The Fourteenth Research - The Last Lord (6)

How powerful could a single spell truly be? Tellorian had just provided his own definitive answer to that question.

“Behold the end!”

Sulfurous flames poured from the sky like a blazing downpour, scouring every monster in sight. The orc warriors who had filled the canyon to bursting, the countless huts where their wives and children had lived, the man-eating beasts they commanded, and the grotesque constructs they had raised—all of it vanished.

“““Uwaaaaaaaaaaa──!”””

A single, horrific scream rang out as everything collapsed. The sulfur fire that clung to their skin spread across their bodies, inflicting unimaginable agony. Orcs and monsters, combatants and civilians alike, melted away without exception.

“Hah… haah…”

“What the hell is that…?”

The soldiers had burned with rage at the mountain orcs’ brutality, yet the sight of an entire clan melting into nothing left them shuddering with horror. Only those few born with a taste for violence—Queen Belladia among them—clapped with genuine delight.

“Bring the wine and open the feast!”

“…Pardon?”

“Those wretches invaded my lands and tormented my people. Therefore, I shall take pleasure in their annihilation! Raise your glasses!”

“Uh…”

The black mage Vargul had released his giant form and thrown himself into a tunnel to survive. The spell his opponent had cast—Rain of Inferno—was a hellish incantation deliberately designed for civilian massacre. Even Meteor Strike, a spell of the same tier, could not have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠produced destruction on such a massive scale.

But how could a mere human use a spell from hell? This is impossible!

To wield Abyssal Roar or Infernal Roar, one had to sell both soul and flesh to the demons, just as he had done.

Yet Tellorian uses black magic without selling his soul to any demon? It makes no sense!

Crack.

The old orc bit his lip hard enough to shatter his own teeth. Still, denying reality would change nothing.

…I will absolutely avenge today’s humiliation.

With a single spell, everything he had built across his lifetime had been erased. The twelve wives he had abducted from various races, the carefully nurtured offspring he had intended to sacrifice to the Abyss, the disciples and tribesmen he had raised to conquer the world…

I will have my revenge!

Since you took everything precious to me, I will take everything precious to you! I will gather power and return—

“How pitiful to listen to.”

“…?!”

Before Vargul realized it, a silver-haired female warrior stood right in front of him. She remained untouched by either the raining sulfur fire or the abyssal energy he emitted. On the contrary, the ground she walked across shimmered with starlight.

“There is no such thing as a being that only ever takes.”

“Who the hell are you—”

The warrior swung both arms and hurled something. Vargul prepared to counter, but the world spun wildly and his vision dropped. Before his eyes lay the headless corpse of the old orc collapsing to the ground.

What…?

Vargul tried to blink in confusion, but his eyelids would not move. A mocking abyssal voice reached him, and then there was only darkness.

“Rest now, you pitiful creature.”

The warrior casually caught the chakrams that spun back toward her like boomerangs. It was a feat worthy of the highest-level mortal warriors.

…

The warrior gazed at the tens of thousands of souls burning in the inferno. They were fated never to reach any afterlife. The ancestral gods refused to accept the wretches who had desecrated their tombs, and the sun god wished to hurl every last heretic into the Abyss.

“This deity shall gather you.”

The warrior shed her garments and spread both hands wide. The lost souls flowed into her body, and the silver serpent devoured them, taking them into herself.

“You absorbed the orcs’ souls?”

“Indeed.”

“What does absorbing a soul feel like?”

“It means accepting their lives and memories as part of this deity. Through that process, this deity transforms [me] into a higher, more sacred existence.”

Aeltanar now understood the mountain orcs’ way of life. It was a way the current world would never tolerate, yet she could extend tolerance even to such flaws.

“Then the current [you] is different from the [you] of your basilisk days.”

She nodded.

“Over thousands of years this deity has received the souls of Karamsan’s finest. Therefore, the way the Karamsans lived has become this deity’s very identity.”

“Then the mountain orcs’ identity has mixed in as well?”

“It is no more than adding a small stream to the ocean. This deity now understands and empathizes with how the mountain orcs lived, yet will still not tolerate such ways. Far too many of their practices were forbidden even in Karamsan.”

In the end, a deity’s form could never surpass the thoughts of its worshippers. Gods were beings born from prayer, and prayer itself began from mortal deficiency.

“I have good news for you.”

“What is it?”

“It seems Belladia plans to introduce new religions to Essil. Since the state religion has already been abolished, she intends to let various faiths compete and then support whichever one proves most cooperative with her rule.”

Tellorian picked up Vargul’s severed head. A gift for Belladia.

“It should prove a good opportunity for you as well.”

“An intriguing piece of information. I will remember it.”

Aeltanar returned to her silver serpent form while Tellorian warped back to his tent. Outside, the valley had become a scene straight from hell. The humans who understood that such devastation had been wrought by a single spell let out long sighs.

“My god… what is this?”

“This is the magic the Grey Sage cast?”

“The army was meaningless from the beginning…”

“…He really was holding back tremendously for our sake.”

The nobles who had opposed the Harrington family during the civil war in particular let out especially deep sighs. They had just realized their own domains could easily have suffered the same fate.

No.

That is—

The expeditionary force’s tents that had surrounded his own were now completely empty. The enemy’s condition for surrender had been that the Grey Sage alone would accept ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it.

…

In contrast, the procession that had come to surrender was majestic. Dragonborn royal guards bearing greatswords forged from dragon bone stood at attention on either side. They were a subspecies born by sharing dragon blood—more commonly known as lizardmen.

“Hmm…”

“Does it please you?”

“…Well… this wasn’t a scenario I had anticipated, so I’m not sure how to respond…”

Yet the most astonishing sight was the black-haired woman on her knees. Dressed in rags and bound tightly with chains, she looked up at him. The large horn rising from her crown and the reptilian snake-eyes revealed her true nature.

“Spare me.”

Thump!

The woman slammed her forehead against the ground.

“Spare me.”

Thump!

“I will give you every rare treasure and artifact I possess. Just spare me.”

Thump!

She continued kowtowing until her horn cracked, never stopping even as blood streamed down her forehead.

“Spare me.”

Thump!

“Spare me.”

Thump!

“If you spare my life, I will give you anything.”

…

Kowtowing—the act of pressing one’s forehead to the earth in prostration—was the most humiliating gesture one person could make to another. It signified the complete abandonment of one’s freedom and dignity.

“Spare me.”

…

“Please, spare me.”

Thump!

Thump!

“Spare me.”

……

Tellorian felt utterly bewildered. Just as immortals always looked down upon mortals, had not the dragon race always looked down upon all other inferior species?

“Enough.”

“Will you spare me?”

“…That will require consideration.”

“Then I will continue kowtowing until you agree to spare me.”

Thump!

“Spare me.”

Thump!

“Spare me.”

…

No matter how many times he checked, the woman before him was unmistakably the Black Tyrant. Her draconic features were plain to see, the mana signature produced by polymorphing into human form was detectable, and he could clearly sense draconic magical power.

“Please, I beg you, spare me.”

…

“Please, just spare my life.”

Everyone present was stunned by the Black Tyrant’s desperate tenacity for survival. The silver serpent felt a pang of pity born from kinship. Belladia blinked, unable to believe what she was seeing. The golden prince lowered his head to conceal his grief and fury; he had clenched his fist so tightly that droplets of dragon blood fell steadily from it.

“I will spare you.”

“Truly?”

“On three conditions.”