Chapter 145: Legend (2)
Chapter 145: Legend (2)
In the heart of the Temple of the Sun, the sanctuary of the monks, a fire blazed.
Gazing at the sacred pillar of flame that symbolized Rebrua, the Goddess of the Sun, the eldest monk, Butcher, wore a peaceful smile.
"Do not be so incensed, Great One."
At Butcher’s words, the soaring flames flickered. The swaying of the fire was the manifestation of the Goddess's will.
"The tragedies of the past are merely that—the past. Instead of worrying and fueling your rage, become the warm sunlight and shine upon the boy’s future. Even if he is a Descendant of Steel, is he not ultimately a lamb living within your shadow?"
Butcher looked toward his Goddess, who existed beyond the flames. The flickering fire represented her fury. Yet, even in the face of divine wrath, Butcher remained unshaken.
"Even if tragedy repeats itself, that too is the way of the world. Therefore, do not sing of anger. Do not be the flame that consumes all, but the warm sunlight for those shivering in the cold."
Butcher reached out and stroked the flames. Though he touched the fire with his bare hand, his old, wrinkled skin did not burn. Instead, the moment he reached out, the flames took the shape of a hand—the beautiful, delicate hand of a woman. The glowing red hand caressed her servant.
「Butcher, my beloved Great Warrior. Soon, chaos will arrive. It will resemble the Age of War from the distant past. The seven races will entwine, slaughtering one another until they face total annihilation. And this time, it will be different from that era of despair.」
"How will it be different?"
「During the Age of War, the nine goddesses and the seven chief gods lost much. We lost our omnipotent light and the absolute power to rule the world. The Greatest Steel carved it away from us.」
"I see."
「The gods have not forgotten that humiliation. To ensure tragedy does not repeat itself, the gods will no longer remain bystanders. We cannot allow the Age of Iron to return.」
The flames flickered once more.
The fire now took the full form of a woman. The blazing lady looked at Butcher with affection and spoke.
「Great Warrior, your Goddess is anxious. Having lost her omnipotence during the Age of Iron, your Goddess has also lost the insight to pierce through the truth and her tranquil peace. Your Goddess may be even more foolish than you.」
"Every being lives with their own imperfections."
「Your Goddess is also no longer all-powerful. Thus, she cannot shake this anxiety. Having already suffered disgrace, I can endure it again. However, I fear that I will be unable to protect my Great Warrior and my beloved servants. I fear that the innocent will bleed and die in the chaos. I will gather them into my embrace, but it saddens me deeply to think of them wailing amidst swords, spears, and raining arrows.」
The Goddess’s voice trembled with unease.
Any other follower would have been shaken by her words. Yet, Butcher’s expression remained serene and calm. Monk Butcher gave a benevolent smile.
"Do not worry. Simply remain as the warm sunlight. You do not need to wield the world as the other goddesses and chief gods do. The sun draws worship simply by being there, and fire saves the lambs of winter just by existing. Your presence is a lamp in the darkness and a star for those who have lost their way."
The flames wrapped around Monk Butcher’s body.
"I shall take up the role of protecting your servants in the midst of chaos. So, do not worry. Your Great Warrior has more than enough strength for that."
Only then did the blazing fire subside. Monk Butcher bowed to the fading flames, offering his respects to the Goddess. He had lived his entire life as an ascetic in the mountains. He had thought he would simply practice until he died and then remain by the Goddess’s side as a Great Warrior. But before that time could come, the world was calling for him.
Butcher knew that the time for him to step out into the world was near. Perhaps all the Great Warriors of the seven chief gods and nine goddesses would emerge. Then, the others would no longer remain in hiding either. Just as Hugo Rhapsody had, the six masters would step into the world to quell the chaos according to the Law.
It would be a massive upheaval.
But Butcher was not afraid. The Goddess spoke of tragedy, but there is no such thing as a perfect tragedy in this world, nor does a perfect comedy exist. The world is like a single coin; heads and tails are decided by the perspective of the observer. What is a comedy to one is a tragedy to another, and what is evil to one is good to another. That is life, and that is the world. Therefore, Butcher simply viewed the world as it was. If trials were to descend, he would simply face them, following his own thoughts and his own happiness.
Even after hearing the Goddess’s anxieties, Butcher spent his time leading a peaceful daily life. Then, an unexpected guest arrived at the monks' temple. It was a guest he hadn't seen in a very long time—a member of a wonderful race that possessed untainted purity and lived every moment in asceticism. An Orc.
"A beautiful Orc lady has arrived."
"I hear that quite often," she replied.
The Orc was someone Monk Butcher knew well.
"What brings you here, Lady Sherizik?"
"I was hoping to stay here for a while. Would that be alright?"
"As long as you like."
At Sherizik’s visit, many young monks came out to peek at her. Sherizik gave the hesitant young monks a wide grin. A few of them were dazed by her lethal smile that bared her fangs. Sherizik felt a sense of pride, thinking that her beauty truly transcended racial boundaries.
"But why has the strongest Orc come to our temple?"
"There’s a man I need to keep an eye on."
"Ah, have you finally chosen a husband?"
At Butcher’s chuckling remark, Sherizik twisted her body shyly. She murmured in a subtly bashful tone.
"That... I don't know yet."
* * *
...What a remarkable soul.
The First Caravan.
Liam stood with his hands behind his back, watching his distant descendant.
To be honest, at first, I didn't expect much.
His distant descendant, Arhan Caravan.
Those of the Caravan bloodline were typically born with robust bodies or brilliant talent. However, this descendant, the Last Caravan, possessed neither. Despite being a man, he was as frail as a woman and lacked even the basic physical intuition for movement. He wasn't just average; he was a dullard among dullards.
Thus, Liam Caravan hadn't placed much hope in this Last Caravan. He had planned to take matters into his own hands if things went south. He intended to borrow the descendant's body to descend into the Mortal Realm and reopen the Age of Iron. Though it would ruin the descendant's life and bring chaos to the world, Liam didn't care. The First Promise was only to help him become a swordmaster and achieve his revenge. That was the limit. The descendant's happiness or world peace were never part of the deal.
I thought he hadn't inherited anything from me.
But the descendant Liam was looking at now had changed significantly. He had filled his deficiencies through his own efforts and had even found a path to happiness through various bonds. Yet, he had never let go of his original purpose. He was constantly moving forward, like an unquenchable fire. Upward, higher and higher.
He wasn't born with great strength or physical grace.
But Arhan possessed the most important thing for a Caravan: a Steel Soul. A hardness that would not break under any trial. A steadfastness that would not lose itself even if the whole world became his enemy.
"Ugh, uuuugh."
Liam watched his descendant, whose body was a complete wreck, as he continuously climbed the mountain. He had already failed more than ten times. Even as bones protruded through his skin and his senses were scrambled, Arhan did not give up. As if he would stop breathing the moment he quit, he never looked down, only upward as he pushed on.
It was something more sublime than the legends contained within the blades the descendant had swallowed. It was something that stood above legends. Something the seven chief gods and nine goddesses possessed. Something the most sacred beings were equipped with. Something that commanded worship and respect from all was stirring within the descendant's soul.
More than my own son, more than the many descendants praised as geniuses... you resemble me the most, young descendant.
Liam could no longer suppress the anticipation rising within him. He could see the future this boy would paint. He could see the second coming of the Great Steel. A soul that would never break. The time for the True Steel within that soul to awaken was not far off. Others might not see it, but they could not deceive Liam’s eyes. The First Caravan could see it. He could see the Caravan’s blade awakening within his descendant.
With a sharp crack, the ledge Arhan was stepping on crumbled. Having lost his footing, the descendant plummeted, flailing. With a heavy thud, bones snapped and muscles tore. After groaning in pain for a moment, Arhan punched the ground, howling in frustration.
But he did not break. While his Heart of Steel restored his broken body, the descendant still looked only at the high sky, not the ground where he had fallen.
「...Only he who looks at the highest point can fly the highest.」
Liam looked at Arhan.
「Young descendant.」
"Yes."
「If you achieve the legend and leave this mountain, then it will not be you who must endure the world, but the world that must endure you.」
He meant every word.
Once Arhan claimed a legend and fulfilled the conditions for transcendence, Liam intended to teach him how to wield the sword as a True Caravan. The original way that no other descendant could withstand. The way of the Greatest Steel that once cleaved the world. Liam Caravan’s way.
If it's you...
You might be able to do it.
Those words lingered in his throat. It was a path no one else could handle. Only Liam had been able to endure it. His beloved son, the grandson his son sired, the descendants called geniuses—all of them had either died while wielding the sword or taken their own lives, unable to handle their own inadequacy. They had all resented him. They wailed that no one could handle his way, that the gods were right, that he was a being who should never have been born, and that his bloodline was cursed.
Liam still did not accept that. He still shouted in his heart.
I was not wrong.
The Last Caravan.
This boy, who resembled him the most, would prove it to the world.
This commendable young descendant.
"I'm tired enough to die, so what's with all this vague nonsense?"
「...」
"Please, just be quiet for a bit."
...Though he was a bit of a brat.
* * *
The mountain rejects me.
Master was exactly right.
This wasn't just a matter of the mountain being hard to climb; it was as if the mountain itself was trying to kick me out. With nature itself rejecting me, it was impossible for a mere human to triumph over it. Nevertheless, I didn't give up. I tried and tried again.
I don't know how many days have passed. It feels like months. Perhaps a year has already gone by. My sense of time has blurred in the repetitive asceticism. But my mind was clear.
With a clear mind, what I had to do was challenge it.
However, continuing to stick to this ignorant method was excessively inefficient. So, what should I do? Constantly challenging the impossible is certainly a great thing, but if you don't achieve results, no one will acknowledge it. The memory of the Old Adventurer in "Ascension" must have been a success. Because if he had only repeated the same attempt over and over, he would never have achieved the legend.
But I don't know the Old Adventurer's method.
So, what should I do?
There is only one answer.
I must choose my own way.
"Whew."
Let's go back to the beginning.
Let's regain my original intent.
'Let's see who wins.'
Doubt.
Let's doubt nature.
Let's doubt the world that rejects me.
Originally, doubt is a process to prove something. There was only one thing I was trying to prove through this doubt. What was it?
That I am right.
And I'm going to prove that all of you are wrong.