Chapter 219
Chapter 219
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 219
Chapter Title: Herald of Ruin 4
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Ismael hurriedly escaped Bthuma Royal Castle with Azadin slung over his back.
Arrows and spells flew at them from behind, but thanks to Midiam blocking them, he pressed on without looking back, desperately putting distance between them. He knew if he turned around, his feet would freeze in place.
And this wasn't the time to look back anyway.
-Rumble!
A building by the roadside collapsed, crashing down toward Ismael. With Azadin on his back, he dodged it while conserving as much strength as possible and scanned his surroundings.
-Neigh!
The sound of a horse came from somewhere.
"Ah... damn it!"
Rushing over in faint hope, Ismael despaired.
The horse's belly was torn open, its entrails spilling out as it wailed in agony.
Its lower body had mutated into a bizarre Nether beast, devouring the parts that had been its own until moments ago. Still connected to the horse, the monster gnawed at its own flesh, and the horse—long overdue for death—thrashed in torment, unable to die.
Ismael turned away from the horrific sight and hurried on.
The light of King's Transformation, somehow emitted by Azadin and the emperor's voice, had sent the Nether's emissaries back to their world. But traces of their descent lingered here.
And so did the nagas.
"Grrr!"
A sea serpent naga tribe prowled with spears in hand and spotted Ismael.
"...Hm."
Ismael stayed calm instead. The sea serpent nagas were allied with Aragasa, so this might be a chance to get healing magic from their green mana.
"Hey! We've got an injured man here—can you heal him? We're with Aragasa!"
"Grrr..."
But these nagas didn't seem to understand human speech well and just scratched their heads.
Looking around, Ismael saw what looked like a naga sorcerer crushed to death under collapsed building rubble behind them. Their leader must have been swept away in the earthquake.
"Damn. What about horses, then? Seen any unharmed ones nearby?"
As Ismael gestured wildly to communicate, he caught one naga slyly trying to slip out of his sight. He backed up to keep it in view.
"What are you doing?"
Among the remaining nagas, the one that seemed highest-ranking growled and rattled the barbs around its neck.
"The alliance with Aragasa... is over. You failed promise. Great kings... didn't come. Failure."
"That's not... Look at the palace right now..."
"We retreat. Aragasa done anyway. Not long left. But before that..."
The nagas' eyes gleamed. They were targeting Ismael.
Ismael set Azadin down and scanned the ground for anything he could use as a weapon. All he could grab was a wooden beam from a shattered building window frame.
As the nagas cackled and lunged—
-Thunk!
Arrowheads burst through the nagas' backs and out their chests.
"Gah?!"
A figure flickered in and out of sight from the nagas' rear, darting between buildings while loosing arrows of devastating power.
"Urk! Aragasa!"
"Run!"
As the nagas scattered, an Aragasa herald landed. One of Arael's tribe and among the Four of Flower, Bird, Wind, and Moon: Indim of the Moon.
"Y-You're...?"
"Azadin, you're alive! Thank goodness."
Indim ignored Ismael entirely, beaming at Azadin and checking his pulse. Placing fingers to his neck, he clicked his tongue.
"Pulse is too weak. Kid, what happened to the Royal Throne?"
"The Royal Throne was purified. But... the emissary's lingering aura is still there, and it's overwhelmingly powerful. And Sion Etar killed Hatir."
Hatir had been killed by Ismael himself, but on Sion Etar's orders, so he pinned it on Sion Etar.
Yet Indim barely reacted to Ismael's words. Had he anticipated Sion Etar killing the chieftain Hatir?
"Good. Even called Aragasa's Shame, you're Kazas's disciple through and through—Arael's little brother. Pulling off something that tough."
"...Impressive."
Ismael bristled at Indim belittling Azadin.
Though Ismael didn't like Azadin much either, he knew the man's greatness—his strength, devotion, noble spirit. Dismissing him despite clear achievements grated.
"I'll take Azadin. What about you? Serve Arael? Or leave?"
"If I serve Arael... what happens?"
"Aragasa's finished. Ah, I mean the elder council's Aragasa. Arael... well, never mind. You leave. When the world stabilizes, Arael will rebuild Aragasa. We'll meet then. It's tricky now."
With that, Indim hoisted Azadin. But Ismael had no intention of abandoning him.
"Can you save him? I need to see if he lives or dies at least..."
The man Midiam had risked her life for. But unconscious, he didn't know what she'd sacrificed for him.
If Azadin woke and Ismael didn't tell him Midiam had braced for death—and likely died—to save him...
Of course, he desperately wanted to go back and check on Midiam right now, but Ismael resolved not to.
Going back wouldn't save her. It might even lower her odds.
'If no servants or other Aragasa are left at the scene, Sion Etar's personality might let him cover it up.'
To bury Midiam's open rebellion, Sion Etar just had to kill all witnesses there—servants, Aragasa, anyone he couldn't fully control.
Optimistic hope, but Sion Etar was the type. No reason to go back and add to those witnesses.
"...Fine. Follow if you can."
Indim scooped up Azadin and said.
"If you can keep up, that is!"
In an instant, Indim leaped away. Unlike Ismael, he moved lightly even burdened and vanished in moments.
"Urk!"
Seeing it, Ismael raged at his own foolishness.
Obvious why Indim didn't want to bring him to their hideout. Arael was wounded.
If he just took Azadin like this, a boy like Ismael would be forgotten entirely.
What now? Go back to Midiam and try to save her, watch her fate?
Or chase Azadin and watch his?
"Damn. He's looking down on me!"
Ismael dashed after Indim. After some time, glancing back, he muttered.
"This is..."
Ismael remembered the place. Identical buildings lined both sides to highlight the grandeur of the path to the palace: the castle entrance road.
Over earthquake wreckage—crumbled buildings, cracked earth—new destruction layered.
'Where Arael and the elders fought?'
Ismael absentmindedly climbed a leaning building wall and surveyed.
He gasped.
"Hah..."
The gruesome destruction was plain at a glance.
"Aragasa's done for."
He hadn't noticed leaving the palace, but turning toward it from here—where Arael had unleashed his power—it was clear.
Aragasa corpses littered everywhere. That showed the force Arael had exerted.
Ironically, Bthuma's army had barely harmed Aragasa.
The damage came from within. Arael's tribe versus the elders had doomed Aragasa.
"...Why does Arael want Azadin, though?"
The question popped up.
He knew Azadin's talents well.
But Azadin might not survive. Even if he did, without massive healing magic—or the Eight Thrones' master shedding blood to revive him—he'd be crippled for sure.
'Eight Thrones' master. Hm, no way.'
Ismael shook his head.
"Keep chasing."
Ismael cautiously followed the direction Indim's presence had vanished.
*********
"Urk..."
Azadin opened his eyes. Amid pain like his body was shattering, someone had slapped his cheek.
"You're awake."
"Cough... I-Indim?"
Azadin gasped for breath.
So cold. Too much blood loss; his body shivered.
Dizziness and body aches like being crushed washed over him.
Something flame-like flickered before his eyes, light pouring from the sky.
A lamp? Then the shaking meant he was on a boat?
But he couldn't be sure. Dizziness so bad, he couldn't tell if he was really on a boat or just felt like the world spun on flat ground.
Amazingly, even now, green mana stirred in his body, Shati's regeneration struggling to heal his wounds.
But his vital energy was depleted. Even regeneration had no life force left to draw.
With wounds this grave, long life was impossible.
Wounds might seem to knit at first, but cracks always form there eventually, shattering everything. Like the patched spot on a pot wearing out first, human flesh was the same.
"You lot saved me?"
Indim snorted at Azadin's question.
"Nah, that boy apprentice of yours."
"Ismael? Urgh..."
Excruciating headache hit; Azadin lay back. Couldn't even hold his head up.
But he had to grasp the situation...
"Hatir? Aldis? How much time passed?"
"Too many questions. One at a time."
"......"
"First: a week's gone by."
"A week?"
"You've been out cold. Mashed sugar and meds down your throat, cleaned your shit and piss. Be grateful."
"......"
Azadin examined his body.
Both arms had torn muscles and ligaments. Laughably, the left—severed below the wrist—was better off.
The right, pierced by Sion Etar's arrow, was split lengthwise, barely hanging on.
The rest of him was a wreck. No miracle, no recovery.
Azadin turned his head away. Couldn't bear his own gruesome state.