Chapter 268
Chapter 268
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 268
Chapter Title: Reality and Ideal (5)
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The extermination battle in Bertha Gorge had wrapped up successfully.
All objectives were achieved, and allied casualties were extremely minimal.
The necromancers' towers that churned out dragonbone soldiers had all crumbled. Shattered fragments of dragonbone soldiers littered the ground, while the corpses of necromancers with burst skulls filled the gorge.
Yet there were places where not a single body remained.
A prime example was the path swept clean by knights advancing behind waves of fire, the intense heat incinerating everything in their wake. All that lingered where their boots had trod were heaps of charred ash.
Snap.
The knights marching through the ash experienced firsthand just how much impact a wizard who had reached the pinnacle could wield on the battlefield.
"Lania van Trias."
The knights murmured her name, the mage who had claimed the greatest merit in this operation. If they had to pick one standout, it would undoubtedly be that girl.
A casual flick of the wrist, a single swing.
That was all it took.
The knights now felt outright fear toward a mage who could sweep away an entire area with one spell. It made them freshly understand why ancient liches were called the nightmares of the battlefield.
'If we have to face something like that... if we have to raise our spears and swords against her...'
That was the true nightmare.
Some gazed at Lania with fearful eyes, others with admiration. She was removing her gloves, exhaling a short breath.
Lania van Trias remained utterly expressionless.
As if emotions were unnecessary for doing what needed to be done, her doll-like impassivity was inhuman.
But the knight who had stood by her side throughout the operation saw things a little differently. He had witnessed it right after the battle ended—Lania rolling down the sleeve she'd hiked up.
And hiding her wound.
She'd concealed the injury, but not the sound or the stench.
Sizzle.
The knight wrinkled his nose at the acrid smell of burning flesh. Overheated circuits were searing the girl's skin.
"...Are you alright?"
Lania turned at the knight's question.
Without a word, he pointed to her forearm.
"It looks like it hurts quite a bit..."
His voice held no conviction. It seemed agonizing to his eyes, yet the girl's expression remained serene.
'Does it really hurt that much?'
As the knight pondered this, Lania glanced down at her own forearm. The skin was cooking from the heat. A familiar pain. One she'd grown accustomed to enduring.
"It's nothing..."
She almost habitually brushed it off, then paused, lips pressing together. After a brief hesitation, Lania gave a wry smile.
"It does hurt a little. Could I borrow a potion?"
"Of course. The medics—"
"No need for that. Just the potion."
The knight handed Lania a potion.
She rolled up her sleeve and poured it straight onto her forearm, wincing. Dousing a wound like that was bound to sting.
"Pouring it on like that will hurt."
"You're right. It does."
"...Most people soak a cloth and dab it on. You're not used to potions?"
It wasn't that she wasn't used to them.
She simply hadn't had the time. Unlike Kyle, who healed trivial wounds in moments, she'd always had to douse herself in potions mid-fight to keep going.
What was routine for Lania wasn't so for others. Unable to stand it any longer, the knight spoke up.
"Wait here a moment. There's a tent nearby; I'll fetch some spare cloth."
"No need to go that far..."
"You're the one who earned the most merit in this operation. I'd drag priests over if I could... but since you don't want that, at least let me do this much."
The knight gave a wry smile and dashed off toward the tent.
Watching his retreating figure, Lania scratched the back of her head. It felt a bit unfamiliar. ◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ 2.
Beneath the triumph of a successful operation, countless knights basked in the joy of victory. But not everywhere. No matter how flawlessly they'd fought or how few the sacrifices...
On a battlefield, it was impossible for not a single soul to die.
Someone always died.
That's what made it a battlefield.
And those fallen knights weren't buried in the earth.
It wasn't mere extravagance. Those interred underground could never know true rest. Necromancers would drag their corpses back, forcing old comrades to face them with blade and spear.
The resurrected found no peace.
Their souls and flesh were defiled eternally.
To prevent that, all bodies were burned.
Sacred flames conjured by priests consumed the corpses. Without scent or sound.
All fell silent.
In the eerie quiet, Garahal stood watch.
"......"
He remained until the sacred flames guttered out.
Chloe watched in silence.
Glancing around, she thought.
'...The battlefield. And death.'
Scenes never depicted in fairy tales or heroic sagas.
It made sense. Mediums that sang of hope and instilled longing in children had no place for such grim reality.
A battlefield wasn't a stage for heroes to shine.
It was a place that needed heroes.
Such a place couldn't be glamorous. It was brutal enough to demand heroes. Chloe knew this in theory, but the sight before her exceeded imagination.
Countless corpses.
They were tossed into devouring flames. People alive moments ago became cold bodies hurled beyond the fire. Among them were knights Chloe had spoken to before the operation.
An unreal landscape.
Chloe's heart stirred uneasily.
She turned to her side. There stood Garahal, silently regarding the sacred flames. More heroic than any fairy-tale legend.
Yet here he was amid a scene fairy tales omitted. It felt utterly incongruous.
"Shall we go?"
Only after the flames fully died did Garahal speak. Chloe followed as he led the way.
"I know a spot with a nice view. It should be around here. Care to walk a bit?"
They walked some distance before stopping in an open field.
Garahal turned to Chloe. Seeing her troubled eyes, he smiled wryly.
"The sacred flames aren't exactly a pretty sight. Shocking, too. Sorry about that."
"Ah, no..."
Chloe shook her head.
She had a vague idea why he'd brought her there.
"It's something I had to see someday..."
"That's not the only reason."
Garahal sat on a rock in the field.
"Countless heroes dream of being the fairy-tale kind. Flashy, radiant, always victorious... the protagonist of a symbolic saga."
He unshouldered his spear.
"But, as you'd expect."
Thud. The spear haft hit the ground.
A heavy echo resounded.
"That path isn't easy. Even reaching that symbolic seat comes with crushing responsibility."
His voice lightened as Garahal continued.
"Reality isn't a fairy tale."
With a soft chuckle, he went on.
"Fairy tales skip the gruesome parts. No hero, however great, can save everyone. Not even Savior Hero Gnyur."
Someone dies.
They die.
Garahal murmured.
"No hero, no matter how exceptional, can save all. Some must be lost; some deaths must be witnessed. That's the gap between reality and fairy tales."
Perfection can never exist.
Thus, a perfect hero is impossible.
The boy who idolized heroes only grasped this as a young man. Those lost due to his shortcomings—he now carried them in his heart. And he would, always.
"Perfection, the ideal... it's distant and treacherous."
So distant.
"Perhaps forever out of reach."
Maybe he'd never attain it.
Garahal knew this as well as anyone—better, even. He understood his own flaws.
"Even so, I press on."
He wouldn't turn from reality.
He dreamed of the ideal amid it, moving forward.
Knowing he might never arrive, yet striving.
"As long as we don't give up... I believe it all holds value. But that's just my view. I won't claim it's right."
Garahal smiled.
"Chloe."
The young man regarded the girl before him.
She might dream the same dreams, walk the same path. He had so much he wanted to tell her. So very much.
"You."
The young man asked.
"What kind of hero do you want to be?"
It was a question he'd posed to himself countless times. ◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ 3.
"What's your dream?"
Destel blinked at the sudden question.
"What?"
The operation had ended successfully, and they were tidying up at the makeshift camp. Destel blinked, staring at the girl before him.
Lania van Trias.
The operation's top contributor, a girl who'd truly performed like the Ashen Mage. To Destel, she even resembled the Ashen Mage.
'Racking up absurd feats with a blank face...'
She didn't feel human at all.
But unlike the Ashen Mage, Destel sensed humanity in her. Not just because of the bandage wrapped around her forearm.
"Your dream. Are you deaf?"
She leaned down, peering at him. Her blue eyes intimidating, Destel scooted his chair back.
"What's this out of nowhere?"
"I'm curious."
"...Suddenly?"
"The guy who was throwing shade at me from the start—if you're nitpicking 'sudden' now, doesn't that look weird?"
Lania smirked.
"I'm just genuinely curious."
"...Do I have to say?"
"You're supposed to reward the operation's MVP. As commander, you owe me."
"We handle that separately..."
"I've got money, no land greed, and enough honors. Just answer my question."
Her eyes narrowed.
"I need to understand you."
There it was again.
What good would understanding him do? Destel struggled to grasp the situation. But the girl showed no sign of backing down.
'She's dead set on an answer...'
Her pale blue eyes brimmed with sincerity.
Meeting them, Destel sighed in resignation and spoke.
"Rack up achievements everyone acknowledges, then return to my village alive."
"Return to your village?"
"Yeah. You wouldn't know, but our village is ridiculously famous. Before hero stuff, I dreamed of being an actor."
A dream he'd never shared with anyone.
"Can't achieve it now, but dreaming's free, right?"
Destel shrugged.
A dream he'd hidden for fear of mockery. He'd expected the girl to laugh too. But as he looked...
"Yeah?"
She didn't laugh.
She just nodded, intrigued.
"That's why you want to retire?"
"...Sort of. Not just the dream. I'm sick of everything—that's the retirement reason."
"Then run away."
p>"No guts for that. That's why I'm pathetic."
Destel scoffed.
"You think I'm pathetic for no reason? No courage to risk my life for glory, nor to shirk duty and flee. Pathetic."
His self-mockery aimed inward.
Lania still didn't mock him.
"So you do try to shoulder responsibility."
"...That's how you see it?"
"Whatever the reason, you're not running."
Lania exhaled briefly.
She stepped back a few paces, smiling more relaxed than ever. Almost human.
Destel felt an odd dissonance in that smile.
He'd thought her like Raniel, but the Raniel he remembered never smiled like that. The Ashen Mage's smiles were always dry and heavy.
Destel suddenly asked.
"Didn't you hate me?"
"I do."
Even so, said Lania.
"Doesn't change that you haven't given up."
"I'm half-assed about everything."
"Still... no, screw it."
Lania frowned.
"Why am I defending you? What do you want from me? Praise?"
"If I ask?"
"You're insane?"
Destel laughed, and Lania irritably tousled her hair.
"I still don't like you, don't get all your ways..."
Lania met his eyes squarely.
"But I think I get it a little now. That's all."
"Different from your brother. He'd grab my collar first."
"You were being an idiot then."
Destel smiled wryly.
True enough. When Raniel had seized his collar and yelled, he had been trash, no matter what anyone said.
"Their sacrifices weren't meaningless."
"You're the one who made them meaningless, you worthless scum."
Destel never forgot those words.
They were spot-on, piercing truth.
"One more thing."
"You ask a lot."
"Simple one."
But Lania's question was anything but light.
"Will you step forward again someday?"
Destel fell silent.
The quiet stretched. After minutes, he finally spoke.
"Who knows."
Then answered.
"If Chloe steps up... maybe I will too. Don't want to leech off a kid's blood just to survive."
Satisfied, perhaps.
Lania smirked.
"That'll do." ◇◇◇◆◇◇◇