Ch.91Cannibalism (12)

# The Classroom at Sunset

It was a classroom at sunset. The old school building, exuding a distinctly aged feeling, was draped in layers of sunset light like curtains.

From the west where windows opened to the outside, to the east where windows faced the corridor, everything was bathed in a crimson glow.

There weren’t many desks and chairs; they were placed close together, forming a kind of large table.

Various items were scattered across it: a laptop, notebooks, a few pens, and what looked like coffee bought from outside.

“SHIIIIBAAAAL!”

Someone’s curse echoed throughout the room.

CRASH!

A desk, thrown with full force, cut through the air and struck the window, immediately shattering into scattered fragments.

Heavy breathing could be heard. Looking closely, one corner of the classroom was filled with similar debris.

Broken and splintered wood, crushed metal pipes that looked like they had been bent or melted—the remains of table legs.

In front of this mess, a large man grimaced and lamented.

“Shit…”

It was an abrupt curse.

A magical curse that could express all manner of emotions in a single word.

The man who uttered it, Luwellin, glared at the window facing the corridor with a furrowed brow.

The corridor was dim. Not so dark that nothing could be seen, but it created an atmosphere contrary to the sunset pouring in from outside.

*Is it okay for it to be this dark when we’re not even having night study?*

With such idle thoughts, he grabbed a desk—one that had reappeared anew each time he threw it, which he had already done more than twenty times.

Taking a deep breath, he twisted his body and threw the desk with the strength of his waist and entire musculature.

CRASH!

A destructive force he could never have generated with the weak body he once possessed.

Once again, the desk used as a weapon scattered in all directions, and flying sawdust and metal fragments blurred his vision.

By now, the wall and especially the fragile glass window should have been torn out and rolling on the floor, but there was no change.

The corridor and glass window remained undisturbed, without the slightest sign of damage, as shadows distinctly fell across the corridor, rejecting all approach.

The man, Luwellin, contorted his face with impatience and anxiety.

He was in an illusion.

Or perhaps it wasn’t an illusion but some kind of quasi-dimension.

Not being a magician, he wouldn’t know, and there was no point in investigating, but one thing was certain.

He had once again lost control of his body.

As he turned his head, he saw the sunset.

It was a crimson light that could only be recognized as sunset after looking at it for a while.

Countless crimson lights hung in the sky.

Numerous lights coloring the sky, easily mistaken for a sunset.

But looking closely, he could tell it was different from a sunset.

They were crimson lamps filling the airspace of the underground city.

Whether natural or magical, he didn’t know.

They were lights that always filled and illuminated the underground city.

It was an impartial light. Luwellin knew this. He had realized it after coming to this place, looking down at it from above.

So with a gloomy expression, he observed the scene beneath the sunset.

Thunderous sounds reached him, filtered through the floors. Following the sounds, a fist extended, bursting through skin, then deflecting an approaching axe with armored wrists before swinging a leg.

The snow leopard who dodged by stepping on the swung leg and kicked at the jaw, and the monstrous figure wrapped in dark red armor.

Despite blood covering everything around them, the battle between the two monsters continued without hesitation.

Behind the booming sounds, a beastkin stood in a high place.

A woman with a long tail drooping, ears flattened, looking like she might cry at any moment, fidgeting with a sling.

Those blue-gray eyes were close. All of this could be seen through the window where the sunset entered.

It was an illusion. Yet he couldn’t dismiss everything he had seen as a dream or fantasy.

The memories etched into this body and their density told him that couldn’t be the case.

So he concluded: he was now in an illusion, and the control of his body had been taken by someone else again, leaving him pathetically trapped in this place.

“This is really humiliating.”

A hollow laugh escaped him. With that laugh, gray eyes gazed at the sunset.

In those eyes, the battle of monsters was reflected.

His own figure rushing forward without fear of death, without dwelling on wounds, only seeking to destroy his enemy, and Selma showing a frenzied fight against him.

Watching this, Luwellin realized that all of this had been Selma’s plan.

No, not all of it?

Her desire to eat her sister, or to have her sister be eaten, must have been genuine.

She had simply anticipated even this situation.

That fact hit him even more devastatingly.

He had vowed not to choose either option. He had thought he was different, that he wouldn’t be manipulated, but he realized even the decision he had made was in the palm of her hand.

If the outcome had been good, he could have claimed a moral victory, but that wasn’t possible.

The quality of this illusion was different from before, which made it worse.

Unlike the past when he could at least control things like a computer, now Luwellin could do nothing.

All he could do was desperately throw desks at the window while watching monsters fight.

Luwellin grabbed the corner of a desk, then sighed and sat on the table instead.

How did it come to this?

The reason was obvious.

Mother, Netel, the Devil.

This being called by many names, this sentient entity with transcendent power, wanted it this way.

Luwellin had thought he possessed superhuman mental strength.

He believed he could repel any attempt to invade his mind and suppress any kind of madness with his reason.

He thought tragic situations would pass him by, and that a smooth path awaited him.

He believed his plans were flawless, and he had been complacent, thinking things would work out somehow.

But the reality was different.

He was imprisoned in this illusion simply because a transcendent being wished it.

His decision, which hardly qualified as a plan, was turned against him, driving him into this situation, and the fine words he had spoken became unfulfilled boasts.

That was the result. The reason Luwellin continued his futile resistance.

Isla was watching Luwellin and Selma with a bewildered expression.

She was despairing at her inability to intervene in the fight, and that even if she did, she couldn’t achieve the outcome she wanted.

This wasn’t her domain. She was a hunter, a profession that poured powerful firepower from a distance with the help of good equipment and appropriate innate skills.

But she had no weapons, and the enemy’s level was superior.

To make matters worse, she didn’t have her innate skill.

Even if she did, Isla couldn’t use it without magical power.

All she could use were minor detection abilities or transformation.

Those weren’t helpful now. So there wasn’t much she could do.

She could only watch as Luwellin became less and less human, and Selma encouraged it.

There was nothing more she could do.

Just like Luwellin standing in this illusion now.

Luwellin looked at Isla. He saw her nervously fidgeting with her sling, attempting to launch an attack despite its futility.

“You’ll die doing that… don’t…”

His words didn’t reach her. Luwellin lamented this fact again.

Would the mother controlling his body spare Isla?

Luwellin didn’t think so. She would probably die.

To make matters worse, the balance of the fight was tipping.

The armor that moved with will and blocked all attacks had a complete advantage over a hunter whose specialty was precise and agile attacks.

Dropping the axe, then kicking it away faster than picking it up. Pursuing the flying Selma, plunging a hand into the ground, and throwing the surface that came up with it.

Selma received it with a smile, but for a moment her entire body was torn apart before regenerating.

Both possessed the Mother’s power. Regeneration was expected. That made it all the more absurd.

How powerful must she be to simply observe two beings with her power fighting each other?

It was essentially self-cannibalization.

Luwellin finally realized the magnitude of the being called “Mother.”

A being that bestowed seemingly infinite regenerative power. A monster that naturally wielded the power of death, stealing life.

An absolute being before whom all manner of powerful entities willingly bowed their heads.

So resistance was meaningless. Luwellin realized this but couldn’t look away.

He saw Isla. She finally gathered her courage and came down.

As Selma fell and was about to accept death with a smile.

WHOOSH, CLANG!

She shot a stone that struck Luwellin’s head.

But the monster hit by the sling didn’t even tilt his head.

He simply lifted the helmet hiding his gray eyes and stared at Isla.

He approached. The sunset fell. Beneath Isla’s frightened expression, a faint hope was visible.

The vain expectation that Luwellin would recognize her and come to his senses.

Selma was smiling at this.

Thinking that if they were both going to be eaten anyway, it wouldn’t be so bad.

So she put down her axe and didn’t resist. Lying down, she closed her eyes and even hummed. She had fulfilled her role.

Everything was too late and in vain.

At this thought that arose spontaneously, his teeth clenched. Luwellin glared at the sunset and moved his body.

“UWAAAAAH!”

CRASH! The desk rolled across the floor. The desk he suddenly picked up and swung hit the window again and bounced back, with flying wood splinters grazing his skin.

It stung. It hurt where they embedded. He felt aching muscles and joints strained from exerting too much force.

Nevertheless, Luwellin didn’t stop.

He picked up another desk that had appeared and swung it.

He repeatedly stabbed the window with what remained of the desk after it shattered, enduring the flying wood splinters.

Even as that crumbled and fell to the floor.

He repeated his meaningless resistance, ignoring even the pain.

He threw chairs, struck desks, pounded the floor, and cracked the ceiling.

He broke and shattered things repeatedly.

He did so knowing it was meaningless resistance.

He resisted vaguely, without thinking this resistance would have any meaning.

He didn’t stop, driven by the deprivation of having his body stolen and the anxiety of losing the precious person who loved him.

Having nothing made even small losses painful.

Having nothing, he didn’t want to lose anything.

If possible, he wanted to be greedy and have everything.

He wanted to be happy, to live comfortably, to be revered by all kinds of people.

He didn’t want to harm someone precious to him with his own body. So Luwellin desperately resisted.

While an ordinary person would have given up long ago, thinking everything was futile, Luwellin could repeat the same action hundreds, thousands of times.

That’s the kind of person he was.

Someone who didn’t know how to give up, who could silently do what needed to be done even in the most unfortunate situations.

Some might call it dull-witted.

But someone watching him thought of it as steadfastness.

Perhaps that’s why.

As the desk he swung repeatedly turned to ashes and scattered, and Luwellin collapsed in his swinging posture, light shimmered above him.

The sun was rising.

Luwellin sat up and blankly raised his head to look outside.

The sunset sky was spreading into sunlight.

Just like the crimson light that seeped through the low basement window and shimmered lengthily.

It was falling on this desolate classroom.

It was warm. Gentle. But also fragile and indecisive.

The risen sun rippled gently.

“…Father.”

Words he had never uttered before. Only after saying them did Luwellin realize what they meant.

A being who had become transcendent, the gentle creator desperately sought by three tribes, the last caretaker of the pantheon and child of the gods.

He wanted to help Luwellin.

So the window opened.

The curtains fluttered, and warm spring breeze seeped in through the open window.

A sacred wind that evoked the pantheon. Facing it, Luwellin felt a chill down his spine and turned around.

There was the darkened corridor.

Writhing darkness scratched at the corridor window. The long nail marks left behind were eerie.

The gloomy blue light of the computer that was on when he entered the house the day his sister disappeared engulfed half the classroom.

In the surging light, Luwellin’s shadow split into countless parts and danced.

Father, who emitted a subtle but warm light.

And Mother, who offered gloomy yet comfortable darkness.

The transcendent and the absolute.

The one who fled and the one who observed were both reaching out to Luwellin.

Asking him to take their hand, saying they would help him.

Luwellin blinked blankly at those two hands.

His eyes turned toward the warm light.

Father.

Creator of the three tribes.

He abandoned the three tribes he created and ascended.

Irresponsible and powerless. Kind and warm, understanding the human heart.

But that was all.

He had failed. He was a failure. He was mediocre in everything and succeeded at nothing.

Then what about the opposite?

This time, his gray eyes aimed at the gloomy light on the other side.

Mother, Netel.

The absolute being who was the will of this world and like a devil.

She took responsibility for those living on her flesh.

But it was a desolate responsibility that didn’t understand the human heart, essentially no different from mere observation.

Evil, desiring nothing, bestowing enormous power too easily.

She was not a being that should exist on this earth.

A god who could only powerlessly grieve and a devil who drove everything to the worst situation.

In the gaze of these two beings, Luwellin grabbed a desk one last time.

The classroom was distorting and breaking apart.

Standing on the collapsing ground, Luwellin took a deep breath and then.

“I won’t make the empty claim that I’ll take your place.”

The shadow and light stopped. Luwellin glared at the god and devil.

“But if you’re going to be like this.”

The raised desk bisected the light and shadow.

“Then just vacate your positions and get out, you bastards!”

The moment the desk struck the ground.

CRACK!

The illusion collapsed.

*

Selma smiled.

The plan had succeeded.

Mother had bestowed her grace, and the warrior had been completely forged in that grace.

There was nothing to fear now. Finally, the vessel had come into Mother’s hands, so all that remained was to be eaten with joy and willingness.

She didn’t mind if the process changed slightly and her sister was eaten first instead of her.

After all, in that seething life, she and her sister would become one.

In her ecstasy, Selma tried to watch her sister being devoured.

Isla, holding a sling in her hand, stood helplessly, unable to harm the man she loved.

She had finally given up.

Since she couldn’t bring herself to hurt Luwellin, she decided to return the life he had saved.

Rationalizing this way, she tightly closed her eyes.

She didn’t know where he would start biting, or if he would kill her first before eating.

If she had one wish, it was only that Luwellin wouldn’t suffer too much.

So she stood still with her eyes closed. Trembling, holding the sling in her hand, she was afraid.

In a moment that felt like eternity, she hesitated and agonized countless times. Along with thoughts that filled her with self-loathing the moment they arose.

That’s how it is for anyone facing death.

But strangely, the moment stretched on. Death didn’t come. Isla finally opened her eyes.

“Hello.”

It was a familiar voice. Isla met the gray eyes inside the helmet.

The creaking body moved. A hand covered in armor gently rose to stroke Isla’s head, softly caressed her cheek, then withdrew.

“I’m a bit late.”

Isla’s throat tightened, and she couldn’t answer. She just opened her mouth slightly and bit her lip.

But Luwellin felt as if he had heard her response.

“It’s okay now.”

Contrary to what he had said, he thought he wasn’t too late. He withdrew the hand that had stroked Isla and placed it over his body.

More precisely, toward the armor.

CRACK!

Something impossible was happening.

CRACK, THUD!

No one could stop him, and even the transcendent and the absolute could only watch.

In the gaze of countless beings, Luwellin gripped the cocoon that enveloped him.

His mouth opened. A scream mixed with pain and ecstasy burst forth.

With a face contorted in agony, he tore pieces of armor from his flesh.

As flesh scattered, muscles split, blood vessels bulged and burst, spraying blood everywhere.

Luwellin was metamorphosing, casting off his chrysalis.

Space trembled. The lamps filling the space above the underground city swayed left and right. In the midst of debris and scattered death, people saw a human emerging from a cocoon.

“AAAAAAAH!”

Torn armor rolled across the floor.

Metal fragments flying in all directions screamed and retreated.

A human who had not even obtained life and death rejected the embrace that had enveloped him.

Declaring that he no longer needed their help.

That if they wouldn’t do it, he would.

That they should stop trying to control him.

As he screamed, the world gazed upon him.

Finally, he cast off the last piece.

CRACK!

As the cocoon that had covered his body returned to the shadows, silence fell.

Thump.

In that silence, everyone beheld the man.

Thump, thump.

A human standing with arms spread, emitting golden light from his heart.

[Name: Luwellin]

[Race: Immortal]

[Class: Warrior – Mourner 8]

[Reputation: ???]

[Strength: 22(+6)][Agility: 20(+5)][Health: 22(+6)]

[Magic Power: □][Inspiration: □][Charm: □]

[Play Time: 9,512 hours]

The form of the last god to descend upon this land.