Ch.214Night God (5)

Going back now would be absurd.

Of course, returning wasn’t impossible. The distance wasn’t far, and considering they had only camped once, it would simply require steady walking.

But just because something was possible didn’t mean it should be done.

Turning back now would be meaningless.

Checking the trap, uncovering its purpose.

Furthermore, confirming who had prepared the trap and why, and if it was his mother’s plan, destroying it.

That was why they had set out, and they couldn’t just turn back because they had seen something unexpected.

At least, that’s how Llewellyn felt.

“The doppelganger is an unexpected enemy, but that doesn’t mean we can turn back.”

“Doppelganger… that’s an accurate expression. It definitely feels that way.”

Llewellyn wasn’t sure exactly how his translation function worked, but he was glad that at least what he meant had been conveyed accurately.

“But I am worried. You say it’s fine because the level of imitation is still low… but what if that level increases?”

Melody’s hypothesis presented a possibility that couldn’t be ignored.

“Let’s say it completely copies our abilities.”

“Hmm? Isn’t that the most troublesome part? I couldn’t kill Llewellyn even when I genuinely tried to.”

As Lorian said, Llewellyn thought the same.

Complete replication of abilities would mean possessing Llewellyn’s physical capabilities and regeneration, as well as the Sword Saint’s transcendent swordsmanship.

But Melody seemed to think differently.

She shook her head and said, “Completely copying abilities doesn’t mean using them at the same level as the original. Even if it could, it wouldn’t be able to reproduce the items we possess.”

“…Hmm, it seems entirely possible though.”

Lorian objected, and Llewellyn was skeptical of his words.

‘Would that be possible? I think there would be limitations.’

Just considering the Star Cluster alone—it was a “combination” of divine power, magic, and transcendent power.

Reproducing that would be quite difficult, and what about Llewellyn’s power?

The experience and techniques accumulated by the Sword Saint?

Llewellyn could barely imitate them through miracle manifestation, so he believed there was no way a doppelganger could do it.

More accurately, he hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

Soon after, as Llewellyn’s skepticism shifted direction, so did his thoughts.

‘What if there are no limitations? With Mother’s capabilities, it might be possible.’

“If that’s the case, there’s nothing to worry about.”

That would be dangerous. Llewellyn pondered, and the Sword Saint, who had sheathed his sword at his waist, spoke.

“What? But…”

“There’s a way to counter it. It’s difficult to explain, but let’s just say it’s my unique technique.”

The Sword Saint’s unique technique. Llewellyn was curious, but since it was difficult to explain, he didn’t ask.

“Alright, then… even if it can’t copy perfectly, there’s still a problem. An even bigger one.”

“What is it?”

“What if the doppelganger perfectly replicates the personality to the point where it’s indistinguishable from the original?”

Perfect replication of personality. Llewellyn tilted his head, not immediately understanding.

“Could we still kill it then?”

“Well, that’s…”

He was about to say it would be possible.

But the words caught in his throat.

Would it really be possible? Llewellyn’s eyes briefly scanned the group.

‘The Sword Saint could do it. It wouldn’t be difficult.’

If someone perfectly replicated the Sword Saint’s personality, they would probably welcome death.

The problem was the others.

Llewellyn looked at Melody. The minstrel who had sacrificed even her eyes for him and still held pure affection.

Llewellyn imagined his hands breaking that delicate neck and felt uncomfortable.

It was disturbing. Just imagining it.

What about Lorian? The thought of his head being severed and rolling on the ground made Llewellyn’s teeth clench.

And Isla. Isla’s ears perked up, and when Llewellyn met her eyes, he sighed, unable to even imagine it.

“I couldn’t do it.”

Whether they begged for their lives, resented him, or accepted death with dignity.

Either way, it would be painful. If the personality was perfectly identical, that would certainly be the case.

Llewellyn calmly acknowledged this fact, and Melody spoke with a slightly softened expression.

“Me neither.”

“I could handle a fake Lu anytime.”

“What if that Llewellyn is sad? What if he resents you? What if he accepts death?”

Even Isla, who was always honest, dignified, and true to her emotions, stopped speaking.

She raised her ears and tail, wearing an uncomfortable expression.

It was a striking expression for the usually expressionless Isla. Even Lorian widened his eyes and muttered, “I didn’t know she could make such an expression.”

“…I’d still do it. Because I need to help Lu.”

But Isla’s resolve was firm. It seemed the only thing she couldn’t resist was Llewellyn’s charm.

Melody added, “Well, that’s something we don’t know.”

“Anyway, what I’m saying is that it would be difficult. Isla can’t kill them all by herself.”

This time, there was no denial. Isla uncomfortably turned her head away, and Llewellyn pondered as he watched her.

“…But we can’t turn back. We don’t know what they might do next.”

It wasn’t a long deliberation.

For now, they had stopped at trying to seduce Llewellyn and the God of Night.

But what about next time?

Just looking at this doppelganger, he wasn’t sure if it was truly a creature of the demon realm or the work of whatever had prepared the trap.

He couldn’t be certain.

Llewellyn believed that next time, something undeniably threatening would come—something that would threaten the pantheon.

It was a conviction. Not something derived from divine-forged intuition, but a conclusion reached by his brain and instincts.

“I think the same. Just looking at how it imitated my Night… the opponent has intelligence. Beings with intelligence are born with malice.”

“A god advocating the theory of innate evil.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

The God of Dreams smiled wryly, understanding that the concept of “innate evil” had been adequately translated.

He gazed bitterly at the remains resembling the God of Night in Llewellyn’s hand.

“I’m not talking about good and evil, but about ‘how to deal with enemies.’ Don’t you harbor malice when facing an enemy?”

Llewellyn couldn’t deny it. He fell silent, and the God of Dreams closed his eyes.

“All beings with intelligence know how to torment their enemies. This is the same. Probably… even this act itself was done knowing we wouldn’t retreat.”

Silence descended. A quietness that made throats dry.

“I’ve packed everything.”

The Sword Saint spoke amid the settling tragedy.

He remained composed despite the gazes focused on him.

“I don’t care. Whether what I cut has intelligence or not. Whether it’s good or evil.”

He walked with his left hand on the hilt of his sword. With each step, the corpse was crushed, leaving red footprints beyond those steps.

“Only one thing remains. How far my sword can reach.”

The sword was suddenly in his hand. The great blade that had completed a full circle to rest in his hand gleamed.

A single trajectory separating life and death.

One of the weapon systems created by humanity, and while not the most efficient weapon, it was the first thing that came to mind when thinking of weapons.

Neither the first nor the last.

Merely a transitional phase.

Yet a solitary radiance standing tall. He was here because he was captivated by such a sword.

Within it was a transcendence and “uniqueness” that even made the God of Dreams mistake it.

Two hundred years densely filled with slaughter and training.

The confidence forged that way was dazzling.

“I’ll die when it’s time to die. But if I stop moving forward out of fear of death, I’ll die standing still. I hate that. So I’m going.”

The Sword Saint walked ahead. Toward the vaguely known direction, toward the demon realm.

Llewellyn watched his back.

He acted as if everything was simple and clear, but he actually understood the entire situation well.

Llewellyn knew that.

How could he not have worries?

How could he not have fear?

He was a person, albeit a dulled one, and still possessed what he was born with as a human.

It was just that the sword stood at the forefront of everything.

Despite his intelligence not allowing it, he tried to live as simply as a sword.

Llewellyn envied that. After a moment of silence, he looked at Lorian, Melody, and Isla.

“My lord, your orders.”

Lorian seemed to have no reason to hesitate from the beginning.

“Lu.”

Isla contained her emotions and followed. She steadfastly walked the path she had chosen.

“Haah, really.”

Melody sighed. A sage who couldn’t live simply was always like that.

“I’m sorry. Truly. But… I’d like you to take me there.”

The God of Dreams spoke despite reading all these signs.

He too had realized something from watching the Sword Saint.

That one would regret not acting. He wanted an answer, whatever that answer might be.

“Whether it’s my Night, or a fake imitating her, nothing will change unless we meet.”

The God of Dreams had made his decision, and Llewellyn couldn’t back down when even a god reduced to just a head was so determined.

After all, what kind of man would he be if he didn’t follow after seeing such a resolute back?

“Let’s go.”

Llewellyn walked with the God of Dreams attached to his back.

Five people and one head crossed the demon realm.

Their destination was beyond Arba, the land where life and death had been slain and now slumbered.

Toward where something impersonating the God of Night lurked.

[Play Time: 10,271 hours]

And the time it took for the party to reach the location of the Tower of Life and Death was 34 hours.

By the time the party had killed about a thousand doppelgangers,

They saw a woman standing quietly at the base of the towering spire.

Someone with long black hair where stars twinkled, exuding a mysterious aura.

It was the God of Night.