Chapter 188
Chapter 188
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 188
Chapter Title: Ragnarok (3)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
*
“Fall back! Retreat!”
Kirhas urged on the warriors who were shrinking back in terror as she ran. Having pushed deep into the heart of the camp, this area was right under the influence of the hellgate.
Without distinction between friend and foe, everyone was trembling in despair and fear. Even the Kazalid warriors, who had never hesitated to face demons or obey their commands, were the same.
In this moment, the only one keeping her wits and burning with resolve was Kirhas, and Kirhas alone. Like a mother dog grabbing her pup by the scruff, she dragged along the rigid warriors and shouted.
*Slap!*
“Urk…?!”
“Snap out of it! If we stay here, we’re dead!”
There was no blue path in Kirhas’s vision. All around, every direction glowed red. A blood-like crimson foreboding overflowed around her. But she couldn’t give up. She couldn’t stop here…
‘Benefactor, how could you move even in such a moment?’
‘Taking action is always more beneficial than succumbing to optimism or despair. Kirhas. Stagnating in reality is the same as regressing. Time is equal for all, so you must assume your enemies are always using that time to strengthen their position. Ability is relative, so if your abilities stop, it’s as good as falling behind your enemies.’
Kirhas desperately recalled Fernandez’s voice to escape the tightening despair. Yes, move. Doing your absolute best is better than despairing at any moment.
“Follow me, run! Don’t give up! I’ll never abandon you!”
Her heart was too upright to abandon her fallen subordinates in this realm of rampant death and seek survival alone. She ran while rallying the rigid warriors.
*Rumble…!!*
In that instant, she staggered and knelt. A massive vibration struck the earth, and everything around was dyed red. Her turquoise eyes desperately scanned the surroundings. Death, death… Limbs everywhere.
“Benefactor.”
It wasn’t a matter of will. This was a matter of the soul. Under the overwhelming presence, she was powerless like a moth trapped in a spiderweb. Strength was leaving her hand gripping the sword.
“Benefactor, I hope… I hope I was of some help.”
Kirhas slowly closed her eyes. With everything burning red around her, it was better to close them. Sticky air, laced with mana, licked across her skin and passed by.
“Rise.”
“…Abel.”
For a moment, a refreshing breeze blew. Kirhas weakly opened her eyes. Standing before her was Abel, looking down and extending a hand.
Cool fingers tightly gripped the sword hilt dangling powerlessly from her hand. She whispered as she helped Kirhas up.
“It’s too early to give up.”
“Why did you come? This place… there’s no hope of survival here. You… you above all should have lived. The way I feel about you…”
“Hush. I’ll hear your complaints after this is over.”
Even under the presence of the slowly opening hellgate, only Abel moved as if unaffected. Like swimming through frozen time, she leisurely pulled Kirhas and the surrounding warriors along.
A dragon’s soul reaches the rank of demigod. That realm transcending mortal spirituality, eyes holding the gaze of great beings. Beneath them, the warriors one by one gasped for breath and stood on their own two feet.
“Hope always crouches at the very bottom of despair. No matter how fiercely the winter snow falls, new buds won’t sprout next spring?”
Abel said that and raised her hand. She took out a wooden plank hanging from Kirhas’s waist. A small flower bud clung to it, half-withered.
“Or am I wrong, Vanadis?”
*Pop!*
A white flower bloomed on the wooden plank. And soon—
*Pop!*
*Pop! Pop!*
Flower buds pierced through this frozen wasteland, connecting in faint dots. A path so fragile it seemed it might snap any moment unfolded before her eyes. Abel smiled at the sight.
“There’s still a path.”
*
“Move, move!”
Aeren looked down at her own hand gripping the axe with bloodshot eyes. Thumb, index, middle… Her fingers slowly twitched and clenched the axe. If she could fight even for a single moment, that was enough. She would never collapse helplessly and await death.
Death is fair to all, and the sole condition determining its approach is whether you stand before this axe or behind it. She intended to swing her axe once at anyone coming from the front.
*Crunch.*
Her rigid shoulder made a strange noise as it moved. Stiff, but okay. She could still move. She looked down at the frozen warriors and hurled the axe in her hand at the cackling demons.
*Crunch!*
“Krgh!”
“You idiots! I—! Am still—! Alive—!!”
She roared roughly and drew another axe from her waist. Her body didn’t move perfectly, but being able to move at all in this battlefield set her apart from the others.
The demons laughed down at her.
“Soon Mother will arrive. What meaning does your little tantrum have? You, and these pitiful handful of warriors, won’t live longer than today.”
“Doesn’t—! Matter—!!”
Aeren bellowed, veins bulging. Her hair rose like a lion’s mane. Mana wrapped around her body. Her body felt much lighter. A good sign. At least it meant she could die fighting.
She straightened her waist with axe in hand and climbed atop a fallen demon corpse. Her rigid, trembling warriors all looked up at her in unison.
“If you have arms, take up weapons! If your arms are gone, sink your fangs in! Warriors! Northern warriors! Do not submit to death—it is neither our enemy nor our master. Merely our friend!”
Passion filled the warriors’ eyes. Frail and faint, but surely. Sardiel of strength and justice. The archangel’s rank dormant in her soul awakened, exerting its influence everywhere.
*Roar!*
A brilliant light haloed behind her head. Her lion-like flowing hair shone pure white, and the warriors pierced by that light slowly looked up at her and readjusted their weapons.
“You, heroes of the North! Do not live as slaves to death! Rise, rise! Our fate has already left our hands—a day cowering as cowards is worse than a moment dying as heroes! No one, no one!”
“Since none can live forever!!”
The warriors shouted in response to her speech, shaking off their fear. The demon watching frowned and began approaching her.
*Rumble!!*
Soon, from beyond. From beyond the camp, eerie vibrations and noise echoed. Like stars winking out under a storm, starlight faded, and the wind carried sticky oil smells, sulfur, or the stench of blood, flesh, and pus mixed together.
Approaching demons and despair. Though she couldn’t pinpoint its form, she instinctively knew the finale of this battle had begun.
*Screeech—!!*
The sound was like the heavens screaming. Aeren gripped her axe and stared at the horde of demons charging while shaking the ground. She’d take at least one more with her. She wouldn’t die alone.
“Your speech was well heard, friend.”
In that instant. A voice laced with laughter came from above her head. In that moment as if time had stopped, Aeren shivered and looked up at the being gazing down.
“Touching. Yes, that’s right. I hoped you wouldn’t fear me. So, ‘friend’. My friends. Aren’t these lives too precious to fade like this? Hm?”
With wild, bushy hair spreading in all directions, exposed bones on face and limbs. Loft looked at the approaching demons while humming.
“The gods’ battlefield belongs to the gods, and Ragnarok to the Einherjar. That’s why we’ve prepared until now… Right, Boðan? Freyja? Vanadis, I’ll borrow your power.”
*Rumble!!*
The blue lights floating around his body scattered in all directions. Like falling snowflakes, small blue sparks seeped deep into the ground where she stood, where her warriors stood.
Like an orchestra conductor, Loft waved his bony fingers and laughed.
“Come, Vanadis. By your authority… and this authority now in my hands. I shall… open the hall of the Einherjar.”
*Crunch.*
Aeren flinched and stepped back. The earth beneath her feet was heaving. Soon, bones pierced up through the ground. Followed by rusted steel arms, faded armor, rotted crests…
Ah, Aeren narrowed her eyes at their sight. Parched, decayed, rotted away, but the faint patterns visible under those stiff woolens were ones she knew well.
Hazat Haraan, Hazat Kazal, Hazat Turan… And countless other clans. Already extinct ones, or forgotten now. Regardless of origin…
From deep below the ground where she and her soldiers stood, one by one. Skeletons that seemed ready to crumble raised their bodies.
In the distant ancient times, when the Northern Pantheon was pure. Warriors who fought for honor rose. Einherjar, even after death. Warriors who swore to fend off the world’s end rose from the hall of eternal rest.
These warriors who forged their souls into a single sword for eternal struggle. Armor forged of ancient steel, frayed chainmail, rusted iron swords, cold remains without muscle or blood.
Yet their hun and po transcended material limits.
*Rumble!!*
The torrent of demons closed in. The skeleton warriors raised their arms and aimed forward. Soon, fierce clashes swept the battlefield. Blood, flesh, shattered bones scattered everywhere.
Yet they did not yield. Even before this vast demon army, they neither retreated nor shattered. The skeleton warriors advanced silently, slowly and arduously, one step at a time.
*Boom! Bang! Crash!*
Battlefield clamor covered everything. But it was closer to silence. The shouts, screams, groans that should fill a battlefield were absent.
Worn, stiff, rusted iron swords crushed demons’ sturdy breastplates and rose. Blocking the endless demon surge, these quiet warriors unleashed only mental roars.
[…!!]
Aeren blankly watched the ancient warriors at the front line clattering their jaws while swinging swords. Their mental cries slowly echoed in her mind.
Unfamiliar words and tones at first, rough shouts. They repeated one word. Just one word endlessly.
[Val—halla—!!]
Only that! The dirge of the dead, the battle cry, the death rattle, and screams, groans, roars, howls. All vocabulary served only the glory, honor, and duty of Valhalla!
A scene from the Edda, the ancient epic foretelling the end, legends unfolding on every visible battlefield.
Aeren quickly gathered her wits and shouted at the dazed warriors.
“Charge! Follow your ancestors! Don’t fall back!”
The warriors, until moments ago terrified and overwhelmed by numbers, raised their weapons in unison. New passion ignited in their eyes. No matter how the war began, it would end here. Even if the worst moment came, it was merely death!
Warriors who had fled thinking death inevitable, unwilling to die like dogs. Warriors who mocked themselves that dying was easier and dropped their weapons. Even they steeled their resolve watching their advancing ancestors.
“Fight! And die! None live forever!”
“Only! Glory is eternal!!”
“Heroes of the North! Fight, and die!”
“Val—halla—!!”
The warriors spat the same word as their ancestors and charged the front line in unison.
It was the start of Ragnarok. Loft looked down at the scene and smiled contentedly.
“Boðan. This is the North we’ve always wanted.”