〈 Chapter 310 〉 The Wish of the Star (3)
*
The Braver, Kelharlem, looks up at the sky.
Reflected in his ashen eyes is a dragon soaring through the heavens. It is a terrifying creature that must be named the Cursed Dragon, formed from a collection of human corpses.
‘You’ve resurrected dead beasts, binding them to this world with human malice so twisted they neither live nor die.’
Truly, this seems like something that wretched being would do.
Kelharlem feels the chains constricting his heart creak with unease. Of course, it can’t be helped. The foul substance making up the Cursed Dragon’s wings reminds him of the past.
Those who cannot live or die.
The ones who have all been crushed, turned into something that screams in agony.
Kelharlem knows them well.
He remembers far too vividly; over a hundred years ago, countless people from his homeland were turned that way. He will never forget the vile substance that flowed like rivers back then.
The horrific stench.
The screams that pierced the air.
Students and comrades crumbling to the ground.
As his heart races, Kelharlem briefly exhales to collect his emotions. It’s been over a hundred years since he’s been enveloped in madness. Restraining his feelings and making cold judgments is Kelharlem’s specialty.
Kreeeek!
The moment Kelharlem conjures a circuit, the Cursed Dragon reacts.
Flames gather in its gaping maw, aimed straight at Kelharlem. But he has no intention of dodging. With a swift motion, Kelharlem gestures through the air.
Ch-ch-ch-ching!
A single circuit splits into dozens, and those into hundreds. The myriad of tiny circuits illuminate the area. A cross mark appears between the eyes of the ghoul that was gnawing at the knights and refugees.
“Seems it was made to respond to spells.”
With a flick of his finger, Kelharlem continues.
“Go ahead, if you can.”
Hundreds of circuits simultaneously emit light.
The Cursed Dragon fires a heat beam, incinerating dozens of circuits, yet erasing dozens from hundreds brings no significant change.
Flash!
Hundreds of circuits burst forth with light.
Amidst the chaotic battlefield where allies and enemies intertwine, Kelharlem’s spell precisely detonates the head of the ghoul. Streams of light sweep across the battlefield.
Such an astoundingly precise spell.
There are no ghouls left in the wake of the spell. While the knights gasp in astonishment, Kelharlem still only watches the Cursed Dragon flying above.
‘Even if it’s broken, it’s still the spawn of calamity.’
Half of the hundreds of circuits targeted the ghoul, while the other half aimed at the Cursed Dragon. Even pierced by hundreds of beams of light, the flying Cursed Dragon remains unscathed.
Tsk!
Kelharlem clicks his tongue.
The scales of Belial the Black Dragon repel all but the most potent spells. It seems that wretched offspring inherited that remarkable resistance intact.
But…
Kelharlem’s gaze sharpens.
‘It’s not entirely without effect.’
At first glance, it seems intact, but the wings of the Cursed Dragon are riddled with large and small holes. They will be restored soon, but it signifies that the recent attack had merit. From this fact, Kelharlem draws a crucial piece of information.
The flying Cursed Dragon is incomplete.
During the heretic extermination campaign, the Ashen Mage predicted that once completed, the Cursed Dragon would pose a disaster comparable to that of the Black Dragon. Kelharlem agrees with that prediction. However, the Cursed Dragon hovering before his eyes is far from matching the Black Dragon.
It is, simply put, unfinished.
While created as a servant by the heretic’s method, it has not been perfected through the due time required. It feels as though it was hastily put together.
“Seems they were in quite the rush.”
Kelharlem exhales sharply.
Heretic, Gletus.
He had heard rumors that she was nearly vanquished by Galahal. Wasn’t it said that a holy spear was thrust into her heart? Indeed, Galahal’s sacrifice hasn’t been in vain.
Yet, it’s still quite a challenge to face her…
‘But there’s still a way.’
Kelharlem silently glances back over his shoulder.
There, lies the potential left by the Hero, Galahal. A necessary existence to face the Cursed Dragon. However, the expression on Kelharlem’s face when he looks at that girl is far from pleasant.
Not only because she resembles the heretic.
“Was it Chloe?”
Kelharlem frowns, opening his mouth.
“Are you thinking of committing suicide?”
2.
“Are you thinking of committing suicide?”
At Kelharlem’s words, Chloe flinches, trembling. Just as she was about to say something.
“If you plan to spout all that nonsense about the hero’s duty, the obligation to sacrifice, and the responsibility to answer screams, just drop it.”
Chloe, robbed of her words, shuts her mouth.
Kelharlem swirls his finger, raising dozens of circuits around them. The moment the Cursed Dragon attempts to perform its ritual, Kelharlem steps in to interrupt the spell’s completion.
While holding back the Cursed Dragon, Kelharlem continues.
“It’s noble, sure. The attitude of wanting to respond to sacrifice is commendable. That’s the mindset of a Hero, and I don’t mean to belittle it. It is indeed a splendid mindset.”
However, Kelharlem states.
“Judge what is possible and what is impossible.”
He locks eyes with Chloe.
“There are times when you must challenge the impossible. But, that should only be done when you can leave something behind by sacrificing yourself. Look around.”
Chloe gazes around.
Countless people are fleeing.
“Do you think they’ll survive just because you sacrifice yourself here? Do you think you’ll bring the dragon down? Look properly, make a sound judgment. A mage must always be rational.”
He waves his hand.
Once more, dozens of circuits emit light.
“Reckless and worthless sacrifice is but a suicidal act. It belittles those who risked their lives for you. If you die here…”
“…I know.”
Chloe cuts off Kelharlem’s speech.
“I get it.”
She understands the hero who sacrificed himself for her.
She knows that if she dies here, Galahal’s sacrifice will have been in vain. Yet at the same time, Chloe cannot turn her back on her duty as a Hero.
“Then how…”
“Struggle.”
Kelharlem replies.
“Evaluate what is possible and what is impossible. Make a judgment. Think. I’m not telling you to give up because something seems impossible. I’m saying to find another way.”
Flee, choose a different path, and seek possibilities through countless means. It’s advice and a lesson from Kelharlem, who has lived for a century.
“Charging in mindlessly will never yield answers. If you don’t want to regret like me after a hundred years, think properly and act.”
To avoid regret.
Kelharlem glances back at the Cursed Dragon preparing its grand spell, jaw wide open.
“If you understand, then move.”
He turns his back to her.
“I’ll buy you time, so find your answer. If you want to fulfill your duty, prove yourself.”
In such a situation, it feels as if he’s teaching a class. Watching from behind, Chloe feels the familiar image of a professor in Kelharlem. Suddenly, she glances beside her.
“…I had so much to say.”
There, staggering to rise, is Belnoa.
“That person said it all.”
Belnoa sighs, brushing the blood-soaked hair from her face. Her revealed eyes are clear. She looks at Chloe.
“You’re not thinking of running away, are you?”
“Not at all. Even you…”
“Would I flee? Abandon you?”
Belnoa chuckles grimly.
“You’ll die before I do.”
*
Raniel poured a potion into Lac.
He has merely lost consciousness; his life seems to be unharmed. Any broken bones can be dealt with later.
“Well done, Lac.”
Raniel smiles faintly.
Despite trembling in fear, Lac swung his sword at Death, for that strike allowed her spell to reach Death and… Kyle’s blow could strikingly reach him as well.
Raniel turns her head to look behind.
There stands a great sword stuck in the snowfield.
The First Holy Sword, once wielded by Ganikalt during his hero days. Lac drew it from the center of the Holy Site. She’ll have to hear the story later.
‘…How should I discuss that?’
Should she leave it here until he regains consciousness?
Just at that moment, the First Holy Sword transformed into a cluster of stars. The transformed cluster of stars gently envelops Lac’s left hand. As if the Heroes were calling forth the essence of the stars.
“…Whoa.”
Raniel exhales sharply.
It seems the First Holy Sword has recognized Lac as its master. Just as Raniel lifts Lac to place him on her back, her robe trembles noisily.
The sound resonates from the Holy Grail (???).
As if a chance to challenge the next trial is being granted, the Holy Grail rings out loudly. Raniel smiles softly at the growth of her disciple.
“Seems I’ll have a lot to do when we return.”
Muttering this, Raniel begins to walk.
How many steps did she take? She stops as the wind begins to blow. From the breeze, Raniel feels an unsettling familiarity.
Amidst the cool eye breeze, a dry wind blows.
That foreign wind is familiar to Raniel. It’s the wind she grew weary of during the battle with the Black Dragon. Raniel’s eyes narrow.
“…”
She looks toward where the wind is coming from.
The wind blows from a very far distance.
3.
Even with Kelharlem joining, the situation is still unfavorable. The Braver doesn’t show it, but Belnoa has long since noticed that fact.
‘…It’s only buying time.’
Indeed, just as Kelharlem said.
He is merely stalling for time. Protecting the refugees from the ghouls scattered by the Cursed Dragon and preventing the Cursed Dragon’s spells from reaching their target.
That is the role he has chosen for himself, and he is managing it exceptionally well. Since Kelharlem’s involvement, no one has died.
The ghouls have been driven away, and the spells of the Cursed Dragon fail to yield any power due to Kelharlem’s interference.
But…
This cannot go on forever.
Kelharlem is still human. There is a limit to the amount of mana he can wield, and no matter how efficiently he uses that mana, an end shall inevitably come.
Before that, they must find a solution.
Belnoa glances at her side.
Chloe is also seeking her own answers in her manner. The circuits she draws are different from before. She is sweating profusely as she engraves the circuits. She is trying to push forward once more.
‘…Me too.’
Belnoa looks at her broken finger.
She has used up everything she can.
If she pushes further, her finger might get torn right off. The dilemma doesn’t last long. Belnoa bites down on her broken finger.
Crunch, crunch!
Her finger tears out.
Amidst the flickering pain, Belnoa’s eyes widen. The tattered index finger droops. From the finger that looks ready to rip apart at any moment, shadows begin to ooze out.
Offering.
It’s the instant she’s about to weigh her pain. Belnoa unwittingly catches sight of the Balance before her. It differs from the Balance used by mages.
…The Balance used by sorcerers is merely an imitation of the Balance used by mages, so say the world.
Not as neat as a mage’s balance, nor directly linked to the stars.
An inferior product. For hundreds of years, the sorcerers’ Balance has been depicted as such.
Yet at this moment, Belnoa harbors a question.
‘…What I saw that day.’
What she had glimpsed within the Holy Grail.
What a sorcerer who called himself Belial had shown her was… not merely a mediocre imitation. It was a Balance that pursued a different direction from the mage’s, reaching an extreme.
Essentially different.
Pursuing a different path.
“The Balance of sorcerers is just a mere imitation of mages’ Balance.”
Belnoa casts aside her previously ingrained misunderstanding without realizing. In the dim haze of extreme pressure, she dismantles the tower she has built over her lifetime. Then, she begins to rebuild it from scratch.
Sorcery differs from magic in its pursuit.
Magic calls upon the stars.
If so, whom does sorcery call upon?
“Don’t you already know the answer, boy?”
A voice echoes in her ear.
The voice from the trials.
Whispered by an ancient sorcerer who sought shadows to their limit.
“The most perfect being that existed on this land long ago.”
“A primordial creature that lived before the stars.”
Shadow Dragon.
Sorcery of the Shadow Dragon.
Belnoa opens her eyes, which she had kept shut for so long.
Creeeak!
The Balance before her tilts on its own.
What lies within it is not starlight.
A writhing shadow envelops the Balance.
【Child, state your wish.】
The voice resonates in Belnoa’s ears.
It is a voice she has never heard before.
*
