EP.149 Superhuman, Just a Human (4)
Everyone has their own radiant days.
Everyone cherishes those days deeply because that time is not eternal. Radiance eventually loses its light. Sometimes it gets stuck in the mud. A life devoid of radiance is a struggle. Too much for one.
“…Ah.”
Such is the life of this man.
Sword Demon Draka gazes at the broken blade. A blade that has endured decades has finally shattered. A sword made of indestructible steel. A sword named Unbreakable. Yet despite its breakage, Draka feels no confusion.
It broke because the time had come.
It has held up so far.
That’s all there was to think.
What crumbles before him is the blade, but it’s not just the blade that has broken. A sword is like the knight’s half-body. A companion of the soul. Now, that half has shattered.
‘It did break.’
His life was one worth discarding.
The pride he had cast away is trampled once again.
‘So, it happened just like this.’
Holding the broken blade, Draka stretches out his arm.
The knight’s pride has been crushed. The half-body is shattered. Yet, Draka remains the Sword Demon. A man who has reached the rank of superhuman through sheer determination.
That determination is like an unquenchable fire.
A blazing flame moves his body.
Yet, as he moves, Draka senses it. No matter what tactic he employs, he cannot win. He understands this place is his destination. Nevertheless, he swings his sword because… he is still bound by the vow of his past.
“I will protect you, no matter what happens.”
A vow made with his daughter.
A vow he ultimately failed to keep.
Crunch.
He wanted to keep that vow.
Thud, thud.
Because he wanted to protect.
“Cough…”
He has continued his weary life through sheer determination.
He lived through perseverance, but perseverance alone does not solve everything. Therefore, Draka devised strategies. He sought success through any means necessary.
But that too comes to an end.
Inevitably, it ends.
His arm twists. The fingers gripping the sword bend and then snap. He can no longer hold the sword.
Thud.
Ultimately, Draka relinquishes the broken sword.
The blade embeds itself into the snow.
“…”
Draka stares ahead. Before him stands the Ashen-Haired Girl. Her appearance may have changed, but those azure eyes remain unchanged. Under her chilly gaze, Draka lets out a hollow laugh.
Raniel van Trias, the Ashen Mage.
She is still a monstrous mage.
Still an obstacle in his path.
“Is that so?”
Draka chuckles emptily.
“So, I have lost.”
He has lived a life worse than sludge.
The person to conclude that life stands before him.
2.
Some say the Four Disasters resemble natural disasters. Droughts come, and villages are swept away by floods, yet no one blames anyone. In short, the Four Disasters are like that.
A chance occurrence of any day.
Something that comes without reason.
Someone’s life is shattered for no reason.
“Draka van Harokt.”
There was a lord bearing such a name.
He was a lord who knew how to care for his people and was respected by knights.
“Your Lordship, your wife…”
By a chance accident, he lost his wife. Yet he did not blame anyone. He simply lived for his daughter, the treasure his wife left behind.
At first, it was just a coincidence.
That could be assumed.
“Your Lordship, you must abandon your territory.”
“Where is Armel, where is Armel?”
“…”
“Answer me. I asked where she is. Where is that girl?”
Then what about the second one?
How is he to accept yet another coincidental occurrence?
He could not accept a second time. Draka strode into the burning territory.
Squish.
The ground was a muck.
A mix of flowing blood and what had once been human filled the air with a stench. Without dying or living, Draka walked forward, cutting down the muck that walked around.
He slashed down his beloved subjects.
He moved, killing those who had become less than human.
How much muck had he cut through?
As the blackened blade dulled, Draka encountered a woman. A woman with white hair.
“Aha.”
She smiled.
“A brave child, isn’t she?”
She threw something at him.
Draka saw something splatter before him with a splat. It was a lump of black muck. That sticky substance made a sound.
‘Daddy,’ it said.
“She called your name until the end.”
The woman smiled, amused.
“Though it was a failure, it was a somewhat fascinating experiment.”
The woman vanished beyond the black forest.
Draka could not chase her.
He looked at what lay before him. He saw what had once been a half-melted human, and he screamed, a sound spilling from his mouth that was unclear if it was a scream or laughter.
That was decades ago.
For revenge, Draka cast aside his pride.
He tossed aside the common sense of humanity. Only by casting all away could he reach the catastrophe. He discarded and discarded yet there was one thing he could not throw away.
“…The First Saint.”
“The miracle of resurrection that can bring back the dead.”
He lived a life like garbage.
He hunted the apostate, committing apostasy himself. He treated the lives of other humans like flies. His life should have fallen to hell, yet… Draka dreamed.
He could not forget the radiant light.
He dreamed of a past he could not let go of.
Now, it was time to awaken from that dream.
“Ah.”
Draka groaned.
“Ashen.”
He moved his body.
It was not an act of resistance. Slowly, very slowly, he moved. Raniel slightly narrowed her eyes. A hint of bewilderment flickered in her gaze.
“…What are you doing?”
Raniel asked indifferently.
Amidst the certainty of his defeat, Draka’s actions were unexpected to Raniel.
Crunch.
The sound of snow crunching echoed.
Draka knelt down. He bent forward. Having cast away all pride, he bowed his head towards the much younger mage.
“I beg you.”
He spoke.
“I will give you all my rights. I heard that you mages can form a ‘subordinate contract’ under the watch of the Stars. Put that on me.”
A contract that is impossible without mutual agreement.
Since it is done under the watch of the Stars, it cannot be forced by any means.
‘Thus, it is a contract stronger than anything.’
Choose death over a subordinate contract.
You will experience something more horrific than death.
The ancient forbidden tome stated that.
‘Dissolution of self-awareness, merely a puppet moving as one pleases.’
In effect, it’s a punishment far worse than death.
If one is sane, they shouldn’t utter such words. Yet, Draka willingly spoke them. He had been mad for a long time.
“I am a Sword Master. I could be a somewhat useful piece.”
“…What’s the price?”
“The face of my daughter.”
Draka said without hesitation.
“Just let me see my daughter at least once.”
3.
He has completely lost his mind.
Raniel clicked her tongue inwardly.
‘Subordinate contract.’
To form a contract with the Stars and mortgage one’s soul.
A contract that cannot be forced by any means of brainwashing.
Because it is a contract formed through mutual agreement, its coercion is stronger than any other contract.
‘The subject must present a wish that they deem worthy of trading their life… for the scales to become balanced.’
Of course, she had never experienced it.
It was magic forbidden until now, and it was said to be magic used by ancient mages long ago.
‘How does the Sword Demon know that?’
Raniel had no such questions.
Given what he knows about the First Saint… it seems the Sword Demon had rummaged through the ancient records just as she had.
“Phew…”
Raniel exhaled.
“…I can’t bring someone back from the dead, like Lazarus.”
“That makes sense.”
“There’s no way to bring back your dead daughter. I can touch memories to show illusions, but…”
“I don’t need an illusion.”
Draka withdrew a wooden box from his breast.
It was the box he had stolen from Raniel.
“The altar is already nearing completion. With just this, I should be able to finish it.”
“…The resurrection of the First Saint?”
Raniel scoffed.
“You really think that will happen?”
She glanced at the altar.
Seeing the number of offerings, and deducing the completed spell, Raniel clicked her tongue. It seemed the Church had put a lot of effort into creating the altar, but… to her, it looked like a mess.
“It’s not like she just died a moment ago; we’re talking about someone who died hundreds of years ago. Besides, she’s the First Saint.”
“…I understand that.”
“The weight of souls is different. Even if you offer hundreds, millions, it’s still impossible!”
The very person is still alive.
To bring the dead back to life, trying to meddle with a living being will only yield failure. Raniel looked down at Draka with disdain.
“I understand that too.”
Draka said calmly.
“From the start, I never intended to resurrect the First Saint. I just expected that with these materials… I could bring back my daughter.”
“…”
“I’ll resurrect my daughter on that altar. I’m not asking for the impossible. Just let me use that altar. If you do that, I’ll form the subordinate contract immediately.”
Raniel fell silent.
‘…It is possible.’
Considering that the remains of the First Saint are a special sacred object, and considering the number of humans sacrificed, there should be no difficulty in targeting a mere girl.
‘It’s possible, but…’
Raniel narrowed her eyes.
“It would be best not to do it.”
“…What do you mean?”
“I warned you. I advise you, there’s a reason why forbidden magic is called forbidden magic. There’s always a reason not to do things like this.”
Draka frowned.
“I’m not here to listen to a lecture. So, will you make the contract or not? Killing me here wouldn’t be a problem. That’s the victor’s right.”
“…You’re really determined, huh?”
“Make the contract. You can do it.”
Raniel sighed and reached out.
Though rotten, Draka is a superhuman. If used properly… he has the ability to save countless lives.
‘If I leave it to the Knights Order Leader, Heinkel, he’ll handle it just fine.’
She clapped her hands, and several stocked circuits floated in the air. Disassembling them, Raniel creates a new spell. What she creates is a ring of light.
Click.
The ring is placed around Draka’s neck.
Draka looks up at Raniel. A balance hovers between them. The Stars whisper in Draka’s ear.
“Fulfill your wish.”
Following the aforementioned wish, Draka moves.
With his creaking body, he stands before the altar.
Draka opens the wooden box. The moment he does, his eyes tremble. He turns his head to look behind him.
“…Why is this happening?”
“It’ll activate the altar, without side effects. Perfectly.”
Raniel nodded.
Before the contract with the Stars, one cannot lie. The Stars will also determine if this is true.
“…”
Draka’s gaze wavers as he looks at the blackened arm.
Information and information clicked together in his mind. A sneer escaped his lips. It was a sneer aimed at himself.
‘So, this is how it is.’
Suppressing the desire to tear off the arm before him, Draka opened his mouth.
“…It’s possible, I said.”
“The properties of the offering match.”
Draka places his arm on the altar.
The arm melts into the altar, and light floods in. The completed altar asks Draka who he wishes to resurrect. Without hesitation, Draka answered.
“Armel van Harokt.”
He said.
“My daughter.”
The spell activates. The miracle of God is recreated.
Raniel, a step away from the overflowing light, closes her eyes. It wasn’t a scene she wanted to see.
The miracle of resurrection.
Raniel understands the principle behind it.
At the peak of the Kurakt Mountain Range, from the past memories left by Cardi, Raniel saw the miracle performed by the First Saint. She also understands what the miracle of resurrection meant.
Knowing this, Raniel closes her eyes.
“I warned you for sure.”
Raniel clicked her tongue.
Draka didn’t hear Raniel’s words.
“Oh, ohhh…”
Blinded by the light before him, Draka reaches toward the light. Soon, the light begins to dim. Something weighing as much as a girl rises above the altar.
“Armel, Armel!”
He shouts.
Raniel sighs and turns around.
“Lac.”
“…Yes?”
“Close your eyes.”
Raniel covers Lac’s face with her robe. Lac simply closed his eyes as instructed, without knowing why.
And the spell was completed successfully.
With a chilling sound like squelch.
“…Huh?”
Draka voiced his confusion.
What had risen on the altar was not Armel.
To be precise, it was something that had once been Armel but transformed into something else entirely. Draka recognized it at a glance.
He recognized it because.
Because he noticed it.
Draka’s complexion turned pale.
“A, ah…”
A scream escaped from Draka’s mouth.
It was the result Raniel had anticipated.
‘The miracle of resurrection.’
The First Saint, Gleria, had used her forbidden magic, which was by no means omnipotent. She had never saved someone with the miracle of resurrection. Not even once.
‘It merely holds them for a fleeting moment, in the very form of their death.’
A momentary instance. Just a spoken word or two at best.
That is the last miracle granted by the Stars.
Those whose time has run out lose consciousness. They wander as the dead, harboring hatred towards the living. That’s why the miracle of resurrection is called forbidden magic.
‘It’s little more than a fleeting dream.’
A fleeting dream.
A momentary reunion.
However.
“Ah, ahhhhh…!”
The Sword Demon is not even granted that chance.
Raniel slowly opens her eyes. With narrowed eyes, she looks at Draka. Draka stares at the altar with hollow eyes. A scream spills from his lips.
What flows from the altar is black muck.
The muck fused with a beast leaves behind one word.
“Ah, bye.”
Leaving that one word, it melts away and crumbles. It doesn’t even become a wanderer. There’s no time to talk. Ultimately, Draka witnesses once more.
His daughter’s death.
The sight of her being defiled, intertwined with the beast.
“Ah.”
Draka opened his mouth.
“Ah, ahahaha.”
He let out a dry laugh.
“Ah ha, ha ha ha!”
It was the laugh of one who had been shattered.
