Chapter 362 – Victory and Defeat
No matter how miraculously the massacre had been avoided, it wasn't without sacrifices.
Those who had taken up arms against the unexpected stampede shed no small amount of blood, and many corpses were mutilated by the assault of the Bone-Relic Dragon.
The majority of the missing were still unconfirmed, neither alive nor dead.
The more the rubble was cleared, the fewer the missing became, and the more the dead increased, yet those unaccounted for were still greater in number.
Every body that was found was collected without exception.
They were moved to a communal grave, given a proper funeral, and the followers of the Luas Church prayed for their rest with hymns.
Leaving such sorrow behind, Sacrid continued with the bare minimum of restoration work.
Temporary shelters, watch for external intrusion, maintaining order, transporting debris—people capable were hired to keep the city stable.
Busy days, indeed.
The scale of destruction was so great that it was a tremendous physical burden.
That was why Sacrid's taverns were crowded with people who had just returned from finishing their assigned tasks.
The Mithril adventurer party, Manha, was one of them.
"Cheers!"
Manha's leader, Skald, downed his glass in one go.
As the ale slid down his throat, heat rose within him.
Kyaa, he exhaled a sigh thick with the scent of alcohol, rubbing at his bushy beard.
"Hoo, nothing beats a drink right after a hard day's work. Here, another round for each of us!"
"Yes, right away!"
The waitress answered quickly and dashed into the kitchen.
Soon after, six glasses of ale were placed on the table, cold as could be despite the warmth inside the tavern.
Skald himself picked up a glass and set it down in front of his companion.
"By the way, Asher, I never imagined I'd meet you here."
"The same goes for me."
Verden lightly gripped his glass, glancing at Geltone, whose face had already flushed red from the drink.
───Last time I heard from my comrades, they said there was a famous sightseeing spot in the Republic of Beldirn. I'll likely be leaving the Kingdom soon.
It was the conversation they'd had when Geltone had finally awakened his fire attribute.
'But to think that sightseeing spot would turn out to be Sacrid.'
And despite the time that had passed, Verden hadn't thought he'd still be here.
Vermin shrugged his shoulders.
"To be honest, other than when we visited the Adventurers' Headquarters for our promotion to Mithril rank, we've never set foot outside the Eastern Continent."
"Yes, perhaps that's why the Republic's culture feels so fresh to us. So many things to see… ah, ahem. Anyway, Asher, thank you for allowing us to join you even though I came unannounced."
"There's no need to thank me for something like that."
"Ha ha, still."
From the beginning, Verden had intended to see Geltone at least once before leaving Sacrid.
And since they happened to meet anyway… seeing him atop the walls, firing a
"Mm, since it's brought up, Asher, I owe you a great deal. You saved our lives when we were on the brink of being buried here."
Skald's companions nodded in unison.
"And you gave Geltone, who had known only water and ice magic, the gift of flame."
"It was part of a commission. I was paid for it."
"Ha ha! It's all the same, isn't it? A man like you, a Magus of your caliber, teaching him!"
As high-ranking adventurers themselves, they were well-informed.
Asher, the new master of Roafra.
The man drinking with them now was the lord of the Eastern Continent's greatest underworld.
But even such a staggering fact seemed like nothing compared to the sight they had witnessed.
Together with the archbishop of the Luas Church and the heir of DarkWarton, he had faced the transcendent Undead, the Bone-Relic Dragon, and brought it down.
That magic, that level of mastery.
They had captured it all in their eyes, not missing a single moment, even though it was nearly unbelievable to behold.
The cleric, Kedian, exhaled carefully.
"…It feels like just yesterday that we subjugated the spirit in the Estiria Kingdom."
"That time too, Asher defeated the enraged spirit alone."
"Almost a year already… but Geltone, can a Mage's level rise that sharply?"
"Ha ha, don't think of it in terms of common sense, Vermin. That's what makes him a Genius."
All but Verden recalled the events of the previous year, bringing up the spirit incident.
The enraged spirit, the monsters swarming from every direction.
The urgency they had felt then flowed naturally back into memory.
That very spirit… Blue now lived on, together with Perne.
Of course, it was something unnecessary to mention, so Verden kept silent.
The archer, Rubina, chewed on her food, propping her chin on her hand.
"King of the underworld, a sixth-tier Magus… and now, with the enormous debt the Republic owes you, you could end up a noble, couldn't you?"
"I have no intention of being tied to the Republic. And I already am a noble."
"Right… huh?"
The adventurers' gazes converged.
"A noble? Where?"
"The Estiria Kingdom."
"Wh-what title?"
"Honorary Count."
An Honorary Count of the Estiria Kingdom.
Even without a fief, it was a position of a genuine high noble.
Skald lowered his head.
"My apologies."
"I don't mind, treat me the same as before."
"Then drop the formality, it's uncomfortable."
"If that's what you prefer."
To Verden, the title was nothing more than a convenient status to make use of.
So he had no trace of the superiority or entitlement typical of nobility.
That attitude rekindled the atmosphere that had briefly frozen.
Empty glasses piled up one by one, the adventurers gradually succumbing to the alcohol.
"Compared to before, Geltone is practically a different man now! Drinking well, exercising, and even brave enough to cast a spell at the Bone-Relic Dragon!"
"Th-that was without thinking…!"
The tavern grew more and more boisterous.
Unchanged in complexion, Verden occasionally answered questions directed at him, or listened to the adventurers' chatter.
Time passed, the sunset fading, night falling.
Now came the last glass of the night.
"Excuse me, may I give the closing toast?"
"Of course."
"Ahem, hem."
Geltone cleared his throat, and then, in a voice surprisingly loud, declared.
"For the sacred lands of the Eastern Continent───!"
The one he pointed to with his hearty toast was Verden.
And the response came not only from Manha's party members.
Everyone in the tavern, as if prearranged, raised their glasses high together.
For the sacred lands───!
It was a blessing, for the benefactor who had saved their city and their lives.
***
A few days later, the Republic's airship arrived in Sacrid to carry Verden and his companions.
"This vessel will not be heading to the capital of the Republic, but to a place called 'Tersau'. We will see to your comfort, Your Excellency."
The captain of the airship politely explained the route.
He showed the utmost courtesy to a noble of another nation. And it wasn't only the captain who did so.
Verden, wishing to depart quietly, went straight up onto the deck, but before the ship could lift off, the upper echelon of the city, having caught wind of it, came rushing over in haste.
The council members, who had been acting in Brillen's stead to manage Sacrid, personally came forward with words of greeting.
They all mouthed words of gratitude, though among them was also some pretense.
Whatever they said, Verden, Adrian, and Leira only half listened, with little real interest.
And it wasn't only them who came to see them off.
"Everyone! Take care of yourselves always!!"
Bishop Lena waved both arms energetically, smiling as innocently as ever.
Haldirn gave a small nod in place of words, while Archbishop Joseph pressed both hands together in prayer.
"May the blessing of Luas be with you."
As they all already knew of the parting, the farewell was short.
Whooooom.
At last, the airship rose into the sky.
Bishop Lena now stretched out her other arm too, waving with all her strength until the ship was gone from sight.
Haldirn gazed after the departing vessel, feeling the emptiness of his depleted purse.
"My master once said, a new Transcendent of magic will be born before long. At the time, I thought he merely saw a talented fifth-tier Mage… but in truth, it was more than that."
"In the end, it is clear that Asher will exert great influence on the world."
From the Bone-Relic Dragon subjugation, Haldirn and Joseph had come to realize he was no ordinary Magus.
Several of his abilities clearly surpassed the bounds of humanity.
It was a glimpse of the Transcendent.
"I have never seen such a level in my life… and so, I am relieved he is not a villain. A Transcendent drunk on power is a threat to the continent itself."
"That cannot be guaranteed. All things change… hm, I had hoped to be the next Transcendent myself."
Haldirn felt a sharp sense of rivalry toward Verden.
He had thought the upper rank of the sixth tier was the limit for humans, yet here was a higher level still.
It had been long since he felt such burning blood stir within him.
As he mulled over the change in his emotions, Haldirn shifted the topic.
"More than that, for Glory of the Dead to resurrect the Bone-Relic Dragon, it must have been that."
"Yes, they must have used death itself as a resource. I had heard that monster was destroyed… but I never thought they could recreate it."
"Even if they are remnants of the past, they have survived eight hundred years. For them to appear now means they have prepared accordingly."
"Indeed. At least we succeeded in recovering the right arm of the Ancient King."
Now stored in a chest, the right arm of the Ancient King.
Though that day had been tumultuous beyond words, the Archbishop had done his duty.
Glory of the Dead had failed.
The light had driven away the darkness looming over the Kailiens and the Republic.
But, the problem was that this outcome was not the end.
"Joseph, do you believe that Glory of the Dead will fail to achieve their purpose?"
"They will. They must. But, but if they do succeed…"
A shadow fell heavy across Joseph's face as he imagined the worst future.
"This world will be engulfed in war."
How much death would cover the earth, none could know.
That was why it was frightening.
But the world would never be allowed to sink into darkness forever.
And so, they could face it proudly.
Because they believed, in the end, they would overcome───because they were certain the light would always prevail.
***
Somewhere on the continent, deep within a towering mountain range, there stood an artificial structure.
A stench so foul it stirred instinctive revulsion.
A scene so worn and decayed that the word antique could not dress it up.
Countless cracks ran from floor to ceiling.
Everywhere, the traces of endless years were evident.
At fixed intervals, sconces lined the walls, their candles never melting, ever burning.
Those feeble flames mingled with the darkness, faintly illuminating the great table at the center of the chamber.
Three figures were gathered there.
"The Fourth Servant, Kessilus Chaeren, is dead. The Bone-Relic Dragon, resurrected from the accumulated deaths in the East, was subjugated as well. He failed even to claim many lives. Tsk, a defeat beyond excuse."
The Second Servant, speaking in a thin voice, shifted his gaze.
Toward an ancient display case set to one side.
Behind the transparent glass rested parts of a body—ears, fingers, bones, a nose—remnants of someone's flesh.
Among them was Kessilus's right ring finger, kept preserved.
The Third Servant calmly stroked his long beard.
"Indeed, the saint of this era is dangerous. To think she could wound the Bone-Relic Dragon so grievously with a sacred lance fired from across the continent. She deserves to be called the strongest in the history of the Luas Church."
"Even so, the Bone-Relic Dragon was not slain by that. The finishing blow was struck by the young Magus who thwarted us in the Kingdom."
"The Eastern Continent's Sacred, who killed Kessilus… yes, they said his name was Asher. Hm, his power was truly strange."
They had seen Kessilus's end.
Death, repeated through Mado.
Though they could not perceive his full memory, some scenes had been branded into their minds.
"He was closer to a Transcendent than a human. Could it be that he inherited a fragment of a Transcendent's bloodline?"
"It is not a matter of lineage. No matter how much blood is inherited, such a case has never occurred before. Not eight hundred years ago, nor now."
The Second Servant shrugged.
"Still, he is too weak to be a true Transcendent. At most, he could be called a kind of mutation."
"A mutation. That makes sense."
"Whether he is a mutation or not matters little."
Then, the First Servant, who had remained silent until then, spoke.
"Kessilus's absence is regrettable, but death is only ever temporary. All else, though it be the worst outcome, is nothing more than a part of the flow we have already accounted for."
A hand clad in jet-black gauntlet stretched forward.
Upon the table lay a vast parchment map of unknown origin, marked only with the shape of the continent, without nations or borders.
Atop it rested six small models of body parts.
"In the Estiria Kingdom, we obtained the great corpse's left leg. In the Republic of Beldirn, we lost the right arm."
Following the sweep of his hand, the models shifted.
After long pursuit, most of the locations had been revealed.
Three within the Luas Theocracy.
One within Glory of the Dead.
"And now, we have discovered the whereabouts of the left arm on the Western Continent."
Thus, five models sat upon the map.
Only one lay outside their grasp.
"Now, only the head remains."
No matter if a mutation arose, no matter if the Luas Church, or DarkWarton, or the world itself stood in the way, it could not be stopped.
Defeat, failure, all of it was but steps on the path to their destination.
The moment all the body parts were accounted for, it would begin.
What Glory of the Dead sought was the resurrection of the great corpse.
The fulfillment of a distant contract, left unfinished.
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