Ch.257Coronation (7)

“You’re back.”

The Emperor spoke, and Llewellyn nodded.

Right beside them was someone who hadn’t been there when he had left saying he would be away briefly.

“What a fierce expression you have.”

“…I don’t like you.”

“That’s fine. I’m not here hoping for you to like me.”

Despite the sudden onset of tension, Llewellyn remained composed. If this had been between other ‘women of Llewellyn,’ he might have been nervous with trembling pupils, but the Emperor was different.

“How are the coronation preparations?”

“They went well. In truth, there wasn’t much to prepare.”

The Emperor’s tone had clearly become lighter than when Llewellyn first heard it.

Perhaps it was because she had implicitly acknowledged and accepted Llewellyn’s qualifications. Her attitude didn’t feel deliberately sharp. Rather, it felt somewhat comfortable.

Llewellyn followed the Emperor who led the way, wondering if she might have been influenced by her sister.

The snow-covered forest transformed into a spring forest without a single raindrop, and only when the spring breeze gently stirred his hair did Llewellyn realize he had entered the Pantheon.

A hidden realm where one could not find anyone harboring hostility toward Llewellyn, or more precisely, toward the divine.

Though he usually passed off management to the God of Dreams, it was essentially Llewellyn’s land.

And it would remain so. Llewellyn thought as he glanced at the Emperor.

‘Does this one also harbor no hostility?’

It was unexpected. He had thought she would at least harbor some hostility inside.

‘Perhaps she’s the type who doesn’t do unnecessary things.’

She’s different from the Empress. He had assumed they would be similar since they both held the title of “Emperor,” but in reality, the Emperor was the opposite of the Empress.

Extremely rational. Every action exists based on common sense and purpose, and all judgments focus on the present and future, with little consideration for the past.

It was the kind of judgment ordinary humans couldn’t possess. Llewellyn recalled the inquisitor called Verben.

Humans cannot easily choose a path even when they know it is rationally right and more reasonable. Humans are fundamentally emotional beings who merely possess reason.

Llewellyn knew well that this was more human-like. In that sense, the Emperor was, to put it kindly, a sage, and to put it unkindly, not human-like at all.

Perhaps the opposite of Llewellyn, whose body was monstrous but mind was human. While her physical form was somewhat superhuman beyond ordinary humans, her mind undoubtedly felt monstrous.

“…Come to think of it.”

As he pondered this fact, a memory from the past suddenly surfaced.

“Why did you send assassins here?”

“Don’t you know? Confirming what you already know isn’t very entertaining.”

“You sound like the Empress. Can you actually feel things like entertainment?”

“Of course. Do you think living a long life means enjoying all pleasures and being steeped in indulgence?”

About to answer that it would be so, Llewellyn reconsidered.

“…Thinking about it, I don’t think that’s the case.”

He recalled the games he had bought on his Steam account during big sales, thinking he should definitely try them when he wasn’t busy drawing.

Games that weren’t as successful as Dark Drawer so they didn’t spawn sequels, but had cult followings that his friends enjoyed, like that dark fantasy game, or renowned RPGs that reportedly influenced Dark Drawer greatly.

There were also FPS games he was quite good at and enjoyed, and several tycoon games.

He never played most of those games. In fact, even though his friend had urged him to try them when he mentioned buying them, he never experienced the joy of playing his friend’s favorite games and sharing opinions.

He hadn’t even launched them once. If he had known it would turn out this way, he wouldn’t have bought them even on sale and would have saved the money for more food instead.

Llewellyn recalled the now-hazy memories of Earth’s food.

He always ended up playing either Korea’s most popular AOS or Dark Drawer.

Despite making various excuses—that he was tired of them, that the games were terrible, that he had consumed all the content—he always returned like a salmon to play the same games.

He thought that even if that time stretched immeasurably long, if one were human, or at least a being based on humans, they wouldn’t be much different.

“Knowing people, understanding people—it’s quite enjoyable.”

Words he never expected to hear from the Emperor. Yet upon reflection, the Emperor had subtly shown such aspects.

If watching a “protagonist” who plays a role, manipulating reactions and events to suit that role, could be included in that example.

Though her personality seemed awful, he couldn’t deny the existence of such enjoyment.

Llewellyn simply nodded quietly.

“Was this what you needed it for? To make me grow, to make me who I am now.”

The Emperor turned her head slightly to look at Llewellyn. Her expression was peculiar.

“No, I was trying to kill you because if you died, Mother would have no resource to choose but me.”

Unexpected words. To Llewellyn, who opened his eyes wide, the Emperor added impassively:

“But you didn’t die, and instead you grew. It happened as Mother wished. Even if I failed, Mother planned for success.”

Thorough bitch. Llewellyn inadvertently let the words slip and looked at the Emperor walking ahead with a bitter expression.

The Emperor didn’t even look back. As if there was no need, as if silently telling him not to ruin the coronation she had prepared, she walked quietly.

Llewellyn walked behind the Emperor.

The coronation was entirely the Emperor’s idea, but Llewellyn had determined what kind of coronation it would be.

Although Llewellyn’s level of humanities knowledge wasn’t sufficient to fully conceptualize a coronation.

There were many people around Llewellyn who could help, and Llewellyn’s uniqueness was unprecedented, making historical references impossible.

So there was no problem in creating something entirely new from scratch. All that remained was to make this unprecedented coronation for this unprecedented man truly one of a kind.

Llewellyn drew inspiration from his journey for the coronation. As they walked, a familiar armor stood before them.

“You’ve arrived.”

The leader of the Black Knights, the survivor Valterok.

Literally unmatched in the field of survival by anyone in Dark Drawer.

He had been waiting for Llewellyn.

“I’ve prepared as you requested. The Cradle is in excellent condition, and we can begin anytime.”

“Are you currently injured?”

Valterok nodded, helmet and all. He spoke with a respectful attitude:

“The coronation can begin at any time.”

His tone was exceptionally respectful. A tone one could never have imagined hearing from the previous Valterok.

However, neither Llewellyn nor the Emperor commented on this.

Rather, they naturally took steps forward as if it were appropriate.

The Emperor, Valterok, Llewellyn, followed by Isla, walked. Leaving the forest, a flower field scattered in the spring breeze. The Emperor stopped at the flower field and held back Isla who was about to follow Llewellyn.

The Emperor smiled faintly. Though the sight of that smile stirred anger within her, Isla suppressed it with her innate composure and raised her head.

Yes, she raised her head. Llewellyn was gradually rising higher.

He ascends one step at a time as if there were stairs in the empty air. His steps, climbing steadily to ensure the height doesn’t become too dizzying, were neither fast nor high.

With unhurried steps that seemed almost leisurely, he treads upon the air. Right behind him, Valterok was somehow holding up the cape of his armor as if to prevent it from dragging on the ground.

As they followed, Isla noticed that people were gradually increasing on either side of herself and the Emperor, who had begun walking.

Familiar faces, people she had only seen a few times, completely unfamiliar beings from the three clans who nonetheless emanated a strangely familiar aura.

They all walked in an orderly fashion without taking sides or fighting.

They walked looking only at Llewellyn. The destination was…

‘The Pantheon.’

The massive temple came into view. Though old and decayed, it was gradually being restored to a form different from its original one by human hands—a hidden realm.

The place where this entire journey had officially begun and would become a sanctuary.

There was a city, a village, a haven. Llewellyn stepped on the air, rising above the roof of the Pantheon.

Valterok held the cape’s edge until the end to prevent it from dragging, and when Llewellyn reached the roof, he withdrew.

The Cradle was revealed. The Cradle floated in the air with the ‘Fortress of the Three Clans’ and the nest as its backdrop.

Three towers floating in three directions, the fortress, the cradle.

Llewellyn stood with his back to these three and looked down at the people.

A natural gaze, neither arrogant nor tense.

He slowly moved his head as if meeting the gaze of each person, then placed his hand in the air.

He draws a stroke downward smoothly.

A glowing blue line appears.

He draws a short horizontal stroke to intersect it. The lines interlock and grow larger.

Cutting through the approaching night, a light blooms so intensely that it makes even the torches held by people flicker.

It was a sword.

A sword that no one in history had ever wielded, the only sword imbued with the power of every being that could command this world.

If Llewellyn was a king, this was the only object that could symbolize his royal authority.

The holy sword equal to Llewellyn.

The Sword of the Night Sky, Starmass.

Llewellyn grasped the hilt and slowly raised it, drawing it out.

The light split. Cutting through the night sky, constellations formed the blade and hilt in his hand.

Sparks flew in all directions with a sizzling sound. People watched as the revealed sword traced a long path across the night sky.

It was magnificent. The sparks that had initially scattered were gone, and when fully revealed, the sword emitted a clean and pristine light.

Boom!

Llewellyn thrust his holy sword into the ground with a loud sound and shouted.

His voice was louder than the thunderous sound. A voice imbued with divinity that could be heard even by those who could not hear.

A voice resonating from within the heart. With even the divine beings with only heads left watching him with satisfaction, only Llewellyn’s voice remained.

“The gods have departed.”

A voice that felt powerful despite not being loud. As Isla looked up blankly, Llewellyn continued:

“They abandoned this land. They died dreaming of vain glory and eternity.”

A sorrowful expression. Since almost no one understood these words, it was a genuinely felt expression.

It wasn’t for show. But that wasn’t important.

“There are no gods to swear by.”

What mattered was what remained in this land.

“The stars are too distant to reach.”

His gaze rose wistfully to touch the twinkling stars.

Transcendents. Beings unreachable by humans, distant and neither understanding humans nor allowing themselves to be understood.

“Naturally, hope did not sprout. So I ask.”

Boom!

The sword struck the ground again. Despite being a weightless sword, the sound resonated with surprising clarity.

Llewellyn shouted:

“Is destruction all that remains in this land!”

No answer came. Llewellyn’s Starmass struck the ground again, and with stone fragments flying, a booming sound echoed.

“No!”

That sound remained in the heart like a heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump. Isla unconsciously felt her heart racing.

Not just Isla. Even the blood clan members whose hearts did not beat felt the pulsation and looked up at Llewellyn as if entranced.

“Even if the gods have abandoned us, even if the stars are distant, people still remain!”

What he uttered was complete sincerity. Llewellyn shouted with sincerity mixed in:

“There are people who have not broken and have not lost their light despite hardships and quagmires! Only those who have ceaselessly moved forward are here!”

Llewellyn clenched his fist. With an attitude that seemed more resolute than sorrowful, Llewellyn looked down at each person.

Nevertheless, Llewellyn continued:

“Though forged in blood where death does not exist.”

The blood clan, Lorian, and the Court Count each reacted with different expressions.

“Though resembling chaos and merely running to avoid death.”

The Empress smiled faintly, while Elimul and Isla bit their lips or perked up their ears respectively.

“Even if they barely escape by hiding in death’s shadow.”

The Prophet’s face contorted with subtle sorrow, and Ortemilia, with her hood pulled down, smiled faintly.

Llewellyn shouted:

“Only those who did not retreat but moved forward at the intersection of death and life have reached this place!”

Llewellyn spoke while looking at the people:

“There are people who have shone fiercely even while being tossed about by life and death!”

The people who remained after Llewellyn’s mourning.

People who faced death resolutely even when it was imminent, and who advanced as if unaware of the end even in the midst of life.

Llewellyn saw them all as people.

“Therefore, I, Llewellyn, declare.”

Boom!

As Starmass struck once more, a strong pulsation settled in everyone’s chest.

“All who have reached this Pantheon are people, and people rightfully deserve to live and die! They can choose where they live and die!”

An incredibly idealistic story. Yet no one smirked. As everyone looked up as if entranced, Llewellyn shouted:

“I will become the land where you live!”

Boooom!

The sword’s name, struck again, settled in their minds. Feeling a heartbeat not their own, they heard Llewellyn’s call.

“So I ask again.”

Boom, the question interlocked with the sword’s name.

“Is destruction truly all that remains in this land!”

The answer instinctively arose. An answer harmonizing from their souls.

No! In response to the shouted answer, Llewellyn smiled and asked again:

“Is despair all that sprouts in this land!”

“””No!”””

The immediate response. The world shook violently at the resounding denial.

Even when Llewellyn struck down his sword this time, the voices were not erased.

Rather, they seemed to linger in the space like an echo. As everyone felt this, Llewellyn asked for the final time:

“In the face of approaching tragedy, will you kneel, bow your heads, and quietly wait for your necks to fall!”

“”””No!””””

An even louder answer returned, and Llewellyn finally drew his sword and aimed it at the sky.

As if indicating that was what he would cut and pierce.

As the last remaining in this land is declared by the divine:

“Then rise, rise and face it! My people!”

The coronation ended.

And the last king ascended to the throne.