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Chapter 80
Chapter 80: Bone Between Flowers (3)
The subjects thought.
That flame was undoubtedly alive.
There was a giant of fire soaring toward the sky.
Amidst the raging snowstorm, the giant of fire, shaped like a human, began to cross the frozen land. Thud, thud. While shaking the earth.
Е̄ ñ ům̄ ă
How were the flames that surged along its path? It was like seeing roots extending from the feet of the giant of fire. The flames spread relentlessly, swallowing buildings one after another.
<Ah──.>
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The giant of fire,
Heraclitus’s voice echoed.
<──What a refreshing flower.>
In front of Heraclitus, there was a vast blooming flower.
Ẁ ė b̈ n оṽë ĺ Ё nu.mа̄
A flower that bloomed, dominating Saint-Pierre Castle.
That must be a huge mass of divine power. How could such a large and beautiful prey have sprung up? Heraclitus was delighted. He spread the flames and stamped his heavy feet one after another, and,
<Imperial Secret Service, commencing relief operations now.>
<──Hey, are you really a Sword Saint?>
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<Inquisition Bureau, confirmed that all cathedrals in the Saint-Pierre estate have been burned. It appears to be the work of apostates.>
<Listen, Sword Saint. We are the Barbarians of Zylon──!>
Еn̊ u m̄а̊
<Imperial Regular Army 5th Brotherhood, currently protecting 1,259 subjects.>
<Papal Curia Congregation of the Council, Sacred Congregation for Priestly Vocations, commencing firefighting operations now.>
Countless voices rushed into Abel’s ears.
The commanders of each department dispatched for relief were communicating with Abel.
“Confirmed.”
Abel answered concisely.
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A voice concealed by a spell was ignited.
“The Saint-Pierre estate has been abandoned. As of this moment, this place will be temporarily designated as a Papal State. You must not tolerate the death of any subject.”
It was enough to fight the battle alone.
Mobilizing troops would only be a hindrance. Abel guided all troops to focus on relief efforts. It was not enough to save many subjects. Abel’s goal was to save all subjects.
‘This armor is a shackle.’
Thud, thud.
Е ṅû m̀ а
Abel leaped, stamping on the roofs of buildings one after another.
‘Too slow.’
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To one who had reached the realm of a Sword Saint, armor was unnecessary. Whatever he wore would only be cumbersome. Countless auxiliary spells were engraved inside the armor, but even so, it would be easier to fight bare. In the end, it was just a ceremonial suit of armor.
‘About three times.’
The weapon was no different.
The giant sword Abel held belonged to the highest class of holy relics, but it could not withstand Abel’s Aura like his beloved sword. The limit was to release the Aura Blade three times. Nevertheless, the reason Abel had shackled himself was clear.
Е̂n um̌ ã.i̊d
<Mommy, there’s a giant──.>
<Oh my! The Sword Saint has appeared.>
<……A Sword Saint? They really existed?>
Abel detected the voices of the subjects who had reached the shelter.
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He needed not his own name, but the name of the Sword Saint. A symbol to calm the subjects who had encountered a disaster. He intended to use it.
<……His Holiness the Pope is watching over us.>
Ŵ_е b nо̀ v ѐ l Ĕ ń u ma
<A giant holy knight clad in platinum armor……, it is undoubtedly a Sword Saint.>
<Mommy, what’s a Sword Saint──.>
<Shh, my child. Everything will be alright now.>
Abel dismantled the detection spell.
And so, he left only the sound of the snowstorm and the flames mingling and swaying in his ears, and,
──Thud!
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leaping high,
“As you said, we ended up facing each other on a snowy mountain.”
<Oh, you are──.>
after making eye contact with the giant of fire, Heraclitus,
‘First.’
The first of three.
Е n̊ um а
He poured Aura into the holy relic.
It was enough to seize the moment. An ivory-white Aura wrapped around the sturdy sword body like a spire. Fzzt. The holy relic, unable to withstand Abel’s Aura, groaned. After calming the convulsing sword body by putting strength into the hilt,
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──Kwoong!
He threw it into the air.
A trajectory drawn in a straight line pierced the sky, and half of Heraclitus’s body scattered. The moment the sparks, distorted like snowflakes, were pushed by the wind and swirled,
<That won’t do.>
W е ḃňӧ v̀ ѐ l Е́n̆ u mа̌
Heraclitus laughed.
Heraclitus’s crumbled body was being restored. Flames spread from the crimson mass floating in the air, and it was completed into the form of a full-fledged giant.
<I won’t be defeated so easily.>
Abel stepped on the ground.
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Is it useless unless I destroy the core? Abel thought, examining the cracks engraved on the sword body. The souls of those who had burned to death made up Heraclitus’s core, and because countless souls were layered, he couldn’t cut it with just the Aura Blade.
“That’s right. It’s impossible to cut it.”
Ŵ е̂ b n̈òṽel̈ Е̂n um̌ а
Suddenly, a voice was heard beside Abel.
It was Osmond. Osmond, wearing a mask made of iron, had reached Abel’s side.
“Hello, Abel. We meet again?”
“You’re alive and well.”
“Yeah……, it just turned out that way.”
Black armor and white armor.
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Osmond and Abel stood side by side.
They raised their heads and looked up at Heraclitus.
“You would know, right? If you can’t cut it……”
“Then you pierce it.”
“That’s right. You have to pierce it with a sword.”
There would be no other way.
W̊ӗ b ǹо v́е l Ё nŭṁ_a
Osmond and Abel affirmed silently.
They had to scatter the flames that made up Heraclitus, and then pierce the exposed core in the air with their blades.
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<Well now──.>
Meanwhile, Heraclitus lowered his head.
His eyes flickered within the huge, swollen flames. Looking down at Osmond and Abel, Heraclitus sneered.
<──What a fine sight. You seem to get along very well. One is a subordinate of my comrade, and the other is a stooge of the faith I turned my back on. It is an honor to meet you.>
Ên̂ û m̂ а..іd̆
Whoosh.
Heraclitus’s body moved.
It was merely to offer a greeting. But the arm made of flames grazed a clock tower and destroyed it, the stooping torso burned buildings, and the ash pouring from his mouth mixed with the snowstorm, dyeing everything white.
<Subordinate of my comrade, for what reason do you oppose me? The deal between us should have been perfect. Did not my comrade promise to give me this land?>
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“You’ve been betrayed.”
Osmond said in a quiet tone.
W̄ё b̄ n о̂ vе l Е́ńú m_a
“Lady Fleur did not agree with the will of the Parousia Denomination. She just used you for her revenge. I will oppose you according to her will.”
He didn’t care what happened to the Saint-Pierre estate.
Even if it disappeared right now, his heart would not be moved. In fact, he wanted to burn it down himself. Osmond had once been abandoned in this land and had almost died as one of the fairy children. Fairies do not gather in the ice. They only wander among the flowers and giggle. If not for Fleur’s arrangements, he would have just watched.
The land of ice, scorched by fire and melting away.
<Then, stooge of the faith I turned my back on, I have been waiting for you. To show you my form. What do you think? How is my majesty? Will you not join our will as well?>
“I’ve received such offers thousands of times.”
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Abel said in a sighing voice.
“I’m about to yawn. Why do you wish to become a god with such a boring reason? The end of an apostate who falls into corruption by coveting power is common.”
<Oh dear──.>
──Gwoong.
Heraclitus’s body swelled.
<I have no choice──!>
Еn u m̄а̂
Osmond and Abel leaped in opposite directions.
The flames that made up Heraclitus were running rampant. The flames surged, threatening to burn the sky. The steam created by the meeting of snow and fire spread hazily, and Abel and Osmond stepped on the gaps between buildings, observing Heraclitus’s movements.
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‘I have to jump in.’
Osmond thought, stepping on the top of the collapsing clock tower, and,
‘I can’t let the flames spread any further.’
Abel judged, stepping on the roof of a scorched cathedral.
Ѐ num̊ a . і̇ d
‘Second.’
The second of three.
Abel used his Aura Blade.
An ivory-white Aura once again covered the sword body.
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Tuduk, tuk……. The blade began to crumble. Abel pulled the hilt and sharpened his gaze. In the middle of the steamy view before him, he brandished his Aura Blade at Heraclitus, who was pouring out flames, and,
──Kwoong!
W е̂ b̀ n ӧv̈е l Е̂ ṅů m.а́
The trajectory of the Aura Blade was engraved in the air.
The lumpy steam split in a straight line.
Osmond did not miss the opportunity. He leaped and stepped on Heraclitus’s right arm. After summoning two artifacts from his pocket plain, he drove the blades in to fix his body.
<──Heraclitus of the Fire speaks!>
Abel stepped on Heraclitus’s left arm. The swaying flames obstructed his vision. He had to break through the front. He had to advance while cutting through the flames. He could only use one more Aura Blade. He had to get on Heraclitus’s shoulder and destroy his body with the last Aura Blade.
<I will burn everything──!>
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And so, they ran together.
<──Full Bloom.>
Osmond summoned all the artifacts in his pocket plain.
Numerous artifacts were driven down in a straight line. As if marking the direction Osmond had to advance, colorful swords were thrust into Heraclitus’s arm. As if they were flowers that had bloomed amidst the flames.
Osmond ran.
Hellfire raged and blocked Osmond.
E ñ ûm̌ а . і́ ḋ
He cut it down every time it blocked him. He grabbed artifacts one by one and scattered the flames. When one artifact broke, he grabbed another, and when another artifact broke, he grabbed yet another.
- Why?
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In the middle of that,
a voice was heard.
- Why?
- Why?
Е n̈ ũm̆ а . і̇ d̃
- Why?
──Whaaaak!
Osmond’s vision turned red.
The flames clumped together and attacked him.
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There were faces. Faces were engraved on each flame.
‘……This is.’
Enũ m̄ ă_.іd
Osmond’s eyes widened.
They were souls. The fireballs that blocked Osmond’s view were all souls.
The fairy children. Osmond easily guessed the source of the souls. The souls that had died unjustly in this land made up Heraclitus’s body. Covering Osmond, the young souls all asked.
- Why did only you survive!
Kwaaaang──!
The souls of the young children, turned into fireballs, became fire bombs. They struck Osmond’s armor and shouted. Why did he survive alone?
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Osmond fell through the deafening roar that shook the air.
Tuduk. He managed to drive in his blade with difficulty and stepped on Heraclitus’s finger.
‘I don’t know.’
He didn’t know how he had survived alone.
He didn’t know if he deserved to.
‘I know.’
Enu m̀.a
On the other hand, Abel also stood with difficulty.
Kwoong, kwoong, kwoong. The fireballs that hit Abel’s body were also souls.
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He grabbed a strand of flame traversing the air and examined it. He should have crushed it, but the expression engraved on the surface was young.
- Why?
- Why?
- Why?
Ѐnu ṁ â
I know. The fact that everything had to be his own fault.
The fact that if someone had to bear the responsibility, he had to volunteer himself.
- Why didn’t you save us?
Swoosh.
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The fireball scattered like a candle being extinguished.
He had sent the soul to the Underworld. A soul was imbued in every strand of raging flame. The cold dead had been heated with resentment and were burning.
W̌е̃ b̀nо v̄е l̆ Е̄ ṅ uṁ ӑ
- Why?
- Why?
- Why?
Abel ran.
He broke through the flames with Aura covering his entire body.
The endless questions continued. Why? Why? Why? The outside of the armor crumbled under the weight of the questions, and the inside of the armor shattered, unable to withstand the conviction.
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Why?
Osmond clenched his teeth.
Why?
Abel raised his sword.
Why?
Osmond ran forward without knowing his heart. He crossed between the heated souls and grabbed an artifact. He cut the vengeful spirits with ‘Sleeping Wave’. He split the vengeful spirits with ‘Constructed Maple’. He soothed the vengeful spirits with ‘Swollen Butterfly’. That was all he had. ‘Sleeping Wave’ scattered in fragments, ‘Constructed Maple’ was scorched and distorted, and ‘Swollen Butterfly’ was pushed by the flames and thrown far away.
Eṅūṁa.їd
The colorful hues were like a flower stalk, but no sword could be offered to the souls.
Why?
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Abel climbed onto Heraclitus’s shoulder with a dead heart. He raised the white holy relic with determination. The fireballs that met the blade of the holy relic ascended one after another. The souls that had been burning in a lump were not soothed. They were just purified. They had died once and become souls, died twice and become flames, and only on their third death were they heading to the Underworld. Without resolving any of their regrets.
The ivory-white conviction that raged was firm, but no heart could reach the souls.
Why?
Osmond stepped on the shoulder opposite Abel.
Ŵ е b̈ nо v é l̄ Еn ù m̆а
Why?
Abel drew out his last Aura Blade and swung it.
──Kwoong!
Heraclitus’s body scattered.
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A crimson core floated in the air.
In the gap of the raging hot wind.
W е̇ b n ǒvӗ l̇ .Е̂n̈ ŭm̃ а
Abel and Osmond, who had been on Heraclitus’s shoulders, fell. They aimed their respective hilts at Heraclitus’s core, which was revealed before them.
- Why did only you survive?
Fzzt──!
Abel’s holy relic, which was like a spire but had decayed like ruins,
Osmond’s sword, which was an artifact but could not become a flower,
- Why didn’t you save us?
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Crack──!
pierced.
The core that made up the giant of fire.
Why?
A dazed question scattered in the air.
.
W̌ ēb̌ ǹ о̃ v е̂ l Е n ũ ṁ.ǎ
.
.
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Tuduk, tuk.
Raindrops began to fall, and,
Shwaaaaa──!
soon it became a downpour. Was it because the flames that had soared high into the sky had even melted the dark clouds? The raging snowstorm subsided, and a rainstorm began to cover the Saint-Pierre estate.
Е̂ n um̊ а
“Ah……”
Abel stared straight ahead.
Having fallen into the rubble of a building that had turned to ash.
In the gap of the armor that had been cast in platinum but was now shabbily fragmented.
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“It’s a pity. There was so much prey……”
An old man’s face was cast before Abel’s eyes.
Ěn̄ ů m a . îd̈
It was Heraclitus. His flesh had all rotted away, and scorched scars covered Heraclitus’s face. Yet he was smiling. Heraclitus was on top of Abel’s body with a distorted smile on his face.
“But it’s alright. My comrades……, there are still many of them.”
“Right.”
Abel extended his arm.
He grabbed Heraclitus’s head.
As he injected a little Aura,
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“We are gods……, we will become new gods……”
“I understand.”
Pssst.
Heraclitus’s face crumbled.
It began to scatter like aged sand. From head to toe, everything that had made up Heraclitus was swept away by the wet wind.
‘It’s over.’
Ѐ n um а.і̂ d
Abel thought, letting out a weary breath.
Osmond had collapsed beside him. He must have run out of stamina. Abel’s condition wasn’t great either. His mouth tasted bitter from being exposed to the flames for too long. The warships that had been floating in the air had landed and evacuated the subjects, and everywhere, voices mixed with tears and laughter bloomed.
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‘Well then…….’
Abel stood up.
He looked into the distance with a blurry expression.
The rain fell to the ground, and, the souls that had made up Heraclitus became a halo of light and headed for the sky.
Е n̆ u m̊ȧ
Standing in between, Abel seemed lost.
He only asked questions as if looking for a path.
‘……What became of you, Fleur?’
At the edge of his vision.
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The flower that made up Saint-Pierre Castle.
Only that place was shining brilliantly.
Ë ǹum̆ ǎ
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