Ch.220Transcender (1)

[You have defeated the God of Night.]

[The divinity once held by the God of Night and the dignity she once possessed have taken root deep within your soul.]

[Level up.]

[Level up.]

Llewellyn’s face froze.

Was the newly discovered truth so shocking? Llewellyn sat dazed, staring blankly at the sky.

That fierce battle and the technique powerful enough to completely destroy one arm had left no trace.

The night sky had cleared ostentatiously, and daylight was returning to the magical realm as it should.

Everything had vanished as if it had been an illusion.

Only the condition of Llewellyn and his companions proved it wasn’t an illusion.

Isla, exhausted from firing arrows to her magical limit; Melody, covered in grazing wounds from blocking fragments and other threats with her estoc while casting spells in front of Isla.

Lorian, who had fainted from the aftereffects of using the Source, and the Sword Saint who had collapsed not far away.

And Llewellyn’s body covered in wounds, his shattered arm, and the star cluster crumbling and scattering from his hand.

Seeing all this, Llewellyn hurriedly got to his feet.

“Llewellyn…?”

Though he heard Melody calling from a distance, Llewellyn had no time to pay attention.

There was something he needed to confirm first.

Llewellyn moved forward with urgent steps, belatedly realizing his ankle was broken, and continued awkwardly but hastily closing the distance.

The thought floating in Llewellyn’s mind began like this:

Perhaps.

Llewellyn thought anxiously as he narrowed the distance.

‘Perhaps Netel wasn’t the enemy after all.’

No one had actually said Netel was the enemy.

No, had the Empress said so? Llewellyn searched his memory, trying to piece together information that wouldn’t come to mind.

Llewellyn wasn’t sure if that statement could be trusted, but thinking about it now, it was certainly a claim whose truth was uncertain.

The Empress had even told him to consider that she herself might be an enemy, hadn’t she? Llewellyn recalled this as he limped along, and with labored breath, he looked at the only trace the God of Night had left behind.

It was something that could be called remains.

Torn fragments. Something that could hardly be considered a god anymore.

Standing before it, Llewellyn saw the message at the edge of his vision.

[You have defeated the God of Night.]

[The divinity once held by the God of Night and the dignity she once possessed have taken root deep within your soul.]

It said he had defeated the God of Night.

He wasn’t sure if it could truly be called the God of Night apart from its status and appearance, but it said it was the God of Night.

However, despite what the message indicated, he didn’t feel like anything had taken root within him.

It felt like something was wrong. Looking down at the tattered remains of the god, Llewellyn didn’t get the impression that any divinity remained to be extracted.

Rather, it was the opposite.

Perfect emptiness. The God of Night had been nothing but a shell.

‘Llewellyn, take me outside…’

A voice suddenly rang in Llewellyn’s ear as he gazed at the God of Night.

Llewellyn didn’t hesitate long. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a head.

The God of Dreams stared blankly at the remains of Night from Llewellyn’s hand.

“…Ah.”

His expression contorted. With the face of the once-greatest mage and first contractor, he gritted his teeth with deep perplexity and sorrow.

“God of Dreams, this is…”

“It is my Night, my wife. The God of Night…”

The god’s voice choked off mid-sentence.

It was different from his confusion when seeing the doppelganger just a short while ago.

Even when facing the God of Night, he couldn’t let go of his faint wariness, but now, perhaps because the tension of battle had eased or for some other reason, he had completely lowered his guard.

Rather, he seemed to have lowered it too much. Swallowing a breath close to a sigh, he stared blankly at the remains of what had been the God of Night with trembling crimson pupils.

As Llewellyn lowered his posture, the god’s lips quivered.

He looked like he had something he wanted to say, something he needed to say, but was deeply conflicted as the words refused to leave his mouth.

Looking at the God of Dreams, Llewellyn thought:

Without a body to collapse, all he could do was look down at the remains of his wife with deep mourning.

The God of Night lay dead in a manner befitting what had happened.

Crushed as if squeezed in an enormous hand, flesh burst and bones shattered.

What remained was only a tiny fraction. Llewellyn knelt on one knee as he looked down at the God of Night, which resembled both mangled flesh and a crude human figure carved from stone.

Whether it was a memory transmitted by the God of Night or one Llewellyn had somehow obtained on his own, he wasn’t sure.

But one thing had become clear.

The Great Ascension was a trap. A meticulously laid trap so thorough that the gods couldn’t even dream of resisting until the very end.

Though he didn’t know who had set the trap or with what intention, it was clear that it targeted the gods of the pantheon.

The result was also clear. All the gods had died.

Either devoured and no longer themselves, flickering like ghost lights to lure people, or with their wills twisted to serve other purposes.

Though he hadn’t seen it, he knew. And from this fact, Llewellyn surmised.

The Empress. Whatever she wanted, her advice to Llewellyn to “devour other gods” was clearly given knowing he would encounter beings like this.

She had certainly known about the pantheon and the Great Ascension. What even the God of Dreams had only just discovered, she had known since long ago.

That the Great Ascension was a trap and all gods involved had died or suffered worse fates.

Llewellyn looked up at the sky where the Transcendent had loomed just moments ago.

When the Transcendent revealed itself and attempted to fully invade the world, Netel had prevented it.

There seemed to be no dark intention hidden behind that action.

Rather, it felt as if the action itself was Netel’s entire purpose.

Llewellyn wanted answers.

He felt the need to hear directly from the Empress and to speak directly with Netel.

Perhaps the enemy wasn’t Netel but the Transcendent, or the Empress who had colluded with the Transcendent.

‘Though I’m not sure if the Empress has colluded yet, if I were her…’

She would be coming or sending someone after sensing this presence. Llewellyn thought as he straightened his posture.

“What, Llewellyn? What…”

“We have a visitor.”

Someone was walking toward them from the horizon.

Llewellyn couldn’t make out the man’s face clearly. His injuries were severe, and the forced use of “Star Killing” had badly damaged both his eyes.

But he could feel the presence.

A very powerful presence. An energetic and mighty presence that felt somehow familiar.

It was clearly the presence of a Transcendent. Beyond that presence, there was also a sense of martial prowess, not at the Sword Saint’s level but comparable to Valterok’s.

Well-trained footsteps were gradually approaching.

Unhurried steps are the mark of the strong. Even in this magical realm, in this situation, they moved with leisure and took their time.

Llewellyn tensely tried to draw out his star cluster, but when nothing came, he clicked his tongue and took a deep breath while clenching and unclenching his fist.

Almost no divinity remained. At most, he could accelerate his regeneration.

But his regenerative ability was sufficient without acceleration. Llewellyn assessed his own condition and checked on his companions behind him, preparing for battle.

It wouldn’t be strange for the Empress to take forceful action here. Though he didn’t know why she hadn’t appeared herself, if she wasn’t going to show up, he would make the most of this opportunity.

Llewellyn roused his fighting spirit despite his fatigue and glared at the enemy.

As his eyes gradually regenerated, he belatedly realized that the figure was extremely familiar.

“…That’s.”

A man wearing a cloak and plate armor.

The armor was dark red, but it had a different feel from the Blood Knight armor that Lorian had once worn and which had been semi-forcibly passed down to Llewellyn.

Rather, it was closer to the color of flames than blood. Even accounting for Llewellyn’s not fully recovered eyesight, that much was clear.

There was also something familiar about him.

The longsword fastened at his waist and the hood covering the approaching man’s head.

As Llewellyn’s vision gradually returned, he examined the figure in detail.

The first thing that caught his eye was the expression.

Sorrowful, lonely, tired, and exhausted.

It was an expression that seemed no less tired—perhaps even more so—than Llewellyn, who had just cut off the arm of a Transcendent and felt like collapsing into sleep.

Llewellyn froze, his carefully built vigilance and fighting spirit rendered meaningless, and stared blankly at the approaching figure.

The closer the figure came, the more certain things became.

His eyesight and the appearance of the other person.

Llewellyn showed a particularly strong reaction to the latter.

He stopped abruptly, recalling stories from games he had experienced in the past.

It was natural that one companion came to mind who had appeared from the first series of the Grim Darker trilogy and continued through all three installments.

A being who received the favor of a powerful Transcendent and could vividly receive and act upon that Transcendent’s will.

Simultaneously, an illegitimate child of the family responsible for the magical realm of the Old Continent and renowned as the strongest contractor in history.

The moment Llewellyn met his eyes, he felt the man’s arduous journey flooding into his mind.

A journey that continued even as he sensed the clear presence of a Transcendent and came here, worrying that he might be “too late again” and find only ruins instead of meeting in time.

Memories of how every place he entered upon sensing a presence had been completely destroyed and overrun with strange monsters, causing him great distress.

It had been a month without a comfortable place to rest, let alone proper meals or baths. Even through the headache from overusing his divinity, Llewellyn felt sympathy for the man.

The seventh time he had trudged toward a sensed presence.

Facing the intense relief evident in his expression, Llewellyn confronted the familiar face he had only met in games.

“Blazing Lord.”

The man blinked in confusion at the title, and Llewellyn spoke as he saw the man’s eyes widen:

“Beliareus.”

The strongest contractor and avatar of the stars.

The man called one of the strongest companions alongside Eshatherna faced Llewellyn and stammered:

“…Lucilla, why have you become a man?”

Llewellyn reflexively frowned.