Herald Of Ruin (5)

For the Aragasa, strength was everything.

No, it was not just the story of the Aragasa.

Those without strength were never respected. From his powerless and cursed boyhood, Azadine had already experienced that truth firsthand.

Yet now, the strength he had built up over a lifetime had become utterly useless.

Azadine’s strength came from the Kazas Grimoire: igniting the raw, unrefined power of Flowers, Birds, Wind, Moon within him, refining it into pure physical ability, and using that body to manifest the assassination magic of Flowers, Birds, Wind, Moon.

But with his body broken, he could no longer use the Kazas Grimoire. He even doubted whether he could manage daily life anymore.

Had he killed the one he loved most, intervened in his clan’s civil war, caused countless deaths, only to end up a cripple?

It was horrifying.

Azadine turned his head, trying to escape this dreadful reality, but Indim kept speaking to him.

“We’re fleeing by ship. We’re moving inland to avoid the Nagas. We’ll follow the river upstream to Banreung.”

“What about Vthuma?”

“Vthuma is stabilizing. Hathir is dead, and the Senate has collapsed. Of course, the Five Blood Families and their merchant guilds remain, so the clan might gather again around them—but for now, it’s our victory.”

“Victory…?”

“Yes. The losses were great, but strategically, we placed Arael’s magic book upon the throne and shattered the Senate. However… there’s still something we need to deal with.”

Indim rose to her feet.

She was tall enough to be mistaken for a man, but the faint curves of her muscular chest revealed she was, in fact, a woman.

To his surprise, Azadine realized Indim had been naked, using her body heat to keep him warm.

And now she spoke to him.

“I need your body.”

“……”

Indim hastily dressed, then lifted Azadine into her arms. His ruined body could not resist.

What was she planning? He was not even worth killing in this state. The Heavenly Kings’ Grimoire has already been placed in Vthuma’s throne—there’s nothing left to take from him.

That doubt was soon dispelled.

In the ship’s hold, a massive magic circle was drawn. Waiting there were Arael and the warriors of Flowers, Birds, Wind, Moon.

No… warriors who used to be four.

Among the four, only Indim, Seraph, and Dimia had survived.

Three out of four living could be called impressive, but their servants were gone, and Dimia’s younger sister, Janis, was nowhere to be seen either.

“Azadine. My brother. You’re awake?”

Arael turned to look at him.

“Dimia and Indim warmed you with their body heat for a week straight. I feared you’d die, but you’ve come back. I’m glad.”

“…Arael.”

Azadine frowned at her.

She had lost both her legs, the stumps bound tightly with tourniquets.

He had become a cripple, but so had she. That was why Dimia and Indim had spent a week lying naked, sharing their heat with the two of them.

Judging from the fact that he remembered none of it, Azadine realized he had been in a coma the whole time.

So even the great Arael has been crippled? But… no, she was better off than him.

Yes, Arael’s situation was better.

Unlike the Kazas Grimoire, which was closer to martial arts than true sorcery, Arael’s powers came from real magic. Even without her legs, she could still fight.

But with such grievous losses, she would never wield her old strength again. Likely, her lifespan had been cut short as well.

“Your legs….”

“The price of destroying the Senate. The Aragasa—the Senate—is finished. The Five Blood Families remain, but I’d say we got off lightly.”

Arael had meant to say the Aragasa had perished, but corrected herself to the Senate with a bitter smile.

“You preached about ruling over and exploiting other races to make the Aragasa strong. But after fighting among yourselves, you’ve brought the Aragasa to ruin instead. Isn’t that shameful?”

“I don’t regret it. You stopped the Senate’s and Hathir’s tyranny, didn’t you, Azadine? Then you know we have more legitimacy than they did. That’s why you fought by our side, isn’t it?”

“I have no memory of joining your side. I’m grateful for the healing, but… what now? You’ve lost your legs, and my body is useless.”

Arael was supposed to be the Goddess of War.

Her faction endured only because of her charisma. Among the Aragasa, she commanded respect because she was both beautiful and powerful.

And it was not only among the Aragasa that weakness meant a loss of respect.

Even among the Yaegas God tribe, among the Heavenly Kings, there was a custom: any with bodily defects lost their right to the throne. No matter how great her magic, Arael could not remain a leader without her legs.

“Will you abandon your ambitions and live in seclusion, Arael? That wouldn’t be so bad. You could still fend for yourself….”

“No. If we cannot fight, the Aragasa will die. And the truth is, both you and I have bled so much that our lives hang by a thread. But Azadine—did you know this?”

“What?”

“That siblings can exchange blood and flesh with one another? And for twins, the chance of success is even higher.”

“……”

Azadine stared at the magic circle, then studied the survivors of Flowers, Birds, Wind, Moon.

Seraph and Aleph had been brothers. Dimia and Janis had been sisters.

Only one from each pair had survived—and strangely, the survivors were unharmed. If Arael had lost both her legs, their battles must have been brutal too.

“Don’t tell me….”

Azadine looked closer at the circle inscribed on the floor. He couldn’t cast magic, but he had served as Elder Kazas’ assistant when deciphering Nether runes and learning Nether magic. He could read the script.

The circle before him was written in the language of the Nether.

“What are you thinking?”

“I told you, didn’t I?”

Indim approached and lifted Azadine, placing him onto the circle.

Helpless, he toppled over as soon as he was set down.

“Become Lady Arael’s flesh and blood.”

“You mean… you absorbed your siblings? That’s insane!”

“They chose it themselves!”

Seraph cried in defense.

“Do you think I would ever let my brother Aleph die if I had a choice? But with both of us dying, one had to survive!”

“That… that may be reasonable.”

But Azadine shook his head.

“No. This is madness! Arael! You’ve already stolen everything from me since birth—the clan’s grimoire, my eyes, all of it! And now you want to steal even my life? This is too much!”

“Is it? But Azadine, you cannot live as you are.”

Arael began chanting. The circle shone as it activated.

Foul Nether magic, necromancy, and green spells of life all interwove into a complex ritual under her command.

Azadine’s gaze was drawn into its intricacies.

‘No—it’s not just curiosity. My body won’t move. I can’t look away.’

There was nothing he could do but watch.

Supporting herself on a staff in place of her missing legs, Arael suddenly leapt into the circle.

And then—

Dimia, Seraph, and Indim gasped in shock.

“Lady Arael!?”

“What….”

“What are you doing?!”

Arael seized the immobile Azadine, laying his head upon her lap—upon the thigh bound by a bloody tourniquet.

“Born on the same day, yet we hardly spoke, little brother.”

“Who’s your little brother? I—”

Azadine tried to protest, but his eyes met hers.

She gazed down at him with a tender, loving look—like one staring at a beloved.

It was the same expression Aldis once gave the young Azadine.

He was shaken. Could Arael truly wear such an expression?

“Azadine. You suffered, unloved, didn’t you?”

“What?”

“Isn’t it a cruel irony? Men suffer because they are not desired, and women suffer because they are.”

“What are you talking about, Arael?”

Though he asked, he already understood her words.

Men were seldom desired unless they possessed wealth, power, or rare beauty.

Women, on the other hand, would always be wanted by someone—even if plain.

But was that joy?

Not at all.

Often it meant their fates were trampled under the desires of others.

Why bring this up now?

“Are you saying you suffered too? That you were tormented by your own popularity?”

Of course, Azadine was no fool.

From the rumors of Hathir, the clan leader, coveting Arael’s exceptional lineage, he had already realized she was not simply an untouchably perfect figure. Under the Senate’s rule, her body and soul had been under constant threat.

To protect herself, Arael had needed to endlessly prove her worth, her power, her necessity.

And yet, once of age, she would have been forced into Hathir’s harem regardless, birthing children at the whim of the Senate’s corrupt sorcerers.

Tracing the bloodline back, Azadine and Arael were likely Hathir’s descendants as well.

It was grotesque.

Azadine had suffered persecution for his weakness.

Arael had suffered for being capable and beautiful, treated as prime breeding stock.

In the already brutal life of the Aragasa, such a destiny would have been unbearable for a young girl.

But…

Azadine did not want to understand her pain.

If he accepted it, then who would cherish the boy who had been scarred, abused, and driven to thoughts of suicide by her hand?

Everyone was expected to understand Arael’s wounds. Was he, her victim, supposed to understand her too?

Ridiculous!

If so, then the young Azadine’s suffering would be meaningless.

He refused to understand Arael’s past.