Chapter 250
Chapter 250
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 250
Chapter Title: The Emperor's Eye (9)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
There was nothing more horrifying than seeing a person on fire—except seeing one who had been burned. Fernandez wandered the hilly site of the fire, lost in thought.
Acrid smoke still seeped from the blackened, charred remains. The dry stench of burnt flesh clawed at his nostrils.
-Crunch.
A dry snapping sound came from underfoot. Not a tree branch, of course. It was the remnants of a charred human bone. Fernandez was intimately familiar with the sensation—from his past life and this one.
Bones burned by fire shattered with startling ease. He bent down and brushed aside the ash pile. A blackened skull emerged beneath his hand.
From the empty eye sockets, he could almost hear voices—screams, groans, wails, pleas.
-Sentimental.
Feizashi materialized behind him, sneering. Fernandez shook off his hand and stood, walking forward.
“It was necessary.”
-It was also predictable.
The closer he got to the epicenter of the blaze, the more bodies he saw. Even distorted beneath the ash, Fernandez could distinguish human remains from those of beasts and trees.
It was a familiar sight.
-Planning to repent now? Bow to the dead and say, “Oops, sorry about that”? Arrogant, hypocritical, nauseating. If I had a stomach, I might’ve actually puked.
Feizashi floated slowly in front of Fernandez, blocking his path and staring him down with blazing eyes.
-Get a grip. In your past life, I... no, “we” were butchers. We gladly created deaths that weren’t even necessary. Cities, villages, nations, fortresses—we burned everything that stood in our way without discrimination.
“It’s not a matter of ethics, Feizashi. Nothing so outdated.”
-Then what is it? Look, Fernandez. Fernandez... These scum had thousands of reasons to die, and thousands of ways to make it happen—and you had the power to do it. That’s all.
That’s all. Feizashi ended curtly and faded away. Fernandez scanned the surroundings without replying. Something glinted in his view.
Found it. He strode over without hesitation and pulled a half-buried glass vial from the ash. A liquid fire flask stamped with the Holy Pantheon seal dangled from his hand.
Under certain conditions, the Holy Pantheon’s liquid fire produced flames that never extinguished until fully consumed. More alchemy than magic, it left no traces once burned out—a clean tool.
With the only evidence gone, Fernandez shook his hands and stood. Someone approached from afar.
“Darian.”
A young man with a spear slung diagonally over his shoulder approached, his sunken eyes fixed ahead. It had been a while, but the face was unforgettable—spiky ponytail, eyes brimming with zeal.
“Fernandez.”
“What brings you here?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
Darian spun his spear once and spoke. His aura was menacing. Fernandez rested a hand on his sword hilt, eyeing him.
“I want to believe otherwise, but let me ask just once. Did you do this?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because it was necessary.”
Darian’s brow furrowed at Fernandez’s words. He slowly unwrapped the cloth from the spearhead. The Sun Spear gleamed on its own beneath the overcast sky.
“So you’re the beastkin field commander who crushed ten thousand with three hundred. Makes sense—no one else in the beastkin alliance could pull this off.”
“Why stop me? The Emperor’s orders?”
“Yes. The Emperor... doesn’t want excessive force concentrated in one person’s hands.”
“Excessive force?”
“Burlang’s fallen into the Grand Chieftain’s grasp. And everyone knows the Grand Chieftain’s in league with Duke Carvelier. The Duke’s authority is already sky-high. Rumors of a famed general who beat ten thousand with three hundred among them... it’s too much.”
Darian closed his eyes and thrust the spear butt-first into the ground. He sighed briefly.
“Sworn brother. I meant it. That day we crossed blades, the feeling... and even now. I thought you were the only one who’d understand.”
“Understand? You mean siding with vampires, a temple knight exploiting civilian blood?”
“At least you and I don’t confuse ends with means.”
Darian smiled bitterly and leveled his spear. Keeing—the blade sang coldly as it cut the air.
“The Emperor holds the leash on the Empire’s people. What happens if the Empire falls? A single vampire feeds on one human a day. But imperial fracture, the wars that follow... tens of thousands of citizens die daily.”
“Funny, isn’t it, Darian Shrike. The difference between Shild and Beitasser.”
Fernandez raised his greatsword with an expressionless face. The dusk-hued blade sliced through the hazy sky.
“‘To kill one evildoer, we’d let hundreds of innocents perish.’ That’s what the church taught me. There are no unnecessary sacrifices—only insufficient ones.”
The two locked eyes, then leaped simultaneously. Blades painted the air.
* * *
Ash swirled in the gusts from their clashing blades, like ink from a laden brush streaking across paper. In the razor-thin gap between them, sparks bloomed.
-Clang!
Each clash of weapons sent vortexes of force rippling through the ash piles—like rain, like wind. No—like a tidal wave!
-Ka-drang!
The greatsword slid along the spearhead. A direct fall would crush fingers, even the wrist. But Darian flicked the shaft up, deflecting the attack and thrusting the tip through the gap.
-Whoom!
The spear sliced the air like a swarm of bees. Fernandez twisted his shoulder to evade, spinning his greatsword.
-Clang!
Spear and sword tangled; the greatsword slipped through. The deflected spear lanced like lightning at the heart. Like dancers in perfect sync. Dozens of strikes exchanged in seconds, yet not a scratch on either.
“You’ve reached... the realm!”
Awe lit Darian’s eyes. Astonishing. Temple knights were devout warriors, not priests. But Fernandez was a priest. A priest’s body, anointed by the church, repelled mana.
-Boom!
Each time the greatsword parried the spearhead, Fernandez’s hair floated as if alive—proof of mana coursing through him. And each time the spear descended, he evaded at the perfect moment.
It was the battle instinct of a master honed to the limit through grueling training. The swordsmanship of those who walked the “realm” swordsmen spoke of.
“At your age, that swordsmanship. That mental fortitude. Truly... impressive.”
“Doesn’t sound like praise.”
“Well, swordplay’s murder craft, strategy’s the study of slaughter.”
Even amid savage clashes, they conversed casually. Sparks from grinding steel, ash rising from frantic motion—none of it fazed them.
Dusk fell, twilight deepening. Their ash-strewn ground was now mere firm soil—no more, no less. All debris had scattered on the wind—
In a monochrome world of black and white, light and shadow, their deadly dance continued. Fiercely, intensely. Amid lethal strikes that could sever necks in one cut.
“Remember that day?”
Darian retreated, speaking as he steadied his stance. His gaze held a hint of glee now—innate martial joy. For his temperament, the fight had him fired up.
“The first time we crossed blades. You said we should stop—too many hidden moves.”
“Yeah. One of us would get badly hurt.”
“That’d be you.”
“Would it?”
Fernandez didn’t dare close into Darian’s range; nor did Darian lower his guard. High guard—like a mountain seated, majestic. Arms rose slowly, rigid.
Riddled with openings, yet none certain. Like a bear trap gaping wide—lethally poised.
Darian licked his lips, spinning the spear and gripping it reverse. Creak—tendons bulged along his forearm.
“It would. Think you’re the only one who’s grown?”
If Fernandez’s stance was a mountain, Darian’s was a tidal wave. Ripples from ocean depths. No surface signs, yet harboring natural disaster’s ferocity.
-Kuduk, kuduk.
Their blades shot forward simultaneously, without a hair’s deviation. They tangled, twisted, and finally—passed each other.
-Keee...
Sun Spear—a golden blur like lightning slammed into Fernandez’s abdomen. Pityblade—the dusk greatsword rent space, slashing Darian’s leg.
Their forms rebounded, tumbling across the ground. The weapons, lodged beside each other, quivered on their own.
“Damn. I lost.”
“Tie.”
“I lost.”
Darian chuckled gruffly as he rose. He’d blocked the blade at his ankle, but the shock crushed the joint. Treatable, but never the same.
Fernandez fared no better. Blood gushed from his gut. Even as their clash shattered momentum, Darian’s spear had pierced through.
“Fernandez. Shild Church will officially back the Emperor.”
“The whole church? The Pope issuing a statement himself?”
“Yes. Our church fears the catastrophe after the Emperor’s death more than any he might cause. I feel the same.”
“What’s the price?”
“Shild becomes state religion. Foremost among Holy Pantheon churches.”
“Hand in glove with secular politics.”
Fernandez wiped blood from his lips. Darian used his spear as a crutch and approached.
“Is that wrong? Aren’t secular folk Holy Pantheon faithful too? Playing aloof, arms folded, watching lords turn the world to hell—is that righteous?”
“The church’s authority stems from secular neutrality, Darian Shrike. You’ve erred.”
“Then maintain the secular society that declares neutrality.”
Darian extended a hand, pulling Fernandez up. Fernandez coughed, meeting his eyes squarely.
Their gazes crossed. No grudge from battle or wounds lingered—just calm regard.
“The Holy Pantheon Church is gone now, Darian. Beitasser Church won’t stand for this. Nor the others. The churches will split.”
“...Yes. Back to five hundred years ago.”
Before the Council’s declaration. When Holy Pantheon churches eyed each other warily. When churches meddled more in secular affairs.
“One more thing. The Emperor will kill Duke Carvelier.”
“No pretext. The Duke’s a national hero now. Capital citizens idolize him.”
“True. And the Emperor hates anyone but him worshipped in the capital. Even a founding prince.”
“He’s playing a dangerous game.”
“The palace is worse. The Duke’s invited to the imperial banquet... then it’s over. No stopping it now.”
Darian eyed Fernandez with bitter eyes.
“If we meet again—and I point a blade at you—I won’t hate you for it.”
“No mercy from me.”
“Haha. Scary.”
Fernandez chuckled faintly. Darian shrugged and limped away.
Rain began to fall. Summer night, moonless dark. Amid the ashes. Fernandez watched his back in the downpour.
Four days later came Shild Church’s endorsement—and Beitasser Church’s condemnation.