Chapter 302
Chapter 302
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 302
Chapter Title: The Way to Confront Death (1)
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Death's Scythe, Ganikalt.
The most feared calamity always heralded its arrival with a strange wind. A wind carrying the scent of rot and decay. That's how some described it...
But that didn't mean it was a stench.
It wasn't foul-smelling. Hardly even a smell at all.
It was the fragrance of death. The aroma wafting from death right before your eyes. A wind that awakened the most primal fear harbored by every living creature.
Sararak.
And so, the wind that blew was death itself.
Death was coming.
The most feared calamity was coming.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Rak flinched.
His body went rigid, his pupils trembled wildly, cold sweat poured down his spine like rain, and his upper and lower teeth clacked together with a sharp tchak, tak.
"Get out of the way."
Kwak. Raniel seized Rak's shoulder.
She shoved him behind her back and glared ahead with wide eyes. She felt the terror too, but for her, this wasn't an unfamiliar fear.
Even as she trembled in dread, Raniel never forgot what she had to do.
Her body moved on instinct.
Her eyes flashed blue, and the gloves she wore began to sizzle and burn away. Unable to withstand the heat from the circuits, they crumbled to ash. Blue mana bloomed in all directions.
'Where is it.'
Raniel gritted her teeth and scanned her surroundings.
It had been just an instant, but she had definitely sensed death's presence. There was no way she could forget that aura. The prophecy had missed the mark, and the Scythe of Death had appeared here. That's what Raniel concluded.
But for some reason...
A single gust of wind brushed past, and the presence of death vanished. Even after raising her mana and waiting for a long while, nothing changed.
"......"
Still refusing to lower her guard, Raniel dragged Rak backward several steps. How many paces had they retreated when suddenly, a fierce gale whipped up? Amid the howling blizzard, a voice rang out.
"Always... so... relentlessly..." A voice that broke and echoed.
"If you've lost your reason, fallen from grace... shouldn't you be a bit weaker by now? Master. You're still brutally strong. Damn it all..." A voice she'd never heard before.
But Raniel knew this echoing timbre. She'd heard it once before.
'Kurakt Mountains, on the road to the tower.'
A place where mana flows twisted upon themselves.
A place where traces of those who passed that path in the distant past could be glimpsed in the present. The exact same phenomenon she'd encountered there was unfolding right here, right now.
"Damn you, you cursed master." Raniel looked ahead.
What entered her vision was a phantom from the distant past, someone walking this very path. Amid the raging blizzard on the snowfields, progressing from forest to forest, then toward the holy site. Snow-white hair.
Eyes like blood-red gore.
A phantom resembling Rak.
He spat blood as he advanced, dragging his battered body toward the holy site. The only sound was the greatsword in his grip scraping against the ground.
A greatsword of bizarre shape, riddled with holes.
It was the blade of Ganikalt, embedded at the heart of the holy site. Raniel suddenly realized whose phantom she was witnessing.
'The founder of the Grace family.'
Rak, standing behind her, recognized the figure too. He'd seen it in the portraits left at Baekya Castle. The great Grace, founder of his house.
"...Lord Grace?"
The moment Rak murmured that.
Coincidence, or perhaps inevitability. The phantom turned its head toward Rak. But that gaze wasn't directed at him. It was probably aimed at whoever had stood there in the past...
"Master." Rak shuddered.
He didn't turn around, but he could sense what loomed behind him.
"Was I a swordsman?" Death answered the human's question.
"Not a swordsman." "I see." "Not a swordsman, but a warrior who knows pride." Grace laughed at the reply.
A hearty laugh, full of utter satisfaction.
"Thanks for the praise, Master." With those words, Grace turned forward again and walked toward the holy site. Death did not pursue the human. The sound of a single sword swing echoed, and the presence of death vanished completely.
"...What was that."
Raniel was bewildered.
She blinked, unable to comprehend what she'd just seen or why the same phenomenon from the Kurakt Mountains was occurring at the holy site.
That was the moment.
"We have to go."
Rak spoke as if entranced.
"I have to go there."
Raniel had no time to stop him.
Rak took a step forward. Thump, thump—his heart pounded wildly. Drawn by something, he advanced.
"Wait...!"
Before Raniel could grab his arm, the raging snowstorm swallowed Rak whole. In an instant, the blizzard engulfed him.
Whoooosh.
When the storm cleared, Rak was gone.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ 2.
"...The holy site swallowed Rak?"
Elyahel van Grace, lord of the North, blinked. Lania van Trias, standing before him, had explained everything that had happened.
The blizzard that swept the holy site.
The holy site reflecting visions of the past.
The vision being the Grace family founder, with Rak following entranced...
She told him everything.
Elyahel fell silent for a moment after hearing it all.
Then, he spoke.
"Professor."
"Yes."
"Don't you possess the ability to enter the holy site? Or perhaps the Hero who came here."
Lania nodded.
Indeed, she or Kyle could reach the end of the holy site without much trouble. They'd done it once before. But...
"It was possible the last time we visited the North, but not now. The space around the holy site... it's extremely unstable."
"...Space?"
"Hard to explain, but the surrounding space is all jumbled up. You charge straight ahead into the holy site, only to emerge somewhere else entirely."
Time flowed chaotically, space warped indiscriminately. Like a scorched wasteland. You'd walk straight for about ten minutes, only to exit the blizzard half a day later.
The conversation continued for a bit longer.
At its end, Elyahel slowly opened his mouth.
"...You saw Lord Grace's vision?"
"Yes, someone who resembled Rak a bit..."
"And Rak chased after the founder's vision?"
Lania nodded.
Elyahel stroked his chin.
"You're certain it was Rak's choice?"
"I swear it."
"Then, I have no intention of holding you responsible. And this is just my gut feeling, but..."
Elyahel muttered.
"I doubt there'll be any issues."
Rak had always possessed an uncanny intuition, almost excessively so.
And that Rak had walked into the holy site of his own accord. Elyahel trusted his son's judgment, and his own instincts didn't see this as dire.
It was a vision of an ancestor who had guarded the North.
There was no reason to suspect malice in a vision leading the descendant to the holy site.
"I'll have the warriors stand by nearby. Professor, you focus on what you came here to do."
Preparing to face death.
Elyahel hadn't forgotten that this was why the mage had come to the North. Nor how crucial that mission was.
"Go."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Raniel left Baekya Castle and headed straight to the holy site with the warriors. A fierce snowstorm still raged there, and the surrounding space remained twisted.
"......"
No more visions appeared, no changes occurred. It looked serene from outside... but Raniel couldn't tell what was happening within.
Suddenly, Raniel pulled the Holy Grail from her bosom.
It was shaking violently.
The shaking pointed toward the holy site's center. The Grail reacted more strongly than ever, as if responding to something inside the holy site.
The trembling Holy Grail. The sword embedded at the holy site's heart.
Raniel recalled the past.
Last year, upon reaching the holy site's center, she'd grasped the holy sword there and thought of something. It was humanity's means to resist death.
But far too slim a chance.
A possibility unrealizable now, so she hadn't told anyone.
"...Clash of souls."
Raniel murmured it.
At the North's holy site, Ganikalt's soul lingered in the sword at its center. A mere fragment, but unmistakably part of Ganikalt's soul.
A clash of souls.
If the starlight within the holy sword collided with the shadow in the sword gripped by death... perhaps, for an instant, the shadow could be nullified. That's what Raniel thought.
'But it's impossible right now.'
The holy sword rejected the touch of the unauthorized.
The soul of Ganikalt within permitted only Grace blood. Neither she, Kyle, nor any sword transcendent could wield it.
Only Grace blood could.
That's why Raniel saw potential in Rak.
If Rak became a transcendent someday and could grasp that sword... maybe a faint hope would emerge. That's what she'd thought upon holding it.
Kyle breaks through the wall to transcendence.
If impossible, Rak could replace him. Rak becomes transcendent and wields the holy sword.
That was Raniel van Trias's way to confront death. Humanity's stand against an unstoppable calamity, an unavoidable death. But it wasn't feasible now.
"...He's not ready yet."
The realm of transcendence was distant and treacherous.
Rak hadn't reached it. That's why she'd discarded that possibility... but...
Hummm, huuuummm.
Gazing at the shaking Grail, Raniel fell silent.
The Sage, Raniel van Trias, had always meticulously calculated everything given to her. No room for chance or luck.
Perfect plans without variables.
A habit ingrained since her days as Next Mage Tower Lord.
You couldn't rely on variables or fortune in critical experiments or turning points. But after years on the battlefield, Raniel knew.
'Variables.'
They always arose.
For better or worse.
A knight of iron will might suddenly break, or a coward who always fled might grit his teeth and charge a mighty foe.
No need to look far for such variables.
Galahal had been one.
She knew not to factor them into plans, yet Raniel considered one possibility under the "what if."
"......"
Silent, Raniel stepped forward.
Her steps led to the Kennel Snowfields.
That day, a slightly different circuit was inscribed on the Kennel Snowfields. A spell without physical force, one that wouldn't affect Ganikalt.
Yet Raniel inscribed it.
For if an unexpected variable arose, to seize that chance.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ 3.
Time flows onward.
Flowing and flowing, until the day of the prophecy was upon them.
In the North, lines of evacuees stretched on. Holy knights gathered under the Saintess's name aided the flight. Among them was the young Hero, only just revealing his existence.
The endless procession of refugees.
The calamity descended upon the North.
The most feared calamity symbolizing death appeared in the North, and none dared think to fight it. Even most warriors fled.
But some stayed.
"I am the lord of the North."
Elyahel van Grace.
"As a warrior inheriting the great Grace's name, I cannot abandon this land. Per the founder's last words, I must show pride before death."
The lord of the North guarded Baekya Castle.
At his side remained thirteen warriors who hadn't fled the North. They bowed before Elyahel.
"And I can't leave my son behind."
Pfft. Elyahel chuckled.
He resisted death in his own way. So did the warriors. They had no thought of abandoning their lord and young master to flee this land.
And then.
The place everyone had abandoned.
The place none dared approach.
"Are you ready?"
There, figures stood to bar death's path. Four humans prepared to confront death on the snowfields.
"Sara."
"I'm starting the prayer now, so don't talk to me. I need to focus."
The Saintess's robes fluttered in the wind.
Gripping the staff she rarely used, the Saintess began praying to the gods.
"Remia."
"...I don't like taking orders from you, but since it's the word of the great savior, I'll obey. Don't worry."
The Divine Archer laid out moonlit arrows in the air.
Her moonlit arrows gleamed brilliantly under the moonlight.
"Kyle."
"Yeah."
And the Hero gripped his holy sword.
"We're ready."
The platinum blade shone radiantly.
The Sage smiled at the holy sword of the Hero, whom she hadn't seen wield it in ages. That light was surely the symbol of victory.
Saintess, Sara.
Divine Archer, Remia.
Hero, Kyle Toven.
Sage, Raniel van Trias.
They had severed the Black Dragon's neck amid the black storm.
Repelled the ancient lich Skeval multiple times.
Cornered the heretic Gletus to the brink of subjugation.
They had achieved feats no one in centuries had matched, time and again. And now, they stood here to face death. Of course, they no longer had their old pride or nobility.
Yet they stood here.
To achieve their goals. To uphold their beliefs. Twisted though they might be, to act on what they alone believed right.
They confronted death, each in their own way.
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