Mausoleum of the Moon’s Shadow (7)
Mausoleum of the Moon’s Shadow (7)
“Let’s make a deal. What will you give me in return?”
When Mapheltan gave a sly smile, a deep shadow fell over the Dark Elf’s face.
His already black features seemed to sink into pitch darkness.
Hostility and killing intent poured from his entire being.
The Dark Elf muttered in a low voice,
“…How arrogant.”
Suddenly, black energy began to condense in his palm.
Danger.
Mapheltan, still lying on the ground, quickly lifted his upper body.
He immediately widened the distance between them.
At the same time, a beam of black light shot from the Dark Elf’s hand.
The pitch-dark trajectory scraped the ground and surged straight for Mapheltan’s horns.
He twisted his head aside—the air split with a sharp whistling, scorching heat brushing his cheek.
He had barely dodged in time.
The gouged earth was left charred black.
That would’ve taken my horn clean off.
Though startled, Mapheltan didn’t let it show.
Wearing a calm expression, he said,
“If I die, you stand to lose a lot. Do I really have to spell it out for you?”
First of all—Raguel would die.
The last remaining Elf in this world would be gone.
And the Dark Elf would never learn the terms of the contract between the World Tree and the Witch.
Any rational being couldn’t possibly kill him.
The Dark Elf stared at Mapheltan, likely weighing his options.
It was pointless musing—there was already only one sensible choice.
“…Seems I’ll have to indulge your little game,” the Dark Elf said.
Mapheltan chuckled.
“Knew you were a reasonable one.”
“What do you want from me?”
The Dark Elf would have to pay something in return.
Feigning thought, Mapheltan replied,
“Well… fine. For the sake of a harmonious relationship, I’ll make this one a freebie.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you without asking for payment. Consider it a gesture to lessen your grudge against me.”
It was only natural that the Dark Elf would hold resentment—after all, because of Mapheltan, the seed they’d cherished for 500 years was gone.
“Impossible.”
Mapheltan shrugged.
“Didn’t think so.”
“Just tell me the contract’s terms.”
Mapheltan nodded.
“The mausoleum’s destruction. That’s what the Witch promised the World Tree.”
The Dark Elf’s eyes narrowed.
“…What?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. The World Tree wants this graveyard gone—even if it means becoming the Witch’s familiar.”
The World Tree was exhausted—utterly spent.
It wanted to end its vain hope and 500 years of unending pain.
It no longer wished to hear the cries of its children.
Better to rest together in eternal slumber.
After granting that final peace to its offspring, it intended to close its eyes once the contract with the Witch ended.
The Dark Elf’s gaze trembled.
“…Why, Mother?”
“Call it life’s futility. Honestly, don’t you understand?”
Demons could live on hatred for humanity alone.
But those imprisoned in the Abyss were different.
They desired to rise again—to reclaim their former glory.
Impossible for Elves.
They had no means to germinate the World Tree’s seed.
All the Elves, the World Tree included, knew this truth. As the years passed, their will weakened.
By now, only hatred for humanity remained.
But living on that hatred alone left too big a void where their original ideals had been.
That suffocating emptiness crept in constantly.
The Dark Elf had felt it too—every moment of his existence.
Closing his eyes, his jade glow vanished, leaving him a silhouette of pure black.
Silence lingered.
After a long while, he opened his eyes again.
“This place truly is our grave.”
The Mausoleum of the Moon’s Shadow—the First Territory of the Abyss—was indeed the Elves’ tomb.
“My view is a little different. Why be buried here of all places?”
“Mother wishes for an ending. I cannot defy her.”
Mapheltan shook his head.
“That’s not what I mean. Even if you must die, at least choose where you’ll be buried.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Leave the mausoleum. Take your revenge on the humans who made you this way—then die.”
The Dark Elf scoffed.
“Mother has let go of everything. Without her hatred, we have no reason to move.”
The weight of futility pressed heavier than revenge ever could.
Mapheltan said,
“Then I’ll give you a reason. Attack a certain place for me, and I’ll grant you your heart’s desire.”
“Our heart’s desire?”
Mapheltan’s expression darkened.
“Marziel—I will bring the Moon crashing down, and bury both his body and spirit in your grave.”
To trample the greatest god-seat in this world? It was an absurd claim—but somehow, the Dark Elf couldn’t laugh it off.
Mapheltan’s tone was far too serious.
“…You’re an amusing one.”
“Does it sound like a boast? A joke?”
“Indeed.”
Mana began to rise from every inch of Mapheltan’s body.
His voice grew chilling.
“The Thirteenth Apostle of the End will honor his contract with the Dark Elf.”
At the same time, his voice shifted into the ancient demonic tongue:
『 The Thirteenth Apostle of the End will honor his contract with the Dark Elf. (Vel’thaz un’kareth Draz’thul ven’kora Nyth’el un’zarak vol tharyn.) 』
It was a declaration etched into himself—such self-bound words carried far greater force.
The Dark Elf visibly wavered.
“…What are you?”
Mapheltan’s face was expressionless.
“Come to think of it, I never introduced myself. I am the Thirteenth Apostle of the End, Mapheltan, Seat of Deception and Chaos.”
The Dark Elf felt a profound dissonance.
Yes, this Gakgwi gave off a strange scent—but he was still only a young demon, far from the overwhelming presence of other Apostles.
An odd aura, yes—but nothing more. That was the Dark Elf’s assessment.
And yet—he had spoken in the Words of Power.
That alone was undeniable proof.
Only Apostles and gods could wield that authority.
If one could use the Words, they were an Apostle.
The Dark Elf’s pupils trembled.
“…I don’t even know how to process this.”
There were supposed to be only twelve Apostles in existence.
But here was a Thirteenth. The unbreakable law was shattered, and his mind reeled.
Mapheltan shrugged.
“Interpret it however you like. My identity has nothing to do with our discussion.”
The Dark Elf thought for a long moment, then spoke.
“I can’t accept you.”
“That’s fine. All I want is to offer you a deal.”
“…You mean the one about dropping the Moon?”
“To be precise, you’ll attack a ‘specific location’ I name.”
“And where is that?”
“The capital.”
The heart of the kingdom. By striking it, Mapheltan planned to divert attention away from the south.
The Dark Elf let out a short laugh.
“I don’t know what the capital is like now, but if I’m right, you’re asking us to walk straight into our deaths.”
“Exactly. Rampage there, then die together.”
“Ha!”
“You were planning to be buried in this mausoleum anyway. At least taste some blood first—and fulfill your desire in the process.”
The sheer audacity made the Dark Elf almost speechless.
“…What even are you…”
“If that’s not enough, I’ll add another promise—restoration of Elves civilization. Your kin will once again live on the surface. That’s the full offer.”
“One High Elf won’t be enough.”
Elves were not hermaphrodites. They needed pairs to reproduce.
And Raguel was the only Elf left in the world.
“Difficult, yes—but not impossible. You know that as well as I do.”
This world had no shortage of miracles.
For example, gather every Holy Grail and wish for the birth of a female Elf—it could be done.
“Young demon, do you even understand the weight of a contract?”
With demons, the collateral was always one’s life.
If he truly made this pact, he would be bound to fulfill its terms—no matter what.
Killing Marziel. Restoring Elves civilization. Two near-impossible tasks.
From the Dark Elf’s perspective, it was absurd.
“Of course I understand. I’m not foolish enough to take a contract lightly.”
The calm confidence in Mapheltan’s expression made it hard to dismiss him as reckless.
It was as if every calculation had already been made.
The Dark Elf muttered,
“You really are a strange one.”
“Now—decide. Will you make a deal with me and set the capital aflame? Or will you stay here and be buried in this mausoleum?”
The Dark Elf needed time to think logically.
***
Even in the dead of night, a city shone brightly.
Holy light floated like halos in the sky, and a pentagram atop the great cathedral scattered gentle moonlight.
This was Arterium—the capital of the Kingdom of Artelga.
A fortress city designed to keep demons out. Its anti-demon surveillance systems and exclusive wards operated twenty-four hours a day.
No demon dared approach.
The moment they stepped within, black blood would evaporate instantly.
Even if one survived that, they would be slaughtered by paladins and high priests.
For two hundred years, not a single demon had breached Arterium.
The capital’s people knew no fear of demons.
When a strange magic circle appeared in the sky, they only marveled and laughed.
“Mom, what’s that?”
“Where?”
“Up there—like spiderwebs in the sky.”
“Didn’t the church say something about a ceremony today? Not sure.”
“Whatever it is, it’s beautiful!”
“It is, isn’t it? Haha!”
That was the general mood.
From above, a girl watching them let out a small sigh.
“Johan… you can be so cruel sometimes. Especially to demons.”
She flicked her finger.
The vast magic circle suddenly blazed in deep blue.
The night brightened with azure light.
Smiling faces froze in place.
A bone-deep chill gripped them—an unfathomable hatred pressing down from above.
Countless smiles twisted into screams in an instant.