Chapter 235
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 235
Chapter Title: The Star That Turned Its Back on the Light (3)
In war, the weak who don't wield spear or sword receive no respect.
That held true even for a woman of the wilderness clans. No matter how disciplined the unit, she couldn't expect courteous treatment there—and in a place where discipline had collapsed entirely, she'd be reduced to a plaything for unspeakable horrors.
But here in the allied forces' camp, it was different.
The women of Atala were treated with more reverence than even the seasoned warriors. The clan's fighters paid them homage in accordance with the laws of the wilds, and the punitive force soldiers feared them too much to act out of line. In truth, it wasn't so surprising when one considered the ancient legends of their ancestors.
The priests of Atala who consecrated warriors with blood and tattoos, driving back demons with their sacred sorceries. The 'Wilderness Shamans' whose divine powers from Atala had returned, allowing them to carry on that legacy anew.
Yet for all the fame and deference they commanded, their abilities still felt lacking.
"Father of the Wilderness, oh, Atala... Please help us, please help us... Grant strength, uh... grant the general mighty strength..."
"Yes, mighty strength... Tremendously, tremendously mighty strength... Grant the general the power to shatter the enemy commander's spear..."
"......"
In the dim tent, Goltaran sat atop a crudely drawn ritual circle. The shamans encircling him muttered prayers that bordered on empty words.
Tzzzz, tzztzzzt—!
Astoundingly, the prayers had an effect. With a flash of yellow light, a few more strength-boosting tattoos etched themselves onto his skin. Nothing impressive, but on a battlefield where life and death hung by a single clash, it would prove useful enough.
Goltaran, however, didn't look satisfied.
In the past, he had fought alongside a 'true Wilderness Shaman.' Her mind had been shattered, but her powers alone could turn the Agon region into a wasteland and reduce the arena to rubble. It was only natural that these minor miracles fell short of his expectations.
Of course, he couldn't berate these novice shamans. Their lineage had been severed, only for divine inspiration to strike out of nowhere—they wielded their sorceries through trial and error, without traditions, artifacts, or mentors to guide them.
"...Good work. That's enough for today."
No sooner had he spoken than half the shamans collapsed in exhaustion. Goltaran sighed deeply and stepped out.
The new tattoos numbered barely three or four. He didn't need to test them to know: this wouldn't be nearly enough to stand against Elga's 'Star.'
He had known the foe would be formidable, but the veteran holy knight's strength far exceeded expectations. His overwhelming weaponry and martial prowess were backed by sheer force... and he hadn't even used 'Elga's divine artifacts' or any other abilities. It begged the question why he hadn't simply killed Goltaran and pressed into allied territory by now.
No... he had one inkling.
'Even that exalted 'Star' fears the Great Warrior, doesn't he...'
Goltaran had heard the rumors too. The 'Demon Slayer' Kadim had broken through the front lines and sent Elga's Stars into retreat. Right now, his mere presence alone held back the other Stars and the holy army from advancing.
'Hoo, if the Great Warrior were to stir... even that holy knight couldn't stand against him...'
Even so, Goltaran had no intention of seeking Kadim's aid.
He had somehow earned the grim moniker 'Border Butcher,' but he saw this battle as an extension of fulfilling the 'mission of salvation' Kadim had bestowed upon him. Holding back the empire's offensive on the front lines, protecting his subordinates from dire threats, and ultimately saving all his clansmen and allies—that was the plan.
This was the mission Kadim had given him as penance for daring to claim the title of Great Warrior. Leaning on him now because it was too much to bear would be absurd. He had to find a way to defeat that holy knight and defend the alliance on his own.
It wasn't as if there were no paths forward. Two options came to mind immediately: bolstering the shamans' capabilities somehow... or sacrificing his life for mutual destruction.
He decided to pursue the former first.
Goltaran crossed the camp. Passing soldiers who snapped crisp salutes, he headed to a tent in the corner. Amid the drifting dust, a ragged group of women revealed their faces.
"G-Goltaran, General? What brings you to such a humble place...?"
"Where's Yebril? She wasn't with the other shamans."
"P-Pardon? Lady Yebril...?"
Not all the Wilderness Shamans were amateurs. There were diamonds amid the rough. Yebril, who had been Yubik Agrámendus's slave just half a year ago, was the standout.
She possessed greater divine gifts and intuition than the others. It was thanks to her initial awakening and teachings that the shamans could even etch strength-boosting tattoos.
The problem was her congenital blindness, coupled with an extreme timidity and passivity.
She couldn't venture outside alone, let alone eat properly. She shied away from outsiders, and even her fellow shamans. To bring her to the battlefield, they had no choice but to bring every woman who had been with her since her slave days.
Fortunately, Yebril's talents warranted such special treatment. If she could dramatically improve her abilities through some breakthrough, she might uncover a way to counter Elga's 'Star.'
But the women whispered in confusion at Goltaran's question.
"Uh...? Yebril... Oh, no, Lady Yebril was definitely just earlier..."
"We escorted her right to the front of the tent and came back..."
"Yes, she said she was going to help you, General, so we brought her all the way to the shamans' tent... D-Didn't you see her there?"
"......"
Goltaran's brow twitched. He rushed out and searched the camp high and low, but found no trace. Soldiers, shamans, even the gate sentries—all were clueless about her whereabouts.
Finally, he assembled all the warriors and women, issuing a stern command.
"...Find Yebril. If anything has happened to her, those responsible will face severe punishment under military law."
To harbor resentment toward Elga's Star, the 'Decagram'.
To resent one of the 'upper-rank Decagram' above the fifth seat, no less.
For the holy army that worshipped Elga, this was an impossibility. The 'Decagram' were Elga's spears, Elga's will incarnate—the foremost agents and radiant stars risen upon the earth. By the light's tenets, it was outright blasphemy, defying Elga openly.
It wasn't just doctrine; reality backed it too. Even lower-rank 'Stars' wielded power to shatter armies alone and face multiple Arch Paladins. To voice discontent against an upper-rank 'Star' on another level... the catastrophe that would follow went without saying.
Yet in defiance of decorum, it was happening right now in the holy army's border camp.
"All for the light."
"All for the light..."
"All... for."
Holy knights and soldiers saluted the returning commander. Their voices lacked vigor, their eyes gleamed with gloomy malice. Discipline was nowhere to be found.
"......"
'Star that Pierces Truth' Hendark passed them without a word. As distance grew, a bubbling froth of grievances rose behind him.
He knew what complaints they spewed without hearing.
In truth, it would have been stranger if there were no discontent. No advances, no retreats, no settling scores with the enemy commander—just wasted time piling up. Under this indecisive leadership, sacrifices on their side mounted in the central front. If not for the great Elga's Star at the helm, mutiny from subordinates wouldn't have surprised anyone.
Hendark's young disciples were even held hostage. Dragging this out further... who knew what 'gift' the archbishop might send next.
Yet 'Star that Pierces Truth' couldn't bring himself to advance.
Not with the grave doubt lodged in his heart.
This war's true purpose wasn't to exalt Elga's glory, but to sate one wicked man's ambition and vengeance...
...So why had Elga not only withheld divine punishment from Archbishop Erensko, but granted even greater holy power and authority?
The church scriptures stated it: God's will was more profound than the deepest abyss, incomprehensible to mere mortals less than specks. Hendark had cherished that verse since childhood, wielding it as a lance to pierce human injustices. But this injustice defied all piercing.
Incomprehensible. After a lifetime of devout faith, the face of god he faced was a colossal wall of enigmas. All Hendark could do was delay the holy army's advance, staving off needless deaths.
Even that was proving impossible.
"Commander, reinforcements have arrived. Shall we greet them now?"
"...What do you mean? I don't recall requesting any."
"I sent word to His Grace via the camp priests. Shouldn't we settle things with the 'Border Butcher' before more lives are lost and press on?"
"......"
The Arch Paladin serving as deputy reported unilaterally. A clear overstep, but Hendark didn't rebuke him. Already fallen from the archbishop's favor, a commander wasting lives had neither the will nor right to discipline subordinates.
He regretted not stopping the deputy upon seeing who the reinforcements were.
"It's been a while, Star that Pierces Truth."
"......"
A gruff voice rang out. Bald head, sunken eyes and blunt nose, massive frame—they registered one by one. More golem forged of iron than man. Hendark knew this man all too well.
Decagram Ninth Seat, 'Star that Calls Peace' Paxstan El Latum Mastarius.
The holy knight holding the ninth seat among the Stars, second-in-command of the Heresy Inquisitors as a special-grade interrogator.
"Weren't you on the southern front...? How did you come to the central front?"
"The southern front has regained 'peace.' Now it's this one's turn."
"...Regained 'peace' meaning you killed all the enemies?"
"No one died. They shall live eternally."
Paxstan answered flatly, devoid of emotion.
"In the pits of hellfire, regretting forever their refusal to turn to Elga."
A dark furrow creased Hendark's brow.
The Ninth Seat was far below the Third. Before the 'Holy War,' Hendark's word alone could have upended this man's life.
But positions had reversed.
As Hendark became a discarded Star, this one rose like a shooting star with a bright future. With seventh and eighth seats vacant, he had profited to secure promotion—and as Archbishop Erensko doubled as Grand Inquisitor, he was effectively a direct subordinate.
In short, reining him in now was near impossible, no matter his deeds.
And Hendark had a weakness exposed besides.
"I've heard the rumors. Who knew you were that sort of man..."
"......"
"...Best not push forward recklessly. My stigmata's details leaking to the enemy won't matter much."
Paxstan casually brushed the stigmata on his forehead, 'Star that Calls Peace.'
Evidently, he'd heard from the archbishop about the stigmata intel leak. Hendark bit his lip, then asked in a troubled tone.
"So you'll spread 'peace' here immediately too?"
"Yes. Hearing this front was stalled. If you won't step up, I must."
"...No need. I've just been under the weather, causing a slight delay. Once recovered, I'll handle it all—so return to the rear and regroup your unit..."
"I'm not here for permission, Star that Pierces Truth."
Paxstan resolutely raised his divine weapon, 'Pacifist.' A massive mace tipped with a peace symbol... no, a dove-shaped iron weight.
"If you're unwell, just watch. I'll bring true 'peace' to the heretics forthwith."
One woman wandered a barren field not far from the battlefield.
"Haa, haa, haa..."
An Atalain woman who looked just past twenty. Her ragged breaths puffed white with each step, her white hair fluttering. No proper armor, constantly trembling in fear—she seemed utterly unsuited to traversing such perilous wilds alone.
Truthfully, the biggest issue was separate: the yellow cloth bound over both her eyes.
Yebril had been blind from birth. As compensation, perhaps, she had recently received divine inspiration to become a 'Wilderness Shaman' and earned great trust from the alliance's general... but she hadn't yet gained powers to replace her lost sight.
Three impulses had driven Yebril here.
One was her sorcery stalled by lack of teachings; another, her desire to repay the general who believed in her; and the last... a mysterious voice affectionately calling her, promising aid.
Her wandering feet reached a stone slab. Yebril knelt, tracing its uneven ancient carvings. She couldn't read them, yet she groped the reliefs as if unraveling a riddle.
Then, suddenly.
Krrrtch, krrrtchhh...
A harsh tearing of leather echoed.
The chill wind halted, thick, stale air rushed in. Musty dust filled her nostrils. Yebril hunched her shoulders, tilting her head in bewilderment.
"Wha? Wh-what..."
Soon, the voice that had guided her here resonated in her mind with crystalline will.