Chapter 35
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 35
The Magic Tower Wing, believed to hold the key to the incident, had been completely destroyed, leaving only ruins in its wake. The Black Disaster had clearly swept through—a fact confirmed when the residents of Hastin began suffering the same seizures that had plagued Riaze.
The Black Disaster had moved from Riaze to Hastin. Naturally, suspicion fell upon the nearby Primordial Core. Ultimately, the investigation stalled, only lending more credence to the hypothesis that the Black Disaster was Swallow. There was nothing more to be gained. All relevant witnesses were either dead or had vanished. Even Count Etarque, the Lord of Hastin, had hanged himself in his room, leaving behind a single suicide note. The investigators who read its contents grimaced.
The ancient monster has been enraged. Humans can only await the judgment of death. The end has come, not just for the Empire, but for all of humanity.
Beneath the oppressive weight of the massive entity known as the Empire, countless forces began to stir.
*
Plop. A cold drop of water fell from the ceiling, landing right between her brows.
She opened her eyes, feeling as though she were waking from a deep sleep. A cool breeze tickled the bridge of her nose.
Even after her eyes were fully open, the ceiling remained a dim blur. Where is this? What happened?
Lost in thought, Melju pressed her hands against the ground and slowly pushed her upper body up. From beside her, a scraping, rasping sound reached her ears. She turned her head toward the noise.
She saw a skeleton sitting on the ground, sharpening a sword.
A skeleton.
“Ah…”
Only then did Melju’s groggy mind snap into focus. Everything that had happened right before she lost consciousness rushed back. Right, that’s what happened. If so, then this situation makes some sense.
“Ah, you’re awake.”
Hearing her stir, the skeleton—Patrick—greeted her in a flat tone. Melju stared blankly at him. Patrick subtly turned his head, seemingly uncomfortable with her intense gaze, while Melju stared back in wonder, her lips slowly parting.
“I…”
“Pardon?”
“I… I’ve died, then. Are you the Grim Reaper? Is this hell?”
From her perspective, it was a logical conclusion. The chilly air, the dark space, the skeleton—it all fit. Though she did wonder why the Grim Reaper was holding a sword instead of a scythe.
“Excuse me?”
“I read in a book that the gatekeeper of the underworld is a skeleton, and it was true! How did the author of that book know the Grim Reaper was a skeleton without even dying? Truly marvelous. Very well, Grim Reaper, I am Melju de Limp Agrea, the seventeenth descendant of Asmodeus. I have no regrets in death.”
“No, I think you’re deeply mistaken about something…”
“What will happen to me now? Heaven? Hell? Where am I going? The humans who believe in gods were always going on about Purgatory. Does Purgatory truly exist? Before that, do Heaven and Hell even exist? I am truly curious. Though, even if they do, I suppose Heaven is out of the question for me. I am the Demon King, after all. Yes, Hell suits a Demon King. Come, take me.”
“I can see why the boss brought you back. You even resemble him in how you cut people off.”
“Boss? Is there a leader among the Grim Reapers?”
“Excuse me, Demon King. This isn’t the underworld.”
“…Huh? Then where is this?”
“I’m not going to say this twice, so listen carefully.”
The answer came loud and clear, practically rattling her eardrums.
“This is the Primordial Core.”
Her response came only after a long pause.
“Eh?”
Silence fell once more, broken only by her dumbfounded squeak. Her mouth twitched as if she had more to say. Patrick tapped his ribs with a fist, venting his frustration. Soon, Melju’s face turned pale.
“Then you’re not the Grim Reaper… but Sir Patrick?”
“You’re quick on the uptake.”
*
Dragging a dazed Melju by her clothes, Patrick headed toward Swallow’s room. She was like a limp doll, still unable to grasp the situation. On a side note, since Melju’s clothes were quite tattered, the embarrassment was entirely Patrick’s to bear. Fortunately, the fabric was high-quality and didn’t tear, even when pulled.
“Wake up.”
Patrick, who had kicked his boss with all his might to wake him from an hours-long slumber, threw Melju down in front of him. Upon seeing Swallow, Melju froze, unable to speak. She locked eyes with him as he blinked, half-asleep.
—Both of them froze.
At least, that was how it appeared on the surface. In reality, they were simply silent while their minds raced. Melju’s eyes darted around frantically, while Swallow’s brain worked at high speed. Soon, Melju’s eyes sparkled with awe, while Swallow’s mind burned to ashes.
“L-L-L-Lord S-Swallow!”
Who is this now?
“The ruler of the Primordial Core and the lord of all creation! The divine guardian who punishes those gripped by fear, the ancient monster standing at the pinnacle of all existence… Lord Swallow!”
Not that again…
She memorized it perfectly, word for word.
Hearing the over-the-top titles, Patrick snickered from the side.
Ah, seriously, where do I even begin with this?
What a pain. Mumbling to himself, Swallow covered his face with his forepaw. It wasn’t like he had hidden his identity on purpose… well, actually he had, but he hadn’t intended to shock her this much.
Patrick stood by with his arms crossed, watching. He seemed intent on hearing the full story of the incident, which he hadn’t gotten last time. The way he idly swung his sword, as if ready to cut Swallow down if the explanation was unsatisfactory, was highly distracting. I really shouldn’t have given him that sword, Swallow regretted, but what was done was done.
“Lord Swallow, um, to introduce myself… No, I apologize! To make such a mistake in my form of address before the great Lord Swallow! Um, first, to introduce myself…”
“Melju de Limp Agrea, the seventeenth descendant of Asmodeus… Ah, now I’ve memorized it too.”
“H-Ha! How do you know my name, Lord Swallow? Did Sir Swald tell you? Sir Swald, indeed! A monster belonging to the Primordial Core is truly on another level! Ah, more importantly, where is… Sir Swald? I clearly remember him passing judgment on the humans in Riaze and even retrieving the Guillotine’s Tooth…”
“It’s me.”
“Ah, y-yes! Lord Swallow, what did you just say…?”
“I am Sir Swald.”
“Eh?”
“Sir Swald is Swallow, and Swallow is Sir Swald. The Sir Swald who traveled with you all this time was me.”
“Aha!”
What do you mean, “Aha!”?
It was a delayed reaction. Melju replied in a tone that suggested she understood, but her expression showed she didn’t understand at all. No, it went a step further—she wore an expression that refused to understand.
“I, this humble one, now u-u-understand Lord Swallow’s witty joke.”
Your tongue slipped there.
As if trying to deny reality, Melju turned her head toward Patrick. He met her gaze and nodded.
“I don’t know the details either, but you should just accept it.”
“It’s no big deal.”
It’s… no big deal?
It was no big deal. It was just that everything, from start to finish, had to be completely reinterpreted. Praising Swallow right in front of Swallow, trying to pounce on Swallow… and, well, that was all.
Unable to accept reality, Melju collapsed with a thud.
“Is she dead…?”
After I went through all that trouble to save her?
“She’s not dead. Seems she fainted from shock. She claims to be a Demon King, but is she of any use if she’s this weak, Boss?”
“I don’t even know anymore.”
“We can talk about recruiting her for the dungeon once she calms down. By the way, Boss. About what that Demon King Melju said earlier.”
“Yeah?”
“The part where she said you were passing judgment on the humans in Riaze…”
“Ah.”
“Follow me.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was only after being scolded for over six hours that he was finally forgiven.
*
The process had been extreme, but with the runaway Rene back, a semblance of peace had finally returned.
“Where did you get that?”
“I had it hidden away. I’m quite the connoisseur of fine spirits, you know. Would you like a drink, Boss?”
“…Drink it yourself.”
Beneath a hole in the ceiling at the edge of the Core, Patrick took a sip, using the filtering moonlight as his side dish. One might wonder what a skeleton with no digestive tract, let alone internal organs, was doing drinking alcohol, but Patrick was a determined soul who had once tried to learn Polymorph just to taste liquor. Of course, due to the mana limitations of a skeleton, he had failed to master it. Still, after much effort, he seemed to have succeeded in replicating the sense of taste to some extent. He hadn’t perfectly recreated a tongue and digestive system; instead, a strange gas that acted as a tongue merely formed inside his mouth.
From Swallow’s perspective, there was no way that setup could register a proper sense of taste.
In fact, all the alcohol he drank simply trickled down his ribs and pelvis, pooling on the floor like dew. Regardless, Patrick believed that as long as he could taste it, nothing else mattered.
“It’s a shame I can’t get drunk.”
Glancing at Patrick, Swallow thought to himself.
How are you supposed to get drunk when the alcohol is literally spilling all over the floor?
Unable to bring himself to say it out loud, Swallow looked back up at the moonlight. He didn’t find it beautiful. He only thought, When did that hole get there? He was going to be busy. There were too many things to repair.
“…Boss, what are you going to do now? Since you’ve already run amok in Riaze, are you going to destroy the Empire next?”
“Huh? No, why would I?”
“…Right.”
The sound of dripping water echoed through the silent Core.
“This incident. Do you regret it?”
He set down his glass. Patrick’s gaze remained fixed on the moon as he asked with the utmost seriousness.
This was the real reason Patrick had called Swallow over. Normally, he tried not to interfere, but given that Swallow had gone so far as to gouge out his own eye for Rene, Patrick felt it was necessary to address it.
“Are you talking about my eye? Well, I’ve never tried it before, but won’t it just regenerate? It’s already itchy, like something is about to grow back. Or is that just my imagination? Anyway, even if it doesn’t, living with one eye isn’t really an inconvenience.”
“Honestly, you didn’t need to go this far, Boss. Even if both sides were at fault, Miss Rene certainly wasn’t in the right.”
“It depends on how you look at it.”
“The situation spiraled completely out of control. It’s an undeniable fact that things escalated because Miss Rene overthought and overreacted. The way I see it, you’re just spoiling her.”
“You don’t even have eyes.”
“Seriously… I’m trying to have a serious conversation here.”
“How could you or I possibly know how hard it was for her?”
How anxious must she have been for decades? Just because he couldn’t understand it, could the feeling be so easily brushed aside? He had never stopped to think about how hurt Rene must have been by his carelessness. Her foolish act of giving up her own weapon just to win his affection—he had never once considered the desperate heart hidden behind it.
To Rene, eighty years was perhaps a longer span of time than his own eight hundred. Though he had never truly felt the emotion of love, he knew the feeling of losing something precious.
In fact, because he had lived longer than others, he had experienced the pain of loss far more often. If he imagined losing something he had cherished for eight hundred years in an instant, perhaps he could faintly understand her feelings.
“Ah, whatever.”
With that, Swallow rolled over onto his back. Patrick said nothing more and raised his glass again.
Back to daily life.
That was enough.
*
The adults always used to say never to enter the forest of Graphenia. They said that deep within its dense woods lived a terrifying monster cursed by the trees.
But she knew it was all a lie. According to Darian, her long-time friend who worked as a gate guard in Hastin, there were no scary monsters in the forest of Graphenia. He said people simply stayed away because they were afraid of the Primordial Core, and that a monster had never once emerged from the forest to attack the city.
That was why Olen would occasionally venture into the forest of Graphenia under the cover of night. Slipping in with a softly glowing lantern, she would find a bounty of lush fruits and countless mushrooms. These fresh gifts of nature, left untouched by anyone else, were valuable enough to justify a young girl wandering the darkened woods alone.
In the untouched depths, giant mushrooms that grew to her waist sold for a high price. The rare herbs she occasionally spotted fetched several times more than the money clutched in the hands of the prostitutes who wandered the filthy night streets.
Finding such herbs in the dark forest was no easy task, but unearthing just one every three days left her with enough money to buy a fashionable dress and still have some left over.
Why does no one come near this treasure trove? People are such cowards.
Maybe I’ll go a little deeper today.