Chapter 160
Chapter 160
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 160
Chapter Title: Survivors of Hazat Palan (1)
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*
It had been two hours since they entered the thick sea fog. The density was excessive even for dawn mist, giving the sensation of swimming through thunderclouds. Fernandez stared into the fog from the damp deck, eyeing where the harbor should be.
“The sun’s risen.”
“So it has.”
Leia narrowed her eyes at the sky. Sunlight scattered off the fog particles, turning everything around them a hazy white. It was hard to tell exactly where the sun had climbed.
“No lingering traces of mana. Means it’s a natural phenomenon...”
“We shouldn’t get any closer, Fernandez.”
“No choice, then.”
“Head back?”
“Lend me a speedboat. I’ll go myself.”
Fernandez said, glaring at the sea. Leia’s sea chart had already pinpointed Hazat Palan’s location, so there was no risk of heading the wrong way. But Leia’s flagship was far too massive to navigate into the fjord’s narrow inlet.
Leia sighed. Even escorting him safely that deep into the harbor wouldn’t be easy. Her flagship had barely been patched up after Abel half-destroyed it with his breath. If it were intact, no problem—but in this state, ramming into inland shallows would deal catastrophic damage.
Still, she couldn’t just send off the elves’ savior like that. Leia turned to look at Fernandez.
“What if we turn back? Fog this thick, ports usually light their beacons. No beacon light now. If we’re not off course, this fog isn’t just weather.”
“That’s exactly why I have to go in. We’re right by the fjord, fog this dense, and not a single patrol ship. Queen Leia, you know what that means?”
“...Trouble.”
In a situation where intelligence on the North’s developments was critically scarce, it meant something had gone wrong with the one tribe that could be allies.
Thick fog disadvantaged defenders. Harbor cities always stationed patrol ships nearby on misty days. No patrols visible from a port on the brink of war? That was never good.
So Fernandez had to go. Whatever threat lurked there could serve as concrete evidence. In his past life, Sadarkelia had manifested in the war’s final stages. Now, with the timeline shifted, he needed to check progress on whatever descent was underway somewhere in this North.
He couldn’t afford to cross back to the southern continent without at least some clue, not in this dire situation. Leia knew it too. She let out another deep sigh and nodded.
“Fine. But if things go south, get back to the sea. Head straight south. No matter what, we’ll come for you.”
“I appreciate the words.”
Her Gaimeirn sea chart offered extreme precision over the entire nearby waters. Anything on the sea, at least. Meaning she’d linger in these waters until his mission ended.
In the middle of a sea where virtually all production halted outside fishing—abandoning trade, commerce, war, raiding—it meant she’d burn national strength just waiting that long.
Fernandez nodded at her generosity and extended a hand. Leia huffed a laugh and clasped it. After a brief handshake, she turned briskly and bellowed.
“Launch the speedboat! Our benefactor sets sail!”
*
-Creeeak. Creak.
It was a speedboat in name only—a basic wooden rowboat. No wind in the harbor waters meant no sails; propulsion relied entirely on muscle.
Oars sliced the surface, propelling the boat forward. Fernandez gazed into the fog ahead. No mana stirred within it. So it was natural...
‘The harbor can’t be far.’
-Shadows ahead.
At Feizashi’s words, he looked up. Shadows rippled beyond the fog. The fjord’s majestic cliffs cast long shadows in the morning light.
‘We’ve reached the inner harbor, but no lighthouse.’
-Creeeak, thump.
Something bumped lightly against the stern. Kirhas’s ears perked as she jumped up and rushed aft.
“Benefactor, debris.”
“Debris?”
“Ship... ship debris.”
No sooner had she spoken than shadows flickered between fog and sea surface. The closer they got, the clearer it became. Wreckage from shattered vessels littered the waters.
The outsider aboard bit his lip, eyes blazing as he stared at the debris. He swiftly lifted a plank. A triangular eye emblem was painted on it.
“Turandar... our allied clan...”
“Hurry.”
-Creeeak.
Fernandez summoned strength and rowed harder. The boat surged faster. Debris collisions grew more frequent.
Thump, thump. Each plank hitting the hull hardened the group’s expressions. Far off, the harbor’s silhouette emerged.
And beyond that silhouette, no sounds reached them.
*
“Raaagh!!”
The outsider flipped a corpse with trembling hands, unleashing a raw scream—not from pain or fear, but pure rage.
It happened several times. Fernandez left the wailing man behind and pressed on down the road. Charred bodies, burned homes, hasty barricades tangled with blood and flesh chunks—utter devastation.
Was the fog numbing his smell? The battlefield stench wasn’t as overpowering as expected. Fernandez shoved aside a half-collapsed barricade blocking the road.
-Familiar sight.
‘Yeah. Been a while.’
Such ruined villages were commonplace in his past life, during the Great War. Fernandez noted no walls taller than his eye level remained.
Burned or physically demolished—they’d all been intentionally leveled.
It felt like walking a plain of rubble. Village layout was unclear, but this was likely the market. That area ahead, the square.
So thinking, Fernandez stared ahead. Amid fog devoid of mana, only one direction held lingering traces.
And between him and it, a silhouette taller than eye level rippled in the fog. Crimson eyes glowed from the shadows.
‘A demon.’
-Worse than we thought.
Sulfurous stench mingled with hellish mana. From the moment they reached the village, Kirhas and Abel had scattered to scout, unlike the Northerner. Fernandez strode solely toward the mana.
“Who are you?”
A growling voice hailed him in the Northern tongue. Fernandez reached back for his sword hilt and advanced slowly.
“Outsider. What business in Hazat Palan?”
“No one else around but you?”
“I made it so.”
-Shing.
Metal rang from the fog. Despite poor visibility, Demonica hearing, spatial sense, and Fernandez’s mana detection pinned the foe’s distance.
Fernandez turned toward the sound, drawing his blade. It slid free almost silently, firm in his grip.
The eyes rose higher. Giant territory. They gleamed above his head, at a mounted knight’s eye level.
“I smell your fear, outsider.”
“Must be mistaken.”
“Your mouth says otherwise.”
-Whoosh!
Straight for the slash. Fernandez smirked, tilting his head toward the sound. A massive blade whooshed past his head, wind pressure whipping.
-Skish!
Simultaneously, he planted a foot and rolled half-circle. Another blade speared his former spot. Fog-soaked earth erupted with a roar.
“Quick as a rat.”
“Hah, this guy...”
Fernandez chuckled at the demon’s gravelly whisper. Another blade cleaved fog toward his neck.
Sensory perception beyond sight. Blade cutting air, fog rippling touch, mana flow. All weaving into battle instinct.
Blindfighting wasn’t new. Unknown foes, demons—all familiar. Hence the wry laugh. Rat.
“Arrogant bastard.”
-Shink.
Just before the blade hit his neck, Fernandez’s waist twisted sharply, spinning his greatsword half-circle. Perfect timing, perfect force. Demon blood sprayed; a purple arm flew.
“Gurk?!”
“Got a lot of questions.”
-Shink.
The reflex swing of its other arm met the same fate. Fernandez whirled his greatsword and lunged at the flickering eyes. Dense mana and fog battered him. Then its face appeared.
Bewilderment and fury twisted together. Scaled purple skin. It bared fangs with a hiss.
-Demidraco.
‘Familiar faces again.’
Lizard lower body with four legs, human torso, lizard head. Adult Demidraco. Armless, it staggered back.
“Human scum dares!!”
“Demon scum dares.”
Fernandez snapped back in Northern and vaulted onto its back, straddling like a horse. He drove his greatsword precisely between ribs.
Despite tough scales, it sank like butter. Muscles clenched; organs burst, felt through his hands.
“Gahk.” It spewed blood, knees buckling. Fernandez crushed its nape and twisted the blade lodged between ribs.
“Inquisitor’s presence, and you call me rat?”
“Beitasser’s dog... How’s a southerner here?!”
“Questions from me. Answers from you.”
-Crack.
Its ribcage split half-open, organs spilling. Demons were half-mana beings, bodies betwixt phenomenon and flesh. Such wounds were fatal, but—
‘It’s not dying?!”
No forced dematerialization—losing its body. Soul fixed to flesh, like mortals. The demon writhed, drooling in agony.
“Can’t let you go that easy.”
Fatal enough for instant banishment. Wrong opponent. Fernandez—no, Feizashi—was a demonology master who’d dissected Demidraco himself.
He stepped on its heaving back, slowly twisting the blade. “Gahk, guk.” It convulsed, foaming blood.
“You couldn’t have done this alone. Where’s the rest?”
“Think... guk, I’ll talk?”
“You will.”
-Crunsh.
Fernandez widened the wound with a twist, then whispered.
“Seen uncooperative Demidraco before.”
Both Feizashi and Fernandez were experts at breaking demons. Perhaps the only ones in the material world. Fernandez smirked.
*
A bloodied lizard head rolled before the Northerner rummaging corpses and rubble, lost in grief and rage. He glared at it with bloodshot eyes.
Soon, Fernandez emerged from the fog.
“They say your jarl still lives.”
“This one’s work?”
“One of them.”
“They’ll pay.”
Some thirty brothers, family, friends confirmed dead. Fog lifting would reveal more from the ships.
Only vengeance and hope for survivors kept him sane.
He fixed weary eyes wide, drew a handaxe, and smashed the skull. Fernandez shook his head at the thin, trembling arms.
“You’d do better gathering your kin here.”
“Old proverb of our people, southerner.”
-Crack.
Axe bit skull again. Thunk—dead blood splattered. He smeared it on his face in a ritual pattern.
“No one lives forever.”
“I know your faith. But if Einherjar’s fallen to demons, dying in battle won’t get you to Valhalla.”
“At least no shame.”
He sheathed the axe and rose. Despair gone from his face. Only honed rage remained.
Fernandez nodded and turned.