Chapter 68
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Chapter 68
As I drew closer to Agenka, an unbearable stench wafted through the air. The moment I caught that odor, a premonition seized me. When I saw the corpses draped across the blood-soaked city walls, the premonition crystallized into certainty.
Finding her was not difficult. The Demon Woman laid bare her presence without restraint. I dismounted and walked.
At sixteen, I had been sent away from the Imperial Palace and arrived in Agenka. From that moment onward, I had lived here continuously. Alone until eighteen, the minimum enrollment age for the Military Academy; then as a cadet; afterward as Baron's squire; as a knight; as the commander of the knight order. Fifteen years I had spent in Agenka.
Severed limbs and entrails of unknown origin lay at my feet. My nose had already gone numb from the stench of decomposing corpses. Dried bloodstains, puddles of blood still wet despite the passage of considerable time. Fragments of the dead. The bodies of the slain.
The city where I had grown and taken root, the city I had guarded and cultivated, had become a vast tomb. Like a dying spirit, I traversed that hell. Though all around was silent, vivid screams echoed in my ears.
I reached the Central Plaza. The angel statue holding a holy sword at the center of the fountain wept blood instead of water. Corpses not long dead hung from the statue's peak. I recognized them immediately. My friend and the woman he loved.
Two Giosa Owners were upon the angel statue. Beneath the fountain, the decomposing massive corpse was the vice-commander who had once been my lord. As if deliberately displayed, those bodies were arranged in such a manner.
1632, autumn, Agenka. Before the blood-stained fountain.
I faced the woman who had destroyed everything I loved. With hair darkened to black, she laughed. Black mana swirled violently around her.
Though I had lost everything, I could not resent her. I could not rage. Even if all humanity hated her, I could not hate her. It was because of me that she had become a demon—how could I, how could I possibly resent her?
Only desolate despair remained. With each breath, sorrow seeped in like the stench. It burned my throat as it descended, tearing through my chest. The anguish was so vast that even tears would not come.
If only I could return to the past, if only I could return to that banquet hall, if only I could return to before I left Agenka. Meaningless hypotheticals. Fate had already reached a point of no return.
I opened my True Sight. Beyond the wavering malice, her soul cried out. The spark that had been nothing but a faint seed when I first saw it now burned brilliantly, filling her soul. That luminous spirit writhed, both cheeks drenched with tears.
Intense though it had become, the swamp-like malice was darker still. Black malice strangled her throat and tangled her limbs, consuming her within itself. That desperate struggle was laid bare before me. Because she had chosen to burn rather than crumble, she remained trapped in agony.
If only she would surrender, she would find peace. Yet she stood before me, unaware that I was the very cause of her torment, regarding me with eyes full of despair.
I closed my eyes. I bit my lips until blood came. All the blood in my body seemed to have drained away; my entire frame turned cold. Though still alive, I had become a corpse. Or perhaps I had already been one all along.
"I...."
Words leaked from my open mouth like a groan. The words remained unfinished.
I made you this way.
I destroyed your life. This hell was ultimately something I summoned. You are blameless. I merely looked upon you for a moment. It was a small curiosity. I did not know it would bring such tragedy. I did not know it would turn you into a demon. I even forgot about it soon after.
I, without even knowing who was responsible for your suffering, dared to pity you. I offered you a chance, acted as though I were bestowing grace upon you—such arrogance, such stupidity. I was ignorant and foolish.
I am sorry. I am sorry. Truly. I do not know how to atone to you. I do not even know if atonement is possible for this. I do not know what to do now. Truly, I am sorry.
There is nothing but an apology.
A sensation as though my heart were being seared. I could not continue speaking. Something seemed lodged in my throat; no words would come. The holy sword whispered quietly.
[There is no choice now. You must kill that woman. But escape from here first—you cannot defeat her alone. Gather others and respond.]
I did not hear those words. Everything felt as though it were crumbling. Or perhaps it had already crumbled entirely. I drew Rangiosa.
[You fool, you'll die!]
The holy sword raised its voice—uncharacteristic of its usually composed nature. I ignored those words and lifted the white blade. It seemed absurd that I could wield this sword. Justice? What justice? Where could justice possibly exist here?
She approached me, wielding the Demonic Sword Bardegiosa. I opened my True Sight. The malice was so intense that keeping my True Sight open caused my eyes to strain, interfering with combat, yet I did not close it. Throughout the battle, I gazed upon her through True Sight. I did not look away from the woman who screamed silently.
I did not even know her name. Yet I knew her efforts that no one else would ever know. I could not turn away, nor did I wish to. I etched her image into my eyes. Even in the moment I was defeated, dropped the holy sword, was pierced by the Demonic Sword, and drew my final breath.
I did not close my eyes.
* * *
A long darkness.
March 17, 1629, dawn.
Yurien de Harden Kirie opened his eyes in his bedroom. I lay motionless for a time. The familiar ceiling felt infinitely strange. I blinked several times, then slowly raised my hand to examine it. Pale moonlight filtered through the window. Not a drop of blood stained my clean hand. The familiar golden pattern on my palm was distinct.
I rose from the bed. I felt my chest where I had surely been pierced, confirmed it was intact, then left the bed. I lit the lamp. Light spread across the room, illuminating it. It was the bedroom of the commander's residence in Agenka where I had stayed for years.
'A residence?'
The Changtian Knights had quarters more luxurious than the mansions of most nobles. But no matter how well-appointed, quarters meant communal living, so most knights had acquired residences within Agenka and commuted from there. Only a minority of knights with little interest in homes lived in the quarters.
During my time as a knight, I had lived in those quarters, but as soon as I became commander, I moved to the residence traditionally provided to commanders. This was that residence where I now stood. Since becoming commander, I had lived here continuously.
But from early 1632 onwards, I abandoned the mansion and dwelt in the commander's quarters within the order's dormitory. Staying in the internal barracks allowed me to visit the Underground Prison where she was confined far more frequently.
More than half a year had passed since I last set foot in the mansion. I couldn't fathom why I was here now, or how I was even alive. I had died—I was certain of it.
Yurien de Harden Kirie gazed vacantly around the room before checking his chest once more. The terrible agony and the sensation of plummeting endlessly still lingered, yet the heart that Bardegiosa had pierced beat soundly, alive and vital.
He looked down at his right hand and called upon the Holy Sword.
"Langiosa."
The Holy Sword did not answer. He called out louder.
"Lan, awaken."
No matter how many times he called, the Holy Sword remained silent.
Yurien de Harden Kirie drew the blade. A pristine white sword forged from a single metal—hilt and blade as one—gleamed with soft luminescence. He gripped it, amplified his mana, and activated True Sight. Everything functioned normally, and he remained the Holy Sword's master. Yet Langiosa would not wake, as though slumbering. He could not comprehend why.
Dawn broke into morning. Within hours, Yurien de Harden Kirie learned it was March 17th, 1629. He had died in autumn of 1632, yet upon opening his eyes, nearly three and a half years had rewound.
Agenka, which had been a living hell, now thrummed with vibrant daily life. People bustled about busily. Dietrich, not yet the Giosa Owner, clicked his tongue at him, wondering why he seemed so vacant today. Teresa had departed on a mission, and Baron sparred with his squire Baraha Islaf. They were all people who had been dead.
He could not comprehend what had transpired. He struggled to make sense of the situation.
The first thing he investigated was the Demonic Sword Demon. When he asked what had become of Bardegiosa, Vice-Commander Baron responded with a puzzled expression.
"Bardegiosa has been missing for quite some time now."
"...It hasn't appeared?"
"Though our members periodically undertake Giosa pilgrimages, there has been no news regarding Bardegiosa for over a decade. Have you heard something?"
Yurien de Harden Kirie stared blankly at the documents. The papers Baron had brought for approval bore the date March 17th, 1629 in clear script. It was indeed the day the Demonic Sword Demon first appeared.
'Perhaps the news simply hasn't reached Agenka yet, given that it only just manifested.'
He thought so at first. But as days passed, no reports of the Demonic Sword Demon surfaced. He deliberately gathered intelligence from the Southern Empire where the demon had emerged, yet there were no accounts of mass slaughter—not even rumors of mysterious deaths.
The demon seemed not to exist. Daily life proceeded with utter tranquility. The Holy Sword remained silent. Yurien de Harden Kirie felt himself teetering toward madness.
'Was it a dream? All of it?'
Perhaps he had merely experienced a vivid, prolonged dream. A terrible nightmare, nothing more. Such doubts crept in.
'If it was a dream... if it was merely a dream, then yes, that would be better.'
The memories were far too crystalline to dismiss as mere dreams. Each time he recalled them, his entire body turned cold and his heart ached as though pierced through. In fact, precisely because they were so horrifyingly vivid, he wished they were dreams. The Holy Sword's silence troubled him, certainly, but a nightmare was preferable. He desperately hoped it had all been nothing but a terrible dream rather than events that had truly occurred.
If it had all been real, if that future was truly approaching, how unutterably bleak it would be.
The future had already diverged by virtue of the demon's non-appearance. So he repeated to himself that it was merely a dream and tried to forget.
The hardest thing to forget was the existence of 'the Woman.' He did not investigate her. A single glance had caused such devastation. And since that had occurred at the 1628 birthday banquet, it should have already happened by now. He feared what might transpire if he so much as looked into her, let alone investigated further.
Or perhaps—just perhaps—the Woman herself existed only within his dream. Perhaps the memory of the birthday banquet was merely part of that long nightmare. Such thoughts arose. She might be nothing but illusion. Yet it seemed stranger still that an existence which did not crumble even amid such wretchedness, which instead burned with fierce intensity, could be real.
Thus nearly a month passed in peaceful silence.
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Brought to you by Valir Scans! To support our team and enjoy the latest releases, please read directly on our official site: valirscans.org
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