Chapter 336
Chapter 336
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 336
Chapter Title: The Immortal and the Mortal (5)
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Fernandez Cerned could hear the sound of his muscles and bones crumbling with every passing moment. It wasn't due to external pressure. Because his body had been fixed in place by the stasis field, forcing it to move was causing his flesh to be crushed by the resulting repulsion.
Tendons writhed like snakes over the skin of his forearm exposed beneath the shattered armor. The power that had overflowed through his entire body was now turning against him, destroying his own flesh.
-Crunch, crunch!
A crack formed in his molars from clenching them too hard, and veins bulged in his eyes. Even so, his greatsword remained perfectly fixed just an inch from Feizashi Wildcast's nape.
-Hahaha, is that all you've got? You think you can shatter my magic with brute force? That'll make for an entertaining attempt. Even an egg—strike it dozens, hundreds, thousands of times, and maybe you could crumble a cliff?
Feizashi taunted him, stepping even closer as if daring him to swing. Delight flickered at the corners of his eyes.
Fernandez did not respond to the mockery. No, he could not. Even opening his mouth was difficult now. The bastard's magic had, in this instant, touched the realm of concepts. It was akin to a god's power. If a god symbolized a particular concept, then this magic embodied its very essence.
Stasis, or freezing. The art of halting intangible space and flowing time itself. Even if Fernandez had infinite mana and perfect preparation, could he replicate that spell?
He coldly shook his head. It was the purest expression of possibility manifested in an entirely different way. Even stacking the same knowledge wouldn't enable such a feat. He hadn't even fully understood the spell to begin with.
It was the act of extracting only the concept of "fixation" from the low-level spell known as the stasis field, layering identical spells like a sieve to filter it, and manifesting the pure concept that remained at the very end. He could comprehend the operating logic, but he couldn't replicate it.
One could analyze the paints or canvas used in a master's masterpiece by looking at it. But even with the exact same materials, could anyone recreate the master's touch even once? And even if possible, it would merely be a copy—a degraded forgery.
A signature spell was the creator's essence. Even imitating the exact same incantation couldn't produce the identical effect. It fully projected the caster's life itself—their very existence.
Therefore, Fernandez could not replicate the spell Feizashi had created after their divergence.
It was extraordinary. He had challenged a god in life and become one in death. Fernandez came to genuinely revere the old wizard.
But in that moment, a thought flashed through his mind.
'If he had perfectly projected the concept of fixation onto me, why am I not truly stopped?'
Fernandez couldn't even close his eyes now. Every tiny tissue in his skin was frozen. His lungs no longer drew breath, and his gaze was fixed solely on Feizashi's face.
Yet his thoughts did not stop. His blood still pulsed wildly, his muscles tensed to the point of tearing as his joints strained to move, destroying his body bit by bit.
This was strange. Conceptual projection didn't work this way. If the magic Feizashi had used—and as Fernandez understood it—stemmed from "fixation," then he should have been a motionless statue, incapable even of thought.
'......Incomplete!'
They were now locked in a struggle within an exceedingly intricate illusion. It was akin to a thought experiment. A single person's thought experiment, waged between two soul fragments within the same illusion.
Feizashi's magic was undoubtedly near perfection. His spell had successfully fixed Fernandez. This thought experiment by the old black mages was so refined that it could clothe soul fragments in the flesh they remembered from life—
'This isn't my flesh, my blood, or my muscles.'
To be precise, what now constituted Fernandez was a soul fragment. The soul fragment had overlaid itself with the most intact form it remembered. For both Feizashi and Fernandez.
If that spell had been cast in reality, Fernandez would have had no means of resistance. It was the type of spell that could never be blocked—only disrupted before completion.
But this was not reality. His body was not covered in flesh. The reason he and Feizashi clashed was not mere final desperation to realize their ideals. It was for a higher value... a more sublime one.
They had wagered their spirits, souls, vital essences, and natures as stakes. It was about pitting essence against essence, their very cores. Swordsmanship? Magic? Mere tools. Differences in direction. Even that was just disposition.
Merely preference. It didn't signify a struggle between an old grand mage versed in spells and a young warrior who had reached the pinnacle through swordsmanship. It was about wagering their values, grinding their souls to build their own essences higher—
"Feizashi."
-......!
Fernandez's mouth moved. He closed his blurred eyes and slowly drew breath. Slowly, like shackles falling away, the restraints lifted from his body. Fernandez planted his feet firmly on the ground and gripped the sword hilt.
-How......? You broke it with force......? That's...... impossible?
"I am intent, not form. I am truth, not commentary."
-Trying to play the priest now, at this late hour? Divine power can't aid you here, and we've never once chosen to be anyone's slave! Disappointing, Fernandez. Truly!
"The priest of the Inquisition, Fernandez Cerned, was also me."
With eyes closed, Fernandez spun the hilt, raising the blade straight up along his body's centerline, toward the heavens. Swordsmanship was merely technique—a means to manifest intent.
What he now thrust upward was not a sword, nor was it supported by muscle and bone. The floor he stood on was not earth, nor was the point he aimed at the sky—this corridor of the Crimson Tower.
All was tool, phenomenon, mere concept. In this place, only he himself could fully signify his being. Fernandez opened his closed eyes and continued.
"The Round Table Knight of King Dane, the shadow advisor to the great chieftain, the slayer of the nightmare in the great wilderness, the one who quelled the northern madness, prevented imperial strife, and assassinated the emperor—all of that was me."
Karma accumulates along the trajectory of a mortal's life and achievements. A mortal's life is like a ladder reaching toward the heavens. Most fall between heaven and earth, ending their lives, yet everyone reaches out a hand and steps a foot toward the sky, one step at a time.
One can give up. Despair. Settle. But all who live upon this earth step onto the ladder of life with their first stride.
When the level of karma ascending to the heavens accumulates sufficiently, people call that being an aspirant. Meaning they had shed human form to ascend to quasi-divine status. But Fernandez did not see it that way.
We are all aspirants. Only our directions differ; the essence is the same. Mages stacking wisdom toward vows. Swordsmen honing technique toward the pinnacle of sword aura. Priests humbling themselves in faith, bending not to self but to all humanity.
All are aspirants reaching for the heavens. From the old woman in the marketplace, the roadside merchant, the blacksmith at the forge, to children laughing and playing. All burn their lives, advancing one step as aspirants in their own ways.
Humans need no gods. The god who loves humanity most should abandon divinity and commit suicide. Humans are not beings who must lean on others for guaranteed peace.
Humans must become their own faith. Fernandez snapped open his eyes and gripped the sword hilt heavily with both hands.
"You were me as well. Feizashi Wildcast. No—Fernandez Cerned. Our goals, directions, ideologies, thoughts—all mere tools."
-Even after all the conflicts since our soul fragments diverged?
"Yes. That too was mere tool and process, not essence."
-Haha...... Well, then.
Feizashi let out a hollow laugh. He shook his head and said,
-It's cheating. You're trying to flip the chessboard, Fernandez.
"Rules are merely conditions for victory."
-You've become quite the orator. So, you mean you can achieve it even without me as your tool?
"At least I won't give up."
As always. Feizashi nodded at Fernandez's words. In that instant, Fernandez's sword cleaved the heavens.
-Krunch!!
The tower's framework collapsed, and crystals in the hall shattered. The mighty hall, armed with countless artifacts, crumbled to pieces, fragments blanketing everything.
Above it, the sword's trajectory slashed like ink stroked across paper. Like a dagger crossing a lavish canvas. Tearing the canvas. Shattering space, thought, illusion—
"You've done well until now."
The words he murmured to himself were a meager consolation. Fernandez pressed his stiff eyelids for a moment and stood there. Darkness returned once more. In the abyss where nothing existed, truly alone now.
From the start of this life, he had never once stood alone. Feizashi had always been with him—malicious jokes, mockery, occasional sharp advice filling his side.
No more of that. On his ladder reaching toward the heavens, he had climbed alone from the beginning and must continue alone.
That suffocating emptiness coiled around his heart. The distant celestial sphere seemed visible before him. The sky he could never reach, no matter how high he stretched his arms.
"At least, I won't give up."
His gaze toward the mold of his past life was a vow. No matter the infinite time, utter lack of stimulation, the pain of this abyss—he would never yield. At eighty years old, until the moment of death, the black mage who had burned himself alive—Fernandez's breath touched that wizard's cenotaph.
Placing a single sprig of freesia upon the tombstone, Fernandez's mind began to advance once more.
* * *
[Flesh formation is overwhelming! Even opening your eyes now would show no anomalies.]
[The two opposites have become one.]
[Yes......?]
[No, never mind. Focus on their affairs.]
Ravirata gazed quietly down at the soul storming within the Orb of Genesis and sighed. His life was recreating, destroying, and fusing itself by his own will. Now he was a true sovereign—no, an eternal being. At least his soul was.
A pearl forms in the oyster's wound. The soul's essence blooms from the scars of life. This man's soul was the same. A flower blooming in barren wasteland, a pearl rising from vast mud.
At that radiant light, Ravirata expressed regret. Had she a living body, she might have shed tears in this moment. Instead, she gently stroked her mask.
Her first wish for this man had already been fulfilled.
[The second wish onward will be more selfish and mischievous. Savior, rise and face your burden.]
Ravirata quietly turned her head and departed the hall.