Chapter 310
Chapter 310
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 310
Chapter Title: What the Star Desires (3)
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The madman, Kelrhalhm, gazes up at the sky.
Reflected in his ash-gray eyes is a dragon soaring through the heavens. A creature that could only be called a curse dragon, pieced together from scraped-up human corpses—a horrific abomination.
'Reviving dead beasts, mashing them into something that can neither live nor die, bound to this world by human grudges.'
Just the sort of thing that damned woman would do.
Kelrhalhm feels the chains binding his heart creak. It can't be helped. The filth forming the curse dragon's wings stirs memories of the past within him.
Those who could neither live nor die.
Those whose bodies were crushed beyond recognition, reduced to screaming somethings.
Kelrhalhm knows those who became like that.
He knows them all too well. Over a hundred years ago, countless people in his homeland met that same fate. He can never forget the sewage that flowed like rivers back then.
The foul stench.
The echoing screams.
The students and comrades crawling on the ground, crumbling away.
His heart pounds fiercely, but Kelrhalhm exhales shortly to rein in his emotions. It's been over a hundred years since he began living in madness. Restraining his feelings and judging coldly is one of his specialties.
Kiiing.
The moment Kelrhalhm summons his circuits, the curse dragon reacts.
Flames gather in its gaping maw, aimed at him. But Kelrhalhm has no intention of dodging. He slashes his finger through the air.
Chararararak!
One circuit splits into dozens, then dozens into hundreds. The finely divided hundreds of circuits illuminate the area. Cross-shaped marks appear on the foreheads of the ghouls that were tearing into knights and refugees.
"Looks like they've been tuned to react to spells."
Kelrhalhm flicks his finger.
"If you can, then do it."
Hundreds of circuits glow all at once.
The curse dragon fires a heat ray, incinerating dozens of circuits, but subtracting dozens from hundreds makes no meaningful difference.
Flash!
Hundreds of circuits unleash their light.
In the chaotic battlefield where friend and foe are intermingled, Kelrhalhm's spell precisely bursts only the ghouls' heads. Hundreds of beams of light sweep across the field.
A spell of astonishing precision.
No ghouls remain in the wake of the spell's passage. Amid the knights' shock, Kelrhalhm's eyes remain fixed on the curse dragon still flying overhead.
'Even broken, it's still a child of calamity.'
Half of the hundreds of circuits targeted the ghouls, the other half the curse dragon. Yet despite being pierced by hundreds of beams, the curse dragon flies on unscathed.
Tsk. Kelrhalhm clicks his tongue briefly.
The Black Dragon Belial's scales used to deflect all but the strongest spells. It seems the child has inherited that damned resilience in full.
'But...'
Kelrhalhm's eyes narrow.
'It's not completely ineffective.'
It looks fine at a glance, but the curse dragon's wings are riddled with large and small holes. They repair almost instantly, but that means the attack had an effect. From this fact, Kelrhalhm draws one piece of information.
The flying curse dragon is incomplete.
During the heretic purge, the Ashen Mage had predicted that once completed, the curse dragon would become a calamity on par with the Black Dragon. Kelrhalhm agrees with that assessment. But the one hovering before them falls far short of the Black Dragon.
It is unfinished.
Undoubtedly a familiar crafted by the heretic's methods, but not one perfected over sufficient time. It feels rushed into existence.
"Must have been in quite the hurry."
Kelrhalhm exhales shortly.
The heretic, Gletus.
He'd heard she was cornered by Gallahal right up to the moment of her purge. They'd said a holy spear was driven into her heart. It seems Gallahal's sacrifice wasn't in vain after all.
Still, it's just as tricky to deal with...
'But it's not without a way.'
Kelrhalhm turns silently to look behind him.
There lies the possibility left by the hero, Gallahal. An existence absolutely necessary to face the curse dragon. But Kelrhalhm's expression as he gazes at the girl is far from pleasant.
Not just because she resembles the heretic.
"Chloe, was it?"
Kelrhalhm speaks, frowning.
"You planning to commit suicide or something?"
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ 2.
"You planning to commit suicide or something?"
Kelrhalhm's words make Chloe flinch and tremble. She was just about to speak.
"The hero's duty, the obligation to answer sacrifice, the responsibility to answer screams. If you're about to spout that nonsense, cut it out."
Chloe, robbed of her words, shuts her mouth.
Kelrhalhm swings his finger, summoning dozens of circuits around them. The moment the curse dragon tries to offer tribute, he interferes, disrupting the ritual's completion.
Thus holding back the curse dragon, Kelrhalhm continues.
"Noble is good. The resolve to answer sacrifice is good too. That's the mindset of a hero, and I have no intention of nitpicking it. Excellent resolve."
However, Kelrhalhm says.
"Judge what is possible from what is not."
He looks straight at Chloe.
"There are times you must challenge the impossible. But that's something you do only when sacrificing yourself can leave something behind. Look around."
Chloe looks around.
Countless people are fleeing.
"You think sacrificing yourself here will save them? That you can bring down that dragon? See clearly. Judge properly. A mage must always be cold and rational."
He swings his hand.
Dozens of circuits glow once more.
"Irresponsible, worthless sacrifice is nothing but suicide. It's an insult to those who sacrificed to save you. If you die here..."
"...I know."
Chloe cuts off Kelrhalhm.
"I know."
Chloe knows the hero who sacrificed for her.
She knows that dying here would tarnish Gallahal's sacrifice. But at the same time, she can't ignore her duty as a hero.
"Then how..."
"Torment yourself over it."
Kelrhalhm says.
"Weigh the possible against the impossible. Judge. Think. I'm not telling you to give up because it's impossible. Find another way."
Flee, choose another path, employ every means to find possibility. That's the advice and experience from Kelrhalhm, who has lived a hundred years.
"Blind charges won't find answers. If you don't want to spend a hundred years in regret like me, think properly and act."
So you won't regret.
Kelrhalhm looks ahead again. He eyes the curse dragon preparing a massive ritual in its open maw.
"If you understand, move."
He says, showing his back.
"I'll buy time, so find your answer. If you want to fulfill your duty, prove yourself."
Even in this situation, it feels like a lecture. Sensing the familiar figure of a professor in Kelrhalhm's back, Chloe stands. She glances to her side.
"...So much I wanted to say."
There, Belnoa is staggering to her feet.
"He said it all."
Belnoa sighs, brushing back her blood-soaked hair. Her revealed eyes are clear. Belnoa looks at Chloe.
"Not thinking of running, right?"
"Yeah. Even with you, Belnoa..."
"You think I'd run? Leaving you behind?"
Belnoa flashes a wry grin.
"You can't die until I do."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Raniel pours a potion into Rak.
He'd only lost consciousness; his life wasn't in danger. Broken bones could be set later.
"Good work, Rak."
Raniel smiles faintly.
She offers sincere praise to Rak, who swung his sword at death despite trembling in fear. Because of that strike, her spell pierced death... and Kyle's blow could reach it.
Raniel turns to look behind.
There, embedded in the snowfield, is a greatsword.
The first holy sword, the greatsword Ganikalt used in his hero days. Rak had pulled it from the holy site's center. She'd hear the story later.
'...How the hell did he do that.'
Should she leave it here until Rak wakes?
As Raniel ponders, the first holy sword turns into starlight. The transformed starlight gently wraps around Rak's left hand. Just like heroes summoning star relics.
"...Huh."
Raniel exhales shortly.
It seems the first holy sword has acknowledged Rak as its master. As Raniel moves to carry him on her back, her robe trembles violently.
What resonates is the Holy Grail (??).
It's ringing loudly, as if offering a chance to challenge the next trial. Raniel smiles faintly at her disciple's growth.
"Gonna have a lot to do when we get back."
Muttering that, Raniel starts walking.
How many steps had she taken? A blowing wind makes her stop. In the wind's direction, Raniel senses something familiar.
A dry wind blowing through the chilling snowstorm.
That alien wind is familiar to Raniel. She'd felt it endlessly in the battle with the Black Dragon. Raniel's eyes narrow.
"......"
She looks where the wind comes from.
The wind blows from very far away.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ 3.
Even with Kelrhalhm joining, the battle situation remains dire. The madman shows no sign, but Belnoa noticed long ago.
'...He's just stalling.'
Just as Kelrhalhm said.
He's only buying time. Protecting refugees from the ghouls the curse dragon scatters, blocking the curse dragon's rituals.
That's the role Kelrhalhm has taken on, and he's fulfilling it admirably. Since he joined, no one has died.
Ghouls are swept away, and the curse dragon's rituals fail to unleash their full power due to his interference.
'But...'
It can't last forever.
Kelrhalhm is human too. Mana has limits, and no matter how efficiently he uses it, the end will come.
She must find the answer before then.
Belnoa looks to her side.
Chloe is searching for her own answer. The circuit she's drawing is different from before. She's engraving it, sweating coldly. Trying to advance again.
'...Me too.'
Belnoa looks at her broken fingers.
She's used everything she can.
Pushing further will rip them off entirely. The deliberation is brief. Belnoa bites down hard on her broken finger.
Crunch, crrrunch.
The finger tears free.
In the flashing pain that blacks out her vision, Belnoa glares wide-eyed. Her ragged index finger dangles limply. Shadows writhe and drip from the finger that seems ready to tear off at any moment.
Offering.
The moment she places pain on the scales. Belnoa glances at the balance floating before her eyes. Different from the scales mages use.
...The common saying is that sorcerers' scales are mere imitations of mages' scales.
Not as clean as a mage's, not directly linked to the stars—an inferior copy. True scales make sorcerers' look pathetic by comparison. That's how sorcerers' scales have been described for centuries.
But in this moment, Belnoa harbors doubt.
'...What I saw that day.'
What she saw in the Holy Grail that day.
The sorcerer who called himself Belial showed Belnoa something... that was no imitation. It advanced in a different direction from a mage's scales, reaching the extreme.
Fundamentally different.
Pursuing a different path.
"Sorcerers' scales are mere imitations of mages' scales."
Belnoa discards the ingrained misconception. In her fading consciousness, pushed to the limit, she tears down the tower she's built her whole life. Then begins rebuilding from the start.
Sorcery pursues something different from magic.
Magic prays to the stars.
Then, what does sorcery pray to?
"Don't you already know the answer, boy?" A voice echoes in her ears.
The voice from the trial.
The ancient sorcerer who pursued shadow sorcery to its limit whispers in Belnoa's ear.
"The most perfect creature that once existed on this land." "The primordial being that lived in an era before the stars." Shadow dragon.
Shadow dragon sorcery.
Belnoa opens her eyes, which she doesn't remember closing.
Kik.
The scales before her tilt wildly.
What fills them is not starlight.
Writhing shadows coil around the scales.
⚙ VOICE OF THE SHADOWS ⚙ 【Child, speak your desire.】 A voice rings in Belnoa's ears.
It belongs to someone she's never heard before.