Chapter 243 Nightmare (4)
Verden's visit to Roafra in person was not merely to exact the price for being made a target.
If he was truly the ruler of Vintert who dared call himself a king, then he ought to have the strength befitting the title. Verden judged it a suitable chance to test the new realm of Quasi-Transcendence he had reached.
Of course, he had not forgotten his original goal,to cut down Vintert so that no further troubles would arise.
Yet naturally, even if he dealt with only the underworld's king, the uproar would not fully settle as if nothing had ever happened.
Those who had not witnessed Verden's might with their own eyes,and the remnants of Vintert who refused to accept reality, would obviously keep causing trouble.
So he chose an open war, on the stage of Roafra, just as now.
By displaying an overwhelming gap in power, he would silence not only Vintert but the subordinate criminal forces as well, all at once.
In that process, to offer them the chance to live was, in its own way, mercy.
But pure intent does not always transmit clearly to others. There are things one must experience directly to understand.
The world is like that by nature.
"Am I f**king hearing things? What? Kneel? On our knees? He caught that perverted bastard, Ruin Costa, once and now he's acting like this?"
"Kyahaha! It was strange enough that he came to Roafra with only two people. Turns out he really is missing half the screws in his head, huh? Look how many of us are gathered here."
"Isn't he an idiot from the start, just for becoming Vintert's target? If he wants to live, he should slam his head down and beg. With that face, he'd sell for a high price as a slave. Ah, is that why he said to capture him alive?"
"Keek, maybe so. But that staff and robe look damn expensive. Will His Majesty pay for those too?"
"But that magic power, it feels strange…"
The sound of derisive laughter burst out and lingered in the air.
Some felt an unknown chill run through them, but they quickly shook it off.
The enemy numbered only two, while those targeting them were not hundreds but over a thousand. And they were no mere gutter scum who mugged street brats for pocket money.
These were forces gathered by powerholders who wielded immense influence in the underworld,fighters selected through fierce competition to gain admission into Vintert. To underestimate the situation, to never consider their own defeat or death, was the natural response.
"Well, since they say he's a lightning Mage, he must have something up his sleeve. Ruin Costa's crew was wiped out after all. Still, we've prepared magic items just in case."
Tergor, one of the eastern Roafra power brokers, sneered and gestured with his chin to his henchmen.
"Go seize them before anyone else does. He's a frail Mage, so take care not to kill him. And as for that Galliark, since there was no order to capture him alive, just cut off his head and bring it."
"Yes, Lord Tergor."
Weapons were drawn one after another.
Mages and archers took positions on rooftops, while swords, spears, and axes in the hands of warriors blackened the outer rim of the square.
The tightening encirclement.
Verden still stood at the center of the square.
"Butcher, move freely. On the way to Vintert's castle, kill only those who stand in the way."
"…I'll do that."
Galliark nodded obediently,accepting Verden as the party's leader, even though he was, at heart, an adventurer. With the sheer amount of magic power he had just felt, it was impossible not to acknowledge him.
"Damn, in just a few months you really turned into a monster."
Muttering under his breath, Galliark gripped Hwihwol with both hands, rubbing away the cold sweat on his palms.
Ku-ung!
The Butcher dashed forward, fangs bared. As the axe blade wreathed in crimson aura cleaved the air, dying screams rang back.
Verden shifted his gaze forward.
The criminals, unable to hide their laughter, snickered and flicked their swords.
"Hey, you won't escape anyway, so why not make this easy? If you resist and blood is spilled, that's your loss."
It was true enough.
But it was you yourselves who refused.
At last, Verden moved.
His transparent blue eyes gleamed with no emotion. Pouring full power into his mana circuits, he slammed Orient into the ground.
< Terrain Manipulation >
And the underground world began to move.
***
Roafra was a place only for humans.
It was a refuge for those with nowhere else to go, a sanctuary for the rootless, and a breeding ground of endless crimes at every moment.
Since its creation, never once had demi-humans or abnormal species been allowed to encroach upon this underground city. To outsiders it was the worst of cities, but to some, it was a cradle.
Jjeojeojeojuk, jjeojeojeojeojuk.
And now, Roafra was splitting apart from its very square.
Buildings collapsed in a mass as if swallowed by an earthquake, familiar alleys that had been walked just yesterday were shattered into pieces.
The underworld's foundation was being twisted out of shape.
One powerholder dropped to the ground in shock, then widened his eyes.
"What the hell is this…"
Everything was being overturned moment by moment.
The Roafra they had lived in until now was surging like waves. It was too unreal to believe.
This was no sea, but an underground city.
Then the earth flipped and thrust upward. The very street beneath their feet split in half, forming a colossal cliff.
A dizzying abyss of pitch darkness yawned before them.
"N-no! Aaaaaaaah!"
One mercenary slipped and fell into the rift.
His scream was soon buried beneath the roar of collapse. Yet none reacted properly, not even at such a death.
Someone had once said,when you experience something that surpasses cognition, your mind goes blank as if turned into a white sheet, unable to think or act.
Normally, no one would care about such talk, but now, there was no denying it. Everyone gathered near the square was going through it.
But it wasn't eternal.
The first to recover from confusion was the powerholder and Mage, Torman. He shouted,
"Stop that Mage… stop Asher at once! No, kill him!"
It was the right judgment, fitting of a Mage.
Indeed, if Verden were stopped, the bizarre phenomenon occurring in Roafra would vanish.
But Torman lacked the ability.
He failed to sense the magic pouring out of Verden, and he had forgotten the original order to capture him alive. This was a lapse of willpower.
And the same was true for the others.
"Didn't you hear me? Kill him! Kill him now!"
"Y-yes!"
His subordinates leveled their weapons.
With their sense of reality gone, they reacted to the command purely by reflex, their training surfacing as instinctive movement.
But that was as far as it went.
"What are you doing, not firing yet…!"
As he turned his head, Torman froze.
There were no subordinates there. Only corpses impaled on spikes of earth.
A cold current brushed the back of his neck.
"W-wait───"
Kwa-jik.
Something shot through Torman's chest.
Blood spurted out with delayed pain, and his vision went dark in an instant. His death was the spark—screams began erupting everywhere.
Yet still, no one had surrendered.
Verden tilted his head slightly.
'Not what I expected.'
By now, he thought they would start to break.
Was their loyalty to Vintert that strong? Or was it fear of the underworld's king?
Whatever it was, their resolve was sturdier than he had thought.
Well, it was their choice, and he would respect it.
Through the ruins of the underworld, Verden walked,and the distant castle of Vintert drew ever closer.
***
Marco was a former knight.
A knight who had once sworn loyalty to some Baron, nothing special about him, a plain and ordinary man. He was also a pitiful fellow, expelled after being forced to shoulder the blame for his superior.
Still, a knight was a knight.
Naturally, he knew how to wield aura, and he could manage swordsmanship that looked fairly convincing. Just enough skill to make a living off the blade.
Wandering in search of a place to settle, Marco chose to remain in Roafra.
Better to live among people, even if it was a den of criminals, than to roam outside working as a mercenary, he decided.
His experience as a knight was of great help.
Noticed by a powerholder and brought into the organization, he felt a certain satisfaction. All he had to do was fight enemy groups with swords, and the pay was far better than what he earned in his days as a knight.
The vast underground city,
Marco became one of its people and lived faithfully.
And now, that world of his was being destroyed.
"Haa, haa, haa…!"
He had already abandoned his sword, had torn away the cumbersome breastplate.
It was expensive gear, but there was no time to worry about that. The pressure that if he didn't run, he would die, drove Marco forward.
The scenery of Roafra flashed across his vision.
"Save me! Please save meeee!"
"Kyaaaaaaak!"
The ground devoured the living.
It licked its lips greedily, as if alive. Finding the portion insufficient, fissures opened beneath the feet of the next victims.
Another scream reached his ears.
Marco only ran.
Just then, a woman he passed, Madam Cheridam, cried out.
"You damn Mages! Do something, anything!"
"Y-yes, understood!"
Mages roused their magic.
They hid within a building, erected walls, and wrapped themselves in barriers, doing everything they could to shield themselves. Only then did Madam and the Mages sigh in relief.
But it was meaningless.
Kwaaaaaang!
The earth exploded.
Building and barrier tore apart like paper, and those inside were slaughtered. Only the scattered blood whispered that someone had once been there.
'Please, please, please…!'
Marco gritted his teeth and ran.
Suddenly, from the debris of a collapsed building, rolled down the broken body of the powerholder Tergor.
"Kuhahahaha! Asher, you crazy Mage bastard! Just how strong have you become?!"
Galliark spread his arms wide, laughing brightly.
Blood dripped from the edge of Hwihwol, staining his hand. The Butcher, caring nothing for the filth, twisted his mouth in mad delight and stomped hard against the ground.
Kwa-ji-ji-jik!
From the spot he charged, a bisected corpse floated up into the air.
"Hrk, hrrrk…!"
Marco ran desperately.
Emotion swelled in his chest, fear so overwhelming he thought he would go mad. Most of the survivors felt the same.
Their fighting spirit, their killing intent, their greed, all had vanished, and their focus was only on survival.
And yet, not a single one bent the knee.
The reason was simple.
They did not believe Verden's words at all.
In this hell collapsing in real time, who would sit down quietly and kneel? Unless insane, every last one would choose to run even a little farther away.
Loyalty to Vintert? Fear of the king of the underworld? Such things had long since vanished.
It was then,that among the survivors, some dared to face their fear.
"There, that's Asher! Just kill that bastard!"
"Use imbue spells, block him somehow, whatever it takes, just get close and kill him! If you want to live, kill him!"
Their courage shone brilliantly.
Resistors who did not despair before an incomprehensible calamity, but instead fought back. One might almost believe, for a moment, that perhaps they could succeed.
Marco turned his head slightly.
Into the rising dust cloud the warriors vanished. Moments later came hideous sounds of tearing flesh, and then silence.
Fwaaah!
A storm swept away the dust.
Those who had been alive just moments ago now lay in ruin, bodies strewn among the wreckage. And through them, Verden walked forward.
His blue eyes, carrying the abyss, met Marco's.
"Hrrk!"
His breath stopped in an instant.
Startled, Marco stumbled over a stone and fell.
It didn't hurt, but he could not stand again. His body, his soul, shook uncontrollably. To barely raise his upper body was the most he could do.
"…!!"
Step, step.
The being who had brought forth this calamity was drawing near. An indescribable terror trickled down his spine.
Marco reflexively covered his head.
"I was wrong…! I was wrong! I'll never, never show myself again, just spare my life, please…!!!"
He prayed with all his strength, desperately, with all his heart.
And still, Verden did not stop.
Marco's pupils shook violently.
'Am I… going to die now? Like those who were just slaughtered?'
Unbidden, tears spilled down his cheeks.
Forget being a former knight, there was no dignity left to hold. His heart had already shattered.
If this was a dream, he begged to wake from it, sobbing soundlessly.
"…?"
But time passed, and no pain came.
Could he have died in the meantime? Yet, no, his senses remained. Through his tear-blurred sight he saw the cracked floor of Roafra.
Marco carefully lifted his head.
The footsteps that had drawn so close were receding into the distance. Verden, clad in platinum robes, was moving away.
"Huh… huh?"
Was he spared? Why?
Countless possibilities crossed his mind, yet none fit. Then, suddenly, Marco looked at himself.
Kneeling, curled up in utter submission, a pitiful figure.
Could it be.
"Was it true… that if you didn't want to die, you had to kneel…?"
There was no other reason.
No matter how he thought of it, it could only be that.
Strength drained from Marco's body.
Whatever the case, the relief of survival swept through him. He thought he might faint right then, but he couldn't.
If he let his posture collapse midway, he might be killed after all.
"Ah…"
Marco looked up at the sky.
At the edge of his vision, shattered Roafra shimmered. He had hoped this was a dream… but what he saw was undeniable reality.
A cruel nightmare, and yet reality.
Kwaaaaaang!
A rough explosion battered his eardrums.
Blankly rolling his eyes, he saw the colossal castle gate crushed into ruin.
Vintert, Roafra, was collapsing.
Marco quietly brought his hands together.
He prayed to the God he had never sought before.
"Please…!"
End this nightmare.
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