Chapter 419
Chapter 419
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 419
Chapter Title: The Prophet's Déjà Vu
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Right now, in this very moment, Natida felt a profound sense of déjà vu.
Everything was unfolding exactly as she had seen in her dream. Natida knew this sequence of events. The instant the sword strike slashed across her body, beyond the spurting droplets of blood, she glimpsed the future. Or perhaps... a past that had already slipped by.
The prophet recalled the past she had witnessed.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "I am bait."
Sword Grave, Galatric.
The nation had crumbled, and all rules lay trampled. In a world seething with lawlessness, chaos, heresy, and betrayal, there were still those who clung to their pride until the bitter end.
"Not just me. Everyone here is the same. We will all serve as bait."
Even though there was no one left to protect.
Even though the kingdom they swore loyalty to had already fallen.
There were those who chose to remain knights to the last. To uphold their pride as knights, they gathered not under the banner of the broken hero, but beneath the name of Rak van Grace.
"For his sake."
Rak drew his holy sword.
Beneath the radiantly gleaming holy sword, the knights drew theirs as well. Amid those who sensed their impending doom, Natida gazed beyond the hill. Something was approaching.
With every thud of footsteps.
Every crunch of something crumbling.
After the crumbling sounds came the shadows. Shadows that devoured every last shred of light.
Looking up at the sky, the sun was being gnawed away by the darkness.
The brilliantly shining stars were obscured by shadow. Even the light spilling from the holy sword could no longer pierce the gloom. From the blackened heavens, filth began to pour down.
Drip, drip, splatter.
Rain fell. Rain of sewage.
The filth flowed down the slopes. It coursed through the ravine's gullies, swelling into a river. Someone set foot atop the blackened Sword Grave.
"It's coming."
Rak said.
Natida looked ahead.
There stood the calamity.
Screeech, creeeak, griiiind.
The sound of space twisting echoed through the air.
Emerging from the distortion was the lord of ten thousand demons. A god, fully restored with all its qualifications reclaimed, stood there. In its hand was a single sword.
"The Sword of Reverse Heaven..."
Someone recognized it.
The moment that sword began to move, Rak kicked off the ground and charged. Splash—sewage sprayed up. Countless knights followed in Rak's wake, trailing the faint glow of his holy sword that pierced even the darkness.
Humans, resolved to die, rushed forward.
And then, the Sword of Reverse Heaven swung.
Slash.
The instant the sword swung, everything collapsed. Heaven and earth flipped. The countless rock piles strewn across the ravine shot straight up into the sky. The overturned world never righted itself. No matter how long they waited, the launched debris never fell back down.
Rock piles and human corpses embedded in the sky.
The knights' shattered bodies were swallowed by the heavens. Yet their deaths were not in vain. The knights who had served as shields to the end protected Rak's body. From the pile of their corpses, Rak rose.
"......"
Standing atop a rock pile lodged in the sky, Rak looked down. The moment his gaze met the Sword of Reverse Heaven, he kicked off the heavens and leaped toward the ground.
The clash of blades.
The snap of breaking bones, the splatter of blood.
Such sounds rang out again and again.
Rak resisted, but his defiance didn't last long. It merely delayed the calamity's advance by a few steps. Rak told Natida to flee, but she couldn't. She saw no point in running.
And then, thud.
The end arrived heavily.
With all his limbs shattered, Rak dropped to his knees. His broken fingers could no longer grip the sword, which fell and embedded itself in the slope.
Thump.
Rak's head fell.
The rolling head came to a stop before Natida. After staring briefly into Rak's vacant eyes, Natida lifted her gaze with dazed pupils to behold the calamity. The calamity looked back at her. The moment their eyes met, the Sword of Reverse Heaven creaked through space as it moved.
Death approached.
Beneath the oncoming death, Natida let out a laugh.
...The dream she had until then ended there. But now, in this moment, Natida saw what came next. That's why she knew. What she had to do right now.
"Rak."
Natida opened her closed eyes.
"Take me."
Riding on Rak's back, Natida pointed to the sword of death embedded far away.
"Take me there."
The future she had seen. Or the past that had passed.
The knowledge gained from it. To make use of the one thing left behind by her future self, who met a futile death, Natida shouted.
"Hurry."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ 2.
Before the approaching death, a human resisted.
Kalt swung his sword ceaselessly, thinking to himself. This must be how Master felt. Buying time with death resolved. It was much like Kuntel's final stand.
Clang, claaang!
The ceaseless clash of steel echoed. With every swing, Kalt felt his body breaking down. Blood pooled in his eyes from burst capillaries. His head boiled from processing too much information at once. Blood trickled from his nose.
Destroying his body, Kalt resisted.
His wide eyes took in everything.
Using the information from his broad field of vision, he plotted the precise future. Prediction was the only advantage he had.
He foresaw the future and swung his sword.
Deflecting trajectories, parrying at times, boldly closing in at others. On the precipice between life and death, Kalt thrashed desperately.
Clang!
As he swung, Kalt analyzed.
The foundation of the sword swings from the Beast King stemmed from the primordial swordsmanship passed down through the ravine. Perhaps it shared the same roots as the strikes from Death's Sword.
Kalt knew how to counter that swordsmanship.
There was one human. A man who had honed his skills his entire life to face Death's Sword. From that proud swordsman, Kalt had learned his art. And now, he had refined it further to slay that very swordsman.
Creeeak, graaawr!
Barta's greatsword's trajectory bent along Kalt's obliquely raised blade. This was Kalt's sword. A blade forged to face the strong. Yet Kalt felt his sword was incomplete.
It's lacking power.
Even when he created openings, he lacked the decisive strike to exploit them. All he could do was cling desperately.
Splat.
Wounds multiplied. Blood flowed.
The Beast King had closed in right before Kalt's face. The futures he thought precise kept wavering. Finally, with a clang, Kalt lost his grip on his sword.
The blade spun through empty air.
Kalt leaped back, reaching out. His hand failed to grasp the whirling sword. This was Sword Grave. He yanked a broken blade from the ground.
Craaaang!
The moment he parried Barta's oncoming sword, it shattered. The fingers gripping it twisted. As Kalt landed smoothly and seized his airborne sword, Barta's blade was already descending upon his head.
Even swinging now would be too late.
His instinct screamed death.
"Duck."
In that instant, a familiar voice rang out.
The moment Kalt reflexively bowed his head, Barta's greatsword whistled past, slicing the air above him. Then came the resounding clang.
"...Rak?"
The boy who had told him to flee had returned.
For a brief moment, Kalt's eyes widened, about to raise his voice. Rak, having parried the sword, seized Kalt by the scruff and retreated several steps.
"You, my words..."
"Ten seconds."
Rak, gasping for breath, said.
"Just hold out for ten seconds."
As he spoke and assumed his stance.
Barta, watching the retreating Rak and Kalt, split its maw wide. From the gaping mouth came laughter. But it was no sneer.
"My thanks."
Like a disciple bowing to a master, Barta briefly lowered its head before raising it again...
Whoosh—Barta tossed the sword from its right hand into the air. It wasn't the crude hand of beast flesh that caught the spinning blade.
Its original left hand.
The air trembled as Barta gripped the sword with its left hand.
"To the proud swordsman, my respects."
Barta took its stance.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ 3.
Recalling the scene she had seen, Natida moved forward. Cleaving through the sword strikes assailing her from all sides. Where she headed was a single embedded sword.
The place where Death's Sword was lodged.
Toward it, Natida walked.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Rak's death. The moment when there was nothing left to lose.
"Ah."
Facing the Sword of Reverse Heaven, Natida didn't step back. She let out a hollow laugh and instead took one more step toward the calamity. Where that step led.
To the sword embedded at the ravine's center.
The ravine's exposed bottom, after all debris had flown skyward. There, a single greatsword was lodged beside Rak's sword. A greatsword symbolic of death itself.
Step.
She didn't know why she headed there.
Natida approached the sword as if drawn by some force. The Sword of Reverse Heaven halted, watching her. Natida reached for Death's Sword embedded in the ground.
Grip—the instant she seized the hilt.
The surging sword aura severed all five of her fingers. Blood sprayed. Yet Natida overlaid her remaining hand. As if in prayer.
...She didn't know why she prayed.
She was the one who had jested that her god wasn't the stars, but Rak's holy sword, and prayed accordingly. The moment she lost her god, Natida prayed while grasping not the holy sword, but the sword of death.
Wishing for vengeance, or death.
It was no saintess's prayer.
It was the desperate wish of a human resolved to die. Even if flawed, the human prayed fervently. The prayer didn't reach any god...
Crack.
Long ago, centuries prior.
In an era when a certain hero always answered human prayers. Even in corruption, the first hero responded to humanity's final scream.
The hero answered the human's prayer.
Clank—the sound of armor shaking reverberated.
From torn space behind Natida, a hand clad in armor extended. The human hand didn't grasp the Death's Sword she held. It reached further, seizing the first holy sword beside it.
Hummmm.
The holy sword trembled violently.
As if rejecting the touch. The hand gripping it began to burn, but the fallen hero paid it no mind. From beyond space, the first hero emerged.
The most terrifying calamity.
Death's Sword, Ganicardt.
The lord of Sword Grave had returned.
The fallen hero drew the holy sword. No starlight flowed from it. A holy sword without starlight was mere steel.
Yet it was still a sword.
As long as it took the form of a sword, that sufficed.
Death's Sword raised its tip toward the Sword of Reverse Heaven. A momentary silence. Then, both swords swung toward each other at precisely the same speed.
Onrushing winds. Whirling sword auras.
Beneath the landscape where all visible things toppled, Natida burst into hollow laughter.
Even as she lay dying in the battle's aftermath, she realized. Death's Sword hadn't appeared here to grant her wish. The swordsman sought only a rematch.
She had merely provided the pretext.
What of it? Natida let out a broken laugh and uttered her final words. Die, all of you. Thus ended her future self's life. Without achieving anything. Without leaving anything behind.
...But not now.
Natida exhaled deeply.
Opening her eyes revealed the present. And before her, Death's Sword. Swallowing dryly, Natida slowly reached for the hilt.
To give this ravine's lord a pretext.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The shattered gate.
The Beast King manifesting in Sword Grave, Galatric. Raniel bit her lip hard, map in hand, as she burst from the wreckage of the tent.
Shouting for any knights with communication networks to come out, as Raniel moved...
She halted abruptly.
A lightning bolt flashed through her mind. A signal of anomaly in the contract. Raniel unfurled the map. The dot marking Barta blinked in Galatric. But now, another dot flickered.
Gehetete, where death lay silent.
There, the signal of Death's Sword, Ganicardt, awaiting a challenger, blazed fiercely. It blinked for an instant. Then Ganicardt's signal vanished. And soon, it reappeared...
In Sword Grave, Galatric.
The lord of Sword Grave had set foot within.