked around.
He wanted to check how full the core of pain Dwen had borne was.
"Lord Rishir. You have done well."
At that moment, Hella approached and addressed him.
"You must be exhausted in every way, so we'll take our leave. We'll report the ritual's results when we visit tomorrow."
Before Rishir could respond, Hella finished speaking and led the True Ones away from the mansion.
Looking somewhat hurried.
"Whew..."
Rishir sighed softly once they were gone.
From the circumstances, it seemed the core of pain Dwen had shouldered was no longer a concern.
"Looks like a weight off your shoulders, right?"
He smiled and asked Dwen,
hoping to share this relief, this joy.
"It... seems so..."
"?"
But Dwen avoided his gaze, awkwardly turning her head.
Rishir tilted his head at her uncharacteristic behavior.
Tired from the ritual?
Then he felt eyes on him.
The hero's party.
They were staring at Rishir with strange looks.
"Rishir... you okay...?"
Jane asked cautiously.
"Huh? Okay with what?"
Rishir tilted his head.
His face still covered in blood.
"Whoa."
That was the reaction from Felix and a few others.
A single word packed with layers of meaning.
"...Nothing!"
Jane flashed a bright smile.
The rest of the hero's party smiled brightly too.
And in that awkward atmosphere, they dispersed.
That evening at dusk.
'Training is serious business.'
As always, Rishir left his room to follow his routine and headed to the mansion's backyard.
"Oh, Dwen?"
"Ah."
There, he ran into Dwen, who had arrived first.
She stood motionless, staring at her left hand.
"How are you feeling now?"
Dwen's platinum blonde bob captured the sunset settling over the yard.
Perhaps that's why.
Her iron-wall stern expression seemed tinged with a subtle emotional hue.
Finally, Dwen looked at Rishir.
And as she tried to answer his question—
"..."
Her face twitched. Her lips quivered.
"...Dwen? Uh—"
Unthinkingly, Rishir reached out a hand.
Dwen suddenly turned and left the spot.
As if fleeing.
"...What's with her?"
Rishir gave a wry smile at her uncharacteristic behavior.
"Too bad. Would've been perfect for a spar."
Whatever. She'll be fine.
He shrugged and assumed his stance.
In his hand was a blue lotus.
A monumental moment.
As he drew up his magic power, he addressed the inhabitants of his inner world.
"Klana, Dangleon. How do I look right now?"
-Ooooooh!!!!!
The first response was the demon's characteristically over-the-top cheer!
Followed by the murder ghost's sneer.
-Crazy bastard...
"Why the sudden insult..."
-It pissed me off.
The murder ghost transformed into the composed girl spirit.
She looked up at Rishir from right in front of him and said,
"How old are you this year?"
"Nineteen."
"Crazy bastard."
"Why insult again..."
-Zuinnny!!!!!
The gray-white fire spirit had manifested and roiled violently.
-What pinnacle of wonder is this!!! You've finally reached it!!! At such a young age!!!
Rishir looked down at his hand and nodded.
Their reactions turned his vague guess into certainty.
7th Circle.
He had reached the realm called the domain of masters.
Now he was qualified to be a true practitioner of the sword—
and simultaneously, qualified to lead a school.
The power of intent naturally permeating his magic without conscious effort was proof.
"It doesn't really feel real."
"Of course not. You could wield the power of intent even before crossing that wall. But you'll feel this power for what it is."
"Power, huh..."
"Might as well check your full strength now. Come on. Draw up every bit of magic you have."
The murder ghost's eyes gleamed oddly as she spoke.
"Maybe I'll teach you something new."
-Shut your trap, you lifeless hunk of junk!!! Are you denying Zuunny's essence!? Zuunny is a mage! The first enlightenment upon entering the 7th Circle should naturally be related to magic!
"Can't you see the sword in that guy's hand? If he planned to pursue magic like you say, he wouldn't bother with that blade."
-You idiot!!! To Zuunny, that barbaric lump of iron is nothing more than a staff made of steel! No!? Everything Zuunny holds becomes infused with magical mystery and wonder!!!
"What nonsense."
The murder ghost and the demon.
They began a heated argument over Rishir's first(?) experience.
For him, newly matured in the world of power, this was their chance to imprint themselves first(!)
They had no intention of yielding that opportunity to the other.
While the two engaged in their fierce, uncompromising debate.
"..."
Rishir closed his eyes and focused.
Klana's words had piqued his interest.
'My full power at the 7th Circle...'
First, he checked his body's condition.
Was it suitable for drawing out his full strength?
He'd used Surge during the True Ones' ritual, which had drained him—
but thanks to the mysterious euphoria that followed, his body felt reborn, in perfect shape.
"Good."
Checks complete.
Rishir began seriously drawing out his mana.
'Come to think of it, this is a first?'
He'd often pushed until his mana bottomed out or focused every nerve on precise techniques—
but endlessly pulling mana like emptying his pockets was new.
Feeling that unfamiliarity, Rishir continued.
Then.
Plop.
"Hm?"
Rishir suddenly checked his chest.
As if a knot had come undone?
He sensed an unknown mana reaction from among his possessions.
And at the same moment—
"Huh?"
Rishir.
He was suddenly in a pure white space.
A space formed of magic and mana.
Within it, someone welcomed him.
Silver hair flowing to her waist.
A purple robe of silk that seemed transparent yet opaque.
Above all, that distinctive, vibrant smile.
Rishir's eyes widened upon recognizing her.
"Master?"