Chapter 290: Hero of the Origin (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 290: Hero of the Origin (1)
Meain collapsed onto the spot where she stood. Her knees scraped against the ground, leaving bruised red and purple marks. Covering her lips with both hands, she muttered beneath her breath.
"Could it be, Leon... was this your plan all along...?"
Though Meain had not shown it, the Hero's betrayal had come as a massive shock. After all, she was the one who had enrolled Leon in Joaquin Academy. Even if her motives had not been entirely pure, she felt a lingering sense of personal debt.
That was why it hurt all the more, and why it baffled her so deeply. Though she had not spent much time with Leon, he was not the type of person to act out of self-interest.
'Leon carries the blood of Archangel Metatron. His very nature makes that impossible.'
There had to be another reason. Throughout the entire battle, a part of her mind had been fiercely agonizing over it.
And only now did she understand the reason for Leon's actions, along with the true identity of the book of prophecy.
"The Akashic Records."
If the prophecy was true, the Hero intended to die right here.
By the blade of the Demon King.
* * *
The gods sought to understand the origin of the world, and thus commanded their servants, the angels.
Originally, the gods believed themselves to be omnipotent and omniscient. Indeed, they had been close to it. Until he appeared.
The God of Sword.
He changed everything. Single-handedly, he stood against the gods who held claim over omnipotence and omniscience. He shattered even the truths long taken for granted into fragments.
Later generations would give that battle the grand, solemn name of 'Ragnarok,' but...
In truth, it was a slaughter—hardly something that could be called a battle.
From that day forth, the gods lost their physical forms, their spiritual bodies left to wander the cosmos. In a sense, that was their most divine state. Yet it seemed their thoughts differed.
It was not enough for the gods to merely issue commands to angels without a physical form. They wished to exert their influence directly across every corner of the universe. However, to act immediately was impossible, for the God of Sword protected the cosmos.
So they decided to wait for the opportune moment, dreaming of the day they would take their revenge upon him, fully prepared.
Along the way, a strange incident occurred where the God of Sword took his own life. After a vast expanse of time, the gods finally realized the reason.
〈This universe was too fragile to host him.〉
To put it another way, the universe they thought was everything was merely one of countless branches.
〈The universe is both one and all.〉
The gods wanted that 'all.' Their true nature was greed.
〈To place everything beneath one's feet and control it—that is what it means to be a true god.〉
Thus, they instructed the angels: record the entirety of the universe. The angels faithfully executed that command, with Archangel Metatron at their lead.
During that process, countless angels fell and rebelled. That was the group of fallen angels known as Grigori. Metatron suppressed them all alone.
Afterward, the gods ordered Metatron to write down the truth of the world by himself. The creators had come to distrust even their own creations.
Metatron complied. Before the gods, he swore to dedicate his life to the Akashic Records.
Time passed. A time so vast that numbers lost all meaning. Eventually, only a single planet remained until the completion of the Akashic Records.
Metatron disguised himself as a human and wandered that planet. A warrior, a scholar, a noble, a beggar, a commoner. Moving between all manner of callings, he listened closely to the voices of humans and demons alike.
Was it thanks to those efforts? At long last, only one blank space remained in the Records.
It was 'emotion.'
'In particular, what is love?'
It was a headache. Angels were puppets of the gods, designed to be incapable of feeling emotions. Emotion in an angel? Preposterous. What they mistook for emotion was merely simulated behavior.
To jump straight to the conclusion...
Metatron ultimately fell in love. Though born of a vessel created merely for his task, he came to genuinely love his son.
He wanted to be with him. He wanted to give him everything. For his son, Leon, he was willing to surrender even eternal life.
'The gods will never permit this.'
Even if they were to act on a whim, it would be unthinkable before the Akashic Records were complete. There was only one way left.
'Complete the Akashic Records as quickly as possible.'
The moment Metatron steeled his resolve, he accelerated his recording. Because of that, he spent only a single day a year with his son.
Not only was there much to record, but if the gods were to discover Leon, they would never leave him be.
They were the incarnations of greed. A child like Leon, possessing infinite potential, would look like the sweetest fruit of all.
To Metatron, who served them at the forefront, the outcome was plain as day.
'The gods will attempt to claim Leon's body.'
Then, Leon would become nothing more than a hollow shell without a soul, acting as their puppet. As a father, he could not allow that.
'I must act with even greater caution, with absolute perfection.'
Compared to that, kneeling before an old enemy was nothing.
Metatron went to seek the current Kuarne—the former Azazel—and pleaded with him. Even if Kuarne coldly turned him away, he was prepared to visit as many times as it took.
It was not because he trusted Kuarne. Nor was it simply because of the paradox that the enemy of his enemy was a friend.
Because they shared blood as brothers, he knew Kuarne well. His younger brother's cunning was enough to deceive even the gods, if only briefly.
Kuarne's way of thinking was un-angelic. He excelled at exploiting the flaws of immortals. If he could only stoke his interest in this matter, Kuarne would become a more reliable helper than anyone else.
Of course, even if he was once his older brother, it was unlikely Kuarne would welcome a visit from a mortal enemy. Metatron was willing to gladly surrender anything Kuarne desired.
"Very well."
Kuarne accepted without hesitation. Metatron was rendered speechless by the unexpected answer.
"I have buried the past in the past. As Brother can see, I am quite satisfied with my current situation."
The younger brother spoke with a smirking smile.
"Rather, I am simply delighted that you have come to seek me out, Brother. For our noble Metatron to finally defy the will of heaven—if this is not the guidance of Defying Heaven, then what is?"
"...Is there truly nothing you desire, Azazel? If you wished, I was prepared to hand over even a copy of the Akashic Records."
"I have no interest in such trash produced by losers. Has not the source of this world already revealed himself to us? Yet you seek to chase him with lines of text? For someone like me who serves Him, that would be nothing short of sacrilege."
Even so, Metatron could not erase his doubts at his brother's sinister smile.
"I swear upon Defying Heaven. I, Kuarne, swear to protect your nephew on your behalf, Brother. Furthermore, without my personal interference, your nephew will act according to my will. However, there is one condition."
"Name it."
"It is nothing grand. Simply that when He comes again, your nephew will be brought along to the scene as well. Something along those lines."
'That Person' whom his brother repeatedly mentioned was the God of Sword. Metatron had clearly witnessed his suicide and had recorded it in vivid detail in the Akashic Records.
A second coming? Nonsense. The God of Sword was a being that could no longer exist, at least in this world.
"Very well."
Yet Metatron held his tongue. Whatever the case, Kuarne had sworn an oath in the name of the God of Sword.
An oath made on that name carried immense weight. To breach it would mean the loss of one's very identity.
"Thank you, my brother."
Those were the words Metatron spoke just before leaving Kuarne's abode.
"Don't mention it. I should be the one thanking you for visiting, Brother."
"Right..."
It was a blunder. A mistake born from being blinded by love, unable to weigh the consequences.
The following year, Kuarne sold Metatron out to the gods. Yet even while doing so, he remained faithful to the oath.
Shielded from the eyes of the gods, he thoroughly hid Leon until he was 'ripe,' and respected his desire for 'revenge.'
Up to this point, everything had proceeded according to Kuarne's plan.
* * *
Heaven and earth convulsed in all directions. With every step Leon took, the ground fractured like a spiderweb. It was as if the earth could no longer bear his weight. Space was beyond distorted; it boiled a deep, fiery red.
With heads grabbed, with bellies impaled by blind blades, with intestines spilling out—everyone halted their movements.
Then, they fixed their gazes upon Leon.
It was simultaneous with the disappearance of his figure.
Whooooosh!
Leon closed the distance to Kang Geomma. It was not movement. It was a transit achieved by folding the concept of time itself like crumpled paper.
Regardless, Kang Geomma was a being operating within the shackles of physics. He was still prior to his complete awakening. Because of that, his reaction was a beat too late.
Leon's fist struck Kang Geomma's jaw.
CRACK!
A sonic boom rang out, hard to believe it came from a physical strike. Kang Geomma's body shot straight into the sky, effortlessly piercing through the stratosphere and climbing higher still.
Gravity thinned, replaced by a weightless, floating sensation. His mind felt hazy. It was only moments later that a gentle blue curve came into view. Clouds drifted atop the sky like small wooden boats.
'Earth.'
The massive landmass he had been standing on shrank boundlessly, the continents coming into view all at once. That magnificent, sprawling view stole his gaze for a fleeting instant. Yet there was no time to feel a sense of exhilaration.
The air was scarce, making it impossible to breathe. Unfiltered direct sunlight, unshielded by the ozone layer, tortured his eyes.
Kang Geomma lowered his trembling eyes.
Leon was kicking off the empty void again and again, hurtling toward him like an arrow. Without a medium, no sound could travel, yet the thunderous roar felt as if it were slamming directly into his eardrums.
Leon, who made eye contact with Kang Geomma—or rather, the things beyond him—sneered.
Kang Geomma's jawbone rattled once more. The flesh of his cheek rippled in slow motion. Blood froze instantly into crimson beads.
It was closer to an explosion than a strike. Thus, at what was effectively ground zero, Kang Geomma absorbed the shockwave in its entirety.
His body, freed from gravity's pull, drew a long streak of light, driving straight toward a distant speck. Matching that speed, Leon kicked off the stratosphere and soared into the void once more.
The scenery shifted in rapid flashes. Stars that should have remained fixed in place streaked away like shooting stars, while the Earth and the Sun receded into the vast distance. Occasionally, floating space debris collided with his back.
'Ah.'
Only then did his reason resurface.
That bastard rushing toward me like a demonic Rakshasa is the enemy I must cut and slash.
In his hand, he felt a sense of unity with the sashimi knife.
'That is enough.'
The corners of Kang Geomma's lips pulled upward. Flying through space with a smile, he soon crashed straight into the Moon.
The lunar surface shattered into pieces.
Amidst the dense, gray cloud of dust, a pair of eyes gleamed with light. His pupils were white, his eyes set against black whites.
Kang Geomma squeezed his way out of the crater. Debris like tiny rock fragments fell from his body in agonizing slowness.
Deep within him, a thick, surging texture stirred. It was the humanity he had not yet let go of.
"If I cut..."
Kang Geomma blew out his humanity—flickering delicately like a candle flame.
Puff—
"...it will be severed."
The round moon snapped right in two like an apple.
* * *
After his consciousness sank beneath a terrible darkness for a brief moment...
·
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《Activating Demon Eye Defying Heaven.》
* * *
Dim, dusty lighting; a ceiling hung with red lanterns painted with huge Chinese characters and dolls oozing a traditional Eastern atmosphere.
The sweet scent of liquor and the fishy smell of raw seafood seeped into my nostrils. It was a familiar yet alien sensation.
"Where... am I?"
Holding my forehead, I pushed my upper body up. Then, inadvertently, my elbow hit something beside me.
The dining table rattled. A green bottle rolled away, shattering with a sharp sound and spraying shards everywhere.
"Hey! You brat!"
A sudden, booming shout snapped my mind awake. I blinked blankly before turning my head.
Soon, my ballooning pupils reflected a huffing man. A man with a sharp, irritable impression, one sleeve fluttering empty.
"Aren't you going to snap out of it?!"
The very first Boss who had existed only in my memories.
The Hero of the Origin, Balor Joaquin, stood right in front of my nose, clutching a sashimi knife.