Herald Of Ruin (1)

Azadine pushed himself up. Even after killing Aldis—whatever was left in him that could stand—he could not leave Hathir alive.

“You call her a foolish daughter? Because of her duty to you and the clan, she had to fight a battle she never wanted—all because of your incomprehensible atrocities!”

“Are you blaming me for Aldis’s death? You killed her.”

“Damn it! Then you should’ve compromised—enough! If you had just usurped the throne, maybe. If you had…”

In that case, Azadine would not have stood against the clan.

He would have simply left them; he would not have had to kill Kazas and Aldis with his own hands.

“Because that way Aragasa would perish. Without harsh selective training, our abilities dilute and vanish. But because of the selection, our numbers don’t grow. If it’s hard to increase our population, then we must reduce theirs.”

“You think increasing and reducing people is a game? If you can say that with a straight face, then you deserve extinction! For the sake of everyone in this world, it’s better that Aragasa be destroyed—so long as it’s the Aragasa you lead, Hathir!”

“But to me, you’re the same. I do this for what I believe. And you—you killed the one you loved with your own hands for what you believe.”

It was true as he said. The reality that he had killed Aldis crashed over Azadine.

“Ugh!”

As rage peaked, dizziness swept his head.

He had lost too much blood. Even with the King’s Healing and the lingering regeneration magic in his body, anemia did not vanish at once.

Seeing Azadine gasping, Hathir raised the Shadowsteel sword.

“I never imagined the brat I picked up that day—Acre’s child—would trouble me this much. But this is the end, Azadine.”

Hathir lifted his blade to kill him, yet a shadow of fear still showed in his eyes.

This was the one who had driven him back and even felled Aldis. He looked hurt and exhausted enough that he could not kill a bug—but it could be a feint.

If their positions were reversed, even Azadine would doubt. From childhood, Aragasa were trained to use all manner of trickery as naturally as breathing.

“Kazas raised a troublesome whelp. He could have brought you up rough—why pour in such true care?”

Hathir drew a bow—but his quiver was empty. Instead, he snatched up Aldis’s spear, cut the shaft, and set it to the string. A spear with no fletching, yet at this range it would be easy to hit.

Even with Hathir aiming at him, Azadine could not dodge. The anemia weighed his limbs down like iron.

Then—

—KWAANG!—

A gigantic arm suddenly burst up behind Hathir.

A Nether apostle manifested, heaved through the earth, and surged out.

“What?!”

Hathir spun, shot the arrow behind him, and jumped forward to evade the limb.

Aldis’s spear stuck in the arm—but only barely; the moment veins pulsed along the apostle’s limb, the spear shattered to pieces.

“Fools—I am not your enemy!”

Even as he shouted, the apostle’s arm belched miasma at him without mercy. It was a venom so vile that even the silken drapes of Vthuma’s palace blackened and burned.

Yet he was still the clan’s leader, a formidable master—even if he had survived mortal wounds.

“So it is still a beast that cannot understand… Ararat!”

Pressed, Hathir invoked the Emperor’s magic.

The Light-Sword, Ararat, swept out in a horizontal arc, shearing the apostle’s arm and severing the surging darkness.

A gigantic blade of light that severed an apostle’s limb—a scene worthy of a god’s aureole. Even Azadine, who felt nothing but loathing for Hathir, could not deny the awe of it.

The severed arm fountained blood; lights flickered over its flesh—and then the entire limb burned away.

“Is it done?!”

No sooner had Hathir spoken than the ground split again and countless arms erupted forth. Each was the size of a great tree—the sight alone sent chills. A baleful aura poured from them that would drive ordinary people mad at a glance.

—Lightning of Sacred Radiance!—

Hathir cast the Emperor’s magic again; bolts of holy lightning slammed down everywhere. The chained strikes and explosions overpowered the apostles.

“……”

Azadine found himself staring at Hathir’s back—exposed while he fought the apostles.

He had grown somewhat used to the dizziness; if he merely thrust his weapon now, he could wound Hathir.

But something felt wrong about striking now.

Aldis, Kazas, and many others had died in loyalty to him; surely Hathir bore responsibility for the clan’s corruption.

He hated him.

If this man had kept his senses, Azadine would never have come to blows with Kazas or Aldis. He wanted to lay everything at Hathir’s feet and kill him.

But to strike a man in the back while he fought an apostle—Azadine’s conscience would not allow it.

Damn this conscience…

Exasperated with his own obstinacy, Azadine forced himself upright.

“I’m going to purify the throne! No objections—Hathir!?”

“You… That thing was made by Arael, wasn’t it? Can you trust Arael?”

“I don’t know!”

With that, Azadine drew out the grimoire crafted from the copies of the Heavenly Kings’ Grimoire that Arael had handed him.

Though the world was choked with darkness, the book alone shone with pure white light, dazzling the surroundings.

Azadine had no eyes—he could not know “dazzling”—but beholding that light, he knew at least that Arael had not woven some vile trick into it.

“Kh…!”

But as he moved toward the Quartz Throne, Nether apostles began to interfere.

Aldis’s corpse rose.

Summer cicadas shrilled.

“The apostles of the Nether are higher-order beings. They truly are of another dimension—perception itself is different from ours.”

Kazas had said so—and then spoke a touch of the Nether-tongue. That alone made the bug in the glass jar begin to change.

Not only the bug changed. The moment Kazas uttered the Nether-tongue, his own skin began to alter.

Something swelled up, squirming like an insect—alive.

Kazas took a small obsidian shard-knife and cut his own flesh, opening the growth. He dropped it into the jar; the mutated bug and the worm grown from his body fought, and cracks crazed the glass.

“M-master! It’ll escape!”

“Exactly.”

Kazas opened his palm and smacked the mouth of the jar. Blood splashed the inside—and both creatures died outright.

“Gasp.”

As a child, Azadine watched with clammy hands. He felt awe at the Nether-tongue’s dreadful, evil power.

“Who recorded this Nether-tongue?”

“Slaves of the apostles.”

“Pardon?”

“Just as we cannot grasp the apostles’ essence, the apostles find us too small and base to understand. So there are those who devote themselves and become their vassals. What they could grasp is what’s recorded as the Nether-tongue, but…”

Kazas gave a bitter smile.

“It’s the act of offering your knowledge and soul to an apostle. A ruin more dreadful than death.”

“But there are Nether cultists, right? Why worship something so horrific?”

“Because one day we will meet the Age of Jupiter.”

“?”

“You may not understand, but in great cities there are buildings more than ten stories high—sheer spires. When a fire breaks out and people are driven onto the roof, with the flames rushing in and no way out, sometimes terror drives them to throw themselves into the blaze.”

“Ah.”

“It’s the same with certain spirits or beasts. When driven by a tiger with no escape, some, as if bewitched, rush in and bare their throats to die. Those who don’t understand magic think the beast cast a spell—but beasts don’t use magic. Before a despair too great, hearts break; unable even to endure resistance, they choose self-destruction.”

“Grim.”

“Lose your will, and you submit to despair on your own. So—no matter what—do not lose your will. I’d like to tell you that… but it’s laughable. I’m not in a place to say such a thing to you.”

“Not in a place?”

“I already lost my star.”

“Sir?”

It was hard to understand, but thanks to Aldis, Azadine had some sense of what a “star” meant.

“Can’t you find a new one?”

“Who knows.”

Kazas smiled faintly at Azadine’s words.

“Well then—it’s time to shoot, foolish disciple.”

“Sir?”

“I hunted goblins nearby and made you arrows. This reedbed is perfect for reed shafts. If you keep shooting—again and again—until this reed field is gone, you’ll master the two-stringed bow even if you haven’t yet.”

“…This entire reedbed?”

Azadine gaped at the vast sea of reeds.

His bow was so strong that after fifty shots his limbs trembled and his face went sallow as jaundice—yet he was to shoot until the whole field was gone?

“Remember—lose your will, and you’ll submit to despair yourself. Keep your will, Azadine.”

“……”

Cicadas shrilled.

With his ruined left arm, Azadine gripped the bow and summoned that day’s memory.

In Aldis’s case, unlike other Nether worshippers, she had not chosen to submit to oncoming despair. But as a fresh corpse, to be claimed by an apostle and made a vassal was its own horrific ruin.

“Azadine?”

The thing that had taken Aldis’s body called to him in Aldis’s voice.

In that instant, Azadine understood why people sometimes hurled themselves into fire, why they leapt into bottomless despair.

He wanted to believe—

That Aldis had returned to life.

Even if what stood there was something like a revenant or vampire, even if it had been steeped in wicked power—if her soul, her continuity, was truly her, then he felt, for a heartbeat, willing to yield to that darkness.

Even so, Azadine loosed an arrow at “Aldis.”

Truly, Kazas and Aldis had raised him too well. When despair that should break his will bore down, Azadine reflexively resisted.

No doubt Kazas had planted this pattern in him—hoping Azadine, at least, would overcome the despair Kazas had felt.