Chapter 111
Chapter 111
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 111
>Chapter Title: It Wasn't a Wyvern...
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Somewhere on the eastern continent.
The heart of the Demonic Realm.
The Fourth Elder of Salvatium sat alone in his dwelling, gazing into the crystal orb.
“Hmm, so there’s truly not a shred of falsehood in what you’ve said?”
[Y-Yes, yes. Yes, Elder. I remember it clearly, crystal clear. Not a single lie, so please...]
“This time, you’ve finally spilled everything without holding back?”
[Y-Yes, yes, yes, yes.]
“Hmm...”
At Solion’s frantic reply, the Fourth Elder stroked his chin and leaned back against the worn sofa.
The sofa, crudely stitched from the hides of monsters adapted to the Demonic Realm, creaked and compressed with a grating sound.
Meanwhile, the elder’s shrewd eyes deepened.
‘Destroyer has been annihilated.’
In truth, this wasn’t all that surprising.
An ancient abomination. Even something called a calamity like Destroyer wasn’t truly immortal.
Back in ancient times, its power was so overwhelming that all they could do was seal it away, but that power had gradually faded over the sealed eons, losing its luster.
It was still calamity-worthy by any measure, but that didn’t mean it was utterly beyond handling.
The problem lay in the circumstances.
‘...Why?’
The Fourth Elder replayed the situation in the Hamern Great Forest as relayed by Solion.
‘There shouldn’t have been any variables.’
The Fourth Base Camp. Mercenaries clustered around it. Those vermin weren’t worth considering. No matter how many bugs gathered, they couldn’t overturn the tide.
Among them, the ones that could even be called variables numbered three.
‘Muspellun de Gigas Aderian.’
The Archmage of Finality was first.
‘Shine von Leman.’
The Kingslayer was second.
And finally...
‘The mysterious mage.’
Name unknown, face unknown, identity thoroughly concealed by the Token of the Waning Moon—that was third.
But these were merely ‘potential’ variables at best.
They still couldn’t overturn the tide, any more than the rest.
Muspellun? The Archmage of Finality was a name from a bygone era.
Now, in the twilight of his glory, he was nothing but a has-been with a shattered core, merely awaiting death. Salvatium’s intelligence network had confirmed this beyond doubt. Every elder-level Dark Horse knew it.
As for Shine von Leman? Laughable.
Reduced to a Death Knight, his very existence must teeter on the brink just to manifest transcendence.
The only one with real potential was the mysterious mage...
‘Not him either.’
From what he’d heard, the man was cloaked in the ‘Token of the Waning Moon.’
‘Even an elder of the Bear-Eaten Moon couldn’t handle Destroyer alone.’
What’s more, he wasn’t one of the Bear-Eaten Moon elders.
As far as the Fourth Elder knew, no mage matching his description had ever been among them.
‘I can say with certainty—there were no variables. At most, a speck of possibility.’
“And yet... Destroyer was annihilated. By whom? How?”
Tap, tap.
Wrinkled fingers drummed on the table.
It felt like confronting some inexplicable phenomenon that defied all reason.
Like a chicken appearing without an egg, or an egg existing without a chicken. A sense of being haunted by ghosts.
“Solion, this is your last chance. Is there truly nothing else that comes to mind? Even the tiniest detail—spit it out.”
[Uh, th-that... I...]
“...”
Solion stammered. The Fourth Elder quietly took in the flickering orb.
He held no great expectations.
Over the past few days, he’d wrung that soul dry time and again.
Some might call it ‘mere’ days, but the agony Solion had endured was beyond imagining.
And yet, they’d found no real leads—would any surface now?
It was just a question born of frustration.
“Enough. Perhaps I placed too much hope in you...”
[Th-there is! There is something!]
The elder’s hand, reaching to grasp the orb, froze in midair.
“There is?”
[Y-Yes. It’s... really trivial, truly, but... there is.]
Was it fear of the pain? Solion babbled on incoherently.
The elder furrowed his brow at the sight, but only briefly.
“...Hmm?”
Soon, a flicker of intrigue crossed the Fourth Elder’s face.
“So... there were times when Destroyer’s seal weakened for no apparent reason?”
[Y-Yes. We didn’t even perform the Rite of Liberation, and the ancient specters weren’t stirring. They weren’t...]
“As if some ‘catalyst’ were drawing near?”
[Y-Yes, yes! Exactly that.]
“Ho. A catalyst, you say?”
Now that was intriguing.
What was a catalyst?
Something deeply linked to the sealed entity, its mere presence enough to unsettle the bonds.
Like in fairy tales and legends.
The holy sword that only a hero could draw, or a treasure vault responding solely to a specific bloodline.
The depictions varied from reality, of course—distorted through oral tradition—but at their core, it was simply the relationship between ‘sealed entity’ and ‘catalyst.’
Tap, tap.
The Fourth Elder’s fingers drummed the table once more.
“A catalyst. Destroyer’s catalyst... Is such a thing even possible?”
A catalyst was tied to the sealed entity by some profound bond.
But Destroyer hailed from the unfathomable ancient era, when even history itself had been lost.
‘And yet, a catalyst exists?’
It was hard to imagine.
Over such vast ages, bloodlines would dilute to nothing, and any artifact would erode to dust.
‘No, not entirely.’
Snap!
The elder’s finger struck the table sharply.
‘What if it’s a grimoire, a demon sword, or some equivalent transcendent artifact?’
The inscrutable relics hoarded by so-called noble houses.
An object of that caliber might just hold the possibility.
Of course, it wasn’t a hundred percent certainty.
Destroyer’s ancient ruins still endured, after all—contemporary relics or sites could as well.
But.
‘That’s... probably the most likely.’
Having mulled it that far, the Fourth Elder gathered his thoughts. His gaze settled on Solion.
[E-Elder...? D-Did I help? Please...?]
“Yes, you’ve been a great help.”
[Ah, aah!]
Solion cheered in delirious joy. The end of his hellish torment dangled within reach.
But the ecstasy was fleeting.
“I’ll commend your service—no full century for you.”
[Wh-what...? Aaaah!]
The orb darkened to black. With a flick of his finger, the elder silenced Solion’s screams.
Merit was merit, sin was sin.
Destroying Destroyer’s seal warranted praise, process be damned—but stealing away the elder’s time these past days was no light offense.
Having consigned Solion to hell once more, the Fourth Elder resumed drumming the table.
“A catalyst... Not Muspellun’s disciple, surely? Shine even less so.”
What if Muspellun had acquired a grimoire during his seclusion...?
The elder shook his head. If he had, core or no, Destroyer never would have awakened.
Then...
One figure flashed in his mind.
The masked mage.
“Only one candidate, it seems.”
Tap, tap, tap.
The steady rhythm echoed through the cavern like a metronome.
Whether the man wielded a transcendent artifact or an ancient relic, he couldn’t say.
But.
‘Either way... it’s worth confirming.’
The elder’s shrewd eyes gleamed like a serpent’s.
* * *
Meanwhile, at that very moment.
Aster, arriving in the city of Hazen, suddenly looked up at the sky.
“What is it?”
“Suddenly...”
“Suddenly?”
“My mood soured.”
Aster spat it out, eyes fixed heavenward. Railley beat him to the punch.
“It wasn’t me.”
“What wasn’t?”
“Whatever it was.”
“...”
An out-of-nowhere denial. Aster turned his head.
There’s a saying: ‘The thief’s foot twitches first.’ Meaning the guilty one flinches without accusation.
Meeting those cloudy eyes, Railley startled and waved his hands frantically.
“I-I swear. I didn’t badmouth you, or plot anything shady.”
“...”
“R-Really.”
“Right? It wasn’t you?”
“O-Of course not.”
The gaze softened. Railley nodded desperately. Did it get through?
“Yeah, sure. I believe you.”
For once, Aster dropped his suspicion easily. Railley sighed in relief.
Of course, inwardly it was different.
‘You little shit...’
Kid barely out of diapers, yet he’d learned only the worst habits.
Sure, he was strong— but the world had proprieties to uphold. This guy ignored them all.
From Hamern Great Forest to Hazen.
How many times had he been beaten black and blue?
- Don’t wanna be right-hand man?
Dejected? Beat.
- Planning to bolt? Why so chipper?
Smiling? Beat for smiling.
And that’s not all.
Waking at night to piss? “Trying to run?” Beat till dust flew in the rain.
‘Goddamn it, what sin did I commit in a past life?’
Railley sighed at his lot.
It had been a life-or-death gamble. With good odds. Think about it—a mage at that level, slayer of the Swamp Lord. Common as dirt?
But what’s this?
‘Academy? The freakin’ ACADEMY?’
He was a student? Railley couldn’t believe his ears—or rather, refused the reality.
Visions of wealth, glory, luxury—puffed to smoke.
If he’d known, he’d have picked a peaceful country life. Village lord, thin but long, modest but plenty!
But what to do?
Spilled milk. Past was past. Endure it was.
Not all bad, though.
“...”
“Why are your eyes so wide?”
“N-Nothing!”
Railley, staring at Aster, hurriedly waved it off.
‘Definitely... not your average academy kid.’
Obvious from his power level, but what convinced Railley was something more tangible.
From Hamern to Hazen.
Warp gates? Smooth sailing.
Flash a shiny paper from his pocket, and those snooty gatekeepers jumped aside...
Semi-Royal Ticket!
A peek confirmed it—the Semi-Royal Ticket!
Reserved for royals or their direct appointees!
He claimed slum rat origins from the Black-White Slums—no fat family backing.
‘Still... something’s there...’
A glimmer of hope for Railley?
‘The bet ain’t over yet.’
What he thought straight flush turned reverse. But the cards weren’t flipped. Could snag multiples of the pot!
Who knows?
That punk... er, lord... might be some imperial bigwig.
Sure, if imperial ties, that uptight prick’d kill any free life—but power he could enjoy.
As Railley steeled himself.
“...”
Aster eyed him pitifully.
He could see the happy circuits spinning from the gaze alone. Attitude shift post-ticket? Impossible to ignore.
Shine was the same.
“...”
Hood pulled low, standing in shadow, eyes locked ahead. The fury and rage in those eyes vanished right after spotting the ticket.
‘Yeah, keep hoping.’
Greater hope, greater despair and shock when lost.
Pain forges strength. This could toughen them up.
Anyway.
“...Phew.”
Aster took in Hazen’s sights and smiled.
“I’m back.”
Of course, no one welcomed him.
Just then, a cry pierced from the sky: ‘Screeeee—!’
Screeeee—!
Blue heavens. A shadow plummeting like an arrow.
A wyvern... it wasn’t. An owl or barn owl, one of those.
The bird dove like a bolt, aiming for Aster’s head—but whoosh! His hand snatched its neck.
Screek!
“Breakfast, No. 1?”
A summons from the headmaster senior.