Chapter 121: Epilogue
“When that time comes, if there are any more guys like you, prancing up to me with your anxious looks or your justice-soaked posturing, questioning me, deceiving me, scheming against me, calling me a complete demon…”
The young woman let out a slow breath.
She gazed at the young cleric before her whose eyes were closed, seemingly resigned to d*ath. The delicate features of her once-innocent face had morphed into a regal coldness that bordered on the ruthless: “Then I will prove to you with my actions that you’re not wrong.”
“Because when that moment truly arrives, I will make you all experience what the most terrifying demon in this world really is.”
Whoosh—
The girl, cloaked in black armor, unfurled her bat-like wings, and crimson flames swirled around her along with pitch-black dead smoke. The bl**d-red glow in her eyes made her seem almost demonic at this moment.
“But these words…”
Amidst the swirling light and mist, the girl slowly raised her right hand, palm flat like a kn*fe, and without hesitation brought it down hard on the cleric’s head: “There’s no need for you to take them back to the Western Continent.”
Buzz—!!
At that moment, a young man named Aresta abruptly opened his eyes, realizing that his time was running out. How could he not fight back? As the girl’s palm was about to strike downward, a desperate scream of “Ah!” escaped from his mouth, his expression a mask of fury, while divine golden light erupted around him.
He charged back towards the demon!
“My brother will find you! You can’t escape anywhere! Nowhere—”
Boom, boom, boom!!
Gold light clashed with black mist, an ear-splitting explosion rocked the barren land, scorching flames and smoke billowing upward, producing a gigantic mushroom cloud. The young cleric’s final desperate shout was swallowed by the overwhelming noise and faded away.
Moments later.
As the tremors settled and the swirling dust and smoke began to dissipate, a figure gradually emerged from the explosion’s epicenter—the demon-like girl, standing unscathed and unfazed.
Her wings had folded back, transforming into flowing abyss mud that receded into her body. The sharp horns on her head and the tail on her back also vanished, leaving her silver hair dulled to a pitch-black hue, similar to her former self as a Winter Moon.
In front of her, the young cleric’s desperate struggle had turned to ashes alongside the drifting dust, forever disappearing from this world.
Moments later.
The girl lifted her head amidst the ashes.
She looked towards the sky over the barren land to the west, the bloodlust in her eyes gradually dimming as dark clouds silently dissipated. Brilliant sunlight poured down from the gaps, illuminating the desolate earth anew.
She gazed at the scene for a moment, then took a deep breath, her crimson lips parting.
“…I will personally tell him.”
Her tender voice, as soft as cloud fluff, seemed to speak to the souls lost in the wasteland, or perhaps, it was a whisper to her own heart.
And from the distant western sky, a sharp wind howled, steadily approaching.
Someone was coming.
The blue light flickered suddenly.
The girl’s figure vanished into the sudden breeze, leaving no trace behind.
…………
Soft winds swept through the abundant sunlight, stirring up the dust that brushed against the earth.
Everything that happened on this land, every fleeting or lingering wish, every emotion, was eventually consumed by the seemingly infinite black abyss mud. The simple little town, the dead bodies, the crazed and fierce slaughter—no one left a prominent mark in this place.
And amidst the endless abyss mud, protected by towering ice walls, the man named Carlos Gonzalez, the Pope Knight, might be the only survivor who truly bore witness to the awakening of the disaster.
But at this moment, he had lost too much bl**d and remained in a comatose state.
“Carlos!”
“Carlos—”
Flames leapt as if animated, dancing across the solidified blackened ground. The red-haired woman, like a raging wind, dashed through the few remaining patches of earth that had somehow escaped the abyss mud, racing toward a speck of untouched land encircled by towering ice walls.
She leapt onto one of the ice walls and caught sight of the sword-wielding Carlos, lying weakly, unconscious on the icy ground.
“Car…los…” The woman’s face drained of color. “Who did this… who…”
She leaped down from her cloak-wrapped figure without hesitation, cradling the unconscious swordsman in her arms, her expression filled with sorrow as tears welled in her reddened eyes.
“d*mn it… you lied to me… why, Carlos…”
After crying, the woman didn’t let panic consume her. She refused to stay here and wait blindly, suppressing her chaotic emotions and soon departed quietly with Carlos in tow, heading swiftly toward the eastern dunes.
But on this desolate land, with an injured and dying swordsman, how far could she truly go? Was there even a chance to save the man she cared for? And if they faced the Church again, what choices would they make? Perhaps only time held the answers.
She hoped he would survive…
Hoped…
That there would be another chance to meet.
The fading silhouettes of the two were etched into the eyes of the girl hiding in the depths of the abyss mud, watching them walk away, disappearing into the vast, unmarked horizon.
On the scorched earth, the roiling black clouds had fully dispersed.
By the time the last person returned here, everything seemed to have settled into dust.
Sword Saint Ryan.
This aging man, who was nearly undefeatable, finally met his strongest opponent in his twilight years—the dancing heretic who could bring him to a remote place nearly a hundred kilometers away, the battle’s effects smashing through three or four small towns. Every sword strike the old man attempted was blocked by the heretic using self-destructive methods like a ferocious beast.
The power she wielded had long surpassed that of the man once known as the “Great Demon.” Until the flames of sin finally burned out, the massive beast turned to dust, the old man could not use his once-proud sword skills to truly conquer her.
That once unbeatable, fear-inducing Sword Saint seemed to truly be aging.
The demise of the formidable enemy came merely because the source of her power had completely perished, turning to ashes—at that point, the old man could indeed feel this.
For the first time in his life, he hadn’t won his battle with the swift decisiveness of an autumn wind sweeping leaves.
Perhaps it was due to this reason that when the ferocious beast ultimately silenced in the aftermath, the old man stood frozen for some time, never searching for any remnants of the heretic’s indestructible flesh among the scattering ashes.
He rode the fierce winds, returning here at the fastest speed possible.
But it was too late.
The old man gripped the dark, chilling blade tightly, hovering above the d*ath-ridden land engulfed in blackness. After the fierce battle, the weary and lined face of the old man bore the marks of age, yet his white robe flowed in the wind, devoid of any burn marks from infernal flames.
Despite the fierce struggle of the beast transformed from the heretic, she never managed to truly harm the old man.
And the Gate of Truth, this monstrous, detestable heretic organization, had burned everything it could offer in a battle that was destined to be forgotten, turning into a sad history with the departure of that dancer.
But…
They ultimately did change some things.
Perhaps.
At this moment, however, no one could see or articulate what had changed.
The weary old man hovered in the air for a moment, displaying a hint of dejection on his dark face. After some time, he flew down towards the towering ice wall, reaching out to touch the deep blue ice. In his murky yet sharp eyes, it seemed he had begun to suspect something.
…………
Sunlight crossed the sky, shining over the vast lands of the Eastern Continent.
The remnants of yesterday’s glow had long faded, and in the midst of the vague fog, a new day rose. Brilliant rays illuminated the bustling Nogowai Sea Port as ships set sail along the coastline. The waves swirled with the passage of time, echoing the stories of heroes since the Divine Era, as they fought and died in the name of glory, while the people prospered, contended, and battled, the divine authority ruling over the cities, and the muddy abyss corroding the land. Yet, one day, a prosperous age would arrive.
This year was 1188 in the Common Era, the Year of Pilgrimage, when the Gate of Truth fell, and humanity held grand ceremonies to thank the great deities who had long bestowed their blessings.
Soon, this year would come to an end.
……
Volume Six: The Girl and the Holy Church
