Ch.273Mourner (2)

The Mourner sensed his own death.

In fact, perhaps.

It might have been a premonition he’d felt since coming to this continent.

Yet he still set foot on this land. Not fearing death was different from treating it with indifference.

He too feared death. He didn’t want to see himself die and rot away. But at the same time, he struggled with the contradiction of needing to find the right place to die.

Perhaps it was because he was like the central cog in a chain of hatred and revenge. He felt as though he had spent a long time wandering, searching for a place where he could die well.

And so he met Llewellyn and Isla.

When Llewellyn made that absurd promise to kill him.

He wanted, optimistically, to believe those words. Setting aside whether Llewellyn would actually kill him if he became twisted or reached a point of no return.

He didn’t think Llewellyn would really kill him. Even though they hadn’t known each other long, there was something he could tell.

This person, neither boy nor adult, was an incredibly kind soul.

At first, he didn’t trust him for that very reason. He said he trusted him and was moved, but.

After thinking about it, he decided there was no need to go as far as trust.

But he had found his place to die. Without Llewellyn knowing, he thought he would live and die here.

He resolved to die fighting, to die in battle without regrets.

Of course, being without regrets would be difficult, but that was at least his intention.

Yet as he lived here, that thought gradually changed.

He met people.

People who cared for him and smiled at him with kindness—something he hadn’t seen in a long time.

It was something he had lost while living as a Mourner, something he never thought he would find again.

Starting each day hearing children’s laughter, he would drag his sleepy eyes and limping legs outside to face familiar, heartwarming scenes.

A dog offering unconditional love, women doing laundry, people patrolling with weapons to protect the temple.

His neighbors who, despite knowing his past and fearsome reputation, treated him as a human being.

Living among them, he remembered what he had forgotten for so long.

People should live with other people. No matter how lonely, dangerous, or frightening they might be.

It is by living with others that one truly becomes human. At least, that’s what he believed.

And at the same time, he thought: for these people, he could die.

A life already worn down to the nub. Might as well use it for something worthwhile.

His clenched fist trembled.

He was prepared to die.

“Hmm?”

A voice stretching out long. A tail rushing toward the Mourner’s face as his eyes widened.

He raised his arm to block it.

CRASH!

The defense was meaningless.

The moment he blocked, an excruciating pain shot up his arm, as if his soul was being torn from his body.

Blood gushed from his mouth at the deadly aura emanating from the tail, and his body was dragged backward.

Yet he endured. The Mourner pulled up the corner of his mouth in a smile, swallowed the rising blood, and twisted his body.

THWACK!

His fist drove into the center of Nerilmeius’s nonchalant expression. As her chest caved in, a leg flew toward the Mourner.

Once again, the ground shook and his body wavered. A force no human could possibly withstand or endure.

Despite the overwhelming power—a dragon’s body combined with a Mourner’s nature—the Mourner smiled.

Naturally, fluidly, his forearm swung and struck Nerilmeius’s face.

Amidst flying blood and flesh, Nerilmeius and the Mourner’s fists, legs, forearms, and elbows became entangled.

Only Llewellyn realized the reason.

A realm normally beyond reach, what could be called a Mourner’s ultimate state.

The nameless Mourner had absorbed the Mourner energy permeating this space and temporarily reached that realm.

Even though it would cost him his life, he reached out without hesitation.

As a result, he attained it. The state Llewellyn had originally aimed for, the reason Nerilmeius could now overwhelm Llewellyn.

A question Llewellyn had pondered for a long time naturally came to mind.

What would a battle between two max-level Mourners look like?

The answer was unfolding before his eyes.

The exchange of blows never ended.

Fragments scattered in all directions as death and life clashed. Though only two Mourners were fiercely attacking each other.

The impact shattered everything around them. Llewellyn, his Mourning extinguished, barely managed to stand.

He needed to help. He needed to help, but.

He couldn’t find an opening to intervene. Llewellyn watched in horror at what was unfolding before him.

Nerilmeius’s swinging tail. A tail powerful enough to easily crush a human head and split a body in half.

It struck the shoulder. Flesh caved in, bones twisted. Through the spray of blood, the Mourner’s fist pounded Nerilmeius’s chest.

Counterattack and riposte almost simultaneously. Though she should have been pushed back, in response to the Mourner’s attack, Nerilmeius planted her retreating leg firmly on the ground and extended it.

A kick with her full body weight behind it. Shock waves spread in concentric circles, and as Llewellyn’s body was pushed back, the Mourner’s fist shot forward again, filled with clear killing intent.

BOOM!

A sound like a cannon blast. Yet Nerilmeius was barely injured.

Was it because the dragon’s tough scales and the necromancer’s exceptional body were matched against the Mourner’s strength?

Unlike the Mourner, on whom damage was gradually accumulating. Llewellyn gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand.

[Mourning]

[Time remaining: 60 seconds]

He forcibly cut off the Mourning that was converting to temporary health through divine power. What he needed now wasn’t temporary health.

Since consuming temporary health consumed Mourning, it was better to let the Mourning last longer.

That’s how significant the difference in attack frequency was.

This was the best option. Thinking this, Llewellyn moved his shaking limbs and ran forward.

He swung his fist at Nerilmeius, who didn’t even glance at him.

BOOM!

A fist empowered by divine power and Mourning. Nerilmeius’s head jerked for just a moment before her leg extended to target Llewellyn.

With a cracking sound, a world-shattering impact enveloped Llewellyn. He felt the reality of irresistible violence, overwhelming force.

The horizon the Mourner should have reached. The power of a Mourner trained to the extreme. Combined with a necromancer’s power, Llewellyn spat blood and was thrown backward.

Filling the gap was the other Mourner.

A middle-aged man who had entered the battlefield with his life as collateral. A man who had lived a life of regret but, in this moment, regretted nothing.

Before Llewellyn could find an opening, he engaged Nerilmeius.

His knee drove into Nerilmeius’s abdomen, pushing her body back, but in that instant, her tail struck the Mourner’s face.

A chunk of skin tore off as his body was pushed back, but faster than his staggering retreat, the Mourner’s fist struck Nerilmeius’s neck.

Attack met with attack, counterattack with counterattack in an endless cycle. But Llewellyn, thrown backward, could see.

How this fight would end.

There was no future where the Mourner would win. Clear difference, obvious superiority, certain outcome.

Llewellyn saw the man being whittled away. A pitiful man of fate who had found his place to die after wandering for a long time.

Llewellyn desperately tried to stand.

He knew the old man was living on borrowed time. He had said so himself.

But if he were to die, Llewellyn had hoped it would be peacefully in bed, surrounded by people.

He had never wanted this end. As Llewellyn rose, as Lucilla returned after being blown away by the shock wave, as the Stellar Orb once again condensed the flames of stars.

CRUNCH!

Finally, Nerilmeius’s arm pierced through the Mourner’s chest.

“…Ah.”

Death was clearly visible.

A wound no human could recover from. A fatal injury that would bring death the moment Mourning faded, even for a Mourner.

That wasn’t all. As the violent movement ceased, several things became visible.

A caved-in side, a crushed temple, twisted legs and arms, blood and fluid flowing from arms and legs that were practically flayed.

The man was clearly heading toward death. Moreover, the borrowed power of Mourning was too intense for his fragile body to withstand.

With blood dripping down her forearm, Nerilmeius spread a smile drenched in happiness.

“Ah, you are truly… beautiful. Father would also—”

She stopped.

Nerilmeius’s eyes slowly lowered as she spoke. Reflected in her ashen eyes was her own arm, stained with blood.

And the Mourner’s hand firmly gripping that arm.

“…Oh?”

It wouldn’t come out. As if the chest wound itself had become a grip, he held on and wouldn’t let go.

A move even Nerilmeius hadn’t anticipated. The bizarre act of pouring his entire life force into the single act of holding on.

But that’s why it worked. As Llewellyn watched, the Mourner, with the arm tearing through his heart firmly in his grip, shouted:

“Now, Llewellyn—!”

Llewellyn rose at those words squeezed from the last of his life. Light gathered in his reflexively outstretched hand.

The star cluster that had just regenerated. As divine power flowed over it and flashed.

“Strike—!”

The star cluster flickered with blue light.