Chapter 121
Chapter 121
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 121
Chapter Title: Three of Five
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*
Necropolis Conclave. From the Ivory Citadel era, Mumto had meticulously selected and revived these five servants from among the many emperors who left their mark on history.
Tutan Gartep, Conqueror of Ptah. Rabirata, Queen of Memhipa. Apotazar, the Living God of Miturna. Altarac, Sorcerer-King of Mahras. High Priest Paptet.
Rulers of the Undercatacombs, arrogant emperors. Their self-esteem had been so unyielding that even Mumto had nearly sealed away their reason, using them as puppets.
Yet even after losing most of their innate powers and reduced to marionettes, they possessed capabilities far beyond other wraiths.
Necropolis was never a group of wraiths loyal to Mumto. It was merely a collection of puppets subjugated by his overwhelming power and authority.
But now, in this era. With Mumto's influence and authority drastically diminished, the revived Conclave moved according to their own ambitions and goals, freely wielding most of the powers they held in life.
'However.'
Fernandez felt the scar on his wrist and smiled. Even when all five Conclave members had attacked him simultaneously, they could not stand against him.
Fernandez was no longer the great archmage Feizashi Wildcast. And yet.
'No one can match me in this operation except for Time itself.'
Time alone. Fernandez's blue eyes flickered. Tutan Gartep stood arrogantly, looking down at him. The weight of his gaze pressed down with a prickling intensity.
Even he had to admire it. Nearly two thousand years. Considering the endless time that being had spent as a lackey in Necropolis, it was astonishing that such reason and pride remained.
Especially when even King Dane of the Dane dynasty—one of history's greatest heroes—had been driven mad by the curse of undeath after a mere fifteen hundred years. The pharaohs' sanity was on another level.
'Other wraiths merely endured that time after losing their reason...'
The Conclave had endured it with their reason intact, under Mumto's curse, as his servants for that interminable span.
-No. Is that really reason?
'What?'
-Pride. Ambition. Greed. Or fragments of madness, in other words.
Their towering self-esteem simply denied their own madness. At Feizashi's words, Fernandez recalled the great warrior's saying.
*
In this twisted world, how many truly possess untainted reason? Everyone just cloaks their madness in decorum.
*
'I see.'
Not decorum, but arrogance masking their madness... Even so, Fernandez paid respect to those resilient souls.
'I'll do my best.'
So. He formed hand seals. Using the last remnant of hellfire mana. The optimal spell for his current situation.
*
A black halo ignited behind the intruder's head. If Tutan Gartep still had skin, he would have scowled. He held deeply negative views on black magic and sorcery.
[Foolish tricks.]
-Shing.
Tutan Gartep was not versed in magic. His imperial studies included only basic spells. He had never pursued it as a serious discipline.
Yet kings had much to beware. To protect the great god's descendant and royal blood from wicked mages, sorcerers, and priests scheming to seize the throne by stripping away reason, extensive preparations were needed.
Thus, the pharaohs of the Ivory Citadel adorned their bodies with countless protective talismans. Not a single one among the myriad ornaments covering them was anything less than top-tier.
Magic was, at its core, about preparation and refinement. What mystery could such crude, frontal spells contain? How could ancient mysteries honed over two thousand years be undone?
-Step.
Pharaohs did not run. They never hurried. No matter how pressing the time or dire the situation. Tutan Gartep did not rush. He drew his curved sword from its scabbard on the terrace and took one deliberate step forward.
-Roar!
Fernandez's left hand twisted unnaturally. A simple mantra, a simple incantation.
"Decay."
-Crack!
At the same moment, one protective talisman on the pharaoh's body tore free and shattered. Astonishing, but that was all. It was far from enough to stop him.
"Futile efforts, sorcerer."
-Sizzle.
Fernandez's left hand reshaped and twisted in an instant. From the newly formed mantra, a black lightning bolt shot forth, striking the pharaoh directly.
"Confusion."
[Is this the extent of your loyalty, great warrior? Such paltry attempts?]
The pharaoh paid no mind to the talisman peeling from his body. He could endure curses of this caliber all day.
But Fernandez's hand did not stop, forming the next seal.
"Expel."
-Crack.
A talisman shattered. The pharaoh's step did not halt. Nor did Fernandez's mantra.
"Mana Theft."
-Crack.
"Nullify."
-Crrack.
"Weaken."
-Crack.
"Evil Gaze."
"Fragment of Apostasy."
"Corruption."
"Life Drain."
"Pain."
-Crrrack!
Talismans shattered. Faster and stronger with each one. Each of the pharaoh's steps left trails of scattering ornaments, as if shedding a skin.
Yet it was still not enough. Fernandez's hand seals, his curses—they could not fully neutralize the pharaoh's protections.
Five steps remained. Until his blade reached Fernandez!
"Bind."
"Fury."
Two steps. The pharaoh was confident. If that black mage with the greatsword possessed the prowess of a great warrior at his core, this strike would neutralize him.
He would demonstrate the might of the divine king. Arrogance gleamed in the pharaoh's eyes. In life, perhaps not—but now, among the undead where soul rank supplanted raw power, none surpassed his.
Thus, the worm's struggles were meaningless. The pharaoh's sword rose high.
"Sorcerer. If you will not serve in life, serve the divine king in death."
-Crack.
As talismans fell away, his body felt lighter. The pharaoh's eyes blazed. A slash he could never have unleashed in life writhed at his wrist.
And in that instant.
-Hiss.
[Foolishness to the end!]
Black mist erupted from Fernandez's body, shrouding him completely. The hellfire-infused mist was surely a curse threatening with mere contact. But this level was insufficient—
"Accelerate."
-Slash!
A hand pierced the mist. A pale, twisted right hand. The pharaoh paused mid-swing.
'Wasn't his seal with the left hand?'
-Slash!
Another hand emerged from the mist. One, two, three. Six in total!
[What sorcery is this...?]
A fleeting bewilderment. A momentary hesitation stalled the pharaoh's attack.
Six pale hands burst from the mist, each forming different mantras, black halos igniting behind them.
-Slash!
Then, the scarred left hand extended from the fog, lightly tapping the pharaoh's chest.
"Feizashi's Ring of Malice."
[...You bastard.]
In that split second, Fernandez's shimmering blue eyes locked with the pharaoh's gaze from the mist's heart—
-Crrrack!
Every protective talisman encircling the pharaoh's body shattered.
*
In the black mist born of hellfire mana, Fernandez retracted his three-headed, six-armed form and caught his breath. Hellfire spells could be used only once. The Demonica flesh constantly rejected it, sending his bloodstream surging in reverse.
But he had given his all. Fernandez closed his eyes briefly, gazing at the crumbling pharaoh. Even he couldn't strip those protections with a single spell.
[Ring of Malice]. A incantation stacking feeble curses to continuously detonate on the target's flesh. If one strong blow wouldn't suffice, layering minor spells to neutralize was optimal.
The mist cleared. Fernandez slowly rose. The pharaoh lay crumpled on the floor, eyes blazing as his ornaments scattered like unfurling wings.
-Crack.
Fernandez stepped over the fragments toward him. Seeing this, Tutan Gartep's eyes burned fiercely.
"Sorcerer. Well done. But you cannot succeed. Your plan to usurp the divine king's throne will never come to pass."
The pharaoh raised a trembling hand. Hundreds of curses exploding across his body had taken their toll. Yet he pointed to the far end of the throne room.
The terrace beyond. Clear sky stretched above the ruined city. Sunlight bathed the devastation. Mana cannons atop the walls were slowly turning their barrels outward.
The pharaoh's banner fluttered above. His legions, stationed at the city's outskirts, had finally seized the walls. Even if he died, they would never cease their vengeance.
"The divine king's legions have arrived. You are too late. Your petty rebellion, your petty magic!"
"Will you pray?"
Fernandez knelt on one knee beside the pharaoh without responding. Crushed talismans crunched under his knee.
"I offer my respect to your soul willingly. So, O king, I grant you a chance to preserve your dignity. Will you pray?"
[What... did you say?]
Confusion clouded the pharaoh's eyes. Was this one's goal not the divine throne?
"I grant you and your people freedom. I will sever the eternal bond to Mumto's spirit realm. Your ambition to return to the days when you breathed... is impossible. But I can send you free, to your god's hall."
[You claim to be stronger than that necromancer?]
"No. It means he has grown too weak."
Even maintaining the spirit realm leaves him gasping. Fernandez gazed at the pharaoh with cold, sunken eyes. The pharaoh stared back, then snapped his jaw shut.
"Tutan Gartep does not beg."
"Haha..."
"But... Tutan Gartep is the progeny of the great sun god. The afterlife hall... by his side..."
"Yes. Yes, I understand."
Fernandez smiled, placing his hand on the pharaoh's forehead. This was mutual aid. He could have seized the soul outright and absorbed its power, but he refrained.
-Waste of effort.
'The outcome is the same.'
Mumto's authority embedded in the pharaoh's body. Absorbing that remnant was inevitable. Feizashi would have taken it more simply and efficiently.
But Fernandez was content with neutralizing him. Hand on Tutan Gartep's forehead, he closed his eyes.
"Holy Pantheon, bless us. Here your servant departs for your hall."
"Tutan Gartep does not submit..."
"Hush. O faithful one."
Fernandez chuckled softly, tapping the forehead. Soon, the light faded from the pharaoh's eyes. True rest this time. Fernandez prayed quietly and rose.
Kaharepher, who had watched, approached.
[Has the divine king found peace?]
"As you see."
[But what of them? No matter your prowess, how will you face the legions?]
The pharaoh's legions swept from the walls toward the palace, mopping up remnants. Shaxis... would have fled on their own. They excelled at assessing battles and escaping.
Thus, this city had to go where it belonged.
"Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust."
Fernandez whispered, examining his soul. Feizashi's remnant. King Dane's remnant. And Paptet's soul mingled from the Dane Kingdom.
Altarac's soul, absorbed in Mosat City. And Mumto's authority held by the newly rested Tutan Gartep.
"Three of the five Conclave absorbed."
-You've secured a majority of the Undercatacombs council.
Feizashi cackled. Yes. Fernandez smiled back and headed to the terrace.
"I'll open the gateway to Necropolis."
Mana shells pounding the palace had thinned the boundary between spirit realm and material world. Fernandez saw countless shimmering mirages ahead.
The spirit realm's veil. Overlaid on the material world. Mumto's traces. Chains extending deep underground.
The time to sever that ring had come. To slay the archdemon.
-Something even I couldn't achieve in life...
'He's weakened—honestly, we got lucky.'
-Exactly. I was never lucky in life.
'What are you talking about?'
Fernandez chuckled. He had always been fortunate. Surviving. Gaining lifelong bonds, fathering a child.
Even now, with the chance to undo his final regret. He would remain profoundly lucky.