Chapter 267
Chapter 267
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 267
Chapter Title: Faith is a Lantern (1)
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No stars adorned the night sky over the capital, nor did the moon. The smoke billowing from factories around the city perpetually veiled the heavens in a hazy shroud. One could only wonder if the true face beneath remained as beautiful as ever. Fernandez could not say for certain.
A sky brimming with stars had always brought him fresh inspiration.
Not in some sentimental sense, but from a magitech perspective. The vast flows of mana drifting majestically beneath the star clusters sparked visions of dozens of circuits and spell formations just by gazing upon them.
Yet now, beneath the thick blanket of clouds, he beheld something new. The mana flows were tangling.
-Kurrrung.
The smoke laced with mana let out a low growl.
Certain kinds of chaos, though they appeared irregular at first glance, often harbored common threads within. The capital's sky took just such a form.
Smoke spewed indiscriminately skyward from each factory, intertwining with one another. Leaking mana interfered with the fragmented atmosphere, twisting the flows. Entwined with the peculiar mild climate of the Empire's central southern hemisphere, it took on a certain regularity.
But now, tiny threads were unraveling bit by bit, birthing vortices amid the flows. Five vortices. If traced on a map of the capital, they formed a reverse pentagram. Numerologically, a bizarre encirclement centered on the imperial palace.
It was impossible that he alone perceived this spectacle. The emperor, preparing his own grand undertaking, would surely sense it keenly as well.
Thus, this was a declaration of war, and a most courteous one at that.
I know your thoughts. I will not let you act as you wish. And I possess both the power and the motive to stop you. More or less that meaning.
A warning whispered beneath the throat of the realm's supreme ruler. He could not have failed to notice.
Far off, the imperial palace's grand avenue came into view. The massive gate, which had admitted no one since the lockdown.
“Is this your first time walking this road?”
-Back then, the road itself was gone.
In his past life, Rene Philippa had ultimately fallen in the defense of Paltenoya. The hordes of the five great demons had overrun it, turning this ancient imperial way into ruins.
As a wandering mage, Fernandez had no reason to tread this path. And when he had advanced amid the conquerors, it had been naught but rubble. Thus, walking this intact avenue stirred fresh emotions.
“A city that has never once been destroyed in history.”
-Smashing it twice over would feel pretty damn good.
Gazing at the black fortress stretching long in the shadows beneath the sky, Fernandez paused for a moment.
Far away, lonely torches flickered. Beneath them, knights in gleaming armor stood watch.
Just as he watched them, so too did they watch him. It felt like staring down a beast lurking in the darkness. A chill killing intent creeping right up to his throat.
Those watching him were not merely the sentries. Another presence peered through their eyes.
The emperor. The palace itself breathed like a pulsing organism.
The imperial palace was no beast's den—it was the beast itself. A beast baring its fangs and growling at him. A living creature moving organically under a single will.
By protocol, only a king should strike down a king, and an emperor must always fall to one of equal stature.
Disrupting his magic to reveal one's presence was the assassin's way. But Fernandez approached the main gate at this moment because he had not come to assassinate.
One who could summon a great demon. The mage closest to such a summoning. To confront such a being demanded commensurate respect and reverence.
In this instant, Fernandez came not as an inquisitor. He thought as a mage, acted as a mage, and revealed the dignity befitting one.
Thus, his declaration of war required equal decorum. Fernandez extended his hand, raising a finger skyward.
-Hwaruruk!
A black halo ignited behind his head. The Bronze Throne's mana circuits heated, and mana flowed from his hand's back to his fingertips. A searing thread on the verge of scattering—he seized it—
-Kurrrurung!
Lightning cracked between the clouds in response. Mana-laden clouds swirled above, tracing a bizarre spiral. In five directions, syncing with the vortices held by the Malefica, a complex sigil materialized overhead.
Like a hand. The shape of a colossal grip.
-Now go.
“Indeed. This should suffice.”
-Hududuk!
Raindrops began to pour. The rainwater falling from the black sky was muddied with mana and smoke. Braving the downpour, Fernandez strode down the center of the avenue.
-Kurrung! Kwang!
Lightning struck.
-Kkiiik……
The gate creaked open.
* * *
The imperial palace was a single structure of seven intertwined citadels, so intricate that even surveying the Empire—not to mention civilized society at large—one could scarcely find its match.
He had seen the ruins of a destroyed or crumbling palace before, but never traversed one so intact. Thus, even for Fernandez, finding his way at once proved challenging.
Yet his senses screamed. He is there. He calls to us. He waits.
“Arrogant, isn’t he.”
Fernandez gave a wry smile. The emperor's demeanor resembled that of a knight who had accepted a challenge. Courteously guiding him to the dueling ground, even polishing his arms in wait.
Uncharacteristic of Urkasia's minions. They preferred more insidious, sticky traps. Thus, this smacked of the arrogance inherent to the throne of emperor, not mage.
The arrogance of an absolute one. A familiar breed. Fernandez chuckled softly and stepped forward.
At the same instant.
-Hwaruruk!
Torches blazed to life all along the darkened corridor. Blood-red flames dotted the path, illuminating it.
Sounds like rats and insects scurrying filled every corner, every shadowed nook. Wingbeats, sporadic squeaks, the rustle of chitin scraping, the clack of mandibles—
All those noises wove into speech.
[Who are you.]
“You lot are always the same. Who are you. Who sent you. Do you know what you're doing……”
A litany of meaningless questions. Any true mage must imply a clear purpose even in the simplest action.
It was like chess. Even advancing a rook demanded a stratagem eyeing the whole board. Moves without meaning were mere waste.
“You are no mage.”
Fernandez's eyes gleamed, reflecting the blazing torches.
[Magic is but technique, and We have inherited the might of Our great father, brimming with power. Even among mages, none surpass Us!]
Amid the chittering shadows, enmity laced the din. He spoke as if scoffing, yet fury seeped between the lines.
Fernandez sighed briefly. Perhaps he had expected too much. Most of his old acquaintances—the so-called demon sorcerers—had yet to reach their prime. Expectations born of past summoners of great demons or new powerhouses absent in his prior life.
Fierce and flawless. Magical duels of sheer force and finesse. Like a master's sword strikes or synchronized dancers' blade dance. Intricate clashes of offense and defense.
He had anticipated such a battle. An era rife with heroes and rampant demons. In such times, a great villain rampaging on the Empire's stage should warrant such hopes.
But it was lackluster. Fernandez clicked his tongue. This was why one should never expect much from Urkasia demons and their followers.
Then, it cackled.
[We know your purpose. The Great One whispered from the deep abyss. You are the apostle of the human god.]
Ah, Urkasia. Paying me such mind. How flattering. Fernandez chuckled without breaking stride.
[You disrupted the altar We meticulously offered, so at first We intended to punish you personally. But Our mind has changed. We and Our great father hold your talents in high regard.]
“Gracious of you.”
[Thus, We grant you the chance to ascend to a being more noble still. Receive it gladly.]
The door at the corridor's end swung open. With the screech of rusted hinges. The presence of Urkasia demons corroded metal and rotted organics.
A foul stench blasted forth. Torches touching the air belched emerald flames. A hot wind bearing sticky plague began to tickle his skin.
-Hwaruk!
The halo behind his head wavered in the gust, then reformed and blazed anew. Fernandez cracked his knuckles. Good. The curse was seeping in.
The demon's curse infiltrated via his bloodstream. Insidiously. Their ploy to corrupt him in secret. For most, this would suffice.
Demonic corruption often began beyond the will's grasp. Bizarre nightmares, inexplicable ailments, sudden pains, unrelenting rage.
Gradually. So slowly even the devoutest noticed not. What started as mere poor condition escalated to grave hindrance, driving them to beg divine grace at church.
Yet with the pantheon sealed, no answers came. Wills broke, hatred for fate swelled. Then, as ruin claimed them, demons whispered: 'Serve me.'
Such was the mechanism of demonic proselytism. Tedious, yet profoundly effective. The emperor too had bowed thus beneath the demon's heel.
Especially favored by Urkasia demons. And the method Fernandez had prepared most vigilantly against.
-Dugeun!
The curse spread wider through his blood. Red spots rose on his skin. Soon, peripheral functions would falter, disease symptoms manifest and worsen.
Most obliging.
“My thanks.”
[…We did not expect you to accept so readily. Yet you are no utter fool, it seems.]
Dizziness from fever assailed him, but Fernandez pressed on, following the whispers. Toward the emperor's throne room, the palace's heart. Heeding the invitation.
-Kkiiik.
How many gates had he passed? By formal rite, reaching the throne from the first would take over a week.
That long corridor. This vast palace. He met not a single servant. Merely straight through the empty keep.
A grand hall draped in red silk stretched before him. Steps ascended ever higher toward deeper chambers. Atop the highest sat a massive jade throne, where a young man lounged askew, chin propped, gazing down.
-Deobuk.
His foot sank into the sticky silk. Fernandez paused, inspecting the floor. Red silk… no. Shrouds.
Blood-soaked shrouds stitched raggedly. Moth-eaten, torn funeral garb. Clumsily pieced victim remnants paved the path to the throne.
The basest expression of death. Fernandez narrowed his eyes at the emperor. The youth on the throne grinned cheerily.
“I sense fear in your heart, human. Fear not. The noble one shall bestow upon you the same power as mine.”
“This is why I despise amateurs.”
Fernandez muttered, pulling his hood as disease roughed his voice. Blisters dotted the wrinkles on his hand's back, the malady worsening swiftly.
Ignoring him, the emperor leered.
“Feel the blessing within you. Reject not His touch. Simply receive it. As your senior, We shall guide you personally.”
As if claiming a new recruit, the emperor cackled. Fernandez bowed wordlessly. Nearly full now. The curse manifested through him screamed throughout his body.
Blood trickled from his mouth with a gurgle. He spat a thick glob onto the floor. Frothy gore clung, forming a screaming skull.
As the emperor smiled at the completed curse, a rasping voice echoed through the hall.
“This is a trophy.”
“What?”
“Something you crafted to masturbate your achievements… a toy made solely to worship yourself.”
The floor's shrouds were this palace's victims'. Drunk on borrowed power, bereft of measure, duty, reason—crude effigies daubed in frenzy.
Too base for malice, too clumsy for madness. Fernandez could only laugh. He had foes like this. Youthful indiscretions happen.
“You're right, Tremule. As your senior, I suppose I must set an example.”