50. Emperor (1)
50. Emperor (1)
After listening to the exchange—though it barely qualified as a conversation—between Brigitte and Inkrinew, Yuma was in a state of considerable fury.
It was fury directed at Inkrinew, who had issued an oracle through the saintess merely for his own amusement, just to watch the process of humans losing their humanity.
The three whom Inkrinew had first placed upon his scales.
Brigitte, Cloné, Bel.
Yuma had grown rather fond of all three.
The notification window that had appeared when he first fell into this world.
The command to <clear> this world.
They were perfectly suited as companions on that <clear> journey.
A genius of magic.
A genius of the sword.
And the imperial princess of the empire.
Setting aside the oracle, the three were an exact match for Yuma's objective.
And he liked all three of them as people, too.
Because they never gave up.
Born a witch's daughter, she never lost hope.
Crushed by her clan's karma, she never succumbed to despair.
Pushed aside in the line of succession, she never yielded to frustration.
And yet a god had appeared who dared to trample such companions underfoot purely for his own amusement.
A god who sought to shatter the journey they had walked together.
That was not something to be tolerated, even from a god.
And Yuma had glimpsed the possibility of killing that god.
He had turned that possibility into success.
Jjeolgeureong—
Yuma picked up the golden pouch lying on the floor. It had been on the floor at the very spot where Inkrinew had been moments before.
He quickly checked the pouch with <Searching Eye>.
[Divine Pouch]
A subspace pouch carried by a god.
It meant that this was the subspace pouch Inkrinew had been using.
Swish—
Without hesitation, Yuma stuffed that divine pouch straight into his own subspace pouch.
And then he also placed the Sword of Wailing and Annihilation, [Balmung], that had fallen to the floor, into his subspace pouch.
Ding—!
After collecting the dead god's belongings, a notification rang out inside his head.
[You have defeated the Evil God - 'Anguished Mercy—Inkrinew'!]
tip!
[By elevating the rank of your physical body, you may shed your mortality.]
tip!
[You have defeated one of the Eight Evil Gods! Defeating all Eight Evil Gods will bring you closer to clearing!]
The first tip was something he had already grasped intuitively.
The important thing was the second tip.
Eight Evil Gods.
Something new had popped up again.
But it was clear, precise information necessary for the clear.
Though the fact that he still had to kill seven more gods felt impossibly distant, it was better than not knowing.
'Just what the hell are you, anyway.'
The System.
An individual, or a collective?
If its purpose was to kill Evil Gods, had it been created by an entity on the opposite side of the Evil Gods? A Great Adversary?
Or was killing Evil Gods merely a secondary objective?
He didn't even have enough samples yet to begin making inferences.
Whether achievements were completed, whether there were rewards—none of that was knowable now.
As always, it would probably update once he'd slept and woken up.
Ttuk...
Yuma stared at the bead of sweat that had run down his chin and fallen to the ground.
'I'm tired.'
Mental strength.
Focus.
He had poured out all of it, more fiercely than at any other moment since being summoned to this world.
It was only natural that extreme fatigue was crushing his body.
Yuma turned his body.
And only then did he notice. Every single person's gaze was fixed upon him.
***
The First Prince Schubertche had watched it all.
And he gave up.
When Inkrinew's authority, <Conclusion>, had encroached upon the entire vicinity of the temple.
In that moment he had given up on everything about life.
But that man, Yuma, had not given up until the very end.
'He...killed a god.'
If he were to leave this temple and tell someone, it would be the kind of story that would get him told to stop spouting madness.
Yet that was reality.
Yuma, the God of War, had killed a god.
Schubertche stared at Princess Brigitte, who stood beside the man who had slain a god.
He had thought she was an irrational existence basking in a god's halo.
But she had been basking in the halo of an existence greater than a god.
The halo of a God Slayer.
"...Haa."
He couldn't help but exhale a sigh, as if the energy had been drained from him.
Since he had opened his mouth, which had been pressed tightly shut while crushed under Inkrinew's divine aura, an intensely sweet, metallic scent wafted out.
Emperor.
Schubertche thought about that great title.
Brigitte had answered that way in her conversation with Yuma.
That she didn't want to let Cloné and Bel die. That rather than a choice where one of the two had to die, she would die herself if she could.
'I.'
Could never make that kind of choice.
Schubertche knew the measure of his own vessel.
'If I had been in that position, I would have let one of them die.'
Schubertche himself knew it.
He had not been suddenly inspired, nor had he repented.
He had simply become devastatingly disappointed in himself.
Because of that, his ambition had plummeted to rock bottom.
Ambition that had hit bottom once was not something easily refilled.
The golden-haired prince, Schubertche, slowly rose to his feet. He barely steadied his trembling legs and walked before Brigitte.
The Seat of the Oracle.
And before it, he knelt.
"I have lost."
And he continued speaking.
"It seems that it is you, not I, who is suited to be the emperor of this Astes. Brigitte."
"...Brother."
Brigitte felt the sincerity in Schubertche's words.
They were not words spoken merely under the weight of fear, nor under the weight of the atmosphere.
Schubertche slowly rose to his feet again.
"I shall watch your coronation. And...Duke Balzac. Would it be permissible for me to stay in your territory for a time? I would like to experience the harshness of the North."
Duke Balzac, who had only just managed to pull himself together, burst into a chuckle while leaning against a white pillar of the temple.
"The North does not turn away warriors who come to it."
Balzac shifted his gaze from Prince Schubertche to Yuma.
'The God of War...has become not just a title, but a true Martial God.'
Conclusion.
He himself had been rendered helpless by a mere 'line'—a speck of dust within that world.
Yet that man had shattered the world of Conclusion, thickly laid out as it was.
'The pinnacle of martial arts....'
The will he had harbored just before Inkrinew's descent—to say he wanted to fight him once—had withered away completely.
A gap.
At a gap of that magnitude, the outcome would clearly be decided in a single exchange. His own defeat.
Balzac slowly rose to his feet.
The pain continued. He had given emergency treatment with a potion, but he urgently needed healing magic.
"Kairos, let us go. Hasn't the next emperor been decided by this?"
Sweat dripped down Kairos's brown hair. The situation was beyond what his middle-aged body, nearing that of an old man, could endure.
He was half out of his mind.
Marquis Kairos spoke in a stammer.
"...Lord God of War...I shall never divulge what I have witnessed today to anyone."
Without paying the other nobles any mind, Kairos bowed his head toward Yuma, who was walking toward Brigitte, Cloné, and Bel.
Very deeply.
It was a gesture of respect toward the one who had killed a god.
Balzac gave a wry smile.
"Who would believe it, even if you did go and speak of it? I shall see you next time. Your Highness the Princess."
Duke Balzac, Marquis Kairos, and Prince Schubertche moved together toward the teleport area.
Yuma bent his left knee and lowered himself to meet Brigitte's eyes.
"Are you all right?"
"...Yuma. You always surpass my expectations."
Yuma inwardly agreed.
This incident had far surpassed even his own expectations.
Brigitte suddenly raised her right hand and poked-poked at Yuma's right cheek.
"What are you doing?"
At Yuma's words, Brigitte let out a small laugh.
"I was checking whether you're actually human...Because what you accomplished. Is utterly impossible for a human to do."
Then she opened her right hand and gently stroked Yuma's cheek.
"Thank you, Yuma."
As if all the strength had drained from her body, Brigitte did not get up but lay back down upon the divine seat.
"...The Demon Realm Army. They said they would invade the continent in five months. And in the millions."
Brigitte recalled the words Inkrinew had spoken.
Yuma slowly nodded.
"We just have to stop them."
At that matter-of-fact reply, Brigitte found herself smiling softly again.
Though Yuma had spoken as if asserting that they could be stopped, his thoughts were different.
'If it's a continental invasion, they'll come from the sea as well. Mountain regions too. Should I seek cooperation from other species?'
He was already calculating the battle against the Demon Realm Army at lightning speed.
It was calculation in order to survive.
Cloné walked briskly up to Yuma.
"I...am included among those things that are yours, right?"
Cloné's golden eyes stared directly at Yuma.
For a moment, Yuma thought—what nonsense was this kid spouting?
The final moment when he had killed the god, Inkrinew.
Yuma recalled the words he had spat out with his own mouth.
-Because he coveted what is mine.
Even in that chaotic situation, Cloné had clearly remembered Yuma's words and engraved them into her mind.
Eyes sparkling brightly.
To the black-haired, golden-eyed young girl, ascertaining the truth of those words now seemed to be the most important thing in the world.
"...Yeah."
Faced with that courtship that was not quite a courtship. Yuma had no choice but to give an answer. Because that gaze was so desperately earnest.
"That's all I needed."
Cloné smiled bashfully and stepped back.
The swordswoman with blue hair and pink eyes, Bel, slowly approached Yuma.
Unlike how she had appeared until now, there seemed to be a slight distance between them.
"Why did you even bring me along? Seriously."
It was an utterly fundamental question.
"When you possess that kind of power. When you can unfold that kind of sword path."
This time, too, only Bel had vaguely glimpsed it.
Yuma's movements.
The world of Conclusion, the sole gap in that black-and-white world.
Bel had witnessed the movement that found that tiny light and shattered a god's authority.
She herself had not even been able to perceive that light.
Yet Yuma, as if it were nothing, had found that single point of brilliance.
"When you can kill...even a god."
And he had killed a god.
"So it really is just that you brought me along because of the oracle."
Yuma placed his hand over the hilt of the sword Bel was gripping tightly.
"You will definitely become a greater swordswoman than me."
"...What?"
"You'll become far greater than some guy like me. Your talent is telling you that. Your effort is telling you that. The very fact that you have endured that karma and walked this path is telling you that."
Bel was left speechless by those words, which bordered on flattery.
Yet at the same time, they were endlessly warm words. She lost any further words to say.
"Let's go."
Yuma slowly rose to his feet.
"I'm pretty tired."
Hestia pricked up her cat ears and followed behind Yuma.
"Yes! Yuma-nim, if you're tired you must rest!"
She couldn't help using honorifics.
Yuma halted his hurried steps toward the outside of the temple.
The saintess who had just lost the god she served was trembling violently.