Ch.51And the Dragon (4)

An attack that tears apart those who are close to death, becoming stronger the closer they are to death.

The voice that echoed in my ears beyond reason pierced straight into my mind.

Mortality.

The opposite of immortality, symbolizing finite life and inevitable death.

It was also the collective term for the beings that Father loved and cherished. Nerilmeius could find traces of her father within the pain that carved into her soul.

She also realized that this attack was something that could not be blocked.

The usurper’s body was so tattered that it could be considered death itself.

The wounds from her own flesh being torn apart and unraveled would have been fatal to any human.

So she could be said to be very close to death.

Nerilmeius was equally close to death herself.

She was a necromancer. Her chosen path to immortality was not to transcend death but to ignore it.

This differed from vampires achieving immortality through the essence of life, or shapeshifters through infinite transformation.

It was closer to how dragons wove together life and death using their innate powerful magic and soul like threads.

Therefore, her body was always immortal yet simultaneously no different from being dead.

Other necromancers were the same.

By the logic that what is already dead cannot die, necromancers attained immortality in this manner.

Naturally, she could not withstand that technique. The cracks engraved in her soul severed the connection between spirit and flesh, and her body that had endured infinite time began to split apart.

Cracks spread like a shattered mirror. Like a rock thrown into a calm winter lake, everything collapsed from the point where the first crack appeared.

The time given was not long. Her enormous soul and magical power maintained her body.

What could be done in that time?

Her one remaining eye turned toward the usurper.

‘Revenge.’

For whom, what kind of revenge?

The natural follow-up questions disappeared, buried. Only countless methods of killing came to mind.

Though most couldn’t be executed as her body was collapsing.

But there were still several methods available to her now.

Breath, biting to death, chewing and swallowing.

Crushing with her jaw was also possible. If not that, she could use her collapsing body to crush the usurper entirely.

So kill. She must kill. Despite these thoughts, the woman couldn’t move rashly.

Because there was no rationality in the actions of a madwoman.

She stopped not from reason but from emotion.

She simply immersed herself in her situation, in her utterly pitiful end.

‘Ah, Father.’

The cracks racing through her body, the force widening those cracks.

In that overwhelmingly powerful force called mortality, there was a touch all too familiar to her.

The power of the father who had once gathered her kin to make them necromancers, who had created children beyond life out of regret for the moment when life ends.

The power to control life and death.

The energy flowing through that body was the same.

Her head was severed. So she died. She closed her eyes and saw the spirit and flesh separate as life disappeared.

She intended to use it as undead.

But before she could draw up magical power, the spirit and flesh reconnected.

Life formed again, and she rose. That could only mean one thing.

“Ah… Father…”

Father was watching over her, taking care of her.

“Father, why.”

Nerilmeius shed tears. Tears flowed from her one remaining eye, wetting the ground as the dragon wailed.

She was slowly collapsing. There was a limit to holding onto her soul.

“Why did you abandon us?”

Her body sank as her soul escaped. Her scales, once as solid as a fortress and more tenacious than armor, crumbled into a handful of dust.

As she collapsed, Nerilmeius saw one last thing.

The usurper looking at her with an anguished expression.

“…Father.”

At that gaze, at the sympathy in that face, she unconsciously closed her eyes.

At the end of her endless waiting, she finally met her father again.

*

A mourning dragon. I lowered my hand glumly, recalling the phrase that had appeared before my eyes.

[Level has increased.]

I wasn’t happy even as the message appeared again.

I had many questions, many unresolved issues, and the situation couldn’t be considered completely over.

“…She’s dead.”

Enemies still remained.

“What exactly happened?”

The question came from the girl. Someone who only appeared to be a girl, originally closer to an adult male.

Blood Knight Lorian. She was staring intently at my neck while holding her beheading sword in her left hand.

“I clearly cut off your head. I confirmed you were dead. As long as you’re a blood bag, you had to die.”

Not a single subordinate remained behind her. Those who were left were dying. It was because the aura of death spread by Nerilmeius was eating away at their bodies.

What about Isla and the old Mourner? Looking around, Isla was rubbing her eyes, and the old Mourner was keeping watch on the Blood Knight from not far away.

Both seemed fine. Perhaps because both Nerilmeius and the Blood Knight had prioritized me.

“But you came back to life.”

I looked at her as I listened to the Blood Knight’s words. She was the only one left.

Could I win?

I thought there was no reason why I couldn’t.

My level had increased by two stages in this dungeon, and though Mourning had given my body intense fatigue and weakness.

Still, since I didn’t die, I could fight. Even if I’ve used up all my opportunities, using Mourning one more time wouldn’t make my homunculus body collapse.

I clenched and unclenched my fist as I met Blood Knight Lorian’s eyes.

Serious yet somehow upright red eyes. Unlike before, there was hesitation visible in her eyes.

“…I felt Father’s energy. I felt Father in both the technique you used to kill Nerilmeius and in your resurrection.”

A great deal of hesitation. When I continued to remain silent, she moved her lips and said:

“Tell me truthfully. Have you… met Father?”

Another nuance mixed into the question. Did she think I might be Father?

The subtle respect embedded in her voice proved it.

I pondered her question for a moment.

She told me not to lie. She probably thought I might pretend to be her father, as I had with Nerilmeius.

I hadn’t completely ruled out that idea, but I didn’t particularly want to do it.

I wasn’t very good at lying, after all. So I rolled my eyes.

“…Answer quickly.”

The girl lightly tapped her right foot on the ground, seemingly impatient. It appeared to be an unconscious action.

I opened my mouth while watching her anxious expression.

“Perhaps.”

“…Perhaps?”

“Do I have any reason to answer you?”

Bull’s-eye. Lorian shut her mouth tightly.

“No. But I’d like you to answer.”

She was entirely relying on my mercy.

Not because I had any obligation to answer her. It was for a reason stemming from the enjoyable exchange we had just shared.

She knew I had enjoyed that fight, and despite my death, she knew well that I had found the battle pleasurable.

“I don’t want to.”

What remained was her personal inclination.

From the beginning, she seemed to enjoy fighting with me.

Though it wasn’t obvious when we first met, she appeared to have a personality that enjoyed combat.

I could tell just by looking at what was written in the Blood Shadow.

‘What even the Blood Clan doesn’t know is that his intentions for coming down weren’t so pure.’

He wanted to fight me again. That’s why he came down, and we fought.

To the extent that after the fight ended, he returned obediently, promising a future encounter.

Therefore, she mistakenly believed she had somewhat figured me out from our battle.

Moreover, she thought that I, having shared such a bond with her, wouldn’t refuse her request.

But who was I? I was a master who had steadfastly maintained my rank among those who were even more orphan-like than myself.

Even if a bond had formed, kicking it aside for immediate gain was no difficult task. Especially since it wasn’t even a deep bond.

Moreover, she wasn’t in an advantageous position.

All the soldiers she brought were dead. Only she, I, Isla, and the old Mourner remained, and it was crystal clear who had the numerical advantage and who was in a better position.

Even Lorian seemed to realize this. She showed a frustrated expression on her girlish face and glanced around.

Now she’ll pounce, I thought, bracing myself.

“…What do you want?”

She spoke unexpected words.

“What?”

“Whether you truly reached Father, and if so, what he desires… what he told you. I want to hear it. In return, I’ll grant whatever you wish.”

And those red eyes directed at me.

Only then did I realize that Nerilmeius’s reaction was by no means exaggerated.

Furthermore, I could vaguely understand what their goal was.

Father.

A being about whom I knew nothing except that he was called thus and had some connection to the Mourner.

The three clans were desperately searching for such a being. I thought that might even be the goal of the entire clan.

I even thought that everything they had done so far, all the plans they had made, were merely tools for that purpose.

“No, only conditions that aren’t too unreasonable… no, that’s not right… if I can just reach Father, anything…”

To the extent that the Blood Knight would say such things while conflicted and anguished.

Even as Isla approached with her crossbow aimed, and the Mourner picked up the fallen axe from the ground and gripped it with both hands.

The Blood Knight sent me a look while still wary of my approaching companions. Even.

THUD!

“If you just tell me… I am willing to withdraw my sword. I swear by my blood and clan.”

The self-proclaimed knight even goes so far as to make a solemn oath.

The beheading sword thrust into the ground as if to prove it wasn’t a bluff. It wouldn’t take even a breath to draw and swing it, but it would be insufficient to block me using Mourning.

I couldn’t understand. She had just witnessed a dragon going berserk and had nearly died.

What kind of being was this Father to them that they would act this way?

What was he that they would go to such lengths?

Though I was troubled by not knowing their ulterior motives or what they wanted.

On the other hand, I thought:

“Fine. I’ll tell you.”

That I could use this.

“Really?”

The Blood Knight looked at me with a brightened expression. It was hard to believe she was the enemy who had crossed swords with me and cut off my head just moments ago.

But for the three clans, this would be natural. I thought about everything I had seen when I was resurrected.

“However, I have one condition.”

“Speak.”

I wanted to have an adventure.

I wanted to travel around this new continent and experience things I hadn’t seen or heard.

A feeling I had put aside because circumstances didn’t allow it, and I thought it better not to.

“I plan to explore the new continent.”

I didn’t suppress my desire.

I had wrongly chosen to become a monster, and had been avoiding adventure because I felt I had to do certain things.

But there was no reason to do so anymore.

“I want to uncover what’s hidden in this continent and see every corner of it with my own eyes.”

To embark on that journey, what I needed was a guide.

Someone who knew about the new continent and possessed strength.

Someone who could potentially minimize conflicts with the forces of the three clans.

I knew one being most suitable for this selection.

Someone whose gender had completely changed, who was of the three clans yet not of the three clans.

Someone who wouldn’t rashly harm me because they wanted the information I could provide.

Though I would need to be wary and keep watch, I couldn’t find a better talent.

I spoke to the girl whose eyes were wide open in shock as I steadied my creaking body.

“That you become that guide and my subordinate.”

That was my condition.

The Blood Knight lowered her head slowly in astonishment.

There was no answer.

But there was no need to ask.

I smiled, raising the corners of my mouth as I watched the Blood Knight quietly nod her head.