336. The Immortal and the Mortal (5)
Fernandez was hearing the sound of his bones and muscles being crushed moment by moment. It wasn’t due to external pressure. His body, frozen by the stasis field, was being forced to move, and the resistance was causing his flesh to crumple.
Under the shattered armor, the tendons on his exposed forearm writhed like snakes. The power that once overflowed throughout his body was now destroying him from within.
-Crunch!
His clenched teeth cracked too hard, and blood vessels popped in his eyes. Yet, the greatsword remained precisely fixed an inch away from Faijashi’s nape.
-Hahaha, is that all you’ve got? You think you can break my magic with brute force? That’s an amusing attempt. Even an egg, if struck dozens, hundreds, or thousands of times, might just break a cliff, don’t you think?
Faijashi took a step closer, taunting him as if daring him to strike. A glint of amusement flickered in his eyes.
Fernandez didn’t respond to the mockery. No, he couldn’t. Even opening his mouth was difficult now. The magic Faijashi wielded had reached the realm of concepts. It was akin to divine power. If a god symbolizes a specific concept, then this magic was the essence of that concept itself.
Stasis, or freezing. A technique that halts even formless space and flowing time. Even if Fernandez had infinite magical power and perfect preparation, could he replicate that spell?
He shook his head coldly. That was the pinnacle of Faijashi’s potential manifested in a completely different way. Even if he had accumulated the same knowledge, such a feat would be impossible. He hadn’t even fully understood the spell in the first place.
It was an act of extracting the concept of “fixation” from the low-level stasis field spell, layering the same spell like a sieve, and manifesting the purest concept left at the very end. He could understand the logic, but he couldn’t replicate it.
It’s like looking at a master’s painting and recognizing the paints or canvas used. But even with the exact same materials, could you recreate even a single stroke of the master’s hand? No, even if possible, it would merely be a copy, a degraded imitation.
A signature spell is the essence of its creator. Even if you follow the same spell, you can’t achieve the exact same effect as the creator. It’s a reflection of the caster’s life, their very existence.
Therefore, Fernandez couldn’t replicate the spell Faijashi had created after his transformation.
It was a remarkable feat. To challenge a god in life and become a god in death. Fernandez genuinely revered the old mage.
But at that moment, a thought flashed through his mind.
‘If the concept of fixation has been fully projected onto me, why am I not completely frozen?’
Fernandez couldn’t even close his eyes now. Even the smallest tissues of his skin were frozen. His lungs could no longer draw breath, and his pupils were fixed solely on Faijashi’s face.
Yet, his thoughts didn’t stop. His blood still pulsed violently, and his muscles, tense to the point of tearing, were trying to move his joints, destroying his body moment by moment.
This was strange. The projection of a concept doesn’t work this way. If the magic Faijashi used, the origin of the magic he understood, was “fixation,” then Fernandez should have been a statue, unable to even think.
‘…Incomplete…!’
They were now fighting within an extremely elaborate illusion. This was akin to a thought experiment. A struggle between two spirits within the same illusion, a single person’s thought experiment.
Faijashi’s magic was undoubtedly close to perfection. His spell had successfully immobilized Fernandez. The thought experiment of these old dark mages was so refined that it could even clothe the spirits in the flesh of their living days—
‘But this is not my flesh, my blood, or my muscles.’
Strictly speaking, what composed Fernandez now was his spirit form. The spirit form had overlaid itself with the memory of its most complete state. For both Faijashi and Fernandez.
If such a spell had been cast in reality, Fernandez would have had no means to resist. It was a spell that could never be blocked. The only way was to disrupt it before its completion.
But this wasn’t reality. His body wasn’t clothed in flesh. The reason he and Faijashi were fighting wasn’t merely a final desperate attempt to realize their ideals. It was for a higher value… a more sublime value.
They had staked their spirits, souls, bodies, and essence as the wager. They were colliding their very essences to test their pinnacle. Swordsmanship? Magic? Those were mere tools. Differences in direction. Even those were just inclinations.
It was merely a preference. This wasn’t a struggle between an old grand magician who had mastered spells and a young warrior who had reached the pinnacle of swordsmanship. They were staking their values, grinding their souls to build and elevate their own essence—
“Faijashi.”
-…!
Fernandez’s mouth moved. He closed his fading eyes and slowly drew a breath. Slowly, like chains falling away, the binding on his body disappeared. Fernandez firmly planted his feet and gripped the sword hilt.
-How…? Did you break it with strength…? That… that should be impossible…
“I am the will, not the form. I am the truth, not the interpretation.”
– “Now, are you pretending to be a priest? At this moment, divine power cannot help you, and we have never, not even once, willingly become someone’s slave! Disappointing, Fernandez. Truly!”
– “I was also the Priest of the Inquisition Office, Fernandez Sernerd.”
Fernandez closed his eyes and spun the sword hilt, raising the blade. Straight towards the sky. Swordsmanship is merely an art, a means to express its meaning.
What he raised now was not a sword, and what supported the blade was not his bones. The ground he stood on, the corridor of this crimson tower, was not the earth, and the direction he pointed was not the sky.
Everything is a means, a phenomenon, nothing but a concept. At this moment, the only thing that truly represents me is myself. Fernandez opened his eyes and continued.
– “I was also the King’s Knight of the Round Table, the secret strategist of the Chieftain, the one who killed the Nightmare of the Great Wilderness, calmed the madness of the far north, prevented the empire’s internal strife, and assassinated the Emperor. Each and every one of those was me.”
Greatness is built upon the trajectory of a mortal’s life, their achievements. A mortal’s life is like a ladder reaching towards the sky. Most people fall between heaven and earth, ending their lives, yet everyone takes a step forward, reaching for the sky.
One can give up, despair, or settle. But all who live on this earth take their first step on the ladder of life.
When the level of greatness reaches a certain point, people call that existence a seeker. It means they have shed their human form and ascended to a quasi-divine position. But Fernandez did not think so.
We are all seekers. Each with different directions, but the essence is the same. Mages who accumulate wisdom towards their aspirations. Swordsmen who hone their skills to reach the pinnacle of swordsmanship. Priests who humble themselves in faith, bowing not to themselves but to all.
They are all seekers reaching for the sky. From the old woman on the street, the merchant by the road, the blacksmith, to the laughing children. Everyone is a seeker, burning their lives to take a step forward.
Humans do not need gods. The god who loves humans the most should abandon their divinity and commit suicide. Humans are not beings who must rely on others for peace.
Humans must become their own faith. Fernandez opened his eyes and firmly gripped the sword hilt with both hands.
– “You were also me. Faijashi Wildcast. No, Fernandez Sernerd. Our goals, directions, thoughts, and ideologies are all just means.”
– “Despite all the conflicts since our spirits split?”
– “Yes. They are also just means and processes, not the essence.”
– “Haha… this.”
Faijashi laughed hollowly. He shook his head and said.
– “Cheating. Trying to overturn the chessboard, Fernandez.”
– “Rules are just conditions for victory.”
– “You’ve become quite the orator. So, you mean you can do it even without me as a means?”
– “At least I won’t give up.”
As always. Faijashi nodded at Fernandez’s words. At that moment, Fernandez’s sword split the sky.
– “CRACK!!”
The tower’s core collapsed, and the hall’s crystals shattered. The grand hall, armed with countless artifacts, crumbled into fragments, covering everything.
Above it, the sword’s trajectory passed like a stroke of ink. Like a dagger crossing a splendid canvas. Tearing through space, thoughts, illusions—
– “You’ve suffered a lot until now.”
A pitiful consolation to himself. Fernandez pressed his stiffened eyes and stood still. Darkness returned. In the abyss of nothingness, now truly alone.
He had never been alone since the beginning of this life. Faijashi was always there, with his malicious jokes, mockery, and occasional sharp advice.
Now, there is no more of that. On the ladder reaching for the sky, he must move forward as if he had always climbed alone.
That terrible emptiness gripped his heart. The distant sky seemed to appear before his eyes. The celestial sphere he could never reach, no matter how high he stretched his arms.
– “At least, I won’t give up.”
His glance towards the gallows of his past life was a vow. Enduring infinite time and no stimulation, the pain in this abyss, he would never give up. Until eighty, until the moment of death, Fernandez’s breath touched the memorial of the Dark Mage who burned himself.
Placing a sprig of freesia on the tombstone, Fernandez’s spirit moved forward again.
* * *
[The formation of the flesh is overwhelming! Even if you open your eyes now, there is nothing strange.]
[Two opposites have become one.]
[Huh…?]
[No, no. Focus on your task.]
Lavirata sighed as she watched the swirling soul inside the Vessel of Creation. His life was being recreated, destroyed, and fused again. Now he had become a true solitary being, no, an eternal being. At least his soul.
A pearl forms within the wound of an oyster. The essence of the soul also blooms from the flaws of life. That man’s soul was like that. A flower blooming on a barren wasteland, a pearl rising from the vast mud.
In that brilliant light, Lavirata expressed regret. If she had a living body, she could have shed tears at this moment. Instead, she quietly stroked her mask.
The first wish she had for that man had already been fulfilled.
[From the second wish onwards, it will be more selfish and mischievous. Savior, rise and face your burden.]
Lavirata quietly turned her head and left the hall.
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