Chapter 212
Chapter 212
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 212
Chapter Title: Star Crusher (1)
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To save Delutana, it was an unavoidable decision.
Ramulek truly believed that.
Think about it logically—who in their right mind would stand against that empire? Just a handful of high-ranking Knights of Elga could turn every major city into a smoldering ruin... And there was already the precedent of the Radiant Demons brazenly crossing the border uninvited... The alliance had only survived this long thanks to the empire's mercy and cold calculations.
In that sense, the Turis brothers were as good as madmen.
Daring to prepare for war against the empire? Those two had lost all reason, blinded by power. If they followed these war hawks into defying the empire, Delutana and the Indomitable Legion would burn away like so much kindling—an inevitable fate.
So his secret collusion with the empire, leaking information to the Elga Church, sowing discord to block cooperation from other cities, and preparing to open the gates in surrender... All of it had been unavoidable measures to save the nation...
...After hearing that defense, the Atalain warrior's response was simple.
"...There's some truth to that."
"R-Right? Haha, unlike your half-beast leader, you're quite sharp..."
"Then go say the exact same thing in Delutana's central square and the Representative Assembly hall. I'll just report exactly what Councilor Pellico and Leader Goltaran told me."
"..."
Ramulek's face crumpled like rotten fruit.
Express such views now, in these times of war preparations? Best case, he'd be summarily beheaded. Worst case, his entire clan wiped out across three generations.
The traitorous councilor was being hauled away by the warrior. His dealings with the empire fully exposed, it was too late to play innocent. No amount of pleading or flattery could pierce the warrior's ears—like reciting scriptures to iron.
His only gain was discovering that someone had ordered this tail on him.
Physical resistance was out of the question. Compared to this battle-hardened warrior, he was shorter, weaker, unarmed and defenseless. He never imagined he'd regret not bringing his loyal hounds as escorts.
If he was dragged all the way to Delutana like this... The central square would soon be renovated into an exhibition of his head—and those of his dogs and family.
In the end, Ramulek resorted to his final measure.
'If your devotion is discovered and you're on the brink of death... Recite this 'Gospel.' But take care. This 'Gospel' must be recited with utter sincerity, a desperate faith directed toward Elga...'
The method taught by the Arch Paladin he'd been in contact with—a desperate, half-doubted gambit.
"From the beginning, the rightful master who watches over this land and illuminates it with light is none other than Elga alone... He clothes the frail creatures yearning for salvation in robes of light and leads them to blessed soil..."
"...What the hell are you doing, you scum?"
Even as the warrior pressed his axe blade against Ramulek's throat, he didn't stop. Interrupt the recitation and die, he thought—this was his only path to survival. With blood-curdling desperation, he chanted the Gospel to the end.
And at last, that desperation reached... somewhere.
Whether heaven, earth, or hell, he couldn't say...
Woooong—!
...It had clearly granted tremendous power to this pathetic councilor.
Shwick—!
"Hup!"
The warrior recoiled in haste. An unidentified flash had sliced his right arm. Flesh tore open, and blood gushed from the severed muscle.
The culprit was a beam of light erupting from Ramulek's back.
Wooong, wooong, wooong...
Like seaweed or curtains—snow-white sheets of light.
Soft and undulating in appearance, yet their edges were fiercely menacing. While the summoner stood dazed, the light sheets assaulted the enemy of their own accord.
Shwick—! Slash—! Shwick—!
The warrior swiftly switched his axe for a sword to counter. But it wasn't enough.
"Urk! Grk, hrrk!"
The first blow's damage to his right arm lingered too heavily. He had one sword in his left hand; the foe wielded over a dozen flexible beams of light like whipswords. The mismatch was hopeless. In moments, his temple was gashed, his shoulder cleaved, his abdomen rent—he fell into a defensive scramble.
Resigned to mutual destruction, he discarded his sword and hurled his axe...
Whiiiir... Claaang—!
...But the moment blade met blade, the sheets sheared the axe head clean in half.
The furious sheets dove at the now-defenseless warrior. Merciless cuts raked his body, blood spraying like mist. Tendons in both arms and legs severed at last, he collapsed to his knees.
"Grk, grraaaagh..."
"..."
Even then, Ramulek couldn't grasp his senses. Yet his body moved on its own. Slowly approaching the bloodied warrior, he uttered words injected by another.
"[Heretic, repeat the 'Gospel' I recited. Do so, and your spirit and flesh shall be saved from the valley of death, clad like me in the 'Robes of Light' bestowed by Elga.]"
His voice resonated, eyes glowed faintly, sheets fluttered like wings behind him... Ramulek's form resembled an angel delivering revelation.
The warrior's reply to the saintly entreaty was simple. True to the harsh laws of the barren wilds, he resisted to the death, broken body and all.
"Raaaaagh!!"
That struggle ended in futility.
Slaaash—!
The light sheets severed his throat in an instant. Crimson blood fountained; the head of the Gospel-refuser rolled across the ground. The councilor, draped in light sheets, reverently traced the holy sign.
"[May that face remain forever twisted, that soul forever unsaved...]"
Little of the scheming traitor's personality remained in Ramulek's core. His mind fully seized by the will that granted the sheets. Doubts about all things faded thin. Blind faith in Elga swelled, along with the mission to spread the life-giving 'Gospel.'
Failure in this first proselytization was regrettable, but no cause for despair. Nearby loomed a great city teeming with unbelievers. Any who recited the 'Gospel' with desperate faith amid death's threat could be remade into vessels of Elga's will, just like this body.
Thus, the 'Holy War' would not begin at the empire-alliance border—but right here.
Woooong...
Ramulek withdrew the light sheets into his back. Then he set off toward Delutana.
A mark resembling the ten-pointed 'Stigmata' etched clearly along his spine.
War winds began to blow in earnest over Delutana.
The public rumor of the 'Holy War's' outbreak became fact via the Representative Assembly Chairman's official announcement. Those brimming with anti-empire sentiment met it with rage and excitement; most citizens with despair and resignation.
The shift to wartime footing was swift.
The ailing Assembly Chairman resigned, and veteran councilor Pellico succeeded him with overwhelming votes. The Assembly immediately mobilized additional Assembly Army troops and stockpiled war supplies. The Assembly Army and Indomitable Legion split in half—one half held in Delutana, the other dispatched to the border. Goltaran assumed generalship, leading all outbound forces.
The city's landscape changed accordingly.
War clouds hung like fog over the streets. Marching boots and clanking armor echoed ceaselessly. Citizens gathered sporadically to share useful intel and wild rumors. Luxuries sold off cheap as essentials grew scarce. Every night, desperate escapees clashed with guards in deadly cat-and-mouse near the gates.
But one place seemed largely unchanged by war or no.
Clang—! Clang—! Clang—! Whoosh...
'Old Man Ironhammer' Gullak's forge. His crew simply hammered away at molten iron without respite, same as always.
Appearances deceived, though—war's influence steadily seeped in.
"What? Ramduk, why hasn't that idiot shown up again?"
"...Seems that old man's family up and left the city yesterday, Foreman. Dubren checked last night—the whole house was empty."
"..."
Ramduk wasn't the first smith to flee the forge. Nor the last.
Delutana's smiths were exempt from conscription in wartime. In exchange, they forged weapons and gear gratis until war's end. Even dim-witted snot-nosed apprentices knew ditching citizenship for smithing elsewhere was the better deal.
Still, most held their posts—for homeland love (20%), family bonds (40%), and loyalty to fellow workers (40%). But how long that'd last was anyone's guess. Fewer hands meant heavier loads as war dragged on—murderously so.
Foreman Gullak bitterly eyed his crew.
Singed arms peeling from hot metal, smashed fingers from hammers, swollen eyes from infections... Filling deserters' gaps, none rested. At this rate, more would drop.
He wanted to shoulder all the work alone today, send the fools home to rest...
Couldn't.
Gullak finished his share and limped urgently to his workshop. A grizzled smith finally snapped.
"Hey, Foreman Gramps! Rub some more metal dust on those palms before you go! Can't you see these bastards killing themselves doing multiple shares?"
"Mercy me, how much more you gotta work this gimpy geezer to be satisfied? Push harder and my last leg shatters—calling it here to rest..."
"Pfft, lie better—spit on your tongue first. We all know you'll hole up in that nest fiddling innocent iron all day... We're swamped making usable gear—why lavish care on man-unwieldable hunks? Huh, Gramps?"
Creases doubled on Gullak's face. Forge-fire fury lit his aged eyes. Insulted over his 'masterwork,' the craftsman spoke gravely—rare for him.
"There is one, you rascal."
"...Pardon?"
"Said there's one who can wield it. Someone who could rip empire Knights barehanded if he wanted. Making this 'big one' at his request—bet he'll grin at the craftsmanship once done."
"..."
The smith looked baffled. Gullak's weapon rivaled siege rams in size. Wield it solo barehanded? That'd make him no man, but a helmeted monster.
Gullak turned away firmly, no more words.
His 'masterwork' neared completion. At least while forging it, he craved unshakable focus. Pure immersion till the end—his final wish in twilight years.
Then—someone flung open the forge's iron door.
"G-Grandpa! Grandpa! W-Wait, just a sec!"
Gullak's granddaughter, lately busy with forge chores alongside him. Face drenched in sweat despite winter—must've sprinted here.
"Grandpa!! Hek, hek... Big trouble, huge trouble!!"
"What is it, sweetie? If it's orders, we'll talk later..."
"No, not that!! We gotta flee this place now!! Out on the streets, the streets!! Something weird, somethings..."
No need to hear more. With the gate open, street screams and howls—masked before by clangor and blaze—flooded the forge vividly.
'Kyaaaaagh!!'
'Kyaagh!! Uwaaaagh!!'
—...Grrr, grrr...
The smiths startled, peering out in unison.
Soon, forge-heat sweat cooled clammy; terror-spawned chills ran spines.
Chasing Kadim's full-tilt sprint across alliance lands...
Duncan endured 48 dizzy spells, 13 bouts of vomiting, 8 gasps for air, 3 arrhythmias, 4 mild sprains, 2 blackouts, and 1 hemorrhage.
A grueling trek that'd kill any normal man. But Duncan couldn't beg to slow down.
"Haaak, haaak... Huhk, huu... M-Master... Th-this aura...?"
Shivers of demonic qi prickled his skin.
A demon nearby, it seemed. If even his dull senses caught it, Kadim surely had. Duncan wiped tears, steeling himself.
"Huu, huu... Demon 'round here, looks like... Phew... I'll empty the blood flask... Hurry, catch it, drain the blood, then onward..."
"..."
Instead, Kadim hurled his lightning bolt at some unseen distant point.
Whiiiiiir...
...Whoosh—fwoom, fwoom, fwip, thunk—!
The bolt zipped kilometers away and back in seconds, axe blade dripping demon blood. Kadim wiped it with dry grass, then deadpanned.
"Skip the blood. Keep moving."
"...Pardon?"
"Saving your family comes first, no? No other demons or beasts around—better push on quick."
"...!!!"
Like witnessing a vampire rejecting blood for fasting.
Duncan forgot to pant, mouth agape, frozen solid.