To the Empire [4]
Whoosh—!
A single shadow races across the continent, tearing through it like a wild beast.
It passes over the barren lands of the demon realm, crosses lush green plains, traverses desolate deserts, and speeds past ruined cities reduced to mere skeletons.
The shadow shows no sign of slowing, hurtling madly toward the Empire.
A speed utterly beyond human limits. It lightly steps on a tree branch, then leaps off with delicate grace. But the result is anything but light—a single stride covers dozens of meters. Ethan's brow furrows deeply.
All the while he runs, his mind is a hellscape.
Shut up, shut up!! Why!! Why the hell is this happening again!!
A scream that couldn't escape his lips explodes inward. He can't understand why the gods have suddenly started whispering like madmen.
The battlefield had always been silent. When carrying out the gods' commands in battle, his mind was always empty and at peace. So why? Here at the heart of the battlefield, even in the midst of combat—why? Why are they calling me, strangling me like this?
Ethan suppresses his boiling headache and pours more strength into his legs.
First... the Empire... I have to get to the Empire.
He wraps himself in every blessing that enhances speed and runs for days at a pace beyond human limits.
In the midst of crossing the continent, something odd catches Ethan's eye—a strange carriage.
Crude, made of black wood. No family crest, no ornate decorations—just an ordinary carriage you might see anywhere. But the 'horses' pulling it are different.
Anybody could tell they're spirit beasts from the abyss. Even Ethan, who has slain countless magical beasts, has never seen their kind. They're not magical beasts. Their savage, bizarre form contrasts sharply with the sacred aura they exude.
Two unidentified spirit beasts glide smoothly down the ruined road.
That's not the only strange thing. The horses are fast, but the carriage doesn't jostle at all. Despite the rough terrain, it moves as if fixed in midair—a bizarre sight.
Ethan heightens his mana and activates a blessing. But he senses nothing.
Not carrying people. Goods, then? No, not that either. No flow of mana, no warmth of life from within. Just an empty carriage.
Empty, yet pulled by those spirit beasts.
At that moment, the gods' voices clash madly in his head once more.
"To the Empire. You're late—hurry more!"
"Don't waste your gaze on roadside pebbles."
"Go! Head to the Empire now! The holy land awaits you!"
"Turn back! Turn back!"
Warnings, confusion, and urgings shred his mind. Ethan grimaces from the excruciating headache but ignores the gods' voices and follows the carriage. His instinct screams that something is wrong.
After running parallel to it for a while, he learns nothing. A waste of time.
He turns his head to head back to the Empire, channeling blessings into his legs. At that instant, the bizarrely speeding carriage begins to slow.
It comes to a quiet stop before a small village by a vast lake—or rather, the ruins of one destroyed by war.
...Thirsty, maybe.
Ethan slips behind a thick tree near the lakeshore to hide. He stifles his presence and holds his breath.
But then the carriage door opens, and a man steps out. ...A person?
Deep brown hair, reddish-brown eyes. Dressed in simple robes. A handsome young mage, by all appearances.
Ethan calmly analyzes the scene.
Ah... a mage. That's how he levitated the carriage. A mage can erase his presence too.
His rational analysis ends there. Instinct immediately blares a warning.
But can a mage hide his presence this perfectly? And those horses? What the hell are they?
No—what is that guy? Human?
Why no presence, no mana flow, no life warmth... nothing at all?
As Ethan stares blankly, the man's drowsy voice pierces the lakeside silence from afar.
It's like calling the battlefield filthy, even blaspheming his patron god Barat. Ethan's hollow eyes flicker faintly.
The man gazes lazily at the lake's surface, mutters, then tilts his head to stare at the village ruins.
"What do you think, kiddo?"
Ethan's heart plummets. He thought he'd hidden perfectly, yet the man speaks directly toward his hiding spot.
"Nah. Should call you the 'Hero,' humanity's sole savior, right?"
Ethan tenses to the max, gripping his sword hilt. The gods' voices are now screams ripping his mind, but his body instinctively readies for battle.
* * *
The man drops his arms lazily, as if giving up.
Now!
I seize the split-second opening, channeling every blessing into my legs and sword. Boom—! The instant I kick off the ground, the distance closes. My sword tip, infused with holy light, thrusts straight for his brow.
...!
But just before it hits, a chilling sensation hits me.
He was right there. He was. But the impact I should feel at my fingertips slices empty air, and the air behind me freezes unnaturally.
Not presence. Not even killing intent. Just a void so profound it feels like the space itself was carved out, brushing coldly down my back.
I didn't perceive it. Didn't recognize it.
How? My foresight is still active. In the visions, he's still standing before me, smiling lazily.
A perfect 'unknown' that even foresight can't read.
I instinctively swing back. Clang—! I barely block, but the shockwave makes me stagger.
In that instant, before my eyes—Natae stands there.
Front.
My eyes and brain define his position as 'front.' Yet.
...!
It's the side. A chilling sword strike flies from my blind spot.
It makes no sense. He's right in front of me—why does the strike come from the side?
It's like the world snapped in half midway. Or as if someone cut out the instant he moved in my timeline.
I didn't even blink, yet the process skips straight to the result—a blade aimed at my throat.
My eyes can't keep up with his speed, futilely reflecting only the afterimage of the past.
What? Why is a mage wielding a sword? No—when did he even draw it? Everything's glitching.
I desperately swing sideways again, but my messed-up balance gives out, and I drop to one knee.
"Ngh...!"
As I groan and look up, he's already plunging his sword down from right in front.
Ah... I can't comprehend it. In countless battles, even on brutal warfields, I've never felt this hollow despair.
Ah... I'm gonna die.
The silence I've longed for approaches in the form of death.
But in that moment, a memory flashes—not the gods' voices, but mine.
My mother, weeping as she watched her ordinary farmer son chosen as Hero. My father, silently hugging me tight.
...I can't die yet.
I grit my teeth and squeeze every drop of mana from my body.
Rumble—!
Soul Burn
I accelerate time. Overload every blessing on my body into a frenzy.
Divine Favor | Adamant Indestructibility | Thousand-Light Speed
Super Velocity | Absolute Precision | Blessing of Holy War
... Kaboom—!
I accelerate time.
Overload every blessing on my body into a frenzy.
The only resistance I can muster on death's doorstep.
But in that split second—
"Get out of the way, you worthless wretch."
With a cold command, one of dozens of gods finally crushes my reason and seizes my body by force.
It wasn't acceptance. It was blatant invasion.
"A, aaaaagh—!"
The scream is mine, but the voice that follows isn't my will.
Forcing my jaw and vocal cords to twist, a grand yet chillingly mechanical divine voice booms across the ruins.
"Punish the sinner before this foolish human. Heavenly wrath upon the blasphemous evil—!"
My consciousness is shoved to a corner, helplessly watching. My body is no longer mine.
But in that moment, I see it. The man's face—always grinning with amusement—twists in rage.
The glee filling his eyes vanishes, replaced by raw irritation and disgust.
"...Ah, fuck."
In that instant, I sense it. Something is terribly wrong.
* * *
I'm furious right now. Seething.
It'd been ages since I felt this thrill. I forgot my sloth, even the boredom that's plagued me for eons. I was delighted, thrilled by this pinnacle of human perfection.
But that joy turned to despair and rage in a heartbeat.
Like shit dumped on a perfectly good meal. For some no-name lesser god to forcibly invade and defile this beautiful realm a mortal dared reach...
"...Ah, fuck."
With that, I roughly shatter the seal on my Sloth Force.
To stay near Lulu, I'd changed my hair and eye color, sealed 80% of my power. Meant to ration it—20% should suffice here.
Guess I'm still too soft.
Hummm—!
My brown hair turns abyss-black. Brown eyes bleed red, pupils splitting into inhuman slits.
The air around me screams and freezes in response to my rage.
Soon, the so-called god possessing the Hero begins to tremble.
Descending yet instinctively terrified of the being before it. Pathetic.
I reach out without hesitation, lifting the Hero. Then thrust my arm straight through his gut.
Not to kill.
To drag this damn thing out of the Hero's body. I felt it the moment it descended—where it came from, how it burrowed into his soul. I grab that gap and yank its true form free.
Crunch—!
I gaze down at the thing pulled from the Hero's body, now clutched in my hand.
A grotesque, infant-like human form. Two pairs of spindly wings sprouting from its back. A face torn by terror.
"Gaaah!! Let go!! How?! Why is a demon here?! A demon in this place!!!"
It screams and wails in my grip, unable to believe a demon exists in the human world—right before the Hero, no less.
I ignore its howls and look at the Hero. He's clean. My Sloth Force carved out only the angel, leaving no wound on his flesh. He's out cold from the forced descent's backlash, or maybe asleep.
I turn back to the self-proclaimed god—the angel—and emotionlessly slam it into the ground.
Bam—!!
"Guhk!"
I lift it again, slam it down.
Bam—!!
Lift once more; it vomits blood, groaning.
"You! You! Blasphemous!!"
Still barking like it hasn't caught on. Disgusting. Slam it again.
Bam—!!!
Lift. Grab one wing with my other hand. The angel's face goes sheet-white.
"Ah!!! N-no...! Don't...! Please no!!!"
Before it finishes, I rip off the wing.
Riiip—!
"Gaaaaah—!!!"
The angel's scream shakes the ruins.
"Don't bark."
I intone coldly, slamming it down again.
Bam—!!!!
Then glance at the unconscious Hero and speak. My words are for him, but really a warning to those 'noisy bastards' behind him.
"One more descent into this Hero's body, and I'll kill you all."
I point my hand at the pinned wretch and begin compressing space itself.
[Compression]
Crack— A grotesque rupture echoes as the space around the angel warps and compresses. Still facing the Hero, I add icily:
"Don't even talk to the Hero. He's sick of the noise."
I slowly clench my fist. Space compresses viciously; bones crunch, screams rise—but I ignore them.
"I kinda like this Hero, y'know. So if I hear one more peep from you in front of me."
I clench my fist shut.
The angel, pinned to the ground, compresses into a tiny orb.
I transfer the orb to my hand and crush it with a flick.
Pop—
Gazing at the scattering dust, I issue my final warning.
"I'll show you Hell descending on your home."
Only my chilling voice echoes in the ruins.
I walk over to the Hero. Stare at his unconscious form, chuckle, and scoop him up lightly.
"Good work, kiddo."
Hero in arms, I head slowly to the carriage.