Ch.82Cherished Wish (1)

# The First Emperor Astelnerca was the possessor of eyes that could see connections between people. The power to freely forge and sever relationships made him the most advantageously positioned person in the world.

Ever since returning from Netionpiece’s past life, a meaningless hypothetical had been circling in my mind.

If only I could see connections, I wouldn’t choose paths that entangle me with malicious relationships.

Couldn’t I have twisted fate to produce better results?

For instance, forming a connection with you as someone from the same hometown rather than as enemies, as you so boldly appeared before me.

“I was wondering why there was no notice, but it was simply tardiness.”

“I’ll have you know I rushed here frantically from the island?”

“We’ve strengthened security that much, yet you were still hiding on the island? This is like dealing with cockroaches in an apartment…”

“That’s a difficult accusation to refute.”

It was a conversation that somehow felt warmly familiar. Perhaps they had developed some grudging affection, as their hostility seemed strangely diminished.

‘His atmosphere is strange too. Like looking at clear water.’

He was distinctly different from the Zikharun I’d known until now.

He lacked the depth to be called a transcendent sage, yet seemed too empty to be hiding ulterior motives.

Though I wondered what change of heart had occurred, everything pointed to one conclusion.

Sling.

Zikharun drew his sword. He hadn’t coated it with spirit blood, the natural enemy of immortality. Meanwhile, I gathered my Malice without any weapons.

Shaaaa…

Black energy soaked into the earth. Realizing its meaning, Zikharun’s form became blurry like a mirage.

In the scenery that wavered like fog, his ruby-like eyes emitted a fierce light.

Clang!

Zikharun lunged with his body lowered, moving nimbly. His sharp blade was blocked by a round, flat shield, creating a sharp metallic sound.

That shield-like object was a familiar weapon. The great sword that was both the symbol of Duke Chester’s ancestors and Netionpiece’s main weapon. Its bizarre appearance was almost comical.

The piece I had sculpted from the earth using the Ever-Changing Forms sorcery was solid. Bartlant’s Conqueror’s Sword, wrapped in ominous energy, asserted its presence.

I drew the sword path as easily as handling a long-familiar weapon. The simple trajectory contained both simplicity and overwhelming destruction.

Under the massive weight of the Conqueror’s Sword, the ground beneath Zikharun’s feet collapsed, carving furrows.

Zikharun revealed his bewilderment, twitching his eyebrows at the unexpected counterattack.

It took only a moment to regain his composure.

As a mature spirit, he countered with his unique, one-of-a-kind technique.

“Ghost Slicing.”

The air spirit technique shaped the wind into sharpness. Something similar to Irefi’s formless sword—an indistinct sword strike—flew toward me.

The blades that rushed from all directions were like a guillotine that allowed no chance.

I deliberately gave up trying to avoid them. I faced death, surrendering my body to the wind blades.

Slash! Hiss! Rip!

Black blood contaminated with Malice sprayed from the cut surfaces. The impure blood that seeped into the earth bubbled up, giving birth to beasts.

Sorcery – The Fifth Trumpet.

Strange beasts with no uniformity pounced on Zikharun.

These agile and tenacious black beasts were spiritual beings that matched Zikharun’s mobility.

At this, Zikharun stopped trying to evade. His composure as he accepted the beasts made him look like a boulder formed of shadows.

Bang!

The sorcery beasts burst apart in an instant. Zikharun, faintly coated with red spirit blood, regained his dignified center.

“Did you deflect them all with counter-force…”

Since it was genuine spirit technique, it wasn’t a physical attack. It was an excellent move to suppress the explosion intended for additional damage in one go.

He was certainly impressive. The agility that drove me back and his versatile spirit techniques. Add to that the user’s outstanding qualities. It was a performance worthy of an all-rounder character.

The battle continued, changing its pattern. As we repeated our back-and-forth attacks and defenses, we shared one emotion.

Perhaps it was just my imagination.

But as the metallic sounds of our weapons rang out repeatedly, my certainty only grew.

‘There’s no tension.’

The desperation when forced into defense. And the desire to somehow enforce one’s own justice. Neither could be found in Zikharun.

It was like a child throwing a tantrum, recklessly risking their life with a “whatever happens, happens” attitude.

The emotion we shared was emptiness.

Clang-!

Zikharun’s sword flew toward the midday sun. I pointed the Conqueror’s Sword at his nape and silently glared at him.

The conclusion, which didn’t even bring a sense of achievement, created a sense of dissonance. Rather, this moment of complete disarmament evoked extreme tension.

I activated all my senses, afraid of missing any possible counterattack. What I heard was a weak admission of defeat.

“Impressive, Marquess. Did you hide your strength during Irefi Justitia’s subjugation?”

“Even if I explained, you wouldn’t understand.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

From the moment I experienced the past life, I never thought I would lose. After all, this very body was a monster that even heroes and saints couldn’t handle.

If there was a miscalculation, it was only that I hadn’t predicted Zikharun would be defeated so easily.

“What are you trying to do?”

“Troph said the same thing.”

“Troph? The head of the family who already committed suicide, right?”

“That was just a figurehead. The real one is elsewhere.”

“Oh?”

Surprising information flowed out smoothly. What was even more unsettling was Zikharun’s transcendent attitude.

If I applied force here, Zikharun’s head would fly off. The person who knew this better than anyone was conversing as calmly as a gentleman having tea time.

“Why, does it seem strange that I’m not resisting at all, Marquess?”

“…”

Clearly I had the upper hand, but Zikharun’s meaningful posture clouded my thoughts. He kept prompting me to constantly reconsider whether I had missed some important element.

Zikharun, seeming to see through even that, let out a casual laugh.

“Don’t think about it too seriously. I’ve simply lost my attachment.”

“Attachment?”

“I didn’t want to be hated. I cooperated because there were reasons I had to.”

“I don’t see any reason why you had to side with a treasonous organization plotting war.”

“Well, everyone has their own way of living.”

“Stop playing with words, Zikharun.”

“It was a serious answer. As a possessed person, I lived to fulfill Zikharun’s long-cherished wish. Now I’ve just realized that’s impossible.”

Zikharun self-deprecatingly brought his Adam’s apple to the blade. Red droplets of blood ran down his collarbone from the tear in his delicate skin.

I unconsciously tilted the Conqueror’s Sword to the side. Zikharun smiled faintly, as if this too was within his expectations.

“Feita is desperate to destroy the Empire. That’s Lorian Feita’s outward aspiration.”

“That’s obvious. I understand.”

If Netionpiece’s predictions in the past life had come true, Lorian’s future would have been bleak.

It’s clear that the third Emperor Asar would have persecuted her and her child. If that hadn’t happened, Lorian’s direct descendants…

That is, the old man’s later generations would still be continuing their lineage today.

“They’re all fools. Four hundred years of hatred-stained customs have distorted their will and turned their aspirations into delusions. Not knowing that Lorian Feita’s wish is impossible to fulfill.”

Zikharun muttered dejectedly, as if making a confession. He steadfastly confessed as if it didn’t matter who was listening.

“I’m the same. I thought my wish overlapped with Feita’s, so I joined hands. Well, in a sense, our true wishes do have something in common. Unfortunately, they also share the quality of being impossible.”

“A wish…”

I had been curious all along. What Feita and Zikharun truly desired. What tragedy had taken root at the beginning of this chain of hatred passed down through generations.

“What exactly is this wish of yours… that makes you act so viciously?”

“If it were Troph, he would answer ‘revenge for a grudge.'”

“Revenge, huh. That makes sense.”

“But that’s just Troph’s perspective.”

“Hmm.”

I could roughly guess. It’s an established fact that Asar Euglinas’s actions pressured Lorian. This was written in the letter sent through Zikharun, so it must be true.

But 400 years have passed. Could Lorian’s resentment have been so intense that she wanted to destroy a world where not even a trace of that time remains?

Could the truth hidden beneath be that cruel?

“Yes… that’s Troph’s perspective. A sad mass of words that lost their original form, distorted by blind faith.”

“Are you saying that the wish Lorian established wasn’t revenge?”

“Haha.”

Though he laughed briefly, there was no pleasure in it. His flat gaze, empty enough to be hollow, supported his bitter feelings.

Eventually, a tear rolled down from Zikharun’s red eyes. I was so shocked that I almost dropped the Conqueror’s Sword in my hand.

“Hey, you…?!”

“You know, Marquess.”

He asked in a sunken voice.

“What do you think it would be like if it were you? Alone in a world where no one knows you, where the scenery is completely different, with no connections?”

“…”

Zikharun’s gaze fixed on the sky. His unfocused ruby-like eyes were staring at a distant height.

Only Zikharun would know what landscape lay at the end of that gaze.

Clouds swam in the blue sky, riding the gentle breeze. As if boasting of the never-stopping waves of time.

Our time was like that too.

In the unceasing flow of time, Zikharun’s heavy lips conveyed the truth.

“Lorian Feita’s true wish was consideration.”

Consideration.

It was a warm word just by its resonance.

Not something vicious like revenge, but altruism for someone else.

“Because the demon harbored a hope that made her heart ache.”