Ch.245Three Monstrosities (3)

“Did you know how to use magic too?”

As they left the Empress’s room and walked through the corridor filled with taxidermy specimens, Lorian casually asked Llewellyn.

It was a reasonable question. If Llewellyn had known how to use magic, she could have gained advantages in many of their past battles.

Take the first time Lorian beheaded Llewellyn—if she had known magic then, she could have blocked the decapitation with even basic defensive magic.

She wouldn’t have obtained the divine power to defeat the dragon, but still.

There had been many other opportunities to use magic. Lorian recalled all those moments and looked at her incredulously.

“No? I used my unique skill for that.”

Llewellyn replied confidently.

Lorian stared blankly at her response before extending his prosthetic arm to tap her waist. Though he deliberately hit her lightly, it served his purpose of expressing displeasure.

“Come on, you’ve used magic as a unique skill several times before. Why act surprised now?”

Llewellyn spoke as if stating the obvious while Lorian tilted his head in confusion.

Behind the pair walked something that was neither male nor female.

Not sexless like the Blood Clan, but something that had been modified to no longer be male, yet couldn’t quite be called female either.

Ellimul walked with a staggering gait, a shocked expression on her face.

The absurd conversation between Lorian and Llewellyn reached her ears.

“Magic… when?”

“Like Death of the Stars. Or Blade of the Stars.”

“…Those were magic?”

“Of course. Obviously. Since big sis’s unique skill was obtained as a magic eye user. By classification, it’s reality manifestation. So it’s magic.”

“What about Blade of the Stars?”

“It’s a technique bestowed by a transcendent being, but by classification, it’s probably magic.”

“Classification? What kind of entity decides such things?”

“Oh, there is something like that. Just accept it.”

What kind of conversation was this? Ellimul felt her brain being contaminated just by listening, so she stopped her staggering walk.

Both Lorian and Llewellyn turned to look at her simultaneously.

“What’s wrong?” Lorian asked.

“What’s the matter?” Llewellyn inquired.

“…It’s nothing. Just…”

Sighing mid-sentence wasn’t particularly good manners, but she couldn’t help it. Ellimul smiled bitterly.

“As you said, I’m just feeling a bit bitter thinking that perhaps… it really could have been that way.”

She had thought she chose to take on Elizé’s form of her own will, but after seeing the Empress’s attitude and true form, her heart wavered.

Perhaps, she thought suddenly, it really could have been that way. Llewellyn looked at Ellimul thoughtfully before saying:

“So what if it was, and so what if it wasn’t?”

An incredibly insensitive remark. Lorian could have jumped in surprise and hit Llewellyn, and Llewellyn could have grumbled, “Ah, you really have a bad habit of hitting,” and more.

But it wasn’t entirely unreasonable. In fact, Ellimul had no retort ready.

Indeed, what difference did it make if she had taken Elizé’s form?

She was a shapeshifter. Originally called Ellimul and once male.

She belonged to a race created to overcome death by changing form. A race meant to be immortal.

A race that should abhor fixed identity and pursue change, even if it meant chaos.

She recalled this as Llewellyn rubbed her struck arm and grumbled.

“You call yourself a knight but keep hitting your master. Didn’t you used to not hit me? Why suddenly this bad habit…”

“Do you really need to ask?”

“Yes, I need to ask. Would I ask if I knew? Oh, I get it.”

Lorian froze at her confident attitude.

The reason was quite simple. She had raised her own status because she had become not just a knight, but essentially a partner with whom he had a physical relationship.

They could be considered equals. A knight, but also a partner.

The duty to protect and guard remained, but she felt they could have a more casual relationship.

It was something too embarrassing to say aloud. As Lorian felt slightly embarrassed despite his face not reddening:

“You’re just speechless because of my insight, aren’t you? You’re amazed at my perceptive—ow!”

Lorian delivered a new punch to Llewellyn’s arm, and she rubbed it again while grumbling.

Without a hint of tension.

*

The shapeshifter district was a space where buildings of all styles stood in disarray.

The time periods varied widely. There were structures that looked ancient—similar to the Temple of All Gods by Llewellyn’s standards.

There were also modern imperial-style buildings familiar to Melody and Lucilla, and barbaric structures typically found in the far north.

There seemed to be no fixed atmosphere. Ellimul explained this as:

‘Surely because the Empress wishes to have many toys in her box.’

Translated from that convoluted statement, it meant that given the Empress’s personality, any shapeshifter with sufficient quality could be recognized as part of the clan and allowed to enter.

And the fact that anyone could enter meant that countless beings from various cultures and time periods existed in this district.

From ancient to modern times, from the Empire to fallen nations that had already disappeared.

It was a place where diverse cultures breathed. One could feel the unique change and chaos of the shapeshifters living and breathing there.

Llewellyn could find a certain order within the chaos and appreciate the unique charm of the shapeshifter district.

Her steps halted when she noticed a group of familiar-looking men and women gathered ahead.

“…Ah.”

A murmur as if just remembering. Even Lorian widened his eyes as if he too had forgotten until now.

Only Ellimul remained calm. She had been guiding Llewellyn to return her to the Blood Clan district, and having served the Empress for a long time, she knew the shapeshifter district well.

What they might encounter, what existed there.

She couldn’t possibly be unaware. So Ellimul spoke without any hesitation.

“What brings you here?”

Her eyes were directed forward.

Everything before them appeared completely white.

“The Frost Trackers’ residence should be further south from here.”

The people standing before Llewellyn had very familiar appearances.

Ears and tails with subtle stripes, eyes of a blue-gray hue.

And hair with black-tipped ends giving an impression similar to stripes, along with hunting attire wrapped around their bodies.

They looked just like Isla.

No, they must be the same. Llewellyn knew this and quietly kept her mouth shut.

‘I forgot. But…’

Perhaps this meeting was inevitable.

The head of the shapeshifters, the Empress, worships the Mother but doesn’t pledge loyalty to her. But it was unlikely that all shapeshifters would completely agree with the Empress.

Usually that would be the case, but if there was a different leader, the story changed.

Llewellyn knew of one group that could be considered representative of this.

‘The Frost Tracker tribe. Isla and… Selma’s tribe.’

The tribe led by Chief Selma, loyal to the Mother.

The tribe that had tried to corrupt and take Llewellyn away, and had volunteered for the punitive force willing to dispose of her.

Although the Empress might be favorable toward Llewellyn, they certainly would not be—she should have remembered that.

She had stupidly forgotten. Llewellyn momentarily frowned with self-loathing before sighing.

‘I can still use miracles. Probably manifestation to transformation level.’

That would allow her to use one spell or one major technique. Although she couldn’t copy the Sword Saint’s swordsmanship from this distance, Lorian was right beside her.

She calculated that if she mimicked Lorian’s swordsmanship and wrapped Lorian’s body in source manifestation, she could at least avoid defeat against these numbers.

Even if an unexpected variable arose and put her in danger, if that variable was “unfair and not fun,” the Empress would likely come to help.

There was no need to be afraid. So Llewellyn held her head high.

It was chilling to meet the countless blue-gray eyes staring at her.

But it was bearable. She didn’t particularly dislike scary things.

The nightmares she had when her sister disappeared were far worse.

Not only that. Llewellyn found it more terrifying to imagine dying here and leaving her sister, Isla, Melody, and Lorian alone.

She could expand on that further. The people of the Temple of All Gods, this world that would perish without Llewellyn.

Llewellyn even felt indebted to this world. With the power and qualifications she had obtained, a somehow familiar phrase came to mind.

Something only she could do.

It was true. Without Llewellyn, the world would perish. Reminding herself of this strengthened her resolve. Even the slight fear that had seeped in dissipated.

Llewellyn became confident. Though she didn’t draw her sword, her body was already like a sword.

Llewellyn made the hand gesture for dragon slaying with her right hand and swaggered.

“Do you have business with me?”

Though her words sounded deliberately arrogant, she wasn’t truly being haughty.

Lorian knew this. The heightened vigilance, ready to fight at any moment, was evident in her voice.

She concentrated her power to use the Source, but suddenly hesitated due to an uneasy feeling in her stomach and a sense of crisis, then gripped her sword hilt.

‘What is this? A feeling like I shouldn’t use the Source…’

Though it was just a feeling with no clear reason, she abandoned the idea of using her unique skill and sharpened her gaze.

Naturally, Ellimul also sensed something amiss and subtly raised her arm, transforming it into something resembling a bear’s paw. The Frost Tracker tribe collectively scanned around Llewellyn with their focused eyes.

They’re coming. As Llewellyn sensed this and was about to draw a line in the air—

“It is an honor to meet you, Qualified One.”

The hunter at the front bowed at the waist.

He was a middle-aged man with an impressive deep voice. Like Isla and Selma, he had ears and tails, but his torn ears and scars gave him a different aura from Llewellyn’s lover—one of danger, sharpness, and refinement.

The middle-aged man, carrying a large two-handed axe on his back, said:

“We have not come here with ill intent.”

His strangely respectful attitude was met with Llewellyn’s silent glare. The man bowed again.

What came from his mouth was somewhat predictable.

“The Prophet… ‘Mother’ wishes to meet with you.”

Mother had taken action.

For the first time, she wanted to talk with Llewellyn.

As Llewellyn remained silent and contemplative, the middle-aged man concluded with a stern face:

“Mother desires negotiation.”