Chapter 358 – Again, One Step
The Supernova was Verden's star, born from celestial magic, through the infinite Mado.
It consumed truly outrageous amounts of magic power, but in return, its might rivaled that of super-tier magic.
Verden turned his head, looking past Sacrid, at the natural landscape before him.
Originally, it had been a warm, wintry forest.
Now, at its center, stretched a vast, alien scenery.
Like the heart of a desert, the land lay barren.
The star's explosion.
It had erased everything within its range—trees, grass, Sacrid relics, even Lustrous—leaving not a trace behind.
And likewise, the presence of the Bone-Relic Dragon… could no longer be sensed.
'Fortunately, the calculations were correct.'
Even for Verden, this was only the second time he had realized the Supernova in actuality.
The first had been within the mental world created by the witch, Silis, but this was the first time he had cast it in reality.
Had he not secured distance as he had just now, what would have happened?
Half of Sacrid would surely have been blown away.
And most of those nearby would have perished.
…To block a Breath that should have been lightly dismissed, had been the worst decision.
Even looking back, it was obvious.
But what followed was, for Verden himself, the best, the most optimal outcome.
'No matter how cautious one is, one cannot always make perfect choices.'
At times, what seemed best may lead to the worst,while what seemed worst may produce the best result.
The world is no perfect puzzle that fits together.
He believed nothing in such fate, where beginnings and endings were predetermined.
There was no need to account for every unreachable variable.
So long as, whatever arose, he could seize control, and in the end grasp what he desired, that was enough.
That, Verden had built into his own value system through his life.
No longer did the threat of the Glory of the Dead remain.
What had begun in the Republic of Beldirn, with Luas Church and DarkWarton in alliance, a long day had finally reached its close.
With that, the situation was ended.
"…Haa."
Verden slowly blinked his eyes.
The exhaustion was so heavy he could not conceal it. His stamina and magic power were nearly depleted.
Rarely, sleep called to him strongly, yet before that, he had to treat the wounds dealt by the Bone-Relic Dragon.
It was still too soon to take full rest.
Verden staggered forward.
Then—
"Kyaaaahhh!"
"Uaaaarghhh!"
Suddenly, screams burst out.
Voices full of fear. Not just one, but many.
From straight ahead.
Verden raised his senses once more, and lifted his gaze.
"..."
At the center of the unconscious, collapsed crowd stood Leira.
She wore shattered, ruined armor, smeared and dripping with dark crimson blood.
Yet something was strange.
Like a puppet dangling on threads, her posture was utterly limp, unnaturally awkward.
"Archbishop! Paladin!! Anyone, please!! Is there anyone who can use holy power?!"
Clinging desperately to Leira's leg was Bishop Lena.
She was urgently calling for help, releasing holy power.
Then, at last, Leira, who had been silent, raised her head.
Crrrack.
Her helmet, at the limits of durability, slipped and fell.
The face hidden beneath was revealed to the world.
"Aaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!"
"Hhh, hhuaaaaghh!!"
"Ggghhkk…!"
Those who happened to meet her eyes collapsed, screaming.
Their eyes rolled back.
Their faces were etched with terror beyond words.
'Does it affect the mental plane?'
Narrowing his brow, Verden half-opened his left eye.
Unaffected, he looked straight at Leira's face.
Even with blood spattered, her skin was pale and flawless, her features near perfect.
Her golden eyes, clear as glass, reflected the light of dusk.
The only difference—unlike humans, the whites of her eyes had turned pitch black.
Golden eyes, and inverted eyes.
Leira's lips moved faintly.
It was a muttering, incomprehensible.
Then her gaze fixed sharply upon Verden.
[Who, are you?]
The voice was inhuman.
The will was not hers.
There was no hostility.
Only pure curiosity, which made it all the more unsettling.
Before Verden could answer, Leira closed her eyes, and collapsed forward limply.
"Now! We must alleviate the curse at once! Do not withdraw your holy power until I give word!"
"Y-Yes, Bishop!"
Clerics rushed in, surrounding Leira with holy light alongside Bishop Lena.
Judging by the scene… it was tied to demons.
After all, he had heard once that her face bore a demon's curse.
'So sudden.'
That was all the impression Verden felt.
From the brightening expression on Bishop Lena's face, it seemed the most dangerous moment had passed.
"My lord."
In that moment, hearing the commotion, Adrian arrived belatedly.
His breath was ragged, his steps unsteady. Several of his fingers looked broken.
From the battle with the Bone-Relic Dragon, his condition was dire as well.
"I heard the screams and came… What happened? Could it be, remaining enemies…?"
"No, nothing of the sort. And it doesn't seem to be something for us to involve ourselves in."
Verden shook his head slowly, and stepped forward.
"…Let us go rest."
And he meant it.
***
The miracles of healing wrought by holy power were, in truth, miracles.
Like in Kailiens, when Bishop Lena had poured all her strength into Adrian, and in just days cured what had made him half-crippled.
Of course, it was possible only because Lena was a high-ranking bishop.
Even miracles varied vastly in effect, depending on the level of the cleric invoking them.
In this, there was no difference from aura or magic power.
But the wounds inflicted by the Bone-Relic Dragon were of another order.
The chill and malice exuded by an undead transcendent species went beyond physical matter.
Put simply, though the surface seemed healed, the true inner injuries did not mend properly.
Adrian, Haldirn, Leira, Romer… there were many grievously wounded.
Torn muscles and flesh, shattered bones, necrosis from frostbite, puncture wounds—the injuries were many and varied.
Thus, Joseph had to begin praying immediately once he regained even the bare minimum of holy power.
For at archbishop level, holy power was at least somewhat effective.
And besides them, countless others were injured—demi-humans, magical beasts, and those caught in the aftershocks of battle.
The clerics of Luas Church rushed tirelessly everywhere.
Even with night fallen, the inner quarter of Sacrid remained bustling.
"..."
Verden stood atop a building somewhere within the inner quarter.
A luxurious room, lent by Supreme Councilor Brillen.
He did not go to the Church, unlike the other wounded.
He refused miraculous healing, saying his injuries were not severe.
'It's useless to me anyway.'
Verden's body, by its very nature, could not be affected by holy power.
He had never received a miracle from an archbishop, but he was certain it would not have been different.
He released [Ainber].
The damage was severe, but… it would restore itself on its own.
Though, due to the Bone-Relic Dragon's influence, it would likely take longer than usual.
Plop.
Bare-chested, Verden sat upon the bed, leaning against the wall.
He gathered the little magic power he had recovered.
Through magic control, he manifested needles of magic, and threads of magic.
He lowered his gaze.
Upon his body, engraved with the magic circle of Defying the Heavens… his eyes fell on the deep tear in his abdomen.
Verden pressed the wound hard with his left hand, closing the edges.
Crackle… drip… drip…
At the sudden pressure, blood gushed forth.
The bright red liquid streamed down his skin, dripping onto the floor, pooling small puddles.
Thud.
Without hesitation, he stitched the gash shut with blue needles and thread.
Meticulously, thoroughly.
Then, over the sutures, he sprinkled a top-grade potion, and drank another.
"…!"
The burning pain, the agony, made Verden's brow twitch slightly.
But that was all.
Compared to his time as an experimental subject, this was relatively light.
Thus, at ten-minute intervals, he consumed five doses of top-grade potion.
Verden's body was magically perfected.
Thus, potions imbued with magic power were highly effective.
The external wounds vanished cleanly, even the gash from the Bone-Relic Dragon's bone through his right arm.
Even broken ribs returned to place, and rejoined.
Of course, the internal injuries remained, so he had to be careful for now.
Full recovery would require time.
'…Frankly, this is not human.'
Even Verden thought so.
When cracks appeared, his body strove to return to its original state… not so much healing, as completeness.
Not only now—after the magical battle with the Administrator, he had recovered intact as well.
'Is this how Transcendents recover?'
When he had inherited Arcane, he had raised such a question, but the Administrator who had passed him but fragments of memory, had not known.
So he had not heard an answer, and there was no one to ask.
Verden suspended a mirror in the air, and examined the Mystic Eye in his right eye.
He could not see.
Only faint shades of light and dark.
It was not permanent damage.
Even an overstrained Mystic Eye like this, with time, would recover.
If he forced it now… he could not guarantee.
But of course, he would not.
In any case, he had dealt with the critical injuries.
Even with the Ring of Rune, Exceed, enhancing his inner senses, there was no part that felt fatal.
Yet, one task remained.
"..."
Verden raised his left hand.
At once, dormant magic in his heart stirred.
Magic power surged through his circuits.
Whooosh.
On his bloodstained hand, dark crimson magic power gathered.
Small, but fierce.
***
In the wall's reflection, the unfamiliar magic gleamed.
Even though Verden was wielding it himself, he could not fathom what it was.
So, he intended to probe it, even briefly.
Contemplation of the unknown.
A most mage-like attitude. He pushed his fatigue aside.
First, this magic could temporarily remove the wall blocking tiers.
In other words, Verden could use 7th-tier magic, if only for a moment.
An unprecedented phenomenon.
'Then, what of its properties?'
If the dark crimson magic itself contained power reaching the 7th-tier… perhaps he could inscribe a 7th-tier circle with it?
If possible, he could break free from spatial restriction.
As when he escaped the Bohemirn magic tower, he could long-distance teleport through a spatial magic circle.
But alas, it did not go as he hoped.
"…Damn."
Crack.
He drew a simple magic circle in the air, but it flickered and repelled violently.
He had no time to attempt control.
What if he inscribed it onto an object?
Again, failure.
The instant the dark crimson magic touched, the floor began to crumble.
Had he not retracted it swiftly, the entire floor would have collapsed.
Finally, he used a magic stone.
If he was to experiment, he would use the finest material.
A top-grade magic stone worth hundreds of millions of Elk, used as a medium, he channeled the dark crimson magic.
…The magic stone perished without a trace.
'Its properties are utterly unlike normal magic.'
It defied every magical law Verden knew.
Destruction, violence, chaos.
This alien magic was, in plain words, annihilative.
Suddenly, he recalled a conversation with the Administrator, back in the Demon King's tomb.
──Dark crimson magic… then, you mean this is my true Mado?
──That is what I believe. From all evidence, it makes sense. Likely, your frayed mind briefly came into harmony with your body, and thus it manifested.
Dark crimson magic.
Was this truly his real Mado, as the man claimed?
There was clearly a connection, yet it could not be the whole.
Because he had not transcended.
He had not yet fully attained spiritual enlightenment.
'But…'
Verden remembered clearly.
At the moment he sought to take one step forward, what he had thought.
What it was that enabled him to wield this magic.
Following that stream of thought, he clenched his hand.
The raging dark crimson magic stilled.
And the vague sketch he had held in mind, began to take on color.
…Yes.
What kind of realization would bring transcendence.
How he might exact vengeance upon the Bohemirn magic tower.
At last, little by little, it grew clearer.
***
While his injuries were improving, Verden did not step outside for some time.
None questioned his intent.
Morning, noon, and night.
At set times, carts of luxurious meals were left at his door.
Aside from Adrian's one visit, hobbling on crutches, Verden met no one, and spoke to no one.
He spent most hours asleep, devoted solely to healing his inner wounds.
Thus two weeks passed.
Clack.
At last, Verden stepped outside.
Clad once more in the fully restored Ainber.
Though his internal injuries and magic power were not fully recovered, he was past the point of impaired movement.
Thus he walked, appearing upon the streets of the inner city.
"…?"
As he stepped forth, countless gazes turned to him at once.
Emotions mingled. In shock, they whispered among themselves.
Passing nearby, an old mage met his eyes.
Startled, the man bowed deeply.
"I greet the Reacher of Mado."
The Reacher of Mado.
In the central continent's magic world, the title for a 6th-tier Magus.
A stranger mage showed him respect through his demeanor.
Fear, trembling, awe—all emotions bound together.
It was reverence.
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