Mausoleum of the Moon’s Shadow (3)
Mausoleum of the Moon’s Shadow (3)
Hours earlier, crimson eyes had been shining from the mausoleum’s ceiling.
That grim gaze remained fixed on the ashen-gray forest below.
To be exact—it was tracking the Elves’ trail.
Through the dense sea of trees, lusterless white abominations leapt over one another as they ran.
‘Disgusting.’
High in the air, Mapheltan frowned.
The Elves, clustered together in pale white masses, looked like swarms of white ants. Moving blindly toward a single purpose, they were no different from insects.
They were in a state of extreme excitement—after all, they had obtained Raguel, the finest fertilizer for the World Tree’s seed.
They must have wanted to place Raguel upon their altar right away. They likely had no attention to spare for any other intruder.
For Mapheltan, this was ideal. With hands behind his back, simply tailing them would lead him to the hidden cradle of the World Tree.
He thought to himself that bringing Raguel along had been the right choice after all.
With a faint curl of his lips, Mapheltan slowly descended.
The white-ant swarm below was converging toward a single point.
Before them stood a massive rock wall.
“Looks like the entrance,” Zal’karin remarked.
Indeed, as he said, the Elves began to vanish one by one—slipping into a small cave at the base of the cliff.
Mapheltan nodded.
“It should lead to the seed’s cradle.”
The cliff face was tightly entwined with thick vines—bundles of roots that had grown from the World Tree.
The World Tree’s roots spread like a spiderweb across the entirety of Sector One, supporting the mausoleum. They supplied what little nourishment they could to the dead wasteland.
The place before Mapheltan’s eyes was the spot that benefited the most from that meager sustenance.
Within the cliff, the cave surely led into the Elves’ sanctuary.
Mapheltan landed fully on the ground.
The gathered fiends all turned to look at him.
Zal’karin barked at once,
“Lower your eyes this instant! Do you even know who stands before you?!”
“Enough. Stay quiet.”
“B-but…!”
Raising a hand to halt him, Mapheltan addressed the Elves.
“So? Do you like the gift?”
From among the ashen swarm, one Elf stepped forward—a withered abomination, its expression full of wariness.
“What business does a Gakgwi have in these lands?”
“I believe I asked the question first.”
The Elf glanced back. Raguel was being dragged into the cave in the grasp of many claws.
“If you mean the gift, it must be that one—the blood of the Watcher.”
Mapheltan nodded.
“Use him well. No thanks necessary.”
“…And the reason?”
“What?”
“Why hand him over to us?”
“Nothing much—just felt like joining in your great wish.”
The Elf’s brow furrowed tightly.
“Our great wish? And what would that be?”
“The rebirth of the World Tree. More precisely, the revival of the Seventh Apostle of the End.”
A stir spread among the Elves—his words had struck home.
They sought to germinate the World Tree’s seed, birthing a new World Tree.
That World Tree would take the seat of the Seventh Apostle.
The Seventh Apostle of the End—Alquines. The Elves’ god and mother, the World Tree, was one of the great demons that sang of the End.
Because of the moon’s Prohibition, it had fallen from an ancient god to an apostle.
The same was true for every apostle but Mapheltan.
Five hundred years ago, after winning the Holy War, Marziel had cast down all twelve divine thrones but his own.
In the end, the twelve gods were tainted and corrupted, becoming apostles who cried out for humanity’s destruction.
This was why there could only be twelve apostles in the world.
There had been thirteen forgotten ancient races; of these, the “witches” did not believe in any god.
Thus, each of the other twelve races’ gods was one of the twelve apostles.
Which left one question—Mapheltan was no ancient god, so how was he an apostle?
The answer to that riddle still remained unknown.
The Elf spoke again.
“And what are you, to say you’ll join in our heart’s desire?”
Mapheltan replied calmly,
“The Thirteenth End, Mapheltan of the Seat of Deceit and Chaos.”
Silence fell over the mausoleum.
No one spoke.
Time seemed to stop.
Then, chaos broke out in an instant.
A few Elves began to snicker, and soon the entire group erupted in laughter.
──The Thirteenth End? Never heard of such a thing!
──Little demon, there is no such thing as a thirteenth apostle!
──So the beings of the surface truly have forgotten history—how true!
──You dare claim to be an apostle just because you have a horn?
──Such arrogance!
──Begone to wherever you came from!
Insults and jeers rained down from all sides.
Mapheltan remained calm.
‘So they’ve never read even a single line of the Cursed Scripture.’
This mausoleum likely held no such scripture—if it had, they could not have been ignorant of the Thirteenth End.
Zal’karin all but shouted in rage,
“O Great End! Give the word, and I shall burn these insolent wretches to ash!”
With each syllable, tiny flames slipped from his mouth, rising into the air before quickly fading.
Mapheltan was slightly surprised.
‘Since when could he do that?’
It seemed he had grown—absorbing the Abyss’s miasma had strengthened him.
Zal’karin also looked a bit startled.
“Wh-what is this…?”
The Elves burst into mocking laughter again.
──And what’s that, a little parlor trick?
──A low demon—an Imp! Shall we eat him?
──It’s been centuries since I laughed like this!
But among their number, one Elf remained stiff—the one who had been speaking for the group.
Suddenly, that Elf let out a strange, piercing scream.
Kieeeeeeeek──!
Instantly, all fell silent.
The Elf stepped toward Mapheltan.
“…I do not believe you. A thirteenth apostle cannot exist. But I cannot deny you carry a scent similar to theirs.”
Mapheltan’s expression didn’t change.
“And your point?”
“I wish to speak with you. Wait here. When the ritual is done, I will return.”
“I’ll wait inside the cave.”
This was exactly the offer he had wanted to make.
The Elf’s tone turned firm.
“No one but us may enter the cradle.”
As expected—impossible.
Mapheltan shrugged.
“Well, unfortunate, but it can’t be helped.”
He had hoped for an easy route, but it had failed. It would be a bit more trouble, but there were other ways.
“Stay right here. I’ll be back soon.”
The Elf turned and left.
Most of the others followed.
Only one massive ashen guard remained, keeping watch on Mapheltan. Though such a small force was insufficient to guard the sanctuary’s entrance, it didn’t matter—the cave was a labyrinth, crawling with countless monsters. Even if an outsider defeated the guard and entered, they couldn’t reach the sanctuary.
In ordinary cases, at least.
But unforeseen circumstances always existed.
And after five centuries of isolation, the Elves had forgotten the need to guard against such variables.
***
Mapheltan sat cross-legged and closed his eyes.
It was to manipulate the Incubus.
A fairy that ruled over the unconscious—when its target slept or lost reason, the Incubus acted.
Until just now, the Incubus he had set upon Raguel had been dormant.
Now, it stirred—Raguel had fallen into panic.
It was the perfect time to employ it.
Through the Incubus, Mapheltan interfered with Raguel’s mind.
His mastery over this authority had improved, thanks to repeated experiments on Baron Grian.
Within the mental landscape, Mapheltan faced Raguel—intent on provoking him to the utmost.
‘Push him to the edge.’
He dug up every wound he could and scraped at it mercilessly.
The results were…satisfying.
Mapheltan rose and walked toward the cave entrance.
The massive ashen horror rumbled a threat.
“One step further, and I’ll snap that horn of yours.”
Mapheltan’s face twisted.
“Such irreverence, from a moment ago.”
He began to play the part of the apostle.
The monster planted his club upright into the ground with a heavy thud.
“No matter if you are a Gakgwi, you’re still just a greenhorn. You cannot lecture me on reverence.”
Its jade eyes burned with hostility.
Mapheltan clicked his tongue.
“Wretched creatures, even great demons that have existed for a thousand years have knelt before me. Do you think you’ll be any different?”
He was speaking of Kaiaze, Scribe of the Cursed Scripture.
The monster bared its teeth like a predator.
“Try and make me kneel.”
At the same time, a chilling voice flowed from Mapheltan’s mouth.
“Crawl on all fours like a beast. Crawl, and lead me to the seed’s cradle.”
Black smoke surged from his body.
Thick miasma wrapped around them.
Utter darkness swallowed the surroundings.
The monster looked unsettled.
“What is this?!”
From within the darkness, red eyes flashed.
Mapheltan’s command transformed into an ancient demonic tongue.
『 The wretch shall crawl on all fours to the cradle (Kar’mesh zul’gar Velyaz ul thorgal). 』
The verbal command spell took hold.
The monster’s knee buckled, striking the ground. Confusion spread across its face.
“What…?!”
Resistance was impossible.
Its upper body slammed to the floor in an instant.
Its eyes, staring up at Mapheltan, trembled violently.
“...W-who are you?”
Mapheltan spoke slowly.
“I told you. The Thirteenth End.”
Zal’karin’s shoulders rose high.
“As expected—the Lord of Ten Thousand Demons!”
***
Deep underground lay a lush green forest. No ashen brush, no rotting rivers existed here.
The forest, having forgotten past despair, still held a fresh melody. Instead of the stench of death, it was filled with the scent of phytoncides.
Between the thick growth, clear water flowed.
All was the blessing of the World Tree—its roots had pierced the ground here, spreading life.
Long vines draped around the World Tree’s roots as if embracing past memories, while fireflies floated beneath, tracing its radiant history.
Dew on the leaves would now and then fall, singing of life.
This was the Elves’ last sanctuary.
Ironically, the one thing out of place here was the Elves themselves.
They climbed over one another, reaching for the cave’s ceiling.
There, a small sun shone—the seed of the World Tree, spreading life to the sanctuary.
──Mother of the earth, swallow the moon’s gaze and birth the shade of stillness.
At the top of their living tower, an Elf reached toward the seed.
In his grasp was a boy—Raguel—being offered as fertilizer.
──Root again, and claim the children of the moon.
The roots encasing the seed slowly opened.
They writhed like tentacles, beginning to coil around Raguel.
──Mother is pleased!
──The day of vengeance will come!
Raguel’s body was drawn ever closer to the seed.
The boy was defenseless—and so was the seed.
All the roots guarding it had withdrawn.
The moment they touched—suddenly, a sound split the air.
A pitch-black silhouette tore through the void.
From high above in the cave, a chilling voice echoed.
“Yes—now! Bite it!”
The black fairy flicked off Raguel’s Spirit-Sealing Mask.
The boy pitched forward, mouth wide.
And then—crunch!
He bit down on the shining seed and swallowed it whole.
Raguel’s heart pounded violently.
Into his veins of red blood, blue blood was being transfused.
***
“How is it, High Elf? How does it feel to be reborn?”
The first thing the blind youth saw upon opening his eyes was truly monstrous.
Right before him stood a being that embodied every form of evil in the world.
Its eyes were red like the juice squeezed from a human, its skin so dark it resembled a swamp of malice.
The miasma wrapping its whole body fluttered like a banner symbolizing all wickedness.
That dreadful being was Mapheltan.
The underground was full of other horrors, but none of them entered his sight.
Mapheltan’s presence was too overwhelming.
Raguel froze stiff.
Mapheltan frowned.
“Hey, at least tell me how it feels—”
Before he could finish, Raguel’s head lolled forward.
Overcome with shock, he had fainted.
Mapheltan exhaled in disbelief.
‘Well…that hurts my feelings.’
As he sighed, a terrible noise shook the underground.
Every Elf began to wail at once.
Their eyes blazed with immeasurable hatred.
Kieeeeeeeeeek────!
Countless claws shot toward Mapheltan.
He rose into the air, his wings blotting out the void.
From far above, the apostle gazed down upon the fiends.
“Children of the earth, cry all you wish. From this moment on, we shall hold the World Tree’s funeral.”