Chapter 105
Chapter 105
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 105
Chapter Title: Farewell Procession
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*
Fernandez neatly packed his gear with familiar hand movements. It had been a long time since he’d set off alone, but he was the sort who found it far more comfortable to work by himself.
If anything, the journey of the past year had been the stranger experience for him. Gaining someone’s trust, becoming someone’s comrade, fighting and protecting for others.
His true nature leaned far more toward schemes, plots, destruction, and traps. Surprisingly, even now, acting that way no longer brought him much pleasure.
- Snap.
One of the cords binding his pack snapped. Fernandez paused, gripping the cord. His heart’s vulnerability had led to this oversight. He needed to reflect on it.
Our foes are neither humans nor petty demons. Fernandez closed his eyes and drew in a breath. They are gods. Or perhaps the overlords who overcame even those gods to finally shatter the material world.
The great demons of hell. Beings so immensely powerful that they had even attained divinity.
What must one do to acquire what mortals and spiritual entities call “divinity”? There were many hypotheses, but Fernandez favored the “gravity of power” theory.
According to his hypothesis, when the density of power concentrated in a single being reached its extreme, the raging forces within would collapse its structure, and in that furnace, divinity would take root.
Thus, contrary to popular imagination, divinity was not the antithesis of hellish magic. It was simply a very pure form of “power.”
- Rustle.
Fernandez tied a secure knot with practiced ease and slung the pack over his shoulder. The bulging bundle pressed heavily down on him.
‘To defeat a being powerful enough to have attained divinity, I cannot grow complacent.’
Comfort, ease, mercy, altruism, empathy, pride—all such frail elements would offer no aid in the final battle to come.
Fernandez exhaled shortly and steeled his resolve. Nothing new about it. He lifted the tent flap and stepped out toward the night sky, where stars seemed to cascade in waves.
Nothing new at all.
In his entire life, he had never once acted without resolve.
*
In front of the tent, Partak waited, holding a purple cloak in his hands. He gave Fernandez a quick once-over and let out a small sigh of admiration.
“You look every bit the wanderer of the great wilderness, my lord.”
“What brings this on?”
“With my lord setting off alone on a long journey, how could I, as your retainer, fail to see you off?”
Partak chuckled and handed him the cloak. It was a rough blanket woven from thick wool. As Fernandez took it, Partak whispered,
“It’s an artifact that hides you from the eyes of gods and demons. It seems you’ll need it more than I now.”
“I’ll take it gratefully. I’ll return it.”
“Use it as you see fit, and discard it anywhere when you no longer need it.”
Partak chuckled again. Fernandez nodded curtly.
“Do you remember your role?”
“Division and counsel. I do.”
“My expectations for you are high, so don’t betray me.”
“Heh heh, my lord. With a chain around my heart, you speak of betrayal?”
Partak could still feel the restraint on his heart. A single gesture from Fernandez, and his long life would end then and there.
Yet he found it enjoyable. It meant Fernandez still needed him—and that Fernandez was no apostle of god or hero, but one of his own kind.
A being of great power and charisma, with no end to his abilities in sight.
Partak secretly judged him to be a great demon, or perhaps a demon duke of equal stature. In that case, what Fernandez sought would ultimately align with his own goals.
“Take good care of Kirhas.”
“That foolish woman will just laugh along in blissful ignorance.”
What Fernandez had instructed Partak to do was sow division and conflict, then offer counsel. Kirhas still lacked competent advisors to take her side or a political foundation to support her.
But Partak could provide all that. He was a grand sorcerer who had addicted hawkish elders to narcotics and bound them with mana restraints from the shadows, a politician who had operated in this beastkin tiger alliance for a span countable on one hand.
His weakness, however, was his utter lack of support among the warriors. Fernandez had instructed him to leverage that very point to aid Kirhas.
-Play the villain.
-Gladly.
The more Partak openly opposed Kirhas, the more forces against him would flock to her. And Kirhas’s own opposition would likewise fall under Partak’s command.
Once the beastkin tiger alliance stabilized that way, both Kirhas’s faction and its opposition would end up in Fernandez’s grasp.
“Where will you strike first?”
“We’ll conquer the eastern dovish tribes. Word on the street is some fool calling himself the rival great chieftain has appeared. Heh heh, idiots.”
“And the Empire?”
“That young spear-wielder has left. The Empire won’t antagonize our tribal alliance for a while, my lord.”
“That’s excellent. If you’re hitting the east first, leave the Apogartep dynasty for the next move.”
“It will be done as you wish.”
Partak bowed deeply and withdrew. Fernandez wrapped himself in the cloak Partak had given him and vanished into the darkness, heading toward the wasteland beyond.
*
Slipping away from the camp without drawing eyes was child’s play for him. Over the past few days, Fernandez had mapped every alleyway in his mind, even the tiniest, and cataloged every person by their range of movement and active hours.
Yet he halted upon spotting a silhouette leaning casually against the side gate at the camp’s edge.
“Kirhas.”
“Benefactor.”
In the darkness, turquoise eyes gleamed. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what had changed in her since acquiring Kadan’s golden mask, but her inner self was growing ever more feral.
Her eyes shone with the sharp, savage light of a predator moments before the hunt. Kirhas simply gazed at Fernandez.
“It’s late. Not the time for a stroll.”
“You belong here, Kirhas. They need you. And you need them.”
“No, benefactor.”
- Rustle.
Kirhas took one step out from the camp entrance. Under the torchlight, she stood fully equipped for a long journey.
Fernandez clicked his tongue briefly.
“Don’t follow me.”
“Why not?”
“What?”
“Do you remember that dawn, benefactor? You said purpose matters more than reason. If you want me to stay, don’t give me a reason—give me a purpose here.”
“You’re not a child anymore, Kirhas. It’s time you acted on your own.”
“Hah.”
Kirhas lowered her head. Black hair spilled like silk, veiling her face. A deep sigh—and at its end—
Through the strands of her hair, a beast’s eyes gleamed.
“I’ll act on my own, benefactor. I won’t let you go.”
“You’ll oppose me?”
“If I must.”
At her words, Fernandez flinched for a moment. Cracks spiderwebbed across his mask-like impassive face.
“Excellent, Kirhas.”
He was smiling. Looking upon the seed of a hero departing his fold, he felt a thrilling emotion.
That’s how a hero should be. Kirhas Hearttaker, the undefeated shield of the western great wilderness, could not remain trapped in someone’s shadow.
“Draw your weapon. Let me see how much you’ve grown before I go.”
“...I don’t want to let you go, benefactor.”
- Shing.
Kirhas’s hand moved slowly, her sharp Dein Kingdom longsword reflecting the moonlight.
*
- Crunch!
Kirhas’s sword raked viciously through the air. As Fernandez parried and deflected her assault, her eyes flashed, and her wrists crossed swiftly.
- Screech!!
The crossed blades locked onto his greatsword’s edge, sliding flexibly along it to exploit the gap. A swift, precise counter. Fernandez jerked his head aside to evade the blade.
- Sring!
Fernandez’s greatsword traced a wide arc, deflecting Kirhas’s attack. He snapped the shortened grip, swinging it in a massive circle before her!
- Clang!
Kirhas pulled back until her crossguard nearly touched, batting away Fernandez’s sword.
‘A clash?!’
It didn’t match Kirhas’s usual attack patterns at all. And to attempt a clash despite the difference in weapons?
From the force, mass, and weapon disparity, Kirhas was flung back three steps before regaining her stance. Mana visibly coursed through her body.
“Why?”
“Hah...”
Why attempt a contest of strength? Fernandez started to ask, then stopped as Kirhas slowly sheathed her blade. A familiar stance.
Not human swordsmanship, nor knights’, nor ronin’s. Keeping the body’s centerline as low to the ground as possible, exhaling half a breath, gripping the sheathed hilt tightly...
‘Elf swordsmanship...!’
It was the elven iaijutsu!
‘A genius, as expected...’
She hadn’t learned elven swordsmanship systematically. She must have naturally absorbed and mastered it through battles with elves.
Her growth had been slow until now, not quite reaching that level of mastery—but no longer. Kirhas’s movements, wit, and reflexes were honed to razor sharpness.
She perfectly mirrored the elven iaijutsu stance, silently glaring at him.
Like a lion coiling just before the pounce. An immense pressure bore down.
‘Well done, Kirhas. Now I can set my mind at ease.’
Fernandez loosened his grip on the hilt and slowly raised his sword.
“Come.”
He smiled, meeting the fiercely burning eyes of Kirhas.
*
Fernandez chuckled, touching the shallow cut on his neck. Her hesitation had ultimately stayed her blade. Kirhas’s strike had reached him first, but it hadn’t driven deeper.
The same went for him. He’d lightly struck her shoulder with his flat, disarming her, then sheathed his sword.
- Shing.
Kirhas looked silently down at her fallen sword.
“In a real fight, I would have won, benefactor.”
“In a real fight, we wouldn’t have fought like this, Kirhas.”
“...Excuses.”
“Same to you.”
Fernandez laughed and placed a hand atop her head. Kirhas’s ears flattened low, emitting a soft whine.
“...Am I a burden?”
“No.”
“Then why go alone, benefactor? Don’t. I need you. You say I need them? I...”
- Grab.
Kirhas raised a hand, clutching the sleeve covering her head. Her hand trembled faintly.
“Don’t give me a reason, benefactor. Give me a purpose. The purpose that kept me alive, that brought me here, that let me reach this point—it was you.”
Fernandez looked down at her. Kirhas met his gaze. His eyes smiled warmly at her teary ones.
“You’re wrong, benefactor. I don’t belong to them. I belong to you. Not the Inquisition, not the pantheon. To you.”
“Thank you.”
- Rustle.
Fernandez stroked her head firmly once, then withdrew his arm. Feeling it slip from her grasp, Kirhas let out a short “Ah” of a sigh.
“I want you to become their purpose, Kirhas. As you were mine. And don’t say that again.”
He lightly touched his forehead to hers, then pulled away. Looking into her watery turquoise eyes, he spoke shortly and firmly.
“This isn’t goodbye forever, is it?”
Then, without hesitation, he turned away. Kirhas watched his receding back and sighed.
“I’m afraid it feels like goodbye forever, Fernandez Cerned.”
*
- Quite the dramatic farewell, Fernandez.
‘If I don’t do it now, I’ll regret it.’
- No more lingering regrets?
‘Almost none.’
With such sloppy sentiments, the path ahead—which held no kindness for him—would be unforgiving. From here on, he had to sever what attachments he could and press forward alone.
One final obstacle remained.
Beyond the camp, across the vast wasteland. Along a narrow trail ahead. Beside a lonely watchtower overlooking the wastes, near the campfire flickering below.
Abel gazed at the stars.
- They’re appearing one by one, aren’t they?
‘She probably coordinated it. Abel’s that kind of woman.’
A woman thoughtful enough not to intrude on his farewell with Kirhas, yet aware enough to vaguely grasp the picture he was painting.
So this was not waiting to obstruct his journey. It was waiting to bless it.
Abel smiled at the approaching Fernandez.
“You’ve come.”