Chapter 152
Chapter 152
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 152
Chapter Title: Quartz Throne 6
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A soft light filled the underground passage.
It was Dimia, who had survived Azadin's reckless ambush, casting a spell.
It wasn't magic from the Flower Bird Wind Moon grimoire—incredibly, it was white magic. A healing incantation that even the king's church holy knights and priests could no longer wield, reserved solely for kings.
Thanks to the massive reserves of white mana she had drained from the throne, she had astonishingly restored her broken limbs with the kind of regenerative magic used only by royalty.
Not just her—Krasli's wounds were healed as well.
"Ooh!"
"This is the power of the king!"
Dimia, experiencing it firsthand for the first time, marveled at her mended arm. She had lost a lot of blood and was weak from exhaustion, but it was still a miraculous feat.
"Azadin!"
His wounds restored, Krasli rose in fury, shouting Azadin's name.
"Yeah. What?"
Azadin picked up the fallen blacksteel arrow from the floor and turned to Krasli. He was retrieving the blacksteel arrow he had fired earlier, preparing to shoot it again.
Blacksteel arrows weakened with each shot as they expended their stored curses and magic, but they were still far more powerful than ordinary arrows. Those fired by the Herald race held enough destructive force to make even the Yaeghas divine race tremble in fear.
That was why there was an unspoken gentlemen's agreement among their kind to avoid using blacksteel arrows against one another in internal conflicts.
Azadin was ignoring it entirely.
"Wha... you bastard! Have you no shame?!"
Flustered, Krasli reached for his own quiver. He had a blacksteel arrow of his own.
Krasli and Azadin's blacksteel arrows crossed paths in midair. It was a ridiculous sight—arrows knocking each other down.
Azadin emerged victorious in this absurd exchange. His blacksteel arrow easily deflected Krasli's and hurtled toward him with lethal momentum.
—Purify!
In a panic, Dimia cast a spell to neutralize the blacksteel arrow.
Azadin's shot depleted its mana and exploded in midair once more.
But Azadin simply picked up another blacksteel arrow and nocked it. This one was the very arrow Krasli had fired moments ago.
The nagas lunged at Azadin, but when he unleashed the blacksteel arrow at them, two or three were pierced clean through by a single shot and collapsed.
"Corpse bonanza. A real corpse bonanza."
Scott diligently worked his necromancy, turning the fallen nagas into undead.
Now, there were more undead nagas under Scott's command than living ones.
There had been over thirty nagas, plus the Heralds, but the tide turned in an instant.
Scott the necromancer played a big part in that. His undead minions guarded Azadin, preventing him from being surrounded, allowing Azadin to unleash his full potential.
Yet Azadin's expression held no trace of ease.
'The Nether's power is surging. A reaper has descended. Is this only a partial manifestation, like that Wendigo last time?'
The Nether reaper hadn't yet exercised its power directly.
But even that alone would drive people mad.
The age of Jupiter was dawning, and the era of the Yaeghas divine race was ending. How many could keep their sanity when the prophecy of ruin felt so viscerally real?
'I need to wrap this up fast... The surface is in danger.'
Just then, a white flash erupted outward.
—Banish Undead!
Black smoke poured from the bodies of the naga undead Scott had so painstakingly created, and flames erupted across their skin.
Incredibly, Dimia was wielding holy magic like a high priestess. The white mana she had drawn from the throne via the New King Codex was raging within her.
Azadin could see it clearly. In truth, Dimia right now was a veritable incarnation of power, the essence of mana itself. She seemed to possess a tremendous force of light capable of challenging even Nether reapers.
But the way she used it was crude. To wield such immense mana like common spells?
'Replication of restoration and other holy magics, probably—no proper grimoire to guide her.'
Even that was astonishing.
Grimoires like the Flower Bird Wind Moon were inherited through bloodlines or arduously acquired after years of cultivation. To artificially bestow one on Dimia—how was that even possible?
'I'll have to ask her myself.'
Azadin approached Dimia.
"Out of my way!"
Dimia tried to confront Azadin, but right now, she couldn't properly wield the Flower Bird Wind Moon grimoire. Too much alien mana churned inside her.
Krasli moved to block Azadin...
—Thwack!
A single strike from Azadin crumpled Krasli's body. It wasn't even a direct hit—just a graze—yet Krasli was sent flying, his knee twisting sideways as it failed to absorb the impact.
'Sorry, but I'm scared of myself right now.'
In truth, Azadin was only pretending to be calm. Controlling the powers of the Flower Bird Wind Moon and Kazas arts took every ounce of his strength.
He had used the white mana injected from the New King Codex replica as a catalyst to amplify and rampage the Kazas arts mana even further.
His strength had grown so immense that he feared self-destructing under his own power.
Not without reason—his brute force was so overwhelming that his bones ached. Ligaments and muscles clamped down on bone like a vise; a moment's lapse could snap them from the pressure alone. His entire body creaked like the rigging of a storm-tossed ship strangling the hull.
But showing weakness now would be fatal, so Azadin dispatched Krasli effortlessly, kept a composed expression, and closed in on Dimia.
"Die, Dimia."
Azadin drew the Wendigo Dagger, aiming for her throat.
Then, something unexpected happened.
"Wait! Hold on!"
Dimia raised both hands.
"Azadin. Fine! You win this time!"
"...What are you trying to say?"
"Peace talks."
"Peace talks? Not surrender?"
"Truth is, our mission ended the moment we extracted the white mana from the throne to summon the Nether reaper. It's here now, so we're done. It wouldn't be the worst to fight you and die after fulfilling our role, but dying to Arahel's little brother? That'd be idiotic."
"Right now, whether you live or die is up to me."
"Exactly."
Dimia smiled.
"So why kill an attractive woman like me?"
"Trying seduction? Don't waste your breath."
"No, misunderstanding. If you kill me, you'll earn the hatred of your own kind. Not that I should say it, but plenty follow me and my little sister. There have to be at least three digits' worth of guys in the clan pining for us sisters."
"You're saying that yourself?"
Azadin burst out laughing at Dimia bargaining with her own life.
It was a good sign for her.
"When does Arahel plan to seize the throne?"
Azadin inquired about Clan Arahel's next move.
"Oh, that's a different matter altogether."
"Refuse to talk, and you die now, Dimia. That white mana you can't even control properly has locked out your Flower Bird Wind Moon. Leaving you alive might put me at risk next time, so killing you here benefits me."
"You didn't hear a word I said, did you, Azadin?"
"I'm used to the clan's hatred, Dimia."
With that, Azadin kicked away Dimia's quiver, snatched her bow, nocked an arrow, and fired backward.
—Thud!
The arrow pierced the skull of a still-living naga. With that, every naga lay fallen.
Firing behind him with Dimia right in front—normal confidence wouldn't suffice for such a stunt. Dimia swallowed hard.
'How did he get this strong? Is this really Azadin?'
Dimia had seen Azadin during training, as an instructor's assistant.
The Azadin she knew was just a sniveling kid, bullied by others while the instructors deliberately looked the other way.
Someone had to be the scapegoat to vent the others' stress and endure the brutal regimen.
In short, Azadin had been the sacrificial lamb everyone in the clan agreed on.
And yet... that lamb had become this?
"I won't give up info that could sabotage Lord Arahel. And I can't fight you, so kill me if you want. But Azadin, spare me and it'll help your future moves. No need to kill me and draw the clan's ire, right?"
"I don't want to betray Arahel, but I want to live. That's the gist, yeah?"
"Exactly."
"Hmph. Shameless. If you'd had the upper hand, you'd have killed me outright."
"Understand my position. Anyway, Azadin—won't you let me live?"
"How many New King Codex replicas are here?"
"64."
"......"
For a moment, Azadin nearly jumped for joy. Sixty-four—an enormous haul.
It might not be all Clan Arahel possessed, but recovering this many New King Codex replicas would earn him unparalleled merit among the Heralds, unmatched by any.
But Azadin maintained his cool demeanor and cleared his throat.
"Ahem. I'll take them. No objections?"
"Good. Deal's on?"
"No. Dimia, I'm taking you too."
"Huh?"
"Tied up with rope, arms and legs."
"Aw, come on. Gotta do that? It's unnecessary, right?"
"No. Necessary."
Azadin's eyes were fixed on the white mana charged within Dimia's body. He couldn't just let her go.
"Urgh."
Dimia looked troubled as she eyed Azadin.
His attitude was unyielding; nothing she said seemed likely to sway him. Truthfully, she had nothing left to offer in this situation.
No bargaining chips meant no deal.
"Shati!"
"Yeah?"
"Gather the New King Codex replicas. All the ones around."
"Sure."
While Azadin kept watch over Dimia, Shati collected the scattered replicas from the floor.
"No, stop!"
Krasli, wracked with fractures and sprawled on the ground, tried to intervene, but it was futile.
"What about this guy? Finish him?"
"Don't. He's one of the few kin I have left. The fight's over; no need to kill him."
At Azadin's words, Krasli and Dimia felt a pang of shame.
The power of life and death belonged to the strong.
The Azadin whom the entire Herald race had scapegoated was now granting them mercy and leniency—it was humiliating and bewildering.
"Dimia."
"Yeah?"
"Heal him just enough that no permanent damage remains. Got it? No more than that, or you both die."
"......"
For Dimia, one of the Flower Bird Wind Moon's four bearers, it was an utterly galling demand.
The Herald race's lowest-ranked Herald, the despised straggler, had somehow become so terrifying—and now he was ordering her around.
Disobey, and she'd die. Such arrogance!