낙서 How to Face Death (1)
*
Ganikalt, the Death’s Blade.
When the most feared calamity makes its appearance, a strange wind blows. A wind that carries the stench of decay and rot. Some might express it that way, but…
That doesn’t mean it’s a foul smell.
It’s not an odor, either. It’s hard to describe.
It is the scent of death. The fragrance of death that has come up close. A wind that awakens the most primal fear hidden within all living things.
Rustle.
Thus, the blowing wind is death.
Death is coming.
The most feared calamity is coming.
Flinch.
Lac shudders.
His body stiffens, and his eyes shake wildly. Cold sweat rains down his spine. His upper and lower teeth clack together with a clang sound.
“Move.”
Snap, Lac’s shoulder is gripped by Raniel.
Pushing Lac behind her, Raniel glares. She feels the fear as well, but this is not the first time she has felt such fear.
Trembling with fear, Raniel does not forget what she must do.
Raniel’s body moves reflexively.
Her eyes shine with a blue light, and her gloves begin to sizzle with a crackle. The gloves can’t withstand the heat of the circuit and turn to ash. Blue mana rises all around.
‘Where is it?’
Grimacing, Raniel scans her surroundings.
In that fleeting moment, she senses the presence of death. There’s no way to forget that existence. The prophecy has gone awry, and the Death’s Blade has appeared here. Raniel comes to that conclusion.
However, for some reason…
Just a strand of wind passes by, and the presence of death is no longer felt. Even after waiting a long while, drawing forth her mana, the situation does not change.
“……”
Still holding her guard, Raniel pulls Lac back and takes a few steps backward. How many steps has she taken? Suddenly, the wind lashes out. Amidst the howling blizzard, a voice was heard.
“Stubborn as ever…”
A voice breaks off and echoes.
“If you’ve lost your mind, can’t you just weaken a bit? Master. Still foolishly strong, aren’t you? Really, damn it…”
It’s a voice she’s never heard before.
But, she knows this kind of echoing voice. She’s heard it once before.
‘…Kurakt Mountain Range, the path to the tower.’
A spot where the flow of mana is tangled and knotted.
A place where one can catch glimpses of the remnants of those who had passed that road in the past. The same phenomenon she experienced there is now happening here.
“Damn it, Master.”
Raniel looks ahead.
What enters her view is a vision of someone from a distant past, someone who walked this path. Through the blizzard, someone walks from the forest to the holy site.
Snow-white hair.
Eyes like red blood.
A vision of someone who resembles Lac.
He walks while coughing up blood. Dragging his mangled body, he heads toward the holy site. The sound of the oversized sword he’s gripping drags along the ground.
An oversized sword with a bizarre shape, full of holes.
That is Ganikalt’s sword, embedded in the center of the holy site. Raniel suddenly realizes whose vision she is witnessing.
‘The founder of the Grace Family.’
Lac, standing behind Raniel, recognizes that figure as well. He has seen it in the portrait remaining in the White Night Castle. The great Grace, the founder of his family.
“…Grace?”
It was the moment Lac mumbled that.
Coincidence? Or perhaps fate? The vision also turns its head to look at Lac. However, that gaze does not land on Lac. Perhaps it was looking at someone who stood there in the past…
“Master.”
Lac flinches.
He didn’t turn back, but he felt like he knew what stood behind him.
“Was I a knight?”
Death answered the human’s question.
“You are not a knight.”
“Is that so?”
“Not a knight, but a warrior who knows pride.”
At that answer, Grace smiles.
Refreshing, as if thoroughly satisfied.
“Thank you for the praise, Master.”
Having said that, Grace resumes walking toward the holy site. Death does not chase after humans. A sound of a sword swinging once can be heard, and the sense of death vanished without a trace.
“…What is this?”
Raniel is flustered.
She cannot comprehend what she just saw, why such a phenomenon occurred at the holy site like at the Kurakt Mountain Range, and she blinks her eyes.
It’s then.
“We must go.”
Lac spoke as if entranced.
“I must go there.”
There was no time for Raniel to stop him.
Lac takes a step forward. Thump, thump — Lac’s heart beats loudly. Like being drawn by something, Lac takes another step.
“Wait…!”
Before Raniel could grab his arm, the raging snowstorm swallows Lac whole. In an instant, the storm sweeps Lac away.
Whoosh.
When the storm subsides, Lac’s figure is nowhere to be found.
2.
“….You say the holy site has consumed Lac?”
Eryhal von Grace, the lord of the North, blinks. Raniel, standing before him, explains everything that she encountered.
How the blizzard ravaged the holy site.
How the holy site reflected visions of the past.
How that vision was the founder of the Grace Family, and Lac was drawn to chase after it… she said it all.
After hearing that, Eryhal fell silent.
After a moment, Eryhal finally spoke.
“Professor.”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t you have the ability to enter the holy site? Or maybe the hero who came here?”
Raniel nodded.
Indeed, both she and Kyle can reach the end of the holy site without much difficulty. They had done it once before. But…
“When I visited the North previously, it was possible, but now it is not. Currently, the space around the holy site is… extremely unstable.”
“…Unstable space?”
“It’s difficult to explain, but the space in the area is tangled. I ran toward the holy site while looking ahead, and I ended up in a completely different place.”
The flow of time and space is all mixed up. Like a land of ashes. She had walked for just over ten minutes while looking ahead, yet when she emerged from the blizzard, half a day had passed.
A few more exchanges of conversation followed.
At the end of the conversation, Eryhal slowly spoke.
“…Did you see the vision of Lord Grace?”
“Yes, it somewhat resembled Lac…”
“Lac chased after the vision of the founder?”
Raniel nodded.
Eryhal stroked his chin.
“It’s certain that it was Lac’s choice?”
“I swear.”
“Then, I will not hold you responsible for this. And although this is just my intuition…”
Eryhal murmured.
“It seems it won’t be a problem.”
Lac has always had a remarkable intuition.
That Lac had walked into the holy site of his own accord. Eryhal trusted his son’s judgment, and his intuition did not regard this situation seriously.
It’s the vision of the ancestor who protected the North.
The vision led the descendants to the holy site, and he did not think it would have any malicious intent.
“I will have the warriors wait there. Professor, do what you must do.”
Preparing for death.
Eryhal did not forget that the mage had come to the North for that purpose. Nor how important that mission is.
“Go.”
*
Leaving the White Night Castle, Raniel headed straight for the holy site with the warriors. A fierce snowstorm was raging at the holy site, and the space in the area was still tangled.
“……”
No more visions appear, nor are there any changes. It appears peaceful from the outside, but… Raniel cannot know what is happening inside.
Suddenly, Raniel takes the holy grail out of her pocket.
The holy grail shakes noisily.
The direction of its shaking is toward the center of the holy site. The holy grail reacts stronger than ever. As if responding to something that exists within the holy site.
The shaking holy grail and the sword embedded in the center of the holy site.
Raniel suddenly recalls the past.
When she arrived at the center of the holy site last year, she grasped the holy sword and recalled something. It is humanity’s means to resist death.
But it is exceedingly slim.
That possibility cannot be realized as of now, so she never mentioned it to anyone.
“…A clash of souls.”
Raniel mumbled that.
At the center of the holy site, wielded by Ganikalt’s soul, although it is but a fragment, it is undoubtedly Ganikalt’s soul.
A clash of soul and soul.
If the starlight wielded by the holy sword collides with the shadow held by death’s blade… perhaps, for a brief moment, it could nullify the shadow. That’s what Raniel thought.
‘But, as of now, it’s impossible.’
The holy sword rejects the touch of the uninvited.
The soul contained there only permits the bloodline of Grace. No one, neither she nor Kyle, nor any knight of the sword, can grasp that sword.
Only the bloodline of Grace can do that.
Therefore, Raniel saw the possibility in Lac.
If someday Lac becomes a superhuman and can wield that sword… a threadbare possibility might arise. That thought came to her when she considered the time Lac might hold the sword.
Kyle breaks the wall and becomes a superhuman.
If that is impossible, the one who can substitute Kyle is Lac. If Lac becomes a superhuman and wields the holy sword.
That was how Raniel thought about facing death. How humans confront an unavoidable catastrophe, and inevitable death. But, that is not something that can be done right now.
“…It’s still insufficient.”
The realm of the superhuman is far and perilous.
Lac has not yet become a superhuman. Therefore, she had excluded that possibility…
Thump, thump.
Gazing at the shaking holy grail, Raniel falls silent.
The wise one, Raniel von Trias, has always calculated everything given to her thoroughly. There was no room for elements such as coincidence or luck to intrude.
Thorough calculations, a perfect plan without any variables.
A habit formed since her time as the next Master of the Tower.
In important experiments or situations, relying on factors like variables or luck is not acceptable. However, having gone through many years on the battlefield, Raniel knows.
‘Variables.’
Variables always occur.
Be it good or bad.
There are instances where a knight with strong will suddenly succumbs, and moments when a knight filled with fear rushes toward a formidable foe despite their fears.
There’s no need to look for variables from afar.
Galahal was also one such variable.
Despite knowing that one should not include variables in a plan, Raniel considers a plan based on the assumption of ‘perhaps.’
“……”
Quietly closing her lips, Raniel moves her steps.
The direction of her steps is toward the Kenel Snowfield.
That day, a slightly different form of circuit was engraved in the Kenel Snowfield. It was a spell that did not carry physical power, a spell that could not reach Ganikalt.
Yet, Raniel engraved it.
In case an unexpected variable occurs, to seize that opportunity without letting it slip away.
3.
Time flows.
Flowing and flowing, the day of the prophecy draws near.
In the North, there are lines of evacuees. Holy knights gathered under the name of the saint assist in the evacuation. Alongside them stands an emerging young hero.
The continuing lines of evacuation stretch on endlessly.
A calamity approaches the North.
The most fearful calamity symbolizing death is appearing in the North, and none dare to think of fighting against it. Most warriors leave their posts.
However, some remain steadfast.
“I am the lord of the North.”
Eryhal von Grace.
“As a warrior who inherits the name of the great Grace, I can never abandon this land. I must show pride before death, as per the founder’s decree.”
The lord of the North stands by the White Night Castle.
By his side are thirteen warriors who have not fled from the North. They bow their heads before Eryhal.
“I also cannot leave my son behind.”
A smirk crosses Eryhal’s face.
He resists death in his own way. The warriors do the same. They have no intention of leaving the land while abandoning their lord and the young master.
And now.
In a place abandoned by all.
A place where none dare to approach.
“Are you ready?”
There stand four humans prepared to confront death.
“Sara.”
“I’m going to chant a prayer now, so don’t bother me. I need to concentrate.”
The saint’s robes flutter in the wind.
Clutching a stone tablet that she usually never brings out, the saint begins to pray to the god.
“Remia.”
“…I don’t like taking orders from you, but since it’s from the words of the great savior, I’ll follow. Don’t worry.”
The archery master lays out moonlight arrows in the air.
The moonlight arrows she has shine brightly under the moonlit night.
“Kyle.”
“Yeah.”
And the hero grasps the holy sword.
“The preparations are complete.”
The platinum blade shines brilliantly.
The wise one smiles at the hero’s holy sword she hasn’t seen for a long time. That light truly symbolizes victory.
Saint, Sara.
Archery Master, Remia.
Hero, Kyle Toven.
Wise one, Raniel von Trias.
They have beheaded the black dragon and conquered the ancient lich, Skebal, multiple times.
They have driven back the apostate, Gletus, to the brink of annihilation.
They stand here now, at this moment, to confront death, having achieved feats no one has accomplished over centuries. Of course, they possess neither the same pride nor the same nobility as before.
All the same, they stand here.
To fulfill their respective purposes. To uphold their own beliefs. Even if it may be twisted, to do what they believe is right.
They face death in each of their own ways.
*
