< 90. Trial of the Dead God (1) >
*
The fall of [Kazak Kadán]. The first Ancient God to die at the hands of Mumto, where Kadán’s last temple once stood. An Ancient God who wielded vast influence over the Ancient Ashit Empire, the Federation of Beastmen Nobles, and all nations and tribes near the western Great Wilderness.
Not all gods from the Ashit era perished. Fernandez gazed at a waterfall pouring down a massive stream, lost in thought.
Even during the Celestial War, not all gods died. Though the names they were called or the domains they governed changed with the times, divinity itself is fundamentally immortal.
Yet, gods can die too. True immortality cannot exist in this world.
“Your Excellency, before we enter…”
“I know. I’m prepared.”
A god’s death occurs when their followers are annihilated, their faith is lost, or their divinity is stolen. Just as the ancient heroes of the Elven Triarchy once plunged into the realm of gods and stole their divinity.
-Click.
Fernandez stepped toward the roaring river at the base of the waterfall. The violent currents already made his body sway.
“Aren’t you afraid of the Curse of the God?”
“I’ve come too far to fear gods.”
Fernandez chuckled at Abel’s hesitation. Watching him, Abel and Kirhas followed behind.
*
-Whoooosh…
The closer they got to the waterfall, the stronger the resistance became. A jungle in the middle of a desert, and a waterfall gushing water without a source—it was utterly unnatural.
“The waterfall itself is the trial.”
-Swoooosh!
Fernandez faced the cascading waterfall head-on, slowly raising his arm. The greatsword on his back found its way into his grip.
-Will you use magic?
‘I should save what I can. The Bronze Throne has its limits.’
-You plan to cut the waterfall with a sword?
‘King Dane did it.’
And that legacy flows in my veins. Fernandez’s arm tensed, muscles writhing like snakes.
‘I want to test it too.’
-Swish.
A simple, physical trial. Only warriors capable of piercing the waterfall’s pressure were permitted to enter.
The obsidian greatsword extended into the air. A perfect stance. The polished blade reflected the water. One drop, two drops.
He recalled memories. The sword that once cleaved giants. Its trajectory. If King Dane could do it, so could he. He inherited that legacy, shared that soul’s rank.
-Be bold, my son.
The king’s voice echoed in his ears. Not the grim tone of the death knight from Altberth, but the strong, rugged voice from his living days.
Time seemed to slow as he felt the king’s hand overlap his own.
-You will not lose your way.
Now.
-Craaaack!!
The greatsword split the space, and the waterfall was cleaved in two.
Like a curtain parting, a path appeared through the waterfall. A long, dark cave.
-Tap.
-Tap. Tap.
Far ahead, a white light flickered along the cave walls. The light of the God of Hunting, Kadán, granting entry to the seeker.
Fernandez sheathed his greatsword, his arm throbbing, and turned to Abel and Kirhas, who stared at him in awe.
“Shall we wait?”
*
The cave led to a long, rectangular stone corridor. White stones embedded at each corner flickered with light.
A passage devoid of any magical aura. Fernandez walked along the murals covering the cave walls.
The God of Hunting, Kadán. An Ancient God from the Ashit Empire era. Murals depicted him with a jackal’s head, holding a bronze spear and bow.
Flickering lights, an endless corridor, and the distant roar of the waterfall created a dreamlike atmosphere.
“Strange. Kadán’s domain wasn’t hunting.”
“It wasn’t?”
“At least not in my memory. In my time, Kadán was more a god of discipline than hunting.”
Fernandez tilted his head at Abel’s words. Hunting and discipline? They seemed like entirely different domains. The murals showed no scenes of the jackal-headed god hunting beasts.
Instead, there were images of him piercing human hearts, placing blood and feathers on scales. Sometimes skulls, sometimes organs.
-Flicker.
Whether he blinked or the ceiling lights flickered, he couldn’t tell. For a moment, his vision darkened, and the corridor’s light dimmed slightly.
Fernandez slowly gripped his sword hilt and steadied his stance.
-Whoooosh…
The sound of the waterfall echoed in the distance. His hearing felt disoriented, the sound sometimes ahead, sometimes behind.
Beside him, a mural showed the jackal-headed god laughing, driving a bronze spear into the skull of a skeleton risen from a grave.
-Your soul is heavier than your flesh.
“…Hmm.”
Fernandez stopped. Amid the waterfall’s roar, he heard screams and the crackling of burning wood.
‘Mental corruption.’
-More like hypnosis. Sound, light, repetitive patterns.
‘Exquisitely crafted. Is this the first trial?’
Fernandez gazed at the mural of the jackal-headed god. Somehow…
The mural of the Jackal God averted its gaze from the skeleton and stared at him.
He quickly glanced behind him. Abel and Kirhas were both gone. Deceiving Diemonica’s senses and twisting space, Fernandez clicked his tongue briefly.
It truly deserved to be called the Curse of the Ancient God. He slowly drew his sword.
-Swish.
If it’s a trial, all he had to do was break through it. Fernandez actually felt a sense of joy. It had been a while since he last breached a proper tomb.
-Walk.
Once again, a voice echoed alongside the sound of bones breaking. The image of the Jackal God extended a spear toward the end of the corridor.
Leaving behind a cackling laughter, Fernandez drew his sword and slowly walked down the corridor.
*
As he walked further down the corridor, Fernandez felt a familiar sense of déjà vu. The murals on the walls were gradually forming complex and grotesque patterns.
The figure of the Jackal God was no longer visible in the murals. Instead, the life story of a man slowly unfolded as he walked.
In the mural, a child received the news of his father’s death. Soon after, his uncle ascended as regent, and his son brutally abused the child every night.
The child fled his territory on the day he came of age. He knew that if he stayed, his cousin would challenge him to a duel—a duel with his life at stake.
A small-framed boy ran through the forest, barely escaping his pursuers.
“Cute little thing.”
Fernandez chuckled as he looked at the mural. The mural was alive, moving. With each step he took, the boy grew into a young man, then into middle age.
It was his life story. The life he had lived in his previous life.
-Sinner, walk toward the gallows.
Every time his steps slowed, the howl of the Jackal echoed in his ears. Fernandez shrugged and continued walking.
The young man dragged to the slave market, the young man becoming a disciple of a Lich. Barely escaping and starting his career as a Wandering Mage.
The day he first summoned a demon. The days being chased by the Inquisition Officer. The day he poisoned the hero who was tracking him. The day he cut off the sage’s wrist to steal a relic.
Gradually, Fernandez’s shoulders grew heavier. It wasn’t an illusion or guilt, but a tangible weight pressing down on both his shoulders.
He saw himself deceiving adventurers, hiding among them, and assassinating them all during an expedition to claim the treasure for himself.
The image of a middle-aged man laughing triumphantly appeared. Demons cheered beneath his shadow.
The days of establishing a school, gathering apprentices, and researching magic unfolded. The subjects of his experiments were always corpses or people.
The school burned, and the middle-aged man fled. The figure of the sun, holding a spear, chased after him.
‘Are you trying to make me relive my memories?’
Fernandez shrugged, recalling last night’s dream. His body was now so heavy that even taking a single step was difficult.
Hiding in a barn to escape pursuit, a girl handed him a cup of warm milk. The middle-aged man used a simple illusion spell to create a flower crown for the young girl. Though it was just a simple trick, the child was delighted.
“Showing me this… is cheating.”
Fernandez barely managed to move his jaw to speak. He paused for a moment and looked at the woman in the mural.
Though she was depicted younger than he remembered, he could clearly recall her appearance at that time.
The woman looked at him and opened her mouth. Walk toward the gallows, sinner.
‘Yes, Aria. I gladly will.’
Fernandez struggled to lift his foot and take the next step. Now, walking itself felt unreal. The weight that had been pressing on his shoulders now bore down on his entire body.
The mural gradually turned a dark red. Not the color of blood, but the light of a setting sun. It depicted the evening when the village burned.
The village where he had hidden, pursued by heroes, was being torn apart. Disguised as a kind pharmacist, he had settled down for a while after meeting the woman. Though he continued his magic experiments, to the outside world, he was a friendly neighbor.
Finally, his tail was caught, and heroes and Inquisition Officers stormed in. The village burned, and its inhabitants fell to their hands.
The middle-aged man spoke to the woman, who had now grown into a proper maiden. Against the backdrop of the burning village, the sounds and smells of that time vividly returned to Fernandez.
“I am not the person you think I am, Aria. Will you regret it? The day you hid me? The reason they killed your parents and slaughtered your neighbors was because of me.”
“I do regret it.”
Back then, the setting sun burned like the village’s bell tower. The woman looked at Faijashi and cried. Frezia. The scent of that flower lingered in her breath. The flower he had first woven into a crown for her when she was a girl.
“If the reason they hate you is because of your evil deeds… do you regret it?”
“No. Even if I were to relive it a thousand times, how could I dare to regret it?”
Because that would be hypocrisy. Faijashi looked down at the woman. The excuse of committing evil deeds to survive was just that—an excuse. His heart, tainted by Hellish Magic, craved greater stimulation. The greed, thirst, and longing for more power.
A desire that would not stop even if it meant burning the world. Faijashi couldn’t bring himself to lie to the woman who had momentarily halted his descent.
The moment he repented, regretted, or reflected should never come. It would only be hypocrisy to escape his own evil deeds.
Though malice poisoned and corrupted his soul, he would not stop. He had sworn on the day he turned his back on his territory that he would never live a life of complacency.
“Lonely one.”
The woman clung to Faijashi. She buried her face in his chest, rubbing her cheek against him as she cried.
“I will bear your regrets for you.”
And so, Faijashi could do nothing but hold her tightly.
-Walk toward the gallows, sinner.
The laughter of the Jackal echoed.
Gladly. Fernandez took the next step with his eyes lowered.
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