Chapter 122
Chapter 122
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 122
Chapter Title: The Gate to the Soul Realm, Ptahha
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*
Gods are semi-abstract entities. Sun, war, sea, fortune, commerce... The gods of the Holy Pantheon of Good Gods each oversee their own concepts, wielding influence over them.
In the same vein, the great demons are also semi-abstract entities. Wrath, corruption, nightmares, curses, depravity. They do not each claim a single concept, but they infuse those ideas into their very modes of action.
‘Thus. The gate to the soul realm is conceptual.’
There was no way a material gate would exist in something called a gateway. Fernandez gazed down at the advancing legions of wraiths and extended his arm.
‘Matter is an illusion.’
At least in this moment, in this place. The destruction from the mana cannons had even affected the rifts between dimensions. Right now, this city was more unstable in its dimensional balance than any other region.
‘If I wished, I could even reach the halls of the pantheon.’
The Holy Pantheon of Good Gods, all the way to the hells beneath the earth. If the material world was the layer sandwiched between dimensions, then this space was like a sponge riddled with holes, wildly sucking in the concepts and influences from other realms.
‘Therefore...’
-Whoosh...
Fernandez exhaled deeply. It wasn’t something he relished. Even for him, hardened by physical torment and mental torture, the horrific sensation of his soul being split to the root and reassembled was unwelcome.
But it was necessary. Fernandez slipped his hand into his bosom. Cold steel met his palm.
-Shing...
A blade sharp enough to slice air emerged from his bosom. The Necropolis dagger. A weapon long exposed to the holiest blood of any material in this era.
To cast magic? To carve the soul? There were surely more comfortable methods with fewer side effects. Yet the reason he had been carving souls and wounding his own body with this dagger until now was...
‘For this very moment!’
He never committed to a single gambit. From the moment he first obtained this dagger, he had forged it into a key to the Necropolis. He had tempered its blade in his own blood.
The blood of a saint flows with divinity. And divinity is a power closer to concept than any material force. Mana, physical might—even those take on more tangible forms compared to divinity.
Gods are semi-abstract entities. And their constituent particles symbolize concepts. The divinity flowing in Fernandez’s blood represented Beitasser’s ‘war,’ ‘victory,’ and ‘justice’!
-Craaaack!
He held the dagger upright and thrust it into the shimmering barrier of the soul realm before his eyes! The blade lodged precisely into that barrier—which no physical impact could ever breach—and began to grind away.
The blade, tempered in sacred blood, started to shatter and crumble. Fernandez gritted his teeth against the violent backlash. His heart pounded madly, and the hand gripping the blade felt crushed.
-CRUNCH.
His right wrist twisted in an impossible direction. He braced it with his left hand atop it, glaring at the widening gap with bloodshot eyes.
-Thump, thump, thump!
His heart warned of his soul’s condition. Being drawn into the soul realm was, in the best terms, an intrusion. More accurately, it was tantamount to death.
The path to the afterlife always required crossing death’s door. The undulating barrier of the soul realm split open, and an murky green light poured out from within, flooding toward Fernandez.
His flesh weakened upon contact with the light. The immortal stigmata flashed wildly. Getting any closer would be unwise. This was—
“Respect my choice, Beitasser!!”
Death? Fine, he would gladly die. Come! He would die joyfully! Fernandez roared toward the heavens, veins bulging in his neck. If he could slay a great demon with a mortal body, he would stake his life on it!
If he succeeded, if he could kill the bastard! If he could teach that monster reborn as the god of death what true death meant.
‘I can return.’
-Theoretically.
Even Feizashi Wildcast’s voice was tense, for once. Death was unfamiliar territory to both Fernandez and Feizashi. Feizashi had regressed just before dying, and Fernandez bore the blessing that death itself rejected.
Yet in this moment, they had agreed to venture into the unknown.
-SPLASH!!
The veil of the soul realm tore in half. Beyond the terrace, a stepping stone now bridged the soul realm and the material world. And in the aftermath—
-KABOOOM—
The city began to crumble. Back into the domain of Muto where they rightfully belonged. All existences atop it fragmented into sand and dust, scattering away.
Everything born from Muto’s domain was returning to him. As the soul realm’s barrier collapsed, every element binding them to the material world dissolved into concepts and dispersed.
-RUMBLE RUMBLE!!
Buildings sank deeper into the earth. Streets, canals, even the massive ramparts. A colossal sinkhole began devouring the city. The city poured into the abyss and cliffs below.
Deep underground. Amid the crumbling sand falling into that distant depth, a swirling murky green light consumed everything.
Like an antlion pit. At the bottom of the radial crater, at the fan-shaped edge, the maw of the soul realm’s entrance yawned, swallowing all.
[Is this our end?]
From behind him, Kaharepher’s voice echoed. Fernandez looked down at the city cascading toward the ground and said.
“The end of the end. My friend. I will surely—”
-RUMBLE RUMBLE BOOM!!
Before he could finish, the terrace he stood on—and even the palace—crumbled and collapsed underground. Fernandez’s eyes widened as he glared at the soul realm’s gate rushing toward him at tremendous speed.
‘Wait for me, Muto.’
He wasn’t one for gambling. But this was a dice roll wagering himself and all his possibilities.
Just one with fairly good odds.
*
“Hold the rear guard! Protect the tail! Don’t scatter!!”
Kirhas split the skull of an approaching skeleton and kicked away the spear thrusting straight at her. The spearhead shattered and flew off.
“Rally! Rally to me! Scattering means death!”
She was like something born for war itself. Like combat given form. She deflected swords, kicked shields, snapped spears. She swept through the battlefield like a whirlwind.
The retreat was in full swing. The most crucial point of any withdrawal was maintaining formation. The difference between a retreating army and a routed one lay in whether they held their lines.
If the main body broke now, recovery would be impossible. For her and the beastkin tiger tribe alliance, defeat equated to failure.
The tiger tribe alliance held together on the threadbare legitimacy of their great chieftain, chosen by the gods.
For them, there was no room for excuses after defeat. Victory. Their legitimacy could only be proven through triumph.
-CRACK!!
She shattered an incoming sword, her turquoise eyes flashing fiercely. She fought using both arms, both legs—even her tail if needed.
The most vital moment in a retreat was buying time so the rear wouldn’t be devoured by the enemy vanguard. No matter that they were undead, combat couldn’t last forever. Even they consumed their bodies with every move.
‘If we hold out just that long, we have a chance!’
The battlefield all the elders called a ‘death post.’ The guerrilla unit guarding the rearmost of the retreating formation. Kirhas had volunteered for it herself.
It was like tightrope walking. A high-wire act balancing life and victory on either side. A razor’s edge where she’d gain everything or lose it all!
Only by overcoming such moments would legitimacy—and qualification—be granted to her.
“Don’t fall back!”
“Great Chieftain! We must retreat! Skeletons everywhere!”
“No.”
Kirhas’s blue eyes fixed straight ahead. The blue path. A deep blue... like Fernandez’s eyes, a blue path unfurled before her.
The path to her lord. No—
“Victory lies straight ahead.”
The path to victory.
“Have you lost your mind? That’s the heart of the enemy lines! We need to fall back to the main body!”
“If we retreat from here, can we win?”
“We can survive.”
“Would you live one year as slaves? Or one day as free beastkin alongside me?”
Kirhas’s eyes blazed like a lion’s. The petite catfolk girl was gone. The beastkin fighting to guard her now sensed an unprecedented presence.
A radiant light descended around her head. Beneath the blazing sun of the wild plains, the ornate mask of an ancient god gleamed.
-Click.
Kirhas slowly placed Kadan’s mask over her head. Whoosh. Hot breath swirled beneath it. Her breath, sweat, and blood were trapped inside.
It was the scent of the hunt. Blood, victory, vengeance—the hunt’s aroma. The instinct of the ancient god who had sworn to hunt evil for eternity began to awaken slowly.
-Thump.
Her heartbeat mimicked the god’s cry. She could feel her snarling heart. With it, a ferocious energy surged through her veins.
[Serve me.]
‘No.’
-Shing.
She discarded the broken sword and drew the next. Beneath the mask, Kirhas’s turquoise eyes blazed.
‘You serve me.’
And her body shot straight forward.
*
“We won...?”
“Say that again. The enemy’s retreating...?”
The elders commanding the refugees from the vanguard stared blankly at the soldier who had raced up from the rear, murmuring in disbelief. The soldier was drenched in blood and sweat, gasping for breath.
“The great chieftain slaughtered every priest and general in the heart of their lines. Their formation’s crumbling, and they’re falling back to their main body.”
“...Hah.”
The elders gaped wordlessly at the soldier’s face. Bartas, walking beside them, laughed heartily and clapped their shoulders.
“Well, looks like a hero’s emerged in our time.”
“Not exactly welcome news, Chieftain.”
Partak scowled as he responded.
“Why? Scared the elders’ influence’ll shrink? Come on, High Priest of the God of the Hunt. Shouldn’t you be thrilled?”
“...Sharp edges draw stones. The rival great chieftains’ council’ll bare their fangs now.”
This victory was for survival. Of course it was welcome... Partak clicked his tongue as he glanced back at the endless refugee train.
“War’ll get even messier.”
The rival great chieftains. Tribes rejecting the current great chieftain Kirhas had formed a rebel force. They’d ignored the alliance, which had only fled here and there until now, but with word of this victory spreading across the plains, they’d launch a real offensive.
If they beat those rebels, yes. The beastkin tiger tribe alliance could finally rise as a true nation. But after that? Partak rumbled gloomily.
“More war.”
The three pharaohs and five nations. In this great plain’s power struggle. Meaningless, purposeless. Just endless war.