Chapter 94
Chapter 94
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 94
Chapter Title: A Beautiful Starry Night (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
*
The glasses were tilting. The moon, the stars, and even the clouds were tilting. The Demonica's liver had immunity to nearly all toxins in the material world, and alcohol alone couldn't intoxicate them.
The same went for Abel. A body forged from soul and mana wouldn't get drunk on mere alcohol.
Yet this cool night breeze, the campfire, and the Milky Way stretching across the distant sky were intoxicating them.
A cluster of shooting stars slid across the heavens. Gazing up at the night sky as if it were an appetizer, Abel spoke.
"In the old days, people believed that when shooting stars fell, a hero had died."
"Not from my experience."
"Heh, true enough."
Thoughtfully, Abel refrained from asking Fernandez if he'd ever tried killing a hero himself. She pointed to the Milky Way in the night sky.
"There's also an amusing tale about that Milky Way. They say it was formed from the milk of a goddess. Now, do you see that star, that one, and that blue-shining star?"
Honestly, the night sky was so packed with stars that Abel's finger didn't pinpoint anything precisely. Still, Fernandez nodded.
Abel smiled softly and said.
"That's the Avelsas constellation. Back during the Celestial War, all those big shots flying around each had their own constellations. I have one too."
"Hm... Do you receive any special blessings or powers from that star?"
"You have no romance in you."
Abel sighed and took another swig of liquor. As she refilled Fernandez's wooden cup with clear spirits, she let out a sweet hum.
"Even back then, there weren't many like you. Do you know what that means? In this era where mystery and divinity, stars and moons are reduced to material phenomena, it means you're a powerhouse without equal."
"That's because I'm living this life over again."
"No, it's not."
Abel gazed at the blazing campfire. Crackle, pop. The sound of wood fibers crumbling in the flames flowed rhythmically.
"If we're talking simply about power, simply about magic, or simply about divinity. In an age when gods roamed, how far could human strength reach? Power, magic, divinity—they're like the wind, scattering easily. But if there's a value that endures as eras flow and change, then that is will."
"Will?"
"Will toward life. Will toward purpose. Mortals have clear limits to their strength, immortals have hazy purpose. Do you know why the Celestial War happened back then? Heh, because there was a war."
A war happened because there was a war. It was a sentence that twisted causality. Yet somehow, Fernandez could assent. Gods are conceptual beings.
Gods are symbols of concepts. The concept of 'war': Beitasser. The concept of 'radiance': Shild. 'Dawn of the World Tree': Melisildur.
If such metaphysical entities waged great war in the mythic age, there must have been profoundly conceptual reasoning.
Likely, it stemmed from a desire for proof of existence—to possess that material world where concepts gain purpose and subjectivity.
Fernandez listened intently to Abel's words. She continued in a voice that rose and fell like a song, sweetly melodic.
"Back then, the beings the gods envied most were people like you. Those who burn with will for life. Those who dive into the flames like moths. Those who scorch their wings yet trace their path. Not all mortals lived that way, but every one who did left their own constellation."
"You're saying you want to rank me alongside the heroes of that era?"
"Look at what you've done, Fernandez."
He slew the Elf King and restored their god to the material world, revived a dead dragon, vanquished ancient specters, and was acknowledged by a hero of old times as his successor.
A mage who could shatter the Elf King's grand barrier in an instant. A knight who cleaved a giant in one strike. A hero blessed by Shild. And Beitasser's saint.
Abel ticked off fingers as she whispered. Feeling oddly embarrassed, Fernandez silently stared into his cup.
Abel tapped her bottle against his cup with a clink and laughed.
"Come now. Among the humans I know, almost—almost none were like this. Even in the distant past, no one achieved feats like yours at seventeen."
"I'm not seventeen, Abel."
"I know. I know you carry memories from your past life. But not everyone burns through their life and presses on, Fernandez. Remember?"
This era, the Age of Flames. Abel poked the campfire with a poker. Sparks flew up in a brief flash.
"So press on. More red, more bright, more fiercely. At the end of that path of yours, I'd like to prepare a constellation for you by my side."
"Abel, I—"
Fernandez swallowed as he met Abel's eyes, now closer than ever. The words wouldn't come easily.
Lust, passion, yearning—such things blazed hot in his veins.
Right now, she had just made the purest confession she could. A noble, prideful dragon. In this moment where she bared her true heart like this, he couldn't speak falsehoods.
He drew a deep breath, about to open his mouth again.
—Whoosh.
The campfire crackled. He could hear the stars whispering. The wind brushing through the jungle leaves.
And strangely, time stopped. In his wide eyes, only Abel's golden hair rippled as if pouring down.
Her blue eyes curved softly before his face, then closed. Soon, their lips met. The sweet scent of liquor and her breath assaulted his senses sharply.
Her lips carried the warm fragrance of a spring meadow at noon.
"Haa..."
—Thump, thump, thump.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears. As Fernandez struggled to part his dry lips, a cool finger pressed against them.
"Shh."
Abel's eyes gleamed blue. Like the midday sky over a field.
"Any more words, and there's no romance left."
So on this night, Fernandez gazed at the sky for a moment. It was like a vast canopy blooming with stars.
This night was one where the stars were beautiful. Yes, just for a moment. Fernandez looked at Abel. Regaining his composure, he saw she seemed somehow anxious and tense.
Fernandez smiled and stroked her hair. She flinched, trembling, and closed her eyes—utterly lovely.
"The night grows deep."
"...Huh?"
"Time to sleep. We have preparations for tomorrow."
"...You..."
Fernandez chuckled and burrowed into his blanket to lie down. Abel glared at him, grumbling for a while before turning away.
He heard her mutter quietly.
"You're no pushover."
Fernandez smirked and closed his eyes. It was a beautiful night.
*
Bartas suppressed the urge to bellow as he tallied his remaining forces. He glared at the human youth smirking before him.
"You call that talk...?!"
"What's done is done, isn't it?"
"If you'd just kept your mouth shut, if you'd slipped away alone, none of this would've happened! You damned bastard. Do you even know what you've done?!"
More than half of Bartas's tribal warriors had died or been gravely wounded in that day's clash. His tribe had taken a blow from which recovery was nearly impossible.
The oasis region they'd held was razed by the Pharaoh's army, reducing them to wandering nomads across this vast wasteland.
They were short on water for even tomorrow. None of this would've happened if that cursed fool hadn't assassinated the envoy!
He restrained his twitching hand. He couldn't kill the man. The Empire was the only backing he had left.
"I'm sick of you Empire dogs and your schemes. Damn it all!"
"Think it over. Even if negotiations had ended peacefully then, it would've only delayed the inevitable end. Did you really think those skeleton bastards would let your side live?"
"At least we'd have had time to prepare!"
"Consider it drastic medicine."
The youth laughed cheerfully—an incongruously lighthearted sound from the powerhouse who'd pulverized charging skeletons, then crushed the enemy general, envoy, and priest in succession.
"Chief. Piel seeks you."
"...That child?"
Rage faded briefly from the chieftain's eyes. Piel was the sole daughter of the tribe's prophet, slain by a stray arrow in battle. Poor girl. With her position lost in the tribe and as a powerless woman, her future looked bleak.
"Let her in."
"Yes."
As Bartas shot a murderous glare at the smirking youth, the man tapped the map and said.
"Head straight east from here, then veer north—you'll hit the Empire's 2nd outpost. I have connections there, so don't worry."
"...Damn it."
It wasn't intended, but after warring with Tutan Garthep, clinging to the Empire was their only path to survival. The Beastkin Tiger Clan Alliance wouldn't welcome him with his tail metaphorically between his legs, and the Sultanate was tied up in multi-front wars.
As Bartas chewed his lip and glowered at the map, the tent flap parted, and a woman entered.
Brown skin, beautifully shining golden eyes. Long black hair. Intricate adornments tangled in it.
Piel, daughter of the tribal prophet. Bartas lamented her daily blooming beauty. If only she were plain, or if he were younger.
Then he could have taken responsibility for her future, saved her. He wanted to apologize to his old friend, the prophet.
The hot-blooded youths in the tribe or the rough Empire soldiers they'd soon contact—if they saw her, they'd surely harbor ill intentions.
Until then, he'd protected her with his authority and the prophet's. To Bartas, Piel was like his own niece, and that pained him.
"Yes, Piel. What brings you?"
"A revelation has come."
"...What?"
The prophet had said in life that prophetic ability hadn't passed to his daughter... Bartas stared at her in confusion.
Her honey-colored eyes calmly regarded the map.
"A prophecy?"
"No. A revelation, Chieftain. I have received a revelation."
"...You've awakened?"
If her prophetic powers had awakened, allowing her to take the prophet's seat, she could dispel the dark clouds over her future. Bartas looked at her with hopeful eyes.
"No, Chieftain."
"...What?"
"I've always seen. Father always told me not to trust my eyes..."
"Ha!"
Only then did Bartas understand. A prophet's life was lonely. He hadn't wanted that curse passed to his daughter! But now, with circumstances drastically changed, her only path was the prophet's seat.
'Smarter than I thought. Piel.'
Bartas smirked. He was glad she wasn't a fool. Yes, one must find their own way to survive.
"Tell me. What you've seen."
"The time of the hunt has begun."
"The time of the hunt?"
"So we must head south."
Piel's eyes unwaveringly looked down at the map. Toward the heart of that great wasteland, where the Tiger Clan Alliance stood.
"South..."
As Bartas crossed his arms and muttered, the quietly listening youth spoke in disbelief.
"You're seriously taking that little girl's words to heart?"
"At least more trustworthy than an outsider—who smashed half our tribe. This child doesn't lie."
"Utterly ridiculous."
As the youth smirked, Piel looked at him and said.
"The time of the hunt has begun, and the god will be with us. Young knight."
"In my faith, we call those who say such things heretics, but whatever. I'm no Inquisitor."
The youth, Darian Shrike, shrugged and parted the tent flap.
"I'll see for myself what you saw."