Ch.274The Mourner (3)

A very brief moment, a respite that could rightfully be called fleeting.

In that moment, Llewellyn hesitated greatly.

The Mourner had told him to strike. But Llewellyn didn’t want to.

Even though his chest had been pierced, Llewellyn thought there might be a way to save him.

It was too early to make assumptions, and besides, Llewellyn knew many people who wouldn’t die just from having their chest pierced and heart torn apart.

So Llewellyn believed there might be a way to save the Mourner.

That’s where his hesitation came from. The thought that he might be able to save him.

Even if he couldn’t be saved, it was natural to hesitate before cutting him down together with the enemy. He was a friend, and an adult.

Llewellyn had a weakness for “adults” who took good care of him. Before Llewellyn became Llewellyn, he had survived thanks to many good people.

He knew that if even one of them had been missing, his life would have changed drastically or might have been difficult to maintain at all.

As Llewellyn hesitated, trying to stop his sword, it was none other than the eyes that urged him on.

The eyes of the nameless Mourner. His gaze.

The emotions dwelling within.

Resignation, a hint of regret, trust.

He felt that the man shouldn’t be allowed to die in vain. Llewellyn took a breath without changing the direction of his step.

What he needed was a single strike to cut down “only what he wanted.”

His divinity infused the sword. Wishing for a miracle, he reached out, trying to touch the stars.

Even if that wasn’t entirely what the Mourner wanted.

Llewellyn recalled a game his friend had once shown him, one he enjoyed playing.

He remembered a technique within it. Ignore defense, a strike that bypasses armor.

A piercing strike concentrated at a single point, a knight-slaying blow.

In Llewellyn’s mind, a more familiar name for this action echoed.

‘Knight Killer.’

SWOOOOSH, CLANG!

The sword turned black. A cluster of darkened stars shone blue-black as they advanced.

Finally passing through the Mourner to strike the surprised Nerilmeius, sending him flying.

The sword strike that was meant to cut couldn’t penetrate the protection surrounding Nerilmeius’s body and his hard dragon scales. This was partly due to the “passing through” divinity that enveloped the blade.

Its cutting power was reduced. Though it did cut away some of the mourning that surrounded that body, it couldn’t be said to have delivered a clean hit.

In a state where gain and loss coexisted, Nerilmeius’s body was flung far away. There wasn’t much time left before he would return.

Llewellyn caught the Mourner as he was about to collapse.

“Old man!”

The thought that he might be able to save him vanished in an instant. Only then did Llewellyn properly see the Mourner’s wound.

There was a hole in his chest large enough to fit an entire human head.

He could see the organs moving inside, and the torn heart was weakly stopping its pulse.

The mourning dwelling within was still making the heart beat, but that was only because of what Llewellyn knew as “debuff immunity.”

When the mourning ends, the Mourner dies.

Like all Mourners, a human body cannot withstand the sorrow of such an enormous existence.

That’s why Mourners live short lives. Llewellyn’s eyes trembled. The Mourner felt terribly light in his supporting arms.

A body losing its life was incredibly light. As always.

“Old man…”

“Llew…ellyn.”

Perhaps because life was slipping away, his voice was strangely clear given the situation.

“Old man, snap out of it.”

Llewellyn’s voice was the same. There was something closer to certainty than sadness in his tone.

“I’ll bring the Blood Knights. A heart is nothing, right? You’re… you’re a Mourner too.”

As Llewellyn spoke, he gradually retreated into denial. Just then, Lorian’s prosthetic hand came to mind.

“That’s right, that’s right! The Empress made Lorian’s prosthetic hand. If she can make such an intricate prosthetic, she can surely make a heart too. If we give you a new heart, you can live. Surely…”

It was true. If the heart was the only problem, he might live. Despite vaguely knowing this fact, Llewellyn desperately denied reality.

“Old man, you still have so much to do. I…”

Llewellyn still couldn’t erase the scene that had appeared in a corner of his mind.

Finding it difficult when someone he knew died, he had thought to provide a comfortable place to die when the man said he was terminally ill.

At the end of his life, he wanted him to close his eyes peacefully in front of the many people who cherished and supported him.

He wanted to create a place where anyone could do that. In a way, the nameless Mourner’s mark on the Pantheon was immense.

Anyone in the Pantheon would say so.

He treated the three clans without prejudice and even regarded the victims of mixed blood, who were usually despised as half-bloods, as people.

“I said I’d kill you myself. If you die here like this…!”

“Llewellyn.”

But all denial has an end. Llewellyn faced the Mourner who called his name.

“Thank you.”

He wanted to rebuke that those were words he should be saying. But not only those words, no words at all came out of his mouth.

“Thanks to you, I could die as a human. I always thought I would die as a monster, hurting people, creating resentment, receiving countless hatreds.”

“No, no! You’re not dead yet. Still…”

“Llewellyn.”

At the name called as if gently admonishing him, Llewellyn stopped speaking, and only then noticed what had changed.

He saw the heart that no longer beat. A Mourner’s power was too vast for a human body to sustain.

The body was collapsing from within. Llewellyn could even sense it with his divinity.

Organs that no longer functioned, a heart that didn’t beat, memories and reason growing dim.

Mourners live short lives. Those whose bodies can withstand enough not to die prematurely become monsters and end their lives through subjugation.

The only Mourners who don’t are unparalleled heroes with both strong body and mind.

The nameless Mourner was like that. He was especially firm in his mental state.

Enough to give people smiles even as his reason faded.

But that too had its limits. He was dead.

The already dead body was merely being maintained by the power of mourning.

Perhaps he had been dead since long ago. Perhaps he had been a walking corpse since he first became a Mourner and tore apart his enemies atop his family’s corpses.

His soul and heart were still bound there.

Only then did Llewellyn realize he had chosen the wrong race.

He understood the partings to come, the difference in lifespans, the losses he would experience again and again.

He knew that overcoming these was his duty.

He understood the mental state, the mourning of his “father” who was called the Steward as a child of humans and gods.

“Thanks to you, it was enjoyable.”

The nameless Mourner’s hand grasped Llewellyn’s shoulder. Tap, tap. The weakening touch gradually descended.

Until it settled on the ground, never to move again.

“…Old man.”

No answer returned. He remained a nameless person until the end.

It wasn’t because they hadn’t known each other long. He simply didn’t want to leave even his name behind.

Naturally, people called him by titles rather than his name.

But the warmth in those titles revealed his character. For someone who had lived so long without human contact, he was an exceptionally warm person.

Llewellyn moved his lips, knowing there was no meaning to it.

“I too, enjoyed it.”

Of course, no answer came. Llewellyn gently placed the Mourner’s body on the ground and stood up.

“He’s dead.”

He listened to the quiet words. Turning his head, he saw a woman all in white.

Only her arms were painted a vivid red.

“Indeed, father’s power is too strong for humans to endure.”

Her presence, her tone, everything was different from before.

This was not the Nerilmeius he knew. The twisted woman who still had human emotions within her had now completely changed.

She was now merely a convenient tool.

Llewellyn swallowed his rising hatred. Hatred wasn’t what he needed right now.

“But what about you, Pretender?”

She spoke as if possessing a rationality she originally lacked. Even though Llewellyn didn’t answer, she continued speaking as she slowly walked.

“You have father’s blessing…”

THUMP!

Some enormous presence interrupted her words. Her open mouth closed, and her ash-colored pupils filled with divinity spreading in ashen hues.

Divinity filled with passion that beautifully adorned the world and mourned.

“Miracle—”

Her mouth opened. The words that emerged transcended reason. Like overlaying a new law upon this world, forcing a new rule.

In Llewellyn’s mind, a certain Mourner naturally appeared. The man who never wanted to reveal his name his entire life, who believed that he had died that day and what remained was just this walking corpse.

The one who finally entered the battlefield to help, despite the unfavorable, impossible fight.

Llewellyn recalled that large yet diminutive back.

“—Manifestation.”

Normally, this would be impossible. But a miracle is a power that transcends impossibility.

The divinity enveloping Llewellyn’s body patched the impossible and pulled it into reality.

“…You?”

There’s a limit to straightforwardly enhancing physical abilities with divinity. Llewellyn had learned this from the God of Vengeance.

It’s like trying to attach a piece of iron to your body as armor, or pouring a bucket of water over yourself for protection.

Even those two powerful elements, if used simply, would be no different from not using them at all.

What was needed was a framework and shell to give form.

A miracle was, so to speak, the foundation to give form to divinity.

Llewellyn wiped away the tear marks around his eyes as he exhaled a deeply drawn breath.

There was no chance of winning this fight. The enemy had stronger physical abilities than Llewellyn and had obtained everything Llewellyn had originally sought to gain.

He couldn’t win through a simple fight.

Then, what was needed for victory?

Llewellyn knew the answer.

“Mourner, Ulrich.”

Llewellyn read the life of a Mourner.

His loss, his pain, and finally the happiness and peace he found again at the end.

And his determination to protect it all somehow.

His resolve takes form within Llewellyn. Divinity flows, takes shape, allowing its potential to be fully expressed.

[Mourning]

[Time Remaining: 60 seconds]

[Mourning]

[Time Remaining: 60 seconds]

Two windows appearing simultaneously in the corner of his vision.

But one wasn’t real mourning.

Mourning substituted by miracle and divinity. The life of a Mourner manifested through Llewellyn’s divinity.

Tremendous strength welled up in his clenched fist.

Not just what was originally given to Llewellyn, but the power of a kind-hearted man.

The power of a Mourner who lost everything, set out on a journey, and finally found a place to close his eyes.

“How—”

Hiss, the sound of air escaping. The sound of air being pushed out of space caught in such mighty force.

Nerilmeius, who was about to demand how he had accomplished this, didn’t see the fist that rushed to her face.

As the forest shook, Nerilmeius’s body flew with the ground that rose as if carved out.