Chapter 67
Chapter 67
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 67
Chapter Title: Seven Seats: Celestia (1)
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The Illusory Archive, Celestia, occasionally receives visitors I haven't invited.
Coincidence. Or fate.
No one can say which is correct.
But one thing was certain: these encounters held significant meaning for those involved.
"Sometimes, there are people drawn here by fate itself."
I lifted my head and quietly regarded the new guest who had arrived in Celestia.
Hair that had lost its luster.
A stark black streak crossing through it.
A girl with an impassive face that betrayed no emotions.
Covering the corners of her mouth was a long muffler dyed jet-black and fluttering loosely.
"It's been a while since a guest visited the library at night."
Pure white moonlight shattered and scattered within the library.
In this vast ritual space where time flowed opposite to the outside world—this was the hour of 'night.'
A strange magic filled the library, now shrouded in darkness.
The library's night, a place of silence and solitude accessible only to uninvited intruders without my permission.
The nameless girl who had come there gazed at me quietly with her lips sealed.
"......"
Our staring eyes read each other's information.
The mage's domain, built over centuries, instantly grasped the details of the intruder before me.
A hand lingering uncertainly at an empty waist.
Mana circuits showing unstable flows.
From the distorted patterns, she didn't seem like a mage who handled magic professionally.
She must have been accustomed to wielding a sword.
"What's your name?"
Finally, as I stared at her emotionless face, I directed the question at the girl.
A short query asking for her name.
In response, she slightly bowed her head.
"......"
No voice emerged from her blank expression.
Silence returned to Celestia once more.
An indifference to all things seeped from her face.
She merely stood there with her head slightly lowered and a dazed look.
"You don't want to answer, it seems."
"......"
I probed her intentions with a casual remark directed at the girl.
But she continued to stare blankly at the desk with her impassive face.
Was she avoiding a response?
Or was something wrong with her?
I quietly pondered her attitude.
'Is she deliberately avoiding revealing information? But that doesn't feel right—it's too off.'
Several possibilities flashed through my mind.
She might have a cautious personality.
Or she could have prior knowledge about me.
Even as I considered these, her gaze remained fixed on my desk.
"......"
"......"
The meaningless silence dragged on.
In the standoff of quiet, I followed the girl's eyes.
Celestia's analysis magic produced precise results.
As I continued to meet her gaze, I soon reached a conclusion and let out a hollow chuckle.
"No way."
"......"
I traced the line of her impassive eyes.
What I thought was a stare at the desk was actually fixed elsewhere.
The assortment of cookies placed on the desk.
Her gaze was firmly locked on the plate of snacks prepared with the tea.
Yet, in stark contrast to the intense fixation, her eyes showed utter disinterest.
Ha.
Watching her, I quietly moved my hand and pushed the plate in front of her forward.
"......Do as you like."
"......Yeah."
That was when I finally heard her first response.
Thud.
She plopped down at the desk with surprising speed, immediately grabbing a cookie as if relieved by the permission.
Crunch, crunch.
As if she hadn't eaten for days, her hurried hands devoured the cookies in an instant.
"Where have you been until just now?"
"In the Great Forest."
"Your name?"
"Eight Sword Society's Eighth Seat, Priella Atria."
Priella Atria.
It seemed one possessed soul from the Great Forest had wandered into the library.
* * * * * *
Sword Ghost, Lafaria.
The leader of the Eight Sword Society and one of the Seven Seats, an elf known even in the Great Forest by the derogatory title of exile.
She was now drenched in sticky blood, heaving rough breaths in the heart of the Great Forest.
Drip.
Blood drops of unknown origin trickled from the hand gripping her sword.
"......"
Lafaria's body moved heavily, as if burdened by a thousand pounds.
Hah, haa.
Rough breaths escaped her lips.
The trembling eyes of the surviving elf scanned her surroundings.
—Hell.
Her vision was filled with the horrific landscape of hell unfolding on earth.
"Hah... What in the world......"
As her disrupted senses returned, Lafaria let her gaze follow the scenery around her.
The countless foes she had faced moments ago now lay scattered on the ground.
A gruesome sight filled her field of view.
They were dead.
All of them were dead.
Everyone around her had perished.
Step, step.
Lafaria's legs, still clutching her sword, staggered forward.
"What happened......?"
As she stepped ahead, Lafaria retraced the scenes before her one by one.
Familiar faces began appearing on the ground.
Her kinsmen who hated her lay dead.
Elves slain by elven blades—faces Lafaria recognized.
It was an unnatural sight.
An unbelievable scene unfolded before Lafaria's eyes.
"......"
She felt the weight in her sword hand.
Her sword, once light as a feather, now felt like a boulder for some reason.
Step, step.
Lafaria's footsteps advanced once more.
Passing the fallen kinsmen, she came upon holy knights in armor awaiting her.
Holy knights of the White Order.
The baptized knights looked no different from the kinsmen she had seen moments before.
"......Magic? Was I under a spell?"
Swish.
Lafaria's hand brushed one side of her face.
The sight of a holy knight's sword piercing another holy knight.
No matter how she looked at it, there was only one means to create such carnage.
Magic.
Without a forbidden-level illusion magic sweeping the land, Lafaria couldn't comprehend the scene.
"......"
Lafaria gazed at her blood-soaked hands.
Her body, honed with the sword for an excruciatingly long time, reacted instinctively to surrounding killing intent without conscious thought.
If even she had fallen under illusion magic—
The outcome was easy to imagine.
Step, step.
Lafaria's legs pressed through the battlefield again.
The pained face of the dead Porfort entered her view.
The final moments of her once-hating kinsman stirred complex emotions in Lafaria.
"......Porfort."
Tap.
Lafaria's hand gently closed her dead kinsman's eyes.
A kinsman she thought she'd never understand in a lifetime.
As if confirming her thoughts, Porfort had died leaving only lingering questions.
"May you find eternal rest beneath the Mother Tree's embrace."
"—."
A prayer for her kinsman flowed from Lafaria's lips.
Porfort made no response to that prayer.
After the brief prayer, Lafaria's legs resumed trudging through the battlefield.
Step, step.
Her weakened legs struggled to move.
Passing the elves, Lafaria's path led toward the clustered brotherhood ahead.
"......!"
Before the piled thieves.
Her eyes spotted a familiar figure there.
A man with disheveled hair, standing until the end before meeting death.
On the chest of the rigid, standing man remained a sword wound Lafaria had once inflicted.
—Captain, Isaac Leoblant.
The man once called one of the Seven Seats alongside her stood dead in place.
"Isaac Leoblant—."
"—."
He too must have been caught in the forbidden taboo here.
Isaac lay covered in countless scratches, ultimately dying from the wound Lafaria had given him.
A horrific sight.
And an utterly futile end.
"In the end, I couldn't kill you myself."
Having found her enemy's end, Lafaria's legs quietly moved beyond.
Her legs pushed through the foes.
Drawn by something—
Or searching for something.
Her aimless steps halted at the edge of the silent battlefield.
"......"
Her gaze finally settled on the familiar face before her.
A girl clutching a single book lay quietly at her feet.
Hiss, hiss.
Faint breaths leaked from the lips of the girl wrapped in a black muffler.
"......Priella. So here you were."
Lafaria's eyes looked down tenderly at the first survivor she had found.
Priella of the Eight Sword Society—
Her long-time comrade had apparently fallen asleep soundly in a corner of the battlefield.
Was it good fortune?
Or simply carefree?
The elf's eyes, having swept the field, took in her comrade's form laden with myriad emotions.
Above her head stretched the lush branches of the World Tree.
* * * * * *
Austin Rainer was a righteous man.
But no longer.
He had resolved to betray himself.
On the battlefield he faced, Austin had realized an uncomfortable truth.
That justice, nobility, even honor were luxuries only the strong could wield.
"Doctor......!"
Within the grand library shrouded in mystery, Austin's strides boldly cut through the shelves.
Step, step.
Clear emotion fueled Austin's legs as he crossed the aisles.
The one Austin sought with fervent steps was a certain person who should be in the library now.
Doctor, Begerton Antares.
Technical advisor to the Polar Star Magic Research Society, wanted criminal of the heinous empire, and architect of all events in the Great Forest.
"......My, my, Sir Austin. Shouldn't one be quiet in a library?"
Crossing between the shelves, Austin soon found the man he sought.
A researcher quietly standing and reading, with a monocle over one eye.
He had spotted the doctor reading in a corner of the library.
Rustle.
As the doctor calmly turned a page and smiled at Austin.
Austin's hand seized the doctor's collar.
"Why... just why did you design it that way......!"
Grip.
The doctor's eyes, caught by the collar, quietly regarded the hand holding him.
A smile still played on the doctor's lips.
Tap, tap.
The doctor spoke while looking at Austin's hand gripping his collar.
"......What is the meaning of this? I'd like to hear the reason for such behavior."
"Wasn't everything from the start according to your plan?"
"......"
"Was that 'advice' what you meant? Testing the performance of 'Taboo' right in the heart of the Great Forest?!"
Their gazes met at arm's length.
Austin's furious reflection shone on the ornate monocle's lens.
Hmm.
The doctor's eyes lingered on Austin for a moment.
Then, with a subtle twist of his arm, he detached Austin's hand.
"......!"
Tap.
Austin's eyes blankly stared at the doctor.
The doctor's strength surpassed his expectations.
He had effortlessly released the grip on his collar, as if it were a child's play.
"Even I wouldn't burden a friend with trouble for such a trivial reason."
Leaving Austin be, the doctor brushed dust from his collar.
Swish, swish.
After dusting off with a brief gesture, the doctor continued.
"If I had to explain, it's a bit of petty revenge... and a gift for the friend before me."
"What do you......"
"Did Isaac die?"
"Pardon?"
A questioning voice slipped from Austin at the doctor's query.
Isaac Leoblant.
The enemy's name from their sudden encounter in the Great Forest had come up abruptly.
"It was a plan designed entirely on the premise of his death. I judged this more helpful than mere firepower projection."
"What do you......"
"So, did Isaac Leoblant die?"
Austin gave no reply to the doctor's words.
Of course, the doctor didn't need Austin's answer either.
"From your reaction, he probably did. Good—if so, things should go smoothly."
Click.
The doctor's hand adjusted his monocle.
A leisurely smile remained on his lips.
"Soon, we'll see the results."
"......"
Austin's bewildered eyes fixed on the doctor.
He spoke absurdities with a gentle face, meeting Austin's gaze.
"You need that much impact for a new Seven Seat to be born, don't you think?"
Heh heh heh.
A chilling laugh echoed through the library.
Austin, watching the doctor, quietly shut his mouth.
Begerton Antares.
He remained, to Austin, an incomprehensible man.