Chapter 295
Chapter 295
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 295
Chapter Title: The Key to the Nine Myriad Heavens (11)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Risir did everything in her power. She was wise enough to realize that her own fate, and Jerolen's, now hung on the man standing before her.
Setting aside Abel's presence, Reia's elves had come charging into this naval battle confident in their numerical superiority.
Jerolen's forces, few though they were, had her on their side.
A dragon's breath could shatter the flagship. No—only a dragon's breath could bring down the Serpent King's flagship.
In this era where so much had been lost, Reia's elves could never dare provoke Jerolen in Risir's presence.
But with Abelessas here, assuming the two dragons were evenly matched, all that remained to Jerolen was his own power. And the truth of war lay in numerical superiority.
If the man before her was Abelessas's mate—or at least in such an intimate bond—then this deadlock could turn on his will alone.
"Do not hate him, please."
Thus, the dragon closer to the gods than any other in the material world—the last survivor—could only bow her head and plead quietly.
Not for herself, but for one man and the people he cherished.
Yet as the conversation dragged on, Fernandez's expression grew steadily colder. By the time the dragon made her plea, he had closed his eyes and lowered his head.
Abel's face grew anxious, and Risir took on a look of half-resignation. She glanced weakly at Abel from the corner of her eye.
If Fernandez decided to side with Jerolen, war would erupt. And if war broke out, she would have to face Abel. Was that even possible? Against one of the most ferocious dragons from the War in the Heavens?
'Before he went into hiding, how many cities had Abel burned? Six?'
Something like that.
Considering that dwarf cannons back then could shatter dragon scales, the fact that even dwarf cities burned under her breath proved her might.
Risir, by contrast, was a gentle dragon. She had been too young during the Great War, and by the time her wings had hardened, most dragons were already gone. She had lived many ages, but had flown for battle only briefly.
With tense eyes, she watched Fernandez. His graying hair fluttered in the night breeze as he stood there, head bowed in silence.
Unable to bear it any longer, Abel stepped forward and gently clutched at his clothes.
"Fernandez."
"Wait."
Fernandez extended a hand to stop Abel. He let out a deep sigh, then lifted his gaze to the sky. A faint halo bled around the pure white moon.
A storm was brewing.
Facing the wind, he turned his head to gaze at one corner of the deck. A silhouette flickered there.
"You deceived the one you loved most."
"......"
"If the word 'love' embarrasses you, put it another way. You betrayed the one you trusted above all else. King Jerolen."
Was the feast over? Jerolen stepped out, his face flushed with drink. His long cloak billowed wildly in the night wind. For a moment, he simply stared at Fernandez in silence.
Their gazes crossed in the air for a breath. Jerolen smiled bitterly and reached behind his back. A cold clank of steel. In his hand gleamed a long spear.
"So it wasn't the will of Queen Reia that brought you here. And her authority is so unshakable among her people that it couldn't have been theirs either. Was it you, then?"
"Yes."
"We both have much to ask each other. The night is long, and the hour favorable..."
-Kiiing...
The spear tip gleamed wickedly under the moonlight. Holding it extended straight ahead, Jerolen shook out his lion's-mane hair and spoke.
"All two armed madmen need is an excuse. Isn't that right?"
"......Why?"
Even to Fernandez's question, Jerolen offered only a silent stare.
Reasons and explanations could come later.
Sensing the stubborn battle-lust in Jerolen's eyes, Fernandez wordlessly drew his greatsword and assumed his stance.
Compassion Blade—the muted blade of the greatsword shimmered faintly under the moon. At the sight, Abel and Risir's faces drained of color in an instant.
"Fernandez! Why...?"
"Jer! Stop! There's no reason to fight, no gain in it. We can settle this with words—with words!"
The two dragons cried out desperately, as if ready to drag the men apart. Fernandez kept his eyes fixed straight ahead on Jerolen.
"I felt something while slaying the two Serpent Kings. Will you answer it?"
"What?"
"Gamern sought to mimic a god, Malern a devil."
A king who stole a dead god's divinity to forge a new one.
A king who harvested his people's souls to ascend himself.
And...
"What did you mimic?"
Implanting a god's divinity into a dragon. That in itself was little different from Gamer's method. But contracting with a dragon bearing divine essence to secure one's own immortality...?
"At least Gamer sought to lift his race's curse through the god he made. His means were vile, but if he'd been given a final defense—"
[You cannot mock Her. No one can laugh at Her! She acted solely, solely for Her people. Solely for the welfare of Her race!]
[Then you should have shared your precious god's essence with your fellow kin, Great King Gamer!]
His excuses were ugly, his methods repulsive. And on a personal level... Gamer, who had seized his son's body to extend his life, could never be forgiven.
But if given that final defense. If even one true word had escaped his lips. At least he had acted for his people. Even if it was the stubborn desire of a dictator, an absolute monarch. Even if a paltry mercy for puppets to rule eternally...
"How far did Risir tell you?"
"Everything you told her."
"I spoke no lies. I feigned no kindness, deceived with no talk of love. I loved that beautiful dragon, who is no different from our own people."
"Then the tales of your lifespan and power were true as well?"
"......"
Implanting divinity into a dragon—even a dead one—wielded power enough to revive it. Power to bind a dragon's soul, which should have faded into time, back to the mortal coil.
If a living dragon gained that power, it could become a god. As the heavenly dragon Kaladphelin had. It could ascend as an immortal at any moment.
Yet Jerolen had chosen to ride on the dragon's divinity. Unlike accumulating divinity through deeds, directly receiving another god's essence and power was something no mortal flesh could bear. Even Fernandez, wielding the Key Sword, had felt his soul burn.
The process of creating Demonica was no different. Forcing divinity into flesh to forge a transcendent body. Even with the miracles of half-formed divinity, the success rate among the most rigorously screened candidates never exceeded one in ten.
That was why the Serpent Kings had never become gods themselves. No way to contain divinity in bodies cursed by gods. Something impossible to attempt without ironclad safeguards.
Thus, use dragons. Infuse divinity into them, then bind their souls as collateral in a contract. Like a pact between devil and man. Like 'faith' between god and man.
"Your name?"
"Fernandez Cerned."
"A priest?"
"......Not anymore."
"We both have questions for each other, but the solution I can offer remains but one. I must see your skill."
Come. As Jerolen spoke, his eyes gleamed proudly in the darkness. Fernandez sighed shortly, then angled his blade sideways over his shoulder. A solid stance. Unyielding, flawless. Jerolen raised his assessment of the man in his mind.
"I won't kill you."
"Bold words."
Jerolen let out a short laugh. Then the two men charged at each other.
* * *
-Kaaaang!!
The spear shot forward. Fernandez missed the tip's motion for a split second. His dodge was pure instinct and experience. The blade grazed his cheek narrowly, then blurred for an instant.
Fernandez's sword swept along the spear shaft, tracing a wide arc. Scraaaape, scritch. Sparks flew as the edge ground against wood. Straight for Jerolen's throat—
-Kwadududuk!
Missed again. Fernandez narrowed his eyes and slashed. The greatsword carved a perfect semicircle. The spear tip slithered like a serpent, disrupting the blade's path and slipping through the gap!
-Kagak!
No words passed between them. Amid the clashes of sword tip and spear shaft, their gazes locked solely on each other's eyes from start to finish.
A single second split into instants. In that flash of time, exquisitely precise exchanges hunted each other's lives. One move, another. One more.
-Kiiing...!
Fernandez clicked his tongue briefly. The spear's descent struck like lightning, its lunging tip heavy as a boulder. Even with a Demonica's body—honed to the extreme—each clash piled unnatural battle fatigue.
Raising his blade, a pause. Seizing the moment as Jerolen's spear elegantly wheeled through the air seeking an opening. The flaw of long weapons, spears especially: linking offense and defense assumes thrusts!
-Ching!
Tendons writhed like serpents in his sword arms. A Demonica's body, capable of rending skulls barehanded, swung down like an axe with full force, sweeping Jerolen's vertical guard.
-Kwadududuk!
Space tore. The fusion of King Dane's arts and Demonica might—a culmination of ancient swordsmanship—bloomed from his hands. But—
-Kwang!
If it was ancient technique, then for Jerolen such finesse was innate. The spear tip reversed in a flash. Every motion—thrust, spin, sweep—a crystallization of long study from the War in the Heavens!
"Hu..."
Elves swarmed the deck at the commotion of their duel, encircling them.
Reia and her retainers scowled at the fighters. The two dragons hid their anxiety poorly, while far off, Kirhas Hearttaker cheered urgently. Tension thickened the deck's clamor.
Surveying them, Fernandez caught his breath shortly. A brutal clash in the span of three breaths. He gathered his sword to his chest, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped forward.
A thrust. Using the greatsword's length itself. But his foe's weapon was a spear. Seeing the stance, Jerolen smirked faintly.
"Truly. You remind me of old times."
-Sruk.
Jerolen pivoted half a turn, planting his foot. He whipped the spear tip behind him, lodging the shaft against his shoulder.
A horizontal slash. Keeping distance with the tip to behead in one stroke. Yet his foe wielded a greatsword. Adopting a stance disadvantageous for sweeping clashes.
The two men smiled at each other. One thrusting with a greatsword as if it were a spear, the other swinging his spear like a blade—in that instant—
-Whoooong...!
Versatile and boundless. Technique reaching a pinnacle touched the extreme. Their weapons stretched toward each other, tangling in midair.
-Kwang!!
"Truly, he comes to mind."
"May I ask who?"
"Your old king."
Controlling his trembling hands from the impact, Jerolen laughed as if unperturbed. Fernandez too, wrists numb and sword near slipping, sheathed his blade without a change in expression.
Both knew the other's state. This was manly bravado. *I'm fine—must hurt you, though?* Such challenging glances and taunting words they traded.
"Carlos."
"Charlemagne...?"
"Well, human names all sound alike."
Jerolen stepped forward and extended his hand. His fingertips trembled faintly. As Fernandez eyed it, he gave a wry smile.
"This is a handshake. Among my kin, we use this gesture to acknowledge each other, reach accord, or seal pacts."
"Foolish talk."
As Fernandez chuckled and clasped it, Jerolen gripped hard and whispered.
"Clear the area. You and I have much to say alone."