Chapter 237
Chapter 237
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 237
Chapter Title: The Star That Turned Its Back on the Light (5)
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Defeat hurts down to the bone. For an Atalan, who fears defeat and subjugation more than death itself, it hurt all the more.
Goltaran glanced around with eyes dead black.
"Kuh... kuh... "
"Hahk, hahk, hack, kuh... "
"......"
One clutched his half-torn wrist dangling loosely; another barely stuffed his guts back into his protruding abdomen; yet another trailed shredded veins from his gouged-out eyeball... These wretchedly wounded soldiers weren't mere battlefield casualties strewn about like commonplace scenery. Each and every one was like a brother or son to him—his subordinates.
The shamans of the wilderness fervently invoked healing rites, but the effects were underwhelming. At best, the crushed herbs they'd smeared on stanched the bleeding and clung to life.
Goltaran himself was in no great shape either. One arm was broken from the flail's blow, and his back muscles were torn purple. But the wounds of the heart outweighed those of the flesh. They hadn't even properly stood against the enemy before fleeing; countless subordinates had lost their lives or suffered grievous injuries—all because of his own recklessness and misjudgment.
The foolish general hadn't fought a true 'struggle,' nor upheld the great warrior's 'mission of salvation.' In fact, the allied forces had avoided annihilation and saved half their number thanks to the enemy.
"How fares the body, oh general who leads the legions?"
From the darkness emerged Yebril, the blind shaman.
This was a ritual space beyond the stone slabs, one of the ruins inhabited by the wilderness shamans. Yebril had suddenly reappeared and led them here, allowing them to shake off the holy army's pursuit and barely find refuge.
The place wasn't unfamiliar. Goltaran simply couldn't comprehend this shaman's actions at all.
"......The bones holding my soul ache far worse than those of the flesh. Anyway, it's about time you explained."
"......"
"What in the blazes happened, Yebril...? How did you make it here alone, sightless as you are?"
Yebril slowly raised her head in silence.
The eyes are windows to the soul, through which people peer into each other's hearts. Guessing the inner thoughts of one whose windows are sealed is no easy task. Staring blankly at the cloth covering her eyes, a lonely, serene murmur drifted down.
"A voice called to me."
"......A voice?"
"Yes. Frail as a bird's chirp trapped in an egg, piteous as a mute's whistle buried in sand. That voice sensed my desperation and summoned me. But before it called, I yearned for it—so in the end, I followed the echolocation like a bat groping through a cave."
The eerie words tickled his ears. This wasn't Yebril's usual manner of speech.
"What nonsense is that? Did a shaman from this ruin call you?"
"Words flowing from lips don't make them the source of the sound. That poor daughter of the wilderness had long been trapped in a drawer like a lost letter, mere envoy for one who lingers through endless years without promise."
"......So the shaman was just a messenger, and someone else truly called you? Then who is this 'one who lingers through endless years without promise'?"
"When an echo fades, its trace is void no matter where sought. The shaman fulfilled her mission and returned to dust; her message delivered and scattered. Pointless to reveal the source now. But since we resonated as sounding boards for a time, it might be truer to say it was I."
"......"
A riddle-like exchange that would frustrate most. But Goltaran was accustomed to such talk. The shamans who had returned to dust under the great warrior's judgment always spoke this way.
This was the manner of speech of the 'true shamans of the wilderness,' awakened to wielding divine power.
Goltaran wondered if she could now wield proper rites. A silent affirmation came soon after.
Had she received teachings from the ancient shaman and achieved great awakening? Either way, it was welcome news, however late. Even with potent rites' aid, the dead couldn't be revived... but venturing out for vengeance against Elga's star was feasible.
Yet Yebril firmly dissuaded him.
"Do not think of leaving the ruins to face the enemy for the time being."
"......What do you mean? We must finish our revenge and pay the blood debt for our fallen brothers."
"Atala bade courage, not recklessness. In your broken-armed, battered state, you cannot stand against that formidable foe."
"I've fought even when my entire arm was severed, my body crumbling—not against some Elga star, but far stronger adversaries. This injury is nothing..."
"And did you win those fights?"
"......"
"Did you claim a victory worthy of the Father of the Wilderness, one without shame?"
No, he hadn't. The once-summoner of Atala's divine relic, Agon's Furious Horn, had barely eked out a narrow win against a rampaging berserker and suffered utter defeat to a merchant who'd staked his life.
Goltaran gazed at Yebril with confused eyes.
The shaman he met again was utterly alien. Her timid frailty had vanished clean away, cloaked now only in sharp authority emanating from unfathomable dignity, like frost on thorns.
"Who... are you? Are you truly Yebril?"
"......"
"Answer me. What was the name of the vile circus master who once enslaved you? How did you escape his clutches?"
The blind shaman answered the test of her identity without hesitation.
"The one who enslaved me was Yubik Agrámendus, king of the arena. A certain benefactor who visited Agon... burned all the slave contracts, freeing me."
"......"
Correct. But Goltaran couldn't shake his doubts. Her aura had flipped so completely that even the right answers and familiar face felt off.
Especially her eyes. With that jaundiced cloth over the windows to her soul, he couldn't read her at all.
Yet she seemed to pierce right through him with... another pair of eyes.
*
Time had passed since taking refuge in the ancient shaman's ruins.
What had happened to Yebril remained unclear, but one thing was certain: she had become a shaman of exceptional prowess.
Already a gem of rare quality, she had now reached heights rivaling the ancient shamans. Under her guidance, the other wilderness shamans began mastering true rites. Thanks to herbs cultivated through sorcery yielding 'simplified elixirs,' Goltaran and the wounded entered recovery.
But facing the enemy remained impossible.
It was a fight with no answer. How could they confront the holy army and mighty Elga's star barehanded?
The trauma left by the 'Star that Calls for Peace' ran deep. The allies still reeled from helplessly losing brothers and comrades. Some harbored will to face the foe to the end with a single axe, but none wished to die like livestock slaughtered unarmed.
Their sole hope was rites to seal powers at the source. Yet even Yebril couldn't block absurd miracles like the 'stigmata's' power. And even if they slew the 'Star that Calls for Peace,' another 'star' remained...
Days of cowering in hiding dragged on. But doom was foretold.
Rumble rumble rumble...
One day, the ceiling shook violently. Goltaran and Yebril knew it had come.
"......Elga's shooting star must've found us."
"......"
Destroy the stone slabs, and the ruins fall. Elga's star knew they hid here—and had long since realized it. Transferred shocks from the slabs hammered the ritual space.
Rumble, ruuuumble—!!
"E-everyone, take cover!! The ceiling's collapsing!!"
"Kyaaaaah!!"
Soon walls and ceiling crumbled, revealing the outside. Before the lined-up holy soldiers stood the giant wielding a pigeon-shaped flail. Warriors, soldiers, shamans, serving women—everyone in the ruins froze in terror and dread.
A dead-end with no escape. Goltaran made his choice.
Sacrifice his life for mutual destruction with Elga's star.
"......Those still bearing 'Atala's divine relic,' come to me."
The Indomitable Legion warriors' eyes widened like lightning-struck.
When he'd claimed the title of great warrior, Goltaran had shared the 'divine relic' summoned via the novice 'Judgment of Atala' with his men. Its energy had fierce side effects, unusable daily. But as a last resort staked on death, it unleashed destructive might.
'Judgment of Atala' had returned to its rightful owner, but some subordinates still held that energy. Harnessed, they could face Elga's star weaponless to some degree.
Of course, Goltaran wasn't ordering their sacrifice.
"Surrender all your 'Atala's divine relic' to me."
"......!!"
"I'll hold off the holy army and Elga's star alone. Meanwhile, lead the shamans to Delutana and request aid from the Demon Slayer."
Under the harsh laws of the barren wilderness and the banner of the Indomitable Legion, the chieftain's command was absolute as a war god's oracle.
But this time, they couldn't accept it. To abandon the leader who'd devoted his life to kin, granting them meaningful struggles...? For the first time, the legion warriors disobeyed, refusing, insisting they'd hold the line instead.
No, it went beyond words.
"General. From Agon to here, it was an honor to struggle under you."
"......What?"
"Glory to Atala. And yet still, glory to our legion's leader."
One warrior thumped his chest with his fist. Then swiftly raised his battle axe.
Whooooosh—!!
Yellowish mist rose, 'Atala's divine relic' enshrouding his form. He charged straight through the wall without hesitation.
The other warriors, seeing this, resolved likewise, thumping their chests fiercely.
"Such a pitiful battlefield ill suits one like you to bury your bones."
"Yes, we'll block that vile Elga star. Lead our remaining brothers and kin, General."
"General, thank you sincerely for leading us beyond the arena's iron bars. Now, we go ahead to meet the Father of the Wilderness."
"What are you saying, you fools...!!"
"May we reunite in a place of endless war and revelry. Glory to Atala, and ever... glory to our eternal leader."
Whooooosh—!!!
No time to stop them. The warriors summoned Atala's divine relic in unison. Becoming self-immolating yellowish projectiles, they charged out of the ruins with spears, swords, and axes.
"Atalaaaa—!!"
"Atalaaaaa—!!!"
Watching, Paxstan the 'Star that Calls for Peace' gave a disdainful look.
"Pointless strife only breeds hatred... Love 'peace,' you foolish lot."
Gwoooooong—!!
The flail smashed the ground. White waves blanketed all. Once more, weapons slipped from hands like illusions.
Clang, claaang! Cliiiing...
This time, the warriors didn't flee. Bare-bodied, they lunged ferociously. Desperately grabbing ankles, swinging fists, kicking. Their struggle bore fruit, briefly halting the 'star' and landing blows.
But enduring the relic's extreme backlash long was impossible.
Crunch, cruuuunch—!!
One by one, bodies collapsed into gruesomely crushed meat chunks.
One life for mere seconds bought—life's flames guttered out in vain trade.
Goltaran froze. He watched blankly as cold blood clumps formed the final sight of decades-long comrades. A blind shaman's whisper roused his fading mind.
"......One who sits idle after losing a finger loses toes too. Steel yourself and lead the survivors, General."
*
Kadim suddenly came to.
"......?"
It was truly sudden. As if submerged at the crimson blood sea's bottom, then abruptly surfacing to consciousness.
Unfamiliar scenery unfolded. Bleak winter winds whipped a hazy blood-scented plain. Seeing Goltaran's letter in his left hand and empty flask in his right pieced it together.
'Right, heading to the central front to smash Elga's star... Then an irresistible urge hit, I chugged a flask of demon blood, and memory blacked out...'
He didn't seem to have rampaged in frenzy. Mallet head and hands were spotless. But the blackout like heavy drinking brought profound unease and anxiety. What if he unwittingly went mad and raged later...?
Beyond vague dread, a immediate problem arose: he had no idea where he was.
Memory cut, sense of direction reset—he couldn't gauge the central front's direction. No passersby or villages nearby to ask... Damn Elga's eye hung midday in the sky... And he'd left the merchant guide in Delutana...
But one sign pointed the way.
The relic from the fake archaeologist: the stone tablet tracking 'ruins.'
Humm, humm, humm—
The embedded gem shone, a light beam indicating somewhere. Its intensity suggested the ruins weren't far.
Truthfully, no urgent need to rush to the shaman's ruins. He hadn't gotten blood good enough for tattooing yet, and strictly, smashing Elga's star took priority.
But no real reason not to go. Lost anyway, and leaving now would leave the shaman waiting endlessly. The 'needling tool' could wait...
And perhaps... clues to Cyril's whereabouts.
Kadim decided.
Humm, humm, humm—!
Following the stone tablet's beam, he resolutely headed for the ruins.