Summoner of the Nine Heavens (85)
Even with my body planted firmly in this place, a distant, unmoored sensation clung to me. The subtle absence of reality stemmed from the scenery before my eyes—so thoroughly unreal that the world itself seemed to hold its breath.
“Cough…!?”
The one who had closed in to attack me collapsed without warning. Veins bulged grotesquely across his entire body; his skin warped and blackened as though seared by fire.
“Ghk… gaaaah…”
He desperately cycled mana through his flesh, trying to shield himself and resist the toxin, but it was useless. This was no mere poison. It was a phenomenon shaped entirely by my mental image, my will made manifest.
He clawed at his throat as if he could not draw breath, thrashing harder the more the symptoms refused to ease. Flesh tore beneath his nails; blood welled, only to darken in an instant and congeal into a sticky black mass.
Drip.
His convulsions gradually stilled. Pupils dilated and went slack. From the fully relaxed corpse a hazy, smoke-like something rose. I seized it and pulled. The man’s form—previously hidden beneath black cloth—emerged as a translucent soul.
Through Shiz I reaped it, then used Engraving Art and Reaper to separate memory from self. Being on the brink of death had made the division almost effortless. Perhaps the soul’s owner had prayed desperately for any escape from that agony. Or perhaps this man’s soul was simply of lesser quality than Yashiro Hisame’s. Either way, I would fill in the possibilities methodically from here on.
This place was overflowing with test subjects, after all.
I sealed the two separated pieces into shadows and handed them to Hive. Having done it once already, the process felt almost casual.
“Next.”
The expressions of those watching me shifted. Of course they did. The scout they had sent to gauge me had been crushed so easily that they no longer had the faintest idea how to fight.
My strength lay in meeting whatever hand the opponent played with a new one of my own. Half-hearted versatility was little better than incompetence, but true breadth of ability—once it reached a certain height—deserved to be called myriad transformations. That was precisely why I kept so many varied summons. The strategy was paying off, at least to a degree.
The real problem was that I still had no clear sense of my own current state.
I was pouring my summons’ power without restraint into the foundation of this mental image, yet somehow it still felt insufficient. The effect was real enough, but it differed in texture from the mental images I had witnessed through Harantz. Proof of that: the system had not yet told me what title suited me. My power was still too meager to claim dominion over the world.
The direction was right. The image was perfect. I could confidently say no one alive could realize this scenery better than I. And still it was not enough. If even this fell short, what more was required? I had no idea.
Still, the work has to be done.
I tapped the floor twice. Hive, hidden in the shadows, poked its head out and immediately soared into the air. At once the bone masks scattered around the area stirred and revealed themselves. Monsters of every shape began to swell into being and surged toward those still hiding inside the building.
“What?!”
“Enemy attack!! We’re under attack!!”
They had never imagined another foe would appear so suddenly from their rear. The ambush threw them into frantic, coordinated motion. In that same instant I mapped every enemy position.
Ea, already infiltrated deep inside, sensed the faintest heartbeats and the electrical signals the brain sent to move the body. That information flowed through the Link to every other summon. Haze, now fully aware of every target, stamped a Mark on each without exception. No matter where they fled, they would remain inside Haze’s detection range.
“Haa…”
I exhaled. Overheated mana churned nauseatingly in my gut. Prolonging this was impossible. Even with Subjugator restoring me, the consumption far outstripped recovery; I was barely keeping pace. This had to end in a short, decisive clash.
What rose in my mind was a thorned spear—the terror that erupted from the earth to impale corpses, the most horrific spectacle I had ever witnessed in my previous life. Whoever had conceived it had chosen well for a symbol of strength. I had used that very mark as my starting point when I went about killing them.
I condensed mana. Onto the forming shape I layered the blood spears of the True Ancestors I had once seen—the forms Kallion had forged from the blood of fallen kin while unleashing mana weapons.
Still not enough.
This might slaughter the rabble, but I had no confidence it would cleanly kill anyone of real skill. I added the arrow-form of Sonic Impact to the spears: upon piercing, they would detonate and spray shadow thorns. I wanted to pack that loathsome snowball into them as well, yet instinct told me it was impossible. These eyes had no substance; they were merely a phenomenon expressing my mental image within this space. Like snow, they could only fall from the sky and pile upon the ground. Nothing else was permitted.
Then I would simply add something else.
Mana reached saturation. Shadows assembled and locked into place above my palm.
“Keres.”
At my call the wall-colored flame nestled in my sleeve flared, taking on the shape of bone. In the place where only shadow had been, Keres’s fire now burned.
“Clack!!”
She immediately understood how many enemies this flame could devour; her jaw rattled with pure delight. Her essence was a monster that swallowed souls as fuel to feed her fire.
“I’ll let you eat later. Wait.”
Extracting information came first.
“Rattle, clack!”
That alone seemed enough for her; she clacked her jaw like a percussion instrument, radiating glee. The once-grim atmosphere scattered in an instant. That, too, was simply her nature. She knew when to cross the line and when not to—deadly serious when seriousness was required—so I could never quite bring myself to hate her for it.
Whoosh, whoosh-whoosh!!
Even so, hidden weapons streaked in from every direction. Some vanished mid-flight and reappeared; others blurred and split into two. Most were mere sleight-of-hand, but among them lurked genuine killing blows.
Clatter!
One of the bone masks on the floor rose, took the form of a tortoise, and planted itself before me like a shield. It deflected most of the projectiles, yet the ones I had judged truly dangerous punched straight through the shadow tortoise and killed it. More bone masks rose and assumed monstrous shapes—beasts of every kind hurling their own bodies into the path of the blades.
Crack…
At the moment of death their masks crumbled to dust. The mana laced into the flying weapons scattered with them and fell harmlessly to the ground. Fresh projectiles came, but the formula in my hand was already complete.
Click.
The instant construction finished, something locked into place inside my mind with a clear, resonant sound. Without the slightest hesitation I named it.
“Piercing Form.”
An almost insultingly straightforward name, yet the grim history of execution it carried was more than enough to justify its shape and foundation.
I flicked a finger. Targets: every single person marked by Haze. Mana drained from me in a rush; a wave of weakness and near-anemia crashed over me, but I locked my muscles and endured.
KRA-KOOM!!
“Gyaaaaaah!!!”
“Kyaaaa…!!!”
“Aaaah, aaaaaah!!!!”
Screams tore through the air. From behind me rose answering cheers—the dead rejoicing as they moved of their own accord to welcome those still resisting death. One man tried to pull his half-impaled body free only to be shoved farther down by skeletal hands. Unable to support his own weight, he slid; shredded organ fragments hung from the tip of the thorn that had pierced him through.
Those who died of shock were immediately called by Shiz and the throng of dead that followed her, flocking to my side. I separated memory from self among the gathered souls and tossed everything unnecessary to Keres as feed. These were people who had spent their lives throwing hidden weapons; their hard-won know-how would greatly improve Keres’s archery.
“…Haa. So Hisame finally called down a calamity after all.”
Someone muttered the words. My gaze snapped toward the speaker.
He had been struck by a thorn yet still lived, clutching his abdomen even as Keres’s flame seared the wound shut.
“Name?”
“…Yashiro Tsugumi.”
Yashiro Tsugumi. The name Shirogane Hanabi had mentioned when Yashiro Hisame first appeared.
“Planning to beg for your life?”
“…No. We have committed many sins, and by standing by I share in them. I have no intention of denying my guilt.”
For someone saying that, he was carefully watching me from just outside the snow’s reach. He admitted his crimes yet had no intention of dying easily—yet there was no fighting spirit in him either.
What shone in his eyes was not a simple emotion. It was something more complex. The same look I had seen in my previous life on those who sang of the future—the look of someone gambling on a fragile hope.
Did he think I was someone he could reason with? Or was he preparing something?
Both, most likely.
I did not know the full story, but it was clear he was plotting something. Otherwise there was no reason to step forward and draw my attention like this. The truth would be plain once I split his soul and read his memories. For now I simply wanted to see how he would react.
A case similar to Yashiro Hisame’s, yet different. If he submitted and offered his soul freely, and if I could seize that self intact—what kind of being could I create? Curiosity stirred.
“Then?”
A flicker of conflict crossed his eyes.
“…I believe the dirty adults are enough to pay for the sins.”
“Ridiculous. Do you truly think a sprout that drank that filthy poison will not grow into a poisonous weed?”
“Hanabi grew beautifully enough even beneath that poison…”
“And then she escaped the mire on her own.”
“That was only possible because she had power!!”
Yashiro Tsugumi’s face twisted as he cried out. The emotion packed into that plea was fierce, desperate.
“Children are too powerless to resist the darkness of Yashiro. They cannot even voice dissent; they can only grow accustomed to their fate!!”
“Is there anyone in this damned world who has no circumstances?”
“Kh…”
He ground his teeth, unable to answer. His words were not wrong. Neither were mine. More importantly, he had no right to speak them. A man who had surrendered to reality and compromised with himself now howling as though he stood on the side of justice—that was nothing but hypocrisy.
He should have been honest about his desires, the way Shirogane Hanabi was. She knew she was a villain. The past she had walked under the name of Yashiro would never vanish, so she never pretended to be righteous. Her only wish—that her family remain safe—was utterly self-centered.
I was the same. In death I made no distinction between good and evil. I killed those who opposed me. I killed to leave no future trouble. If I tried to justify every murder, there would be no end. Justification was not an indulgence; it was kindling—the spark that set the conflagration called war ablaze. The killings that followed were simply killings.
That was why I never sought salvation. I knew full well that what I did was evil. I did it anyway. Because I could. Because it benefited me.
Had I not said it from the beginning?
Do not hope for meaningless salvation.
Do not cling to hope.
Simply pray that capricious death merely brushes past you.
For this place will become your hellscape.
“…So you would uproot every sprout whose future is unknown, simply because it might one day be dangerous.”
“The judgment is mine, not yours. Spare me the pretty words. Time is short.”
Without needing a signal, Keres—who had already received my will through the Link—stoked her fire higher.
“…!!”
That alone drove Yashiro Tsugumi to his knees. Blood gushed from his mouth. Keres’s flame was no ordinary fire. Though it wore the shape of flame, it was Keres herself. Under the influence of my mana it could take any complex form she desired. Once it clung to something, it could become anything and do anything from that point of contact.
Even while we spoke, the fire that had slipped inside him through the wound ran wild; regardless of his strength he was forced to his knees. No matter how powerful a person might be, once their insides were occupied there was no answer. And Keres’s flame was no ordinary flame—the agony must have been beyond words.
“Any last words?”
“…da…”
He began to mumble, so softly that even my enhanced hearing could barely catch it. His eyes would not focus; cold sweat soaked his body, and beneath him the trail of blood stood out starkly.
“That child… truly has done nothing wrong…”
Facing death at last, he sobbed out the truth—not some vague multitude, but the single genuine wish he had wanted to protect. Humans were cunning creatures. Given the chance they would lie without end. Only when driven to the absolute limit would they speak what they truly desired. Most begged to live a little longer, or pleaded that their precious things be spared.
“Even that means nothing coming from you.”
Crack.
A single gesture. Yashiro Tsugumi’s neck snapped. Keres’s flames erupted from every part of his body. Now then—let us see what he had been so desperate to protect. As Keres began to burn the corpse I reaped the soul.
His face, still twisted with grief, was heavy with worry and a deeper venom. As expected the soul was far from pure, yet compared to Yashiro Hisame’s it was a pale gray. I skimmed the memories within and sighed.
A predictable story.
A lifelong bystander who had watched from one step behind without blinking suddenly felt guilt. The object of that guilt was a child who had only recently entered Yashiro. Black hair, black eyes—a thoroughly ordinary East Asian appearance, far too plain for an Awakened. No name yet. Strictly speaking, a name would only be granted once the child passed the trials and became a proper asset.
This man had felt pity for that child. After seeing dozens, hundreds, thousands of similar children without a flicker of emotion, a single child had moved him. Because the child remained pure even in the dark? Because the child’s powerlessness—failing every trial, beaten indiscriminately under the pretext of training—mirrored his own past?
He himself did not know. Every time he faced the child under the pretext of management, something inside him ached, as though an old wound buried deep in his chest were being forcibly reopened. Whenever that inexplicable pain sharpened, Yashiro Tsugumi looked at the child.
The child was not at fault. At least not like him. This was not a child who deserved to rot in a place like this. Just as that other child had once escaped the cage on her own wings and found freedom, this one too deserved freedom.
And so he had joined Yashiro Hisame’s coup—as strategist and spy, leaking information, quietly exposing Yashiro’s darkness to the outside. Contacting Shirogane Hanabi had been for the same reason. He had planned, should anything happen to him, to spirit the child away and entrust her to Hanabi. Hisame, half-sensing the plan and deciding he was being betrayed, had simply accelerated the timetable and forced the issue.
That was the whole of today’s events.
[That child at least… please…]
The Iron-Blooded Strategist of Yashiro was gone. Softened by half-measures, he had created a weakness. I would exploit it thoroughly.
“I will spare the child. Exactly as you wish—I will let her find freedom and do whatever she desires.”
[…!!]
The spirit flared. The limp thing of a moment ago blazed as though it had never been extinguished. A cold, murderous aura made the hand that held it tremble. The insane, inefficient training that forged the body through endless torture had at least produced formidable willpower.
“The price is everything you are.”
[Every…thing?]
“Yes. I do not even ask for absolute, eternal loyalty. I will simply bind you completely. You will be unable to go mad even if you wish to, and you will be unable to flee from the reality that comes for you. The lukewarm habit of scheming from one step behind ends here.”
Everything would become your karma. Every deed would be yours alone.
[What… are you?]
“I am…”
I closed my mouth. Instinct told me that not only this soul but others were listening—Lee Se-rin, the dead, the world itself, even some unknown, chilling presence that fixed its gaze upon me. I understood at once: the words I spoke now would be a crossroads. I had just told him not to run, only to turn around and declare “I am me” in the most hypocritical fashion? Laughable.
I opened my mouth again. I unleashed the power coiled inside me without restraint, scorning the wretched soul that dared to measure me. What rose in my mind then was Echidna—the devil who had observed me from the closest place and elevated me into something sacred.
What did she call me?
The answer was already decided.
“I am Rest. The distant Death that watches over you and places the final period upon endless suffering.”
My voice seeped naturally into the surroundings. It was not mana. The world itself recognized and understood. A definition of the human called me was carved into this place.
[Rest… O distant Rest. Grant the longing of this foolish one…]
He paid the price. His soul slowly condensed into the shape of a sphere. Even without my binding him, he wished to be reaped by me so that his purpose might be fulfilled. Memories remained. Self remained intact. The body had already burned away. Yet he was at peace—as though this alone was enough, as though he had finally reached an “end.”
“Very well.”
The child in his memories had already caught my interest. Most likely connected to the devil side. I needed to observe anyway; I would grant his longing as a side benefit.
Wuum.
I clenched the pale gray sphere of light that matched the color of his soul—iron-like, muted. The hollow, insufficient feeling inside me eased. As if to prove it was no mere mood, the system chimed.
Conditions have been met.
Skill Subjugator level has increased.
All stats have increased by 5.
■ Power has increased by 1.
Skill Trap Installation level has increased.
Skill stat has increased by 1.
Conditions met. That which was veiled is now liberated.
Your indicator is [Nine Heavens].
To pursue the end by trampling all things underfoot—that is your path of hegemony.
Glory to the road of one who would forge even the end of all things with his own hands.
Conditions to fully release the restriction remain insufficient.
Achieve further great deeds!
I sighed at the cascade of windows that had appeared in an instant. Nothing ever finished in a single stroke.
I could not simply stand still, so I began to walk. According to Yashiro Tsugumi’s memories, the children and Yashiro’s vital facilities were all hidden underground.
Advancing into the heart of the darkness, I slaughtered every last survivor without exception.