Chapter 400
Chapter 400
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 400
Chapter Title: The Apostate Called It Salvation
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"Salvation," the apostate said.
Belnoa silently gazed down at her feet. Something that had once been human clung to her ankle, shedding tears. The filthy ooze trickling down resembled blood.
It was saying something.
Because of the garbled pronunciation and mangled language, she couldn't make it out. But at the very least, it was far from a plea to be saved. Quite the opposite, in fact.
It was begging to be killed.
"...This is."
Belnoa didn't consider herself a particularly righteous person. She had merely followed Chloe onto the battlefield, without any grand aspirations to rescue people. If she could save them, that would be nice, but when it was unavoidable, Belnoa drew a firm line.
She discarded what was necessary. She made choices based on need. She harbored no lofty conviction that everyone must be saved. And so, Belnoa could turn a blind eye to this scene if it meant her own survival.
She could shut her eyes, seal her lips, shake off that grasp while wearing her mask, and take another step forward.
"Is this... salvation?"
In the end, the words slipped from her mouth.
She simply couldn't comprehend it. She could never accept those words. And so Belnoa spoke in a trembling voice.
"There's no way this could be salvation..."
"Child."
The apostate cut Belnoa off.
"I told you, I don't particularly seek your understanding. I have no intention of forcing my values on you. I don't plan to rewrite your definition of 'salvation,' nor to deny your beliefs."
A gentle voice.
Like a devout priest of the Holy Church offering prayers to the divine, it carried an almost sacred quality as she whispered.
"Do you want to deny them?"
She looked at Belnoa and smiled.
"Do you want to deny my beliefs? Prove that the salvation I speak of is wrong, unjust, misguided? If you want to, then do it. I won't stop you."
The apostate, Gletus, smiled.
As if responding to her smile, a stir came from deep within the temple. The structure rumbled and shook.
And then she felt it: eyes upon her.
Chills prickled across Belnoa's skin.
Hidden in the temple's shadows, from sightless corners, from everywhere, "somethings" watched her. Poised to lunge at any moment.
"Will you try?"
Belnoa let out a short breath.
She shook off the thing clinging to her ankle. Ignoring the experiment tables brimming with wailing remnants of humanity, their cries full of sorrow, Belnoa took a step forward.
"...No."
"Giving up so quickly. How dull."
As if she had secretly hoped for an attack, the apostate sighed with evident disappointment.
"I don't particularly like children like you."
She said it as she began to walk.
"You lack firm convictions, an unyielding spirit that bows to nothing. I find no value in children who don't shine. You're the same."
A voice devoid of emotion.
"Children who have strayed from the essence. Unbeautiful children. Those who lost their pure light and grew murky. The ones stained by reality are filthy. They can never surpass their limits."
The apostate sighed.
"Worthless, aren't they?"
It would be better to extract only the essence.
Muttering to herself, the apostate turned her head and gave Belnoa a piercing glance. Belnoa felt a shiver from that appraising stare.
"Normally, I would have dismantled you."
And yet, she continued.
"But right now, I don't feel much like it."
A simple whim. Or perhaps interest in a child who reminded her of an old comrade. The apostate narrowed her eyes.
"Something amusing has been planted in your soul, child."
The apostate could see it.
A fragment of the Holy Grail embedded deep within Belnoa—the miraculous chalice she herself had crafted long ago. Recalling the days spent researching its creation, truly joyful times, the apostate let a faint smile play on her lips.
Implanting that chalice...
It was tantamount to being chosen by Cardi.
Cardi. Cardi van Armiel.
Truly, she missed that person. Cherishing the memory, Gletus slowly spoke.
"Is Cardi doing well?"
"...Pardon?"
Belnoa blinked.
An unexpected name from an unexpected mouth. Why bring up Cardi, that old man?
"Cardi, you know. The handsome elf with ashen hair."
"Handsome...? That geezer?"
"Geezer? What an amusing way to put it. Well, he does have that old-man vibe. Even back then, he'd ramble on with pointless 'life experience' stories."
Ah, I get it now.
Belnoa nodded slowly.
"You mean the stuff like, 'kids these days don't know the basics...' muttered under his breath?"
"Exactly, that. Seems that habit hasn't changed even after a thousand years. What an interesting fellow."
The apostate chuckled softly.
As Belnoa listened distractedly, she realized Cardi was far older than she'd imagined—and hid many secrets. But for now, she shelved those questions.
"If you know any stories about him, tell me more."
The apostate whispered as she walked.
"To make my whim last just a little longer."
So that I might stand before you not as a calamity, but simply as a senior who walked this path first.
2.
They had successfully repelled the madman.
The shadows crumbled, and the barrier encircling Artia collapsed completely. Leaning against the wall, Raniel let out a long, very long sigh.
"Cough. Ptui."
Raniel spat out the bone shards tumbling in her mouth. She probed inside with her finger and felt a shattered molar. A jagged, uneven texture.
Of all teeth, a damn molar.
"Argh, shit."
What a bitch of a situation, she grumbled as she gripped the broken tooth and yanked it out. Sticky blood trailed after it, drawing a short groan from Raniel.
The hero's healing power was less effective on internal injuries than external ones. It would take time for a new molar to grow back.
'...Might end up needing dentures at this rate.'
The crisis of truly becoming a denture-granny made Raniel shudder briefly. Even so, dentures in her thirties—no, twenties—felt too pathetic.
The way it exacted its toll was shitty too.
Harboring those thoughts, Raniel relaxed her body. The backlash crashed over her, aches throbbing everywhere. The price was erratic, impossible to predict where it would strike.
'Just wanna rest a bit...'
No such luxury.
She needed to appear pristine before running into the magic knights entering the city. There was a duty to be flawless. She straightened her rumpled clothes and wiped the blood from her lips.
Dumping a potion into her mouth, Raniel blinked repeatedly. Only then did a flicker of light return to her dilated pupils.
"You did good too, Kelrhalhm."
Staggering over, Raniel patted his cheek. Even after emergency treatment with heaps of potions, the wound wasn't shallow.
Blink.
Kelrhalhm, barely conscious, narrowed his eyes. Blinking at Raniel tapping his cheek, he slowly spoke.
"...Raniel?"
"Lania. Lania, you idiot."
Who might overhear?
Muttering that, Raniel flopped down beside Kelrhalhm. The heart of Artia. A vantage overlooking the ruined city in one sweep.
"Sorry about that."
"...About what?"
"This city. Your hometown, right? Fighting those shadows wrecked it pretty bad."
Viewed from the center, battle scars littered the city. Any buildings retaining shape had been pulverized by spell barrages, reduced to unrecognizable mush.
"No need to apologize."
Kelrhalhm smiled wryly.
"I'm grateful just to be alive. Wouldn't dream of blaming you shamelessly. And..."
"And?"
"Form never mattered in the first place."
Kelrhalhm exhaled deeply.
"Even crumbled to dust and gone, I can still see it. At least I remember. That's enough for me."
"Nice words."
Raniel snickered.
Kelrhalhm gazed at the ruins for a moment before speaking.
"You helped again."
"Opponent was who they were. Couldn't be helped."
If Kelrhalhm was a mage-madman who'd survived a century on battlefields, his foe had lived over a millennium. Losing was natural, Raniel offered casually...
"Hearing that from you feels like a con. Odd sensation."
"Even my consolation gets that? What con?"
"Think about it. A mere thirty... "
"Twenty."
"...... "
"What."
Kelrhalhm shot Raniel an awkward glance. Staring at her deadpan declaration of "twenty," he muttered inwardly, Pathetic. He kept it to himself.
Not to humor his lifesaver, but because he could predict the fallout all too well.
'She'd...'
Logically argue her "twenties rationale" to persuade him, and it'd be a pitiful sight. The world was exhausting enough with beauty alone. No need for ugliness.
"...A mere twenty-something kid."
Only then did Raniel nod in satisfaction as Kelrhalhm pressed on.
"Smashes everything solo, then says 'our lifespans differ, unavoidable'—that's what feels like deception."
"Fair enough."
Raniel brushed off her clothes and stood.
She sensed magic knights entering the city. Just as she opened her mouth to say it was time—
"Still, didn't come away empty-handed."
Kelrhalhm drew something from his robe pocket.
It was what he'd seized from the madman. Passing it to Raniel, the century-old mage said,
"I tried to live up to a hundred years' dignity."
3.
Alkeia, the land for the faithless.
The temple there—the apostate's workshop—was vast and labyrinthine. Sections divided by massive doors, each guarded by familiars.
Corpses, familiars, traces of countless experiments.
The further Belnoa walked, the harder it was to stifle hollow laughs.
'...Four years ago, she lost all her beasts to Garahal-nim.'
Meaning everything here was her creation in a mere four years. Swallowing dryly at the sheer number of familiars, Belnoa pressed on.
The apostate, Gletus.
One who could muster an army alone... deemed capable of birthing a new calamity. Belnoa had to concede the assessment's truth.
Creaks echoed from all sides.
Things warped from providence, things estranged, crowded everywhere. In the apostate's terms, the closest to essence, shrieking from every direction.
Their screams never reached the gods.
On god-forsaken soil, the only ear for human cries belonged to the broken saintess yearning for salvation.
"Beautiful sound, isn't it?"
And that broken saintess.
Didn't hear screams in their cries.
"The sound brimming with desperate longing. Even with every sound-making organ crushed, they thrash to cry out. That's its intensity."
Belnoa tuned out her words.
She didn't want to hear them.
Belnoa merely gathered intel, eyes sharp. She'd return here someday; this would aid then.
That was all she could do.
After a long trek, they reached the temple's end. A sloping hill path stretched ahead, three armored dragons clawing the earth in guard.
Kagagagagak!
The abyss's terminus. The path to the surface.
There the apostate led Belnoa. Untouched the whole way.
"Follow that path."
She gestured lightly.
The writhing dragons froze. Approaching her, they bowed massive heads. Turning back, she met Belnoa's gaze.
Click.
She stepped toward Belnoa.
"Your stories were delightful. If chance allows, deliver this to him?"
She offered a weathered letter.
Undelivered for ages.
"Best not peek. It's rigged—horrors for any but him."
"...Understood."
"Embarrassing contents. You'll get it."
Smiling as she murmured, the apostate seemed an ordinary woman. That Chloe-like smile unsettled Belnoa.
"And."
Click. Another step closer.
Stopping inches away, she seized Belnoa's wrist. A grip easily shaken, yet Belnoa couldn't.
"Someday, child."
She stroked the dragon scales on Belnoa's hand—shadow sorcery's mark. Caressing it, the apostate smiled wistfully.
"You'll face a moment of choice."
That smile.
That voice stirred unease in Belnoa.
"When it comes, may you have no regrets. Remember: pray not to gods, but yourself."
Advice from a path-walking senior, not calamity.
Belnoa knew not how to reply. Before her loomed disaster. Horrific... yet not in this instant.
"Chase not reality, but the ideal. Only then do you shine brilliantly..."
Murmuring, the apostate nudged Belnoa.
"Go."
She waved.
"Cross this hill—no looking back, just run. Whatever climbs from below... caught means end."
Belnoa noted her fingers trembling, pupils drifting unfocused. Madness encroaching.
"Caught, and you die."
She laughed.
"Hurry. Before my whim fades."