Even If The Light Is Lost (9)

An earthquake struck all of Vthuma, once called the Golden City.

Walls collapsed, buildings shattered, and roads split. This catastrophic force that ravaged the Golden City spewed out from the Vthuma royal house, where the sacred Yaegas throne stood.

Malice surged up with it. This was no mere natural disaster—an evil power was destroying the city.

Thanks to that, the battle lapsed into a lull. As the ground split, the Elders’ faction and Arael’s forces were cut off from each other.

“Azadine!”

Arael called Azadine.

“We have to chase Hathir! Azadine—go! And take this!”

She traced a hand seal in the air, and copies of the Heavenly Kings’ Grimoire, shining pure white, emerged from her body and flew to Azadine.

Gathering in midair, the copies merged back into a single mass of light—a core she had crafted from the Grimoire in order to purify Vthuma’s throne.

When Azadine received it, the copies flowed naturally into his body.

“What…?”

“You must purify the throne with that! Go!”

“……”

“Move it, you bastard!”

Indim of the Moon spat a curse and carved open a path for Azadine.

‘Mediam?’

As he sprinted out, Azadine looked for Mediam.

To him, Mediam had been only a pampered daughter of a noble house—annoying and troublesome.

But the world worked in strange ways. The girl who had first been nothing but a nuisance had returned his own words to him when he had lost his conviction.

When he could not believe himself, she had given that belief back. However chaotic things became, he had to ensure Mediam’s safety…

As he swept a glance over the pandemonium with that single intent, he spotted Ismail.

Cradling the unconscious Mediam from behind, Ismail mouthed silently to Azadine:

‘Go.’

Seeing the shape of his lips, Azadine nodded.

Unspeakable horrors prowled before the Vthuma royal citadel.

As the Nether’s domain fused with reality, awful things happened. The realm of the being the Nagas sought to draw down—the King of Storms—overlapped with the real world, and the surroundings became both earth and, somehow, like underwater.

Things not yet fully in the physical plane swam through the air.

There were shoals of shark-like shapes; whirlpools rose here and there and broke into squalls in the present world.

Avoiding such things, Azadine headed for the citadel.

Aragasa were waiting there for him.

“Azadine the Disgrace! Will you destroy the clan’s long-cherished wish, as your father did?!”

“If this is your wish, I’ll gladly destroy it!”

“You wretch!”

Arrows flew. Azadine gripped the Azure Executioner short in his right like a tonfa and sent Grimslone’s Club floating from his left, sweeping both arms wide.

A blue radiance burst from the Azure Executioner and an amber gleam from the club, forming a light barrier before him—the incoming arrows caromed off.

He now carried dozens of Grimoire copies—over a hundred including those Arael had gathered. The mana within him was tremendous; even a light swing of his arm spilled a torrent of power.

“You cur!”

“I don’t have time to spare you. If you don’t want to die—move!”

“Don’t make me laugh! You, of all people!”

A Messenger of the Five Families ignored the warning and charged.

—Flowers, Birds, Wind, Moon—Swarm Strike!

As he rushed, he loosed cascades of magic bullets and slashed a longsword at Azadine’s temple.

But Azadine spun Grimslone’s Club in the air like a whirling banner to wall off the Swarm Strike, then drove a bare-fist thrust. The shockwave popped like a breaker and hammered the man’s torso.

An awful sound cracked out, like lightning hitting a withered tree.

—Bzzzt!—

With a thunderous report, the man literally split apart.

“……”

Even Azadine had not intended that.

He had meant to subdue without killing—but the power was more than he had expected.

Despite the horror, more Aragasa rushed in.

“Please—move!”

They were too skilled to simply slip past.

And small wonder—Hathir had stationed his best to guard the citadel. They were elite Messengers whom Azadine would have struggled with under normal circumstances.

But Azadine’s body now brimmed with the Grimoire’s power. Reflexively swinging the Azure Executioner, he carved blue arcs through the air, and anything caught in their path split apart.

Lower halves, shorn of their uppers, lurched forward and toppled.

“Gasp.”

The Aragasa could not comprehend what they were seeing.

Highest-ranked Messengers, scions of the Five Families—failing to take even a single exchange from Azadine, the clan’s “worst half-wit”?

Was that truly human strength? The ghastly spectacle broke their will.

“Move. Please.”

Azadine’s face, after killing them, was far from bright.

Though they despised him, they were still his own people. He did not want to harm them if he could help it; yet they were too skilled to ignore—and died if he touched them.

He tried to persuade them, but the moment he opened his mouth, the sticky taste of blood flooded his tongue. Blood surged up from his nose and mouth.

The Grimoire’s power had risen—but his body could not bear it.

“He’s at his limit!”

“He’s hogged the Grimoire! Doesn’t know his place!”

“He won’t last!”

Seeing this, the Aragasa began to misread why he had told them to move.

“Fools!”

Furious at those blocking his path, Azadine shifted his grip on the Azure Executioner.

The desperate fight began.

“Hah… hah….”

Azadine steadied his ragged breathing. His nose would not stop bleeding; breathing through it was hard.

Blood seeped from his mouth through the mucosa like saliva he could not control. His whole body felt as if it would crumble.

He yanked the arrow from his side and flung it away.

Green mana flowed over him and knit his wounds—Shati’s parting spell was regenerating his body.

Even so, the magic could not erase the pain. In truth, the pain in his heart was worse than the pain in his flesh.

‘Aragasa is finished.’

He looked over the clan corpses strewn about him.

He had killed them: the clan’s talents, their core figures, the gifted and loyal retainers. Everyone who barred his way lay dead.

His body weighed a thousand catties; his heart weighed more.

‘Did it really… have to come to this?’

The accusations of the slain echoed in his ears.

Traitor. Rebel. Calamity of the clan. Cursed wretch.

All true.

Was this a cause to carry through even at the cost of murdering his own?

If he had held a little more influence within the clan—could the end have been different?

‘But… if I don’t stop this now…’

Azadine stepped into the throne room where the Golden King, Manza-Jadek, had once stayed.

Upon the Quartz Throne sat Hathir—and before him… Aldis, bracing a long spear, waited for Azadine.

“……”

Azadine was not surprised. It felt inevitable.

If Hathir had left the throne, Aldis would have been managing it until now.

Though the clan had many talents, few possessed magic to rival a divine king.

Aldis, Arael, and Hathir—perhaps only those three. That Aldis stood here was only to be expected.

“Azadine.”

Unlike Azadine, calm, Aldis looked shocked.

“What have you done?! Azadine! Don’t tell me—”

Seeing beyond the door he had opened—the countless bodies—Aldis was appalled. The intruder who had arrived over the slaughter of his own people—she was shaken.

“You killed all these people, our own?”

“Yes.”

“W-why?”

“To stop the apostles of the Nether from descending.”

Panting, Azadine took a step. Startled, Aldis took one back.

“And the clan?”

“I didn’t want to kill them either. But they risked their lives to stop me… No—before that, Aldis. Do you support this?”

When Azadine pressed her, Hathir, who had kept silent, spoke.

“No more need for words, Aldis! The grimoire he carries is a foul book that would make Arael and Azadine new gods! They’ve come this far murdering the clan for their own ambition!”

He ordered Aldis to cut Azadine down.

“Emperor’s magic won’t work on him! Be careful!”

“You should also say why it won’t!”

Azadine bristled.

When all was said and done, it was Hathir’s fault. As clan leader, in position to guide the clan rightly, he had led them down an evil path and brought this ruin.

Why had Kazas loved such a thing—why had he let himself be dragged along, unable to do this or that? Why, when weighed against such a man, had he tipped away from Azadine?

As Azadine’s animus flared toward Hathir, Aldis’s spear cleaved the air.

“Enough! Azadine—put down your weapons at once!”

“……”

“Please, Azadine. I don’t want to hurt you. But…”

“If we leave things as Leader Hathir wants, the Nether’s apostles will descend into the world. Aldis—don’t tell me you’re a fool. You know this!”

Azadine shouted—literally spitting blood.

“The Emperor’s Voice has dismissed every Messenger but me! We have to stop Hathir’s plan! And yet—”

“It is the road chosen by all the clan! To avenge ourselves upon this world and rule it! And you alone refuse to accept it, dragging in the filthy grimoire Arael made and insisting you are right!”

“Azadine.”

Aldis looked at him, pained.

That warm, benevolent gaze had always saved him—but now it hurt unbearably.

“Please—just this once, can’t you look the other way? I… I do think you’re right. But I also understand the clan’s pain, their long desire. Above all, my father…”

“……”

She could not betray her father, Hathir.

Hearing her words, Azadine’s heart wavered.

He had reached this place over the bodies of his people. To see his will through, he would have to kill more—even Aldis.

Could he do such a thing?

Aldis had been his light. Did he have to walk this path at the price of her life?

But—

—Rrrrrumble!—

As if to force his decision, another earthquake shook the world.