240. Throwing the Spark (6)
He takes his stance. Pulling the sword to mid-level. With a force that could tear the sky in one go. The King’s Greatsword, its dark steel shimmering as if absorbing light.
A strange sensation courses through his veins.
Divinity rejects magic. A priest, especially Diemonica, cannot harbor magic within his body. Therefore. Even if his skill and karma have reached their peak, a priest can never match the power of a perfected warrior.
But—
– Sssss!!
His veins bulge as the divinity within fiercely resists. Yet, he suppresses it. Every moment, he regathers the dissipating magic and channels it anew. One full cycle.
A thread-like flow of magic courses through his entire body.
– Swoosh.
His hair rises on its own. A phenomenon that occurs when a swordsman at the pinnacle prepares for battle. Carefully stepping over a boundary, he takes one step forward.
[Parallel lines.]
Lavirata’s lament echoes. Through the heat of his burning head, faint tinnitus mingles with his hearing.
– Use magic.
Having not cast a single spell today, the reserves of the bronze throne were ample, and Lavirata was weakened from using Great Magic. If he used magic, he could easily defeat her.
But he won’t. Call it arrogance, call him a fool—he won’t use magic.
It’s his conviction.
Faijashi’s life was a gallows. A tragic tale filled with regret. And this moment is another tragedy born from the deeds he carried on. So never… never. Even if there’s an easy, quick, and simple way, never.
This is penance, devotion, and…
[I will oppose you, Savior. Even if our fate leads only to ruin, I will stand against it. Even if you tell me to scoop water with bare hands, I will do so.]
It’s pity.
[I… can never die. My death is not like the deaths of the past. My death would mean the death of all of them. Death? No, if our souls are mere imitations of the past, our end is not death but annihilation. Never… I will never let my people… never… remain as dust beneath the soil, forgotten and decaying for eternity!!]
Pity for those pitiful beings.
“So be it.”
Every moment, his blood rages. Divinity-infused blood boils fiercely, and a heat haze rises from his entire body. Without his extremely precise control of magic, the magic within his body would have already dissipated.
A thread-like magic runs along his veins. Consumed every moment, replenished every moment. Beyond the burning divinity, magic races like lightning.
Fernandez grips the sword hilt, steadies his stance… and charges.
* * *
The blade cuts through the air. Straight from the sky above to the ground below.
Immediately, the maids standing on either side of Lavirata leap forward. Lavirata takes a step back, clutching her beastman.
– Screech!
The hawk perched on Lavirata’s throne lets out a sharp cry and spreads its wings. The hawk ascends into the sky, and magic begins to swirl and move.
– Clang!
Fernandez strikes back, pushing away the simultaneous attacks from both sides. The maids’ sword energy was no ordinary force. Two of them cross their arms and draw curved swords, swinging them.
– Clang! Crack!
This is a stalling tactic. Their swordsmanship, flowing with intent, is undeniably refined… but there’s no soul in their blade’s path. In their eyes, glowing beneath their masks, only spirit remains—no soul.
– Clang!
He deflects the blade and pushes back. The light body soars through the air. Simultaneously, he spins, blocking with his sword. Another maid thrusts her curved sword, but it clashes against the greatsword’s blade and is pushed back. He draws a half-circle, pushes forward, and advances.
Three steps to Lavirata. In that time, the maids unleash a flurry of thirty strikes. He deflects them all and takes another step!
[My people will not be forgotten!]
Lavirata’s cry echoes. Fernandez’s blade races toward her neck. Just before it reaches her, in that split second—
Her beastman completes its form, and a powerful magic descends from the sky, piercing into her body.
In that moment.
Everything seems to freeze, in a moment of hyper-extended perception. Fernandez ‘understands’ Lavirata’s beastman.
‘Construction, formation, creation, sacrifice…’
– And illusion. Damn it. Such power…?
‘She formed five seals in that short time?’
The difficulty of magic increases exponentially with each additional seal. Seals are diagrams that combat mages draw with their hands, replacing magical formations. They regulate the flow of magic by substituting the equations of magic circuits with the intertwining of fingers.
Using multiple seals simultaneously means that with each additional seal, the variables of magic passing through the circuits increase arithmetically. From the perspective of controlling all variables, the computational difficulty increases exponentially.
Thus, five seals.
Even taking time to form them, it’s an unstable, high-level spell. To form five in the time it takes to swing a sword once… What she’s doing now…
‘She’s staking her life.’
Regardless of whether the spell succeeds. Spells above a certain difficulty force backlash. Normally, it results in the loss of magical ability due to circuit overload or internal injuries from reversed blood flow. But such a violent spell would burn the soul.
A desperate act with a higher chance of death than success.
Yes. It’s desperation. A refusal to die easily. Lavirata, casting a spell to destroy the city walls, accepting the side effects for a single strike. How vicious must her desperation be…!
– Must stop it.
‘No. Break through.’
But, break through. It’s not confidence or arrogance. It’s karma.
Fernandez pulls back his sword, steadies his stance, and faces forward.
Lavirata’s spell is complete.
And the world turns upside down.
* * *
A sandstorm sweeps over the altar like a tidal wave. Fernandez drives his greatsword into the ground, gritting his teeth and holding on. If his grip on the sword weakens even for a moment, he’ll be swept away by the torrent.
– Whoosh…
Sand grains clatter against his armor. The friction is intense enough to spark. His exposed hands and cheeks are already scratched and torn, blood oozing thickly. And soon.
– Whoosh…
The sand stops. Fernandez shakes his blurry vision and raises his head.
The blue sky and vast land come into view.
– It’s an illusion.
‘I know.’
It’s not just a spell. To implant an illusion in him with just a spell would require at least Mumto’s level of power.
Lavirata’s spell is more intricate and cunning, weaving sound, light, magic, and touch.
He mobilized all his senses.
The moment the sand hit, Fernandez recognized the illusion spell. Regardless of recognition, there was no way to counter the spell. It was already complete.
-Swish.
The wind blew. Below the altar where he stood, the vast scenery of the city came into view.
A massive city.
People were bustling about, laughing and chatting.
It must have been the scene when this city belonged to the living.
A waterfall flowing down from the grand royal castle formed a river, stretching across the city to supply drinking water.
Perfectly crafted stone aqueducts, women doing laundry on them, children bathing or playing in the water.
In the distance. Beyond the majestic outer walls, soldiers moved, their spears gleaming……
‘Ashit.’
The scene from the days when the Ancient Ashit Empire was intact. Fernandez let his sword hang and spoke.
“Why are you showing me this?”
“Well…… didn’t your rock-hard heart feel something?”
A woman walked up behind him. Dressed in a dazzling, light garment that revealed her silhouette almost entirely. In the form of a great Pharaoh. Tap, tap. Her bare feet made light sounds as she walked on the altar.
“There was a time when we thought that because we were once great, we would remain so forever. A time when an individual’s death was just that—an individual’s death. A time when there was truth in eating, drinking, laughing, and chatting.”
Lavirata spoke with a languid expression. She soon laughed.
“You’re right. We, the Conclave, were raised by Mumto beyond death and lost our original forms. We fell, becoming shadows and puppets, losing the karma and dignity we had built in life. Yet, we held onto elements that proved our existence.”
“What are they?”
Lavirata waved her hand. A glowing map appeared in the air.
Soon, sections of the map lit up one by one under her touch.
“Altarak of Mahras holds honor. Tutankhamun Gartep of Ptaha holds conquest. High Priest Paphtet holds collection. Apotazar of Tanis holds survival.”
Four places. It was a map Fernandez also knew. Though the exact locations differed, each represented the Conclave’s sealed grounds.
“And I, Lavirata of Ibalis. I hold protection.”
“So that’s why you were hostile to other races.”
“Yes. In the eyes of the living, we are nothing but monsters.”
Lavirata nodded. Her Legion of Wraiths was extremely hostile to all nations of the Material World. Yet, they hadn’t launched a full-scale conquest.
They simply fortified their place of resurrection, expanded the city, and awakened others still buried underground.
What was the reason? Fernandez, who thought all Pharaohs harbored a desire for domination, couldn’t understand. Were they stockpiling power? What were they thinking?
Thus, a variable. A future event that must be eliminated to steer the unpredictable future in their favor. That’s how he saw it.
But…… what could one say to a wraith who simply says, ‘I want to live’?
“This will be a difficult request.”
“You’re using such a spell just for persuasion? Can you handle the backlash?”
“Well. I judged that I couldn’t kill you.”
Lavirata looked at Fernandez with somber eyes, yet her face remained expressionless.
A mortal of unknown origin. In her time, she had met countless heroes and warriors, but never someone like him.
Eyes that instantly saw through her magic, a magical wavelength that interfered with her Magic Circuit without hesitation, and divinity coursing through his veins. Even the power to destroy the mightiest war machines with a single sword.
Thus, her chosen tactic was persuasion.
“Even if I could kill you, what would remain afterward?”
If she killed him, would the humans retreat? Probably not.
The Legion of Wraiths’ power is limited by the Pharaoh’s strength. The great magic cast at the outer walls had already inflicted irreparable damage to Lavirata’s forces.
If she focused all her strength on killing him, the other spells maintaining the battlefield would break. What then?
Her forces, standing foolishly, would fall helplessly before a handful of survivors.
It was a dead end either way. No matter where they went, death was the only outcome. So Lavirata tried to persuade. The mysterious assassin who had rushed before her.
“They, I…… we. We don’t want to be forgotten.”
Mortals face judgment in the Temple of the Gods after death. They pass into dimensions owned by the gods, living eternally under their worship.
But the wraiths. Those half-twisted and raised by Mumto have no such future. Spirit, soul, essence, sanctity—all shatter and scatter at the moment of destruction.
That is true annihilation. All factors maintaining their spirit form dissipate into mere ether, and their remains will decay into dust under the passage of time.
They don’t want that end. They don’t want to disappear like that. But what can they do?
Lavirata lamented. What can they do……?
Even if he retreats, even if she kills him, even if she drives all the mortals invading this city away. What comes after, and after that.
In the near future…… eventually, the humans will eradicate them.
Without pity, without mercy. With the same ease as clearing cobwebs from a house. Willingly.
It had been so long since she had seen a living face, she couldn’t even compose her expression. Lavirata shed tears, her face expressionless, her complexion unchanged.
“Let’s make a deal.”
When she raised her head, Fernandez looked down at her and spoke.
‘Let’s tweak the plan.’
-Out of petty sympathy?
‘Let’s call it a mix of factors. At least if Lavirata declares complete neutrality toward the Material World, and if the Pharaoh’s Legion submits to me. It’s not a bad piece to secure.’
-Burying these skeletons under the sand would yield the same result. This region will be ruled by the Beastmen and Duke Erbe, both of whom will become our soldiers anyway.
‘Thinking of the future, it’s better to have as many soldiers as possible left.’
-Tsk.
Fernandez slowly gestured to the Beastman. Step by step, meticulously. A black halo burst into flames behind his head. Soon, a chain descended from his hand and wrapped around Lavirata’s neck.
“This is……”
“I will affirm your existence and guarantee your survival.”
“And the price……?”
“Everything you have.”
Lavirata looked up with vacant eyes. Staring at the shadowed man’s face, she hesitated for a moment.
“So be it.”
It was more than submission—it meant the Great Wilderness had been conquered. Fernandez thought as he clasped Lavirata’s hand. Apotazar is a Pharaoh who sides with the strong, the Beastmen of the Great Wilderness are under his control, and Erbe will become the hero he created.
A vast region from the western Empire to the Great Wilderness had fallen under his command. Change the plan. With this much military power, he could easily oppose the Emperor.
It won’t be long now.
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