Chapter 389
Chapter 389
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 389
>Chapter Title: What Will You Do If You Survive?
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Flap—
A faint sound echoed in his ears. Aster blinked. Through his hazy vision, he saw a barren wasteland.
Dry plains and rocky mountains. A monochrome spectacle devoid of any green.
‘Did I... survive?’
His vision flickered black again.
When Aster opened his eyes once more, a vast blue lake stretched before him. It was so expansive that for a moment, he mistook it for the sea.
‘Am I flying?’
That seemed to be the case. Otherwise, there was no way he could take in such a view at a glance. At the same time, another thought crossed his mind.
‘Or did I actually... croak?’
Blink.
His vision snapped out.
At some point, Aster began to feel suffocated. It was as if something were crushing his chest, making it hard to breathe. He twisted his body and opened his eyes to find a familiar face right in front of him.
[Friend, you awake?]
“Awake......”
Aster lost consciousness again. After that, he came to several more times.
Sometimes it was the pitch-black of night, where he couldn’t see a thing. Other times, light seeping into the space allowed him to make out his surroundings.
Aster was in some kind of tent. It was fairly well-equipped for a tent, but canvas—not walls—enclosed the space.
‘The Grand Duchess’s... camp?’
Blackout.
His consciousness faded. Voices occasionally brushed past his ears.
“Treatment here is......”
[Do it. Treatment. No excuses......]
Were they arguing? Agitated voices. A roar of ‘Gyaaaaaak!’ that embodied the Wyvern’s rage reverberated, followed by the Grand Duchess’s troubled tone.
Hearing the Grand Duchess floundering, Aster thought to himself.
‘At times like this, one good smack to the head would......’
......shut her up.
Blackout.
At some point, Aster began writhing in agony.
Fever burned through him. As his body temperature spiked, the already frigid air felt even colder. Soon enough, it was as if he stood naked in the middle of a frozen wasteland.
Amid his chattering teeth, a stray thought surfaced.
‘This... is freedom?’
Perhaps it was. Anyone who could dash through a frozen field without a stitch on wouldn’t give a damn about prying eyes—now that was true freedom.
But freedom wasn’t what Aster craved, so he curled up and burrowed into his blanket. Faint voices seeped into his ears.
“At this rate, it’s dangerous......”
“However, with the medicine we have......”
[Figure it out! A way!]
The ‘Gyaaaaaak!’ roared out again.
Why was Yongyong so pissed? No, it wasn’t Yongyong after all. No matter how he sliced it, Wyvern was a lousy name. ‘Yongyong’ fit it perfectly.
Aster let out a lament for his own terrible naming sense before blacking out. When he opened his eyes again, he was in a strangely familiar place.
‘This is......’
The 2nd Black-White Slums. The very place where Aster had spent his childhood.
‘No, not the 2nd... the 7th? The 8th?’
The fever was so intense his mind was blank. But who cared which Black-White Slums it was? What mattered now was what he had to do next.
Aster stood there in a daze and glanced down. Then it hit him—what he needed to do.
‘Right. Beg.’
The sun hung high in the sky, and his begging bowl was empty. The weather was cold, but heading back to the hideout like this would spell disaster.
Fools are fearless, but the slum kids took it way past fearless into brutal. Most of the limping ones hadn’t been beaten for pickpocketing—they’d failed to meet their quota.
‘Those damn bastards. Someday, I’ll make you all pay......’
Aster swallowed his resentment toward the gang and sauntered out through the back alleys of the Black-White Slums. Just as he rounded the corner onto the main street, a sharp shout rang out from behind.
“He’s over there!”
“No. 1 is here!”
No. 1?
The familiar moniker made Aster cock his head. By the time he turned around, he’d shot up in height. His eye level shifted in an instant, but rather than panic, Aster calmly scanned his surroundings. A thick killing intent churned in his eyes.
‘Should I kill them?’
There were only a handful of pursuing Decullan mages. If he set his mind to it, he could take them out in ten minutes flat. But Aster—the No. 1—shook his head calmly.
He could kill them, but victory in battle wasn’t the whole story.
‘Time to retire.’
If he were going to die fighting, he never would’ve made it this far. He’d have lopped off that Decullan Young Patriarch’s head and closed his eyes right there.
First things first: survive. He’d snagged plenty of retirement funds from Decullan. If he lived, a bright future awaited.
But.
‘...What to do with all that money?’
After a moment’s hesitation, Aster shook his head vigorously and bolted. He could figure that out later. Right now, shaking the pursuit was priority one.
How far did he run?
Suddenly, Aster halted and tilted his head.
‘What......’
A fishy tang of blood tickled his nose. Snapping to his senses, he saw corpses strewn everywhere.
Every single one wore robes emblazoned with the Decullan emblem. That was when a voice croaked out.
“Sa, save......”
One man, trembling as he begged for his life. Aster narrowed his eyes at the familiar face.
“You......”
He couldn’t recall the name.
Just...
‘...That annoying Manager No. 1.’
Right. That’s what Aster and his comrades had called him. The Decullan Bloodline Member who managed the Troubleshooters.
As that clicked, a familiar voice rang in his ear.
“So, you need more time?”
Aster slowly turned to face the speaker. Amid the sprawl of fallen Decullan mages stood a middle-aged man.
“......Pahren.”
“Indeed, it is I, Pahren.”
Aster tilted his head at the middle-aged man’s calm reply. Why the hell was the Decullan Patriarch here?
‘...Ah, right.’
The Grimoire.
It must have been mixed in with the retirement funds he’d swiped.
“What were we... talking about?”
“Don’t you remember?”
“Afraid not.”
Pahren’s eyes narrowed at Aster’s response. His mouth opened soon after.
“Return to the shadow of Decullan.”
“......Ah.”
Yeah. Now he remembered.
Pahren had made that offer. Return to Decullan’s shadow. He’d hand over a Vassal Token, let him lead a Vassal Family. Bask in glory at his side.
And...
‘...What had I said in response?’
Aster narrowed his eyes and racked his brain. It surely hadn’t been polite.
His memories were foggy, like a haze blanketing his mind.
He strained to dredge them up, only to clutch his head as a splitting headache hit.
‘What......’
It hurt. Hurt way too much.
And why was it so damn cold?
Chills crashed over him suddenly, and he hugged his shoulders. His whole body shook like an earthquake, memories jumbling in his head.
Lost in pain, Aster slipped between illusion and reality.
“We’ve passed the worst......”
“Thank goodness......”
The Grand Duchess’s voice and that of some unknown medic echoed in his ears.
“He’s there! No. 1 is over there......!”
Other times, he was No. 1, fleeing from Decullan.
Sometimes he was a Black-White Slums urchin, wandering the alleys with his begging bowl, only for Pahren to appear out of nowhere and challenge him to chess. Aster usually won.
Coming to, blacking out.
Crossing illusions time and again.
Aster’s instincts told him.
‘If this keeps up, I really......’
Might die for real.
Realizing how dire it was, his faltering circle struggled into motion. Creak by creak, it channeled mana through his body’s circuits to straighten the twisted ones.
But repairing frayed circuits wasn’t easy.
He’d fix one, and another would snap. Barely reconnect it, and the previous one would pop loose, sending a gush of blood surging up.
“Urk......!”
He vomited blood. And again.
Pain so bad death seemed preferable.
But Aster refused to let go of life. Even in torment, he doggedly mended his circuits and realigned his warped circle.
But.
“No hope past this point......”
“No, it’s impossible. We can’t just give up......”
Aster let out a faint chuckle at the voices in his ears.
Am I really gonna bite it?
‘How the hell did it come to this?’
Had he underestimated Patriarch Otto? No, that wasn’t it. Lacked the power? If he had to pinpoint a cause, that felt right.
That realization brought back his final moments before blacking out.
- Thwoong...!
The bizarre pull, the Reverse Heaven fragment flying from Otto.
‘That fucker. If he could do that, he should’ve yanked it out ages ago.’
In the end, it was Otto’s borrowed power from the fragment that caused this mess. Without it, he wouldn’t be suffering like this.
But.
‘Did I hang onto the fragment?’
He remembered clutching it in his fist, but had he dropped it somewhere?
...Not that it mattered anymore. On the brink of death, what good was a Reverse Heaven fragment?
A fragment was only useful if you lived.
Yeah. Gotta live. But...
“What will you do if you survive?”
“......?”
Aster scowled at the sudden voice. After a beat, he glanced around.
“What......”
Another illusion?
Pitch darkness everywhere. Like the abyss.
Aster stood in the center, but there was one other presence in the space.
“What are you gonna do if you survive, I asked.”
“What the hell is this?”
The voice belonged to a brat. Eyes brimming with cheek, dull gray hair hanging limp.
Yet somehow familiar.
Of course it was.
“......Me?”
Yeah. The kid was Aster himself. More precisely, his childhood self—memories fuzzy as they were.
He scanned the surroundings, suspecting another illusion, when the voice spoke right in his ear.
“It’s not an illusion. And for the record, it’s definitely not ‘you.’ Just... borrowed your looks and personality, you could say.”
“My looks and personality?”
The kid nodded at Aster’s question.
“I don’t really have a self to begin with. Or more accurately... hm. Tough luck. Your vocabulary’s too limited to explain what I am.”
The kid shook his head with genuine regret, then snapped his fingers with an ‘Ah!’
“Think this explanation’ll give you the gist of what I am?”
“......?”
Aster cocked his head.
The kid smirked, clearly amused by the reaction. His mouth opened soon after.
“You called ‘me’ this.”
The kid... no, the ‘existence’ named itself.
“Grimoire.”
Or...
Reverse Heaven.
“How about that? Ring any bells?”
Aster’s eyes narrowed at those words. A breeze blew from nowhere, prickling his nape.
“You’re... Reverse Heaven?”
Goosebumps prickled his skin.
The ‘existence’ smiled.