Chapter 210
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 210
Chapter Title: In the End, Was It Like That?
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Boom, boom, kwarrrgh!
"Kuhk!"
It all happened in an instant.
Rimon slicing Carl mid-air.
Carl, rent by the sword, spraying blood as he flew back, smashing through several towers and buildings before embedding himself in the rubble.
The odd sensation at his sword tip furrowed Rimon's brow for a split second.
He leaped into the debris without hesitation.
There, he clicked his tongue at the vanished traces of Carl and the gaping hole punched into the ground beneath the collapsed building.
Tch, a bit shallow.
He'd aimed to cleave straight through Carl's heart in one stroke.
But the repulsive force from Carl's robe had made his body blur like a ghost, shoving him back just enough to barely miss.
As vulnerable in close quarters as he was, he'd layered himself with defensive items.
It wasn't just the items, though.
The skill that deployed a shield right before the slash, slowing Rimon's blade.
The snap judgment to burrow underground the moment he hit the ground.
And the monstrous vitality and tenacity to survive a wound that would have killed even an ironclad man instantly.
Truly, Carl the Magic Monarch—one of this era's absolutes—was no pushover.
Without that surprise ambush, he might have resisted far more tenaciously.
But ifs were just ifs.
Like a loser's excuses in war amounting to nothing but justification.
From the moment he'd failed to discern Rimon's identity, appeared before him, and chosen to become a monster instead of admitting his crimes—his fate was sealed.
"Too bad, but you picked the wrong guy to run from."
Rimon muttered coldly.
Instead of the hole in the ground, he launched himself into London's thick fog.
"Cough, cough cough! Hah, hah."
In the labyrinthine sewers sprawling beneath London.
In one dim corner, Carl hacked up blood as if vomiting his lungs whole.
With trembling hands, he pulled a second potion vial from his robes and downed the golden liquid inside in one gulp.
Gulp.
As the sweet golden elixir slid down his throat, a warm glow spread through his body.
Only then did the bloody coughs subside. Staring at the chest wound still oozing thick clots of blood, Carl shuddered violently.
Even two vials of Elixir, and it's still this bad...!
Elixir—the ultimate recovery item, craftable only by the Creation Monarch.
A miracle potion that could reattach severed limbs, second only to the Holy Monarch's skills.
Yet even two vials left him like this.
The thought of what might have happened if he'd had one less was horrifying.
And the horror didn't end there.
His robe with Force Shield, shoes with Spirit Realm Escape, ring with Diamond Skin, and more.
All top-grade relics.
Treasures that had never failed him, protecting him even through Dungeon Floor 100.
But now, most were torn, shattered, or scorched—verging on scrap.
Not even national treasure-class top-grade items could withstand the aftermath of blocking Rimon's sword.
If someone can do this...
Thus, Carl could only realize it.
The identity of the black-haired youth who'd casually blocked World Break and slashed him in one strike.
Rimon Asfelder... it was him!
Carl ground his teeth.
Others might have mistaken him for another monarch in disguise.
But as the oldest player, one who'd spent his youth in the waning Heroes' Age, he knew better.
Only one man could perform such absurd feats with a sword alone: Humanity's Last Sword Master.
That realization only fueled his rage.
Even if he's fallen now, for Humanity's Guardian Deity to fall for a witch's schemes!
The Twilight Mist had protected Londoners all this time?
Ridiculous!
No way!
He'd lost his daughter in the Twilight hours. The fault lay with the London Demarcation Zone, and all original sin with the witch who'd created it.
Thus, the witches were evil—they had to be.
If not, then what was he?
From the Iron Age's dawn to now, his life dedicated solely to eradicating the Twilight Mist—what would it mean?
Grind!
Unable to accept that truth, Carl burned with even greater obsession.
Just five dead in an accident, and they call me a monster?
Sure, if he hadn't fabricated the mist that day, those five might have lived.
But so what?
People vanished every day in the Twilight hours anyway. Removing the mist would save far more in the end.
Besides, the fact that he—Rimon—had said it stoked Carl's fury further.
A man who raised a butcher dares to judge me!
Rimon was the Sword Tower's master.
The very man who'd trained Sword Flower Joan of Arc into a Sword Master.
Thus, Richard I's murder by her, and the British dead—tracing back, the original sin lay with Rimon.
And it wasn't just her.
Sword Demon Vlad, who allied with black mages; Sword Man Gandhi, who sparked World War II.
Most of the Heroes' Age's worst massacres were by Rimon's disciples.
And the hordes he'd "protected" the world by slaying? Enough to fill an ocean.
Yet now he sided with the Azure Dragon Princess and witches, condemning Carl like some saint!
Disgusting hypocrite!
Carl gnashed his teeth at Rimon.
But separate from that boiling rage, despair was inevitable.
The legendary great witch Circe.
Seven Dragon Society's Azure Dragon Princess Rose.
And Rimon Asfelder.
One at a time, he might overwhelm or at least match them.
But gravely wounded, facing all three? Impossible, even for him.
If only I had more power...!
Thus, Carl could only lament, resent, and yearn.
For his powerlessness, dubbed an absolute yet unable to thwart the wicked witches' plots.
For Rose and Rimon, blindly swayed by evil, unable to discern right from wrong.
For the strength to purify this London against them.
Right then.
The constellation contracted with you responds to your desperate plea.
"The One-Eyed Man Who Pierces Truth" proposes a contract renewal. If you agree, you will gain the power to escape this crisis.
Do you accept the contract renewal?
"...!"
Carl's eyes widened.
Even he, the Magic Monarch privy to all intel on constellations and players, had never heard of system messages like this.
Suspicion flashed first.
But it vanished quickly, replaced by burning desire.
A man who'd ascended to absolute through constellation contract had no reason to refuse now.
Besides, to purge the wicked witches from this London, he'd contract even a demon if needed.
"I accept...!"
He moved to answer without hesitation.
But he froze.
Beyond the system message floated a translucent figure—a girl.
Braided brown hair.
Frilly cute dress.
Gripping a bear doll.
The unforgettable image of his long-lost daughter stunned him.
"A-Amelia?!"
The daughter lost decades ago.
Shaking, he saw her ghost exactly as in their final moments.
"Amelia, Amelia!!!"
Ignoring his wounds, he bolted up to embrace her.
Futile.
His hands passed through her empty form. Stunned, his eyes widened again.
Another hazy ghost appeared behind the girl clutching her bear.
"Sophie too?!"
A woman with brown hair pinned up.
His wife Sophie, who'd died in a car crash while desperately searching for Amelia after her loss. Carl was dumbfounded.
"Why, why are you and Amelia here...?"
People he'd yearned for his whole life.
But never imagined reuniting like this. As shock lingered,
Carl's eyes suddenly narrowed.
"I see! This mist? The witches bound your souls with their vile tricks!"
Realization ignited hot hatred.
Not content with stealing his wife and daughter, the witches tormented them even in death.
"Don't worry, Sophie! I'll eradicate the witches and free you and Amelia...!"
As he turned back to the system message to avenge them,
he halted.
His face twisted in confusion.
"...Why?"
"Why that sad face, Sophie?"
"Why won't you smile at Daddy, Amelia?"
No reply, just sorrowful gazes from Sophie and Amelia. Brief bewilderment,
then surging injustice.
"I've done it all for you...!"
Raising his voice instinctively shocked him.
Amelia recoiling in fear.
Sophie blocking protectively.
Above all, his own rage-distorted face reflected in their eyes told him.
The reason they'd appeared before him.
And why they looked at him with such sadness.
"That I'm... wrong? It was all blind stubbornness, and I've harmed the innocent with misplaced blame?"
Still no answer.
But their sad faces said it all.
He was Sophie's husband, Amelia's father.
"...I see."
Carl's expression went slack.
He'd dismissed Rose the Azure Dragon Princess's confession and the past hero Rimon's accusations.
Yet before the wife and daughter he'd longed for lifelong, even he had to admit his folly.
What had his life been?
Late regret, despair, futility washed over him briefly.
Then he lifted his head solemnly.
Gazing at the two ghosts, he turned to the system message and spoke softly.
"I refuse the contract..."
No—he tried to.
His mouth clamped shut suddenly, a suspicion surging before he could.
Can I trust this?
Another witch trick?
Even if wife and daughter, now mere ghosts—how far can I trust them?
...This?
Too late to back out now anyway.
Rimon wouldn't let him live, and the only counter was accepting the constellation's offer.
What is this!
Topple Rimon, evade ruin, bask in absolute glory as before.
No—become this world's unbound king.
Shiver.
His thoughts, yet not his heart.
Rejecting his will to yield, endless whispers and boiling rage shook him from somewhere.
As if something eroded him.
Writhing in turmoil briefly,
Carl clenched his teeth to dust.
Suppressing the invading chaos, he roared through a tearing voice.
"I refuse the contract!!!"
The system message vanished at last.
But the chaos engulfing Carl did not.
No—enraged by his choice, it eroded fiercer, forcing his mouth open.
His muddled mind auto-formed an incantation, birthing a skill even he didn't know.
This skill?!
Thanks to Pinnacle of the Arcane, he glimpsed its effect and recoiled in horror, trying to stop it.
But despite desperate efforts, he couldn't halt the activation.
"Chaos Scream."
No!
Screeeeech!
Then,
a tearing shriek echoed across London.
Sophie and Amelia's ghosts twisted in agony, fraying.
The hundreds of items Carl had placed across London to destroy the Twilight Mist.
Resonating with his skill, they shook the Demarcation Zone, striking even the ghosts amplified by its effects.
No, no!
"Con... tract...!"
No matter how he tried to stop the skill, it only grew louder.
As if that weren't enough, a resurfaced system message and words spilling from his own mouth chilled him.
A force even an absolute like him couldn't defy or comprehend.
He sensed a beyond-human entity wielding a 10th-class spell, twisting his will.
Thus, he realized.
The source of this controlling power, emotion, will.
...So, as he said, I'd already become a monster.
"Re... new...!"
Carl squeezed his eyes shut.
A life of anything for revenge.
Now, he couldn't distinguish if it was truly his choice—or even if the revenge was his.
Finishing this phrase, he'd fully become the monster to doom London.
Having surrendered everything to the entity he'd thought granted him vengeful power.
One way to stop it.
Forgive me, Amelia.
Carl slowly opened his eyes.
Gazing at the suffering girl and embracing woman-ghost, his face grew sorrowful.
Watch over Amelia in heaven, Sophie.
Slowly.
Very slowly, he gripped his staff.
Forcing his uncontrolled, trembling body, he pressed the tip to his chest.
Stab.
He rammed it in with all his might.
The half-healed wound from Elixir tore open grotesquely, bringing excruciating pain.
Carl didn't stop.
Using Pinnacle of the Arcane to its limit amid chaos, he gathered mana into a new skill.
"Ngh...!"
As if realizing too late,
frantic hands yanked at the staff, turmoil scrambled his mind,
tongue thrashed to speak sooner.
Yet amid the rebellion of flesh and mind, he steadfastly completed the incantation.
As the great Magic Monarch.
Master of a top-ten guild,
Above all, as one woman's husband and one girl's father.
To halt the emerging monster and atone minimally for his crimes.
My insufficient penance I'll pay in hell. The rest, I leave to you, Countess Rose.
"Great... Elemental... Break!!!"
Biting his own thrashing tongue to forcibly reclaim control, he bellowed.
Kwarrrrng!!!
A brilliant blue explosion from Carl's heart engulfed his body.