Ch.201201. Kagan (9)

It hurts.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts─

It hurts like madness.

It hurts like death.

A terrible, devastating pain that seems to crush each cell one by one, like tearing the soul to shreds, transmits through El-Temur’s mind and soul.

No flowery words, no adjectives, no language could ever express this pain.

Even as he writhed in the terrible agony of the deadly poison burrowing into his body, affecting his flesh, mind, and ultimately his soul, El-Temur was certain of this.

The pain, intense enough to trigger survival instincts, makes El-Temur’s body move as if in seizure.

The agony was so devastating that if not for the immortality inherent to El-Temur being El-Temur, his brain would have long since melted from the stress of pain or he would have died from shock.

Of course, just as the deadly poison causing this pain doesn’t merely inflict suffering, the venom spreading through El-Temur’s body seems to be attempting to annihilate his very existence.

Despite being a superior being with immortality, El-Temur’s body is melting from the inside where the poison first spread, turning into something like meat porridge, with some organs ceasing to function while others temporarily take over their roles.

Thanks to that damned immortality, his breath wouldn’t stop, but El-Temur was in a state where death wouldn’t have been surprising.

And… is this what they call life flashing before one’s eyes?

As the conviction that death might be less frightening slowly permeates El-Temur’s body, his brain desperately searches through past records to find a countermeasure.

Of course, this had nothing to do with El-Temur’s mind-soul.

His soul, half-transcended in extreme pain, was lost in nostalgia, recalling memories that frantically returned to the past.

The past when he was born to the seventh concubine of the tribal chief. The past when, despite his unwillingness, he was monitored due to his extraordinary birth, and eventually forced to become the tribal chief by his father’s coercion.

Of course, orcs attempted confrontation or challenges directly rather than engaging in vile politics, but regardless of their nature, El-Temur, who couldn’t hide his extraordinariness from birth, executed them all.

And… this was something he, El-Temur, never wanted.

Born with a temperament far from that of an ordinary orc, El-Temur actually had little interest in the position of tribal chief, let alone grandiose titles like Khan or Great Khan.

But his mother, his friends, and even his father and the tribe’s people.

Everyone thought of him as their hope, and being too naive to push his own will in this situation, he eventually “became” a great orc under the pressure of trust and faith.

And on his shoulders rested countless responsibilities and duties…

El-Temur’s life, forced to bear things he never wanted even for a moment, was riddled with anguish and conflict.

Despite never wanting it, he had to wage war, driving his acquaintances and family to death.

Though it was an unwanted situation, as the leader of the unified orcs, he had to invade other sentient beings and engage in slaughter.

Despite knowing that all his actions were evil, he ultimately succumbed to the pressure of tradition and society, and furthermore, to the tribal god that existed in such a form.

His life, lived under the gaze of the tribal god from birth until now, was marked by wretchedness hidden beneath greatness.

Talk of being chosen or a great warrior aside, he knew better than anyone that El-Temur himself was essentially a slave to the orc tribal god.

And… at the end of such an unfortunate life.

‘Is this the end?’

Swayed by the immortality bestowed upon him, the power providing an indomitable body as long as his will remained unbroken, he abandoned it despite being able to revive himself if he so chose.

This was, so to speak, the final struggle of someone who had lived as a slave his entire life, and his first and last choice made entirely by his own will… after the curse engraved on his soul by the hydra’s poison shattered, granting him freedom.

If he wished to survive, his greatsword and immortality still in his hands would resonate and overcome even this deadly poison, but having vowed to no longer live as a slave, he decided to give up on life.

‘…Ah.’

At that moment, El-Temur suddenly recalled the existence of a certain young orc.

The strongest of the orc Khans who once stood against him, the totem warrior Yesugei.

At the place where he overwhelmingly defeated that orc and ascended as the Great Khan according to the tribal god’s wishes, El-Temur met someone who would be deeply imprinted on his life.

Yesugei’s son, ‘Temujin.’

Captivated by Temujin, who was unbelievably wise and knowledgeable for his young age, let alone for an orc, El-Temur took him away as his successor as the price of victory.

Coincidentally, Temujin, who was in a marginalized position in his tribe at the time, followed El-Temur quite well, and as a result, El-Temur, who had no children as he had never married, remembers adopting him as his son and showing him considerable affection.

Therefore, in the moment when El-Temur harbored hesitation and lingering attachment in his heart, even if just briefly.

Not missing this emotion, dozens of green hands appeared from the void, trying to grab El-Temur.

If he were to grasp those hands, El-Temur could revive and roam the world, wielding his authority again.

As a great conquering monarch with numerous concubines and slaves, he could be worshipped by countless orcs for generations.

But… for El-Temur, who had now shaken off even that last lingering attachment, such conditions weren’t even worth considering.

He firmly rejected the approaching green hands, the proposal of the three-headed god.

With the thought that even if he were to be buried in that endless darkness, it would be better than living as a puppet again, El-Temur threw his soul beyond that darkness with a sneer.

And, just before everything ended.

‘Red…’

The last thing El-Temur’s sinking consciousness perceived was the sight of a blood-soaked blade, turned red, cutting down the green hands.

※ ※ ※

A naked green body falls to the floor.

It’s pitifully small for the corpse of one who was once the leader ruling all orcs, the great Khagan, and the chosen one of the orc tribal god.

Though it might look relatively intact on the outside, the body, completely ravaged inside by the deadly poison, indeed looked quite miserable.

Due to the influence of the ‘Trumpet of Jericho,’ all the equipment he wore was completely shattered, leaving only his naked body and greatsword, and the bare body left behind bears several scars that will never fade.

But, looking at the faint smile on his face…

‘…I pray that death brings you salvation.’

Mourning El-Temur, who had been quite distant from his own will, I was about to approach to secure the body soaked in hydra poison when…

[[[…??!!]]]

Suddenly, seeing the green meteoric iron greatsword in El-Temur’s hand writhing, we couldn’t help but be startled.

The green greatsword, made from iron extracted from a meteorite. That it would writhe like a living being despite undoubtedly being made only of metal was a spine-chilling sight that wouldn’t be out of place in a horror movie.

And while we couldn’t hide our shock, the green greatsword suddenly emitted a dull green smoke…

The green energy and smoke gathered to form a giant figure, and none other than that giant’s hand now held the greatsword.

“…Huh.”

To face that in our battered state after such a grueling battle. No matter how I thought about it, that seemed impossible, and I wore a dejected expression at the sight of the giant that appeared to be imbued with the orc god’s will.

And then—

—KWAAAANG

With a thunderous sound, a massive sword falling from the sky struck the green greatsword, shattering it to pieces.

“…Huh?”

The sudden developments that seemed utterly incomprehensible and the overwhelming presence emitted by the suddenly appearing massive greatsword were enough to freeze Sophie’s mind.

Of course, I too should be shocked by this unprecedented situation, but considering who threw that massive, heavy greatsword, I couldn’t help but become deferential.

I suspect that the green giant was likely created by some machination of the orc tribal god…

“Your Highness, that greatsword. It was thrown by Him directly, wasn’t it?”

“…It seems so.”

This greatsword that instantly crushed the orc tribal god’s intervention is, I cautiously surmise, the direct intervention of Chronima, the war god of the pantheon and the Bloody Sword.