Chapter 143: Final Destination (1)

Ȓｅаɗ ｏո​ Ḱａț​Ȓėа​ɗίṅģ​Ϲａғε

“I used to have a granddaughter. A truly lovely child… her parents both died, so I took her in… Tsk. Those wretched souls, how could they leave a child behind and go so soon?”

Like most elders, the old man was fond of rambling to strangers, his demeanor oddly warm.

“Still, raising her was fun. It eased the loneliness. But that granddaughter of mine hated this backwater village. Said she’d leave for the city and make something of herself—and then she was gone. No word since. Who knows if she’s dead or alive… could’ve at least sent a letter…”

Deep in the mountains, in a shabby hut, a girl wearing a ridiculous hat nibbled on black bread, nodding along.

A fair trade for a meal.

It was the height of rural exodus. Compared to this village, the city offered the benefits of all kinds of magical tools. A reasonable choice—but the lack of contact must’ve stung. The old man poured his heart out to these outsiders.

“Which city did she go to?”

“Who knows… well, I just hope she’s living well.”

The girl nodded again, sipping milk. Listening required little effort—just simple questions and gestures. That alone made her seem attentive.

Beside her, the man sat silently, eyes closed in prayer. The old man seemed satisfied.

“You two should stay the night. The roads are dangerous after dark.”

Perhaps the girl reminded him of his granddaughter, softening his heart. A rare kindness.

Ironically, the one in the most danger here was the old man himself.

But the two heretics—who had no intention of sacrifice or slaughter—quietly accepted his offer.

A rare night indoors, they should rest while they can.

By morning, the old man even packed them fruit.

“A shame… At least have breakfast before you go.”

“We’re in a hurry.”

The girl bowed, and the man beside her dipped his head slightly.

“Well then, safe travels. May your journey bring the enlightenment you seek.”

Their cover? A priest and disciple on a pilgrimage to strengthen their faith. Having eaten and slept under his roof, the two heretics set off again.

Step by step.

A few strides, and they were back in the mountains, that’s how small the village was.

By the time they stopped walking, night had fallen. The early summer mountains buzzed with insects, the scent of grass settling quietly in the dark.

The man halted, lit a campfire in a clearing, and sat. The girl joined him without a word, staring blankly at the flames.

Both sensed it.

Their journey’s end was near.

Perhaps that’s why the man spoke first—uncharacteristically.

“The revelation must be carried out by my hand. You should turn back now.”

“…What is this revelation? Can’t you at least tell me?”

He was a man of inaction. While other apostles schemed outside, he stayed in the basement, praying.

Only once, long ago, had he emerged—to protect his followers.

A monk in all but name.

What revelation could stir such a man?

“A trial. And a message.”

The answer only confused her further.

“Is it worth risking your life for?”

“I’ll ask instead. What guides your actions?”

“…My master’s words.”

“And why follow them?”

“Because I was made by their hand.”

“Even children defy their parents.”

The old man’s story flickered in her mind. Was his runaway granddaughter doing well?

Not that it mattered to them.

“…I’d be scolded if I didn’t obey. Those parents probably never scolded their child.”

“My god… does not scold. They embrace.”

That’s one way to put it… generously. The girl swallowed her words.

The man lived by his gods will alone. If told to die on earth, he would.

If told to ascend and live in the heavens, he would.

Yet, for this “final act,” he had a small wish. One he never voiced—both because he thought it impossible and because he was naturally reticent.

But the girl seemed to sense it.

“Well, whatever it is… I’ll watch over you.”

As she spoke, a moth fluttered between them.

It dove into the fire without hesitation, burning away in an instant—a brief, brilliant flash.

“I’d feel uneasy just leaving.”

The girl stared blankly, then added softly.

Seeing her like that—like someone who might grant a final request—the man spoke haltingly.

“…I’ve lived long. At the end, I have a wish.”

The girl’s eyes flicked toward him.

“If my body remains… send it to Them.”

“Understood.”

She could’ve mocked his desire to lie even in death at the Evil God’s side. Instead, she simply nodded.

Far in the distance, a speck of light glowed among the stars.

An island, a floating city of mages and below it, an academy—their final destination.

They could’ve taken a sanctuary portal and arrived instantly, walking here left the girl’s shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

Such a long journey.

“By the way… What’s your name?”

“Verut.”

“I’m Object No. B-13.”

“…”

“Call me whatever you like.”

The last night deepened.

***************

“Another exam today?”

[—– – – ….!]

“Ugh, noisy. Someone get that girl out of here.”

Cedric spent his morning peacefully communicating with his disciple.

Outwardly, he showed little affection, but he cherished the boy. Even now, he could vividly recall the scrawny runt rolling around, determined to protect his girl.

The memory brought him glee.

‘Hahahaha.’

Wherever he was dropped—desert, jungle, volcano—the kid always crawled back alive. It almost made Cedric want to sing.

(Had he actually done so, it would’ve traumatized Riley for life.)

Regardless, Cedric believed nothing in life came free. Effort brought reward; suffering brought repayment. He’d lived a century by that creed.

‘Been alive too long.’

Looking back, he saw the distant, loathsome school—and above it, the floating island. A nostalgic sight.

His brief time there had been enjoyable. Decades ago, before he’d grown wise.

Playing with forbidden artifacts and getting scolded, screaming over failing grades, meeting his first love.

Ah, his first love. That brought to mind an old friend—the friend ensnared by a witch. He wondered how that friend was doing.

First loves weighed heavily on men. Cedric himself wasn’t one to dwell, but seeing others, he understood the weight.

Look at his disciple, smitten with one girl since childhood—utterly hopeless.

Not that he’d ever admit to sulking over his long-distance romance woes. He was the Holy City’s Guardian, after all.

So why was he standing at Steele’s outskirts now?

For the precious kids taking exams today. Her Holiness was there, as were his disciple and the boy’s girlfriend.

All adults, but to Cedric, they were still children.

Perhaps like his own? Given the age gap, more like great-grandchildren—but mages lived long.

“Children” sufficed.

Among them, his disciple—the one who’d followed his life’s principles—held a special place. Cedric was grateful and wished him due reward.

The boy had faced his beloved’s fate and his own burdens head-on, never wavering.

So, of course, Cedric would do this much. The first-year finals were pivotal, a clear mind meant better performance.

Steeling himself, Cedric stared ahead, face impassive. Sunlight grazed his weathered features.

The vast plains.

In the distance, a figure appeared.

Unlike Cedric, clad in white knight’s garb and a billowing cape, the man wore dark, somber clothing.

“Greetings.”

“…”

“Care to introduce yourself? I am the esteemed Guardian of the Holy City —Cedric.”

“Apostle of the Shadow Cult. Verut.”

“Ah. The elusive one. What brings an apostle who’s been hiding for a decade to the academy today? Here to pick up your kid?”

“I’ve no business with the saint’s lackeys.”

‘…So the brat is the target. Acting alone? No sign of the Gem Dragon or the Crow.’

He’d heard the rumors.

The sudden appearance of the Gem Dragon fusion and an apostle. Their path led straight to Steele—their goal obvious.

‘No idea why they’re walking so slowly instead of striking fast.’

But even a hidden foe could be found if they moved this leisurely. Cedric had prepared and arrived first.

“Brave of you to march here at dawn. Others would’ve skulked in the shadows.”

Still too far to engage. Cedric gauged the wind, the apostle’s stance, every variable—then spoke casually.

“Let’s talk. How about surrendering quietly, you filthy heretic?”

The apostle responded by flicking his fingers.

—Ting.

The sound of bone against bone—clear and resonant, like a bell.

But Cedric never heard it.

“…?”

Verut stiffened as Cedric’s fist shot toward him, unhindered.

“Was that a finger snap just now?”

Cedric grinned, blood trickling from his ears.

Then—CRACK.

A thunderous impact sent Verut flying. Not a sound a human body should make.

Dust swirled over the plains.

Cedric narrowed his eyes as Verut emerged, wiping blood from his mouth.

‘Tougher than expected.’

“I burst my eardrums with mana. Perfect timing.”

“…”

“That snap of yours gave me quite the headache.”

Ten years ago.

The one day the apostle had shown himself.

A sound that hijacked the mind the moment it was heard.

Its range? Everywhere the sound reached.

It had paralyzed the knights in an instant, letting the heretics escape.

Of course, it was useless if you didn’t hear it.