Chapter 200
Chapter 200
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 200
Chapter Title: Flowing Desert's Abyss Fortress
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Deep beneath the "Flowing Desert" lay a fortress from the Abyss Era, buried away.
An ancient barrier parted the endlessly cascading sands to either side, but aside from its battlements, the entire fortress was swallowed by the dunes.
Zernix, the veiled man seated there in lotus position, gazed down at the three Slayers laid at his feet by the puppet.
[These are the Mage Slayer, Priest Slayer, and Engineer Slayer... right?]
When had she appeared?
A girl with a voice brimming with mischief—or rather, the spirit forming her shape—hovered nearby.
[The Slayers were supposed to have been wiped out, so why are these ones still alive~?]
This妖女.
Zernix curled his lip.
"I barely pulled them out of the jaws of death. That kid's gotten ridiculously strong. Turns out beating Shar'kas and Nariaduk wasn't just bluffing."
Elrama covered her mouth with a long sleeve, murmuring "Oh my," but her eyes sparkled with seductive playfulness.
[That's so weird! No matter how strong he's gotten, there's no way he could've beaten a Dragon Slayer head-on, right? He was on my level now, you know.]
"No, he won, I'm telling you."
[And you swooped in at the crucial moment to snatch those three away, huh?]
Elrama's eyes narrowed sharply, and Zernix's lip twitched downward just a bit.
[Whatever prank you're pulling, I couldn't care less. They're all worthless anyway.]
"Hmm."
[But if you try that crap on my sister too, I won't sit idly by.]
As she spoke, the usual playful lilt vanished from Elrama's voice.
[Right after sister went back below the barrier, the Slayers got annihilated...]
Her face bore no smile from the start.
She simply stared straight at Zernix with chilling eyes.
[Hehe, no matter how you slice it, this just screams suspicious, doesn't it?]
Ah, so this妖女 is threatening me right now... Zernix raised both hands and nodded.
"If that's all it takes for you to turn a blind eye to my little fire play, I couldn't be more grateful. I'll keep it in mind."
For now, he'd hold back.
Both her and that monster hag.
Once he claimed Ryuken's descendant, once he took that youthful body at its peak, they'd all be less than a handful.
[They've passed the Terchi Isles, so they'll be heading my way soon.]
"Right."
[So, here's the thing—if you lure him to me, I'll kill you.]
Zernix chuckled.
Yeah, so she knew he'd baited the kid toward the Slayers.
"No idea what you're talking about."
[Hmph, yeah, I figured.]
Elrama retreated with a grinning face once more, her spirit form gradually fading into mist and scattering.
"Ah, she forgot to say thanks."
That place was the sunlit courtyard of Solond's royal palace in the south, where brilliant sunlight reflected off sacred stained glass.
Before it stood a girl in ornate vestments, wide-sleeved and emblazoned with noble patterns, smiling faintly.
He'd taken care of that thorn in her side, the one who'd dared bask in her sister's affections... She was truly grateful.
"If I kill that bastard and bring his head as a gift, sister will love me even more, right?"
Zernix, whatever scheme you're cooking up with that kid—it's all pointless.
He'd die by her hand before he ever crossed the entire Adrion Continent.
Elrama contentedly flicked her long, pointed ears.
"By this Elrama's hand... hehehe."
Those long ears were the mark of circumcision granted only to the firstborn descendants.
In simple terms, they proved that their bearers were descendants of the elves who had fought alongside the gods in primordial times.
Even simpler: they marked her as an elf of that noble, exalted lineage, wielder of immense miraculous powers.
"What do you think of my plan?"
Elrama's gaze shifted to the knight standing below the altar.
On his back, he bore the immense weight of the peerless holy sword Shyrfang, holding a motionless stance for hours.
His full plate armor concealed his gender and identity, but Elrama knew full well who he was.
"A pathetic human's ancient hero."
* * *
A sensation like flames searing his wounds, darkness, fire...
He thought he was wandering the border between life and death, but suddenly a familiar world appeared before his eyes.
An autumn forest, the crisp yet bittersweet rustle of fallen leaves, and amid it, a stone tower rising, overgrown with ivy.
'This is...'
A lifetime of suppressed homesickness twisted in his chest.
'The magic tower of Osarius Academy...?'
The tower looked less weathered than he remembered, but its overall silhouette and the forest's scent were identical.
Someone sat on the grand wooden floor of the first level, where he'd once learned formulas from his aunt.
A middle-aged man approached that someone.
"Ryuken, how long do you intend to stay like this?"
Ryuken? Ryuken Ludwig?
The Ludwig progenitor and one of the Five Great Archmages?
As if answering his bewilderment, the middle-aged man with flowing black hair and red eyes turned this way.
"It's been two years already since you came to my magic tower as a guest. Don't you think it's time to return to your family? Your wife must be worried."
"My family, you say."
Ryuken gave a wry smile and looked down at his palm.
"The man who killed a child dearer than family with these very hands—what family am I supposed to return to?"
"You only did what you had to. That child, Zernix... if left alone, he would've brought ruin to this world."
"It was I who made him that way, Osarius."
His features were utterly ordinary, yet his eyes held unmatched intellect and kindness as he bit his lip.
This man was Osarius?
The founder of the academy I'd clashed with, Ryuken's best friend? What was this memory?
He'd killed Zernix?
It contradicted history. Zernix had gone missing young.
"A disciple is like blank paper. They follow the path the master teaches, dyed in the master's colors—nothing more."
"Ryuken..."
"He could've been a light preaching truth to this world. It was I who let him be tainted by the Abyss, I who killed him in the end."
A worthless primary color, unworthy even to be called a master, who'd dyed his disciple in strange hues.
For some reason, that mutter filled him with sorrow.
Sad, oh so sad.
The image of young Tureina and adult Tureina flickered briefly in the falling leaves. He recognized that pattern of grief.
"My throat must be dry—I've brought tea!"
A girl who looked about ten years old bowed politely and offered a tray to the two men.
"Thank you."
Ryuken placed a hand on her head and smiled with profound sadness.
Did he see his disciple's face in hers, just as he saw Tureina in her?
Osarius, watching his friend's expression, spoke.
"You are an archmage. Another disciple will carry on your will. Shouldn't you share your wisdom with them too?"
"How can one who failed to protect what was precious be called an archmage? I'll never reach truth in my lifetime."
Why speak like that?
Why degrade himself so?
Osarius's sorrow inexplicably flowed into his mind.
"Osarius, my old friend. You're kind. All your disciples inherited that kindness. Worlds apart from mine, who would burn anything for magic."
Whose memory was this?
Ryuken's genes showing it? Or Osarius's mind?
"From my seed, stained with my disciple's blood, no one will reach truth. But you—your disciples someday..."
Why so sad?
Why such a heartrending memory?
Was it his sorrow, or the one showing it? His tear-soaked eyelids lifted heavily.
'Sticky from the tears.'
No, wait. Something's off. Do tears have mucus?
And even crying rivers, could they cover his whole face?
He wiped the liquid creeping over his face, and in each eye appeared a different girl.
"No like this?"
Reflected left was Akirea, Alakish's clone, born with fire's beauty incarnate.
"Aruu."
Right was... a golden girl who seemed holiness itself, like sunlight taking human form.
Her short hair, brows, eyes—all a lovely gold.
Who was she? He kinda knew, but why was she gnawing his head?
"Aki, you brat, you taught her this crap..."
He propped up his upper body against the backrest.
Thanks to the bead's explosive regeneration, there was pain but he could move decently.
"What're you even saying!"
"Don't play dumb rolling your eyes. Come here, come here...?"
Akirea, freshly recovered, effortlessly dodged his limp gestures up, down, left, right.
"You think learning a bit of martial arts...!"
He got competitive, flailing both hands wildly, but couldn't grab her.
"Hic, ack, hic— you need a spanking, keep dodging...?!"
Amused by his antics, Akirea giggled while evading. Dragonkin dynamic vision was insane, clearly.
"Aruung."
Meanwhile, the golden kid clung to his head, drooling as she chewed, nibbled, tasted, and savored.
Half a year ago's nightmare flashed back... Akirea had slobbered his head daily then too.
Akirea's saliva was hot and weirdly nice, but this one, true to a yellow dragon, sparked electricity and stung.
"Stop drooling. Aki, you're the big sis— what were you doing not properly watching her while I slept?"
Akirea stared straight at him, tilted her head, then clung to his arm, rubbing her cheek.
"Aboo."
"No pretending you can't talk."
"Abavat."
Looking around the room, it was a single-room hut. Sea breeze pleasantly wafted through the wide ocean-facing window.
But why no guard?
Right then, he spotted Pipi rolling off the nightstand, covered in dragonkin saliva!
"Pipi! You got taken out guarding me."
"Pipi, pipi, pipi..."
Tears welled at Pipi's sacrifice.
The battle with the Beast Slayer must've been fierce; bandages everywhere.
The Slayers had one misconception. How could Pipi, with 300 years of battle, be some greenhouse flower?
No way she'd lose to a Beast Slayer with maybe 10 years on the front lines.
"There's a legend dragon saliva has disinfectant and healing amps. Don't whine—count your blessings."
As he subdued the hatchlings, a familiar sarcasm rang out.
"Valencidis."
You survived.
Propped on crutches, though.
"You survived too, somehow."
"Glad to disappoint you again."
"The Slayers?"
"Me and the special forces cleaned up the small fry left."
"I see."
They exchanged fleeting smiles, then he thumbed toward the beach.
"Someone's waiting for you there. Can you move?"
"Does it have to be now?"
"Yeah. Spare me the 'carry me' horror. Though if you kneel and beg, I might."
"World ends before I say that to you, shithead!"
Yelling hurt his gut.
Internal recovery still slow?
Embarrassingly, compared to his complaints, a gravely wounded mage sat on the beach, gazing at the distant sea.
"Never thought you'd wake in just two days from wounds that severe. A normal person would've been bedridden half a year."
It was Doran Slade.
First impressions aside, this man had helped immensely this time.
But now... he couldn't live as a battle mage. One leg gone.
"No, with two spirit beads, it's only natural. Or precisely, one and eleven."
"Aru."
"Abut."
At the odd noise, the hatchlings on his head and back chimed in.
"One and eleven? What does that mean?"
"Hatchlings entrust their power to a guardian for protection. They gradually reclaim it as they mature."
So it'd return to Akirea eventually.
No regrets.
It was right. He lived in moments; she in eternity.
"The yellow dragon, freed from the Dragon Slayer, chose you as guardian. Can't separate that."
Goddamn.
His head rang.
Kareden's will too? Wait, collecting all three dragon types? How to raise them?
'But I'll part with Akirea soon anyway.'
The thought stabbed his soul's depths, silencing him.
Doran stayed quiet too; only seabird cries and crashing waves sounded.
Finally, Doran touched his worn derby hat with faintly sad eyes and spoke.
"My sister died the year I turned eight. She was twenty then. She raised me in our mother's stead, who died birthing me."
"..."
"Beautiful, kind unlike me. Magical talent too, but frail from birth—that was the issue."
"..."
"Worried I'd stray, her dying wish was for me to become a mage like Lin."
Doran offered the derby with a wry smile.
"This hat came with that wish."
"Like Lin's sedge hat?"
"Yes. I thought I'd lived up to it decently, but seeing Rain this time showed how lacking I was. I could've done better."
Doran murmured bitterly, gazing at the sky's layered clouds.
He surprised even himself with his instant reply.
"You weren't lacking at all."
If you hadn't shown that spirit, fought so hard, he wouldn't have made it to today.
"If Lin had seen you two days ago, he'd have said the same."
Couldn't speak as Lin, but he could convey Lin's heart better than anyone.
"Say that!"
"Aruung."
As Akirea and the yellow dragon chimed, Doran looked at him with slight surprise.
Then, unlike his usual mask-smile, he gave a transparent one.
He quickly pulled the derby low over his eyes, erasing it.
"We'll recover the Dragonscale Armor and deliver it to the Holy See. But report the Dragonbone Spear missing. They'd just call it blasphemy and destroy it anyway."
"Why?"
"Your comrade—we ID'd him as prime disciple of the Namryun Sword Sect. His axe got shattered too; make a fine weapon, no?"
He could only stare, stunned, as Doran rose on crutches.
Doran faced him; the sea breeze whipped the derby brim loose.
Snatching it midair, Doran pressed it to his chest in profound courtesy, fit for a lofty superior.
"I can't go with you, but I pray from my heart this aids your 'new journey' even a little."