Ch.246Three Monstrosities (4)

I had been thinking that I should meet Mother Netel someday.

After all, she was the indirect catalyst for all of Llewellyn’s journeys, and the reason why my sister had wandered this world.

There were even enemies like the Emperor and Selma who couldn’t be considered unrelated to Llewellyn. Whether it was all Netel’s intention or not, I felt I needed to meet her and have a conversation at least once.

There were two problems.

I didn’t know if Mother Netel was a being capable of having a conversation, and I wasn’t sure if she would even agree to talk.

So Llewellyn had only been carrying a vague impulse that he needed to resolve this issue someday. He didn’t know exactly how or when it would be possible.

But now a way to solve it all at once had appeared. It would be strange not to accept. However.

“Before that, I’d like to talk for a moment.”

“Of course.”

Llewellyn wasn’t a stubborn person who thought his opinions were perfect.

Rather, he was the type who believed his opinions were likely to be inadequate, and couldn’t bear to make decisions without seeking advice from others.

“Doesn’t it depend on what you want to do?”

In that sense, Lorian wasn’t helpful.

“But if what you want is to meet Mother Netel despite the risks… to negotiate or hear her true intentions, opportunities like this are rare. In fact, it might be the only chance.”

No, he was extremely helpful. Llewellyn nodded, finding Lorian’s words reasonable.

Then he smoothly turned his gaze to Ellimul.

“…Do you need my opinion as well?”

Ellimul looked somewhat puzzled and a bit flustered. When Llewellyn glanced around as if to say “who else would I ask?”, she spoke awkwardly.

“I think similarly to Lord Lorian. This is truly a rare opportunity.”

However. Both Llewellyn and Lorian focused on what Ellimul added.

“Whether it’s truly the only chance, we can’t know. If Lord Llewellyn refuses to negotiate, will Netel simply end things cleanly and walk away? Would she give up?”

Ellimul had vaguely pieced together the situation while overhearing Llewellyn and the Empress talking.

So she offered a reasonable inference based on what she knew.

“The one who would be disappointed by a refusal to negotiate is Mother’s side. Therefore… deliberately not engaging in negotiations or arriving late to make her anxious could be an effective strategy.”

“…Oh.”

“This is something I hadn’t even considered.”

Though she had fallen victim to gaslighting that she undervalued herself and should aspire to be like her sister, in truth, it was Ellimul who was known for being more capable and talented than Elizé.

So Ellimul awkwardly scratched her head, pleased by Llewellyn’s admiration and Lorian’s genuine praise.

Just a single “oh,” yet why did it make her feel so good?

Ellimul smiled broadly and then stepped forward.

“How about requesting protection from the Empress? Although she may not be that type of person… since she declared she would take everything from the shapeshifters and you accepted that, I believe she won’t drive you away.”

That too was a reasonable and logical conclusion. Llewellyn also thought that would be the more stable option.

‘This guy is specialized in finding the safe path.’

He hadn’t noticed before, but now it seemed like Ellimul knew exactly how to find the safe route, like a wild animal fleeing from disaster.

The problem was that if he did that, the Empress’s favor—if you could call it that—would hit rock bottom.

The Empress wanted Llewellyn to constantly exceed expectations and provide entertainment.

Ellimul’s method was sensible, but sensible things were predictable.

Something the Empress wouldn’t like. She would probably grant the request, but might not help when truly needed or might even betray him.

Llewellyn believed that if someone was planning to betray you, or might possibly betray you, it was better to make sure they couldn’t even dream of betrayal.

At least when dealing with the Empress.

“…Alright, I’ll agree to negotiate.”

“What?”

Both Ellimul and Lorian reacted as if wondering why he had even asked for their opinions.

But Llewellyn was able to firmly establish his own opinion precisely because of their advice.

If he hadn’t asked, he would have been too flustered to decide properly.

With a resolute expression, Llewellyn turned to face the Frost Tracker tribe.

“Let’s go.”

Meeting their unified cyan-gray eyes directed at him, Llewellyn spoke with determination.

“To Mother Netel.”

*

The Blood Clan’s architecture was neat, human-like yet orderly in style.

It was the typical architectural style that reflected chivalry.

In contrast, the shapeshifters’ was a chaotic yet somehow harmonious fusion of diverse cultural zones.

And finally, the necromancers’ section was…

“…Barren.”

There weren’t many buildings.

It gave the impression of questioning whether such things were really necessary.

The atmosphere seemed to challenge that failing to reach transcendence was evidenced by needing such things.

The landscape stretched out desolately, with occasional nest-like rock formations visible here and there, and glimpses of what appeared to be warehouse buildings from other sections.

But for the most part, it wasn’t a landscape where structures that could be called buildings existed.

And in the necromancers’ section, signs of life were extremely rare.

It wasn’t simply that they couldn’t be sensed because they were transcendent; it felt like there were genuinely very few beings walking around.

It made sense considering what he’d heard about necromancers being few in number, but something still felt off.

The question: no matter how few they were, could there really be this few?

They might be on guard. Llewellyn was freshly reminded that he had killed the mad dragon Nerilmeius in the past.

The poor dragon who was also an object of mourning.

The holy, mortal being who had ended her life.

The dragons who had fled death were once again avoiding and distancing themselves from death. Llewellyn tried to hide his displeased expression as he watched countless skeletons marching through what could hardly be called streets.

They were probably gathered from the surface world.

Remains animated by the necromancers’ arts.

They were busily moving various materials.

There were magical ingredients that looked like materials for all sorts of experiments, biological remains, basic building materials, and even heated metal like what you might see in a blacksmith’s forge.

It was impossible to guess exactly what they were making, but that wasn’t important. Llewellyn soon gave up trying to figure it out and followed the Frost Tracker tribe deeper into the section.

The structure led increasingly deeper, as if they were digging down into the interior.

It felt like a cave. Llewellyn was reminded of the moment Elizé died, which made him uncomfortable.

“…Lorian.”

“Hmm?”

“Use your Origin when I signal.”

With Lorian’s Origin, they could respond even in an emergency. Llewellyn spoke impassively, believing this, but no answer came.

Just as he was about to dismiss it as tension, the Frost Tracker tribe suddenly stopped.

“…What is it?”

“We have arrived.”

We’ve arrived?

Llewellyn hurriedly scanned his surroundings.

All he could see was a desolate tunnel.

A space not suitable for meeting someone and having a conversation. When Llewellyn turned around, intending to question them, the Frost Tracker tribe was already retreating.

‘Should I move forward? Which way…’

As he was thinking this and about to take a step…

“…Llewellyn.”

“I know.”

Suddenly, from beneath his foot, an intense magical power surged with a tingling sensation.

For Llewellyn, it was a feeling that eliminated any option of retreat. It was magical power accompanied by an overwhelming aura of death.

Llewellyn had encountered such energy once before. Only once, and not too long ago, but…

Even if decades had passed before experiencing it again, it would be unmistakable.

The tunnel transformed.

Rumble-rumble-rumble!

As piles of stones scattered and a startled Ellimul staggered, the tunnel rose, was carved away, and subsided.

What gradually revealed itself was a massive platform.

A platform where two figures were already standing side by side.

Llewellyn looked at each of them in turn and froze.

In truth, one of them didn’t evoke much emotion.

He was an old man with horns on his head and a tail behind his back.

His stern face bore a faint contempt, and he wrapped his robust body—unfitting for his elderly appearance—in a robe.

But this wasn’t strange. Llewellyn had already expected to meet a necromancer, and since the leader of the necromancers was called a prophet, it made sense that he would have a corresponding appearance.

The snow-white hair and gray eyes similar to Llewellyn’s were somewhat concerning, but not enough to make Llewellyn freeze.

Rather, what made Llewellyn freeze was the being standing beside him.

“…Sis?”

Llewellyn saw his sister.

A sister who couldn’t possibly be here.

No, it wasn’t his sister. Llewellyn only realized this after staring blankly for a long while.

The hair was short. It wasn’t his sister’s lovely long hair that he had always enjoyed touching.

It was cut at the shoulders, making it short.

And what about the attire?

Llewellyn knew that his sister enjoyed wearing revealing clothes indoors, and had tried to seduce him with them.

But when going outside, she wore neat clothes with almost no exposure.

Yet now, this being who looked suspiciously like his sister was dressed in what could only be described as exhibitionist attire.

It was a style that revealed the shoulders and chest, closing just above the navel.

And with both legs clearly exposed, there was almost nowhere appropriate to look.

The only other garment covering her skin was a cloak trailing behind her back. A loosely worn, magnificent purple cloak that barely covered her arms.

The being had exactly the same face and body as his sister, but wore a cold, cynical expression that Lucilla would never make.

“No, you’re not.”

Llewellyn’s sister, Lucilla, could make such expressions too.

She simply hadn’t shown such expressions to Llewellyn until now.

Llewellyn had already realized the death of the stars through his own body, and through that, understood the thoughts his sister harbored.

Lucilla truly didn’t care about most people except Llewellyn.

She tended to be indifferent to everyone except a few beings with whom she had built affection and friendship.

Even if she were to disappear along with the stars.

This was a being who could reveal such psychology of his sister without filtering. A Lucilla who knew no love.

Llewellyn smiled with a similar cynicism and said:

“Are you… the Emperor?”

The master of the Empire, the imitation created by “Mother” across time to replace Llewellyn.

‘And probably a being I could call my younger sister.’

To the Emperor who affirmed with silence, Llewellyn snorted and said:

“What’s with that expression to your big brother, you fucking bitch?”

The Emperor’s expression hardened, and for a moment, surprise flashed across her face.

As if she hadn’t expected that at all.