Ch.93Cannibalism (14)

Light arose.

A light never seen before, the most brilliant of all.

A light that settled in one’s eyes when looking up at the sky from anywhere on the continent.

So naturally, everyone raised their heads to look at the sky.

A light that burned gently, scattering a pure radiance never before seen.

In a land where the expression “god” had become a dead word, people simply regarded it as a new transcendent being.

Unable to turn their eyes away from its brilliance, and feeling an inexplicable nostalgia in its warmth.

Only a handful of humans knew its true nature.

Those powerful enough to be granted such knowledge, or humans who had reached their peak on the verge of ascension—something this land had long forgotten.

The powerful ones who recognized the arrival of a master, something that hadn’t happened since the gods who ruled this world departed.

Their gazes reached toward the light that soared high like a star.

The first gaze to reach it was from atop vast snowfields.

Far north of the old continent.

Those who existed in the smallest numbers within the tribal alliance, yet wielded the most formidable power.

The master of the Sword Star Council and their nine disciples.

They smiled as they gazed at the light forming in the sky.

Pressing down their helmets, wrapping their cloaks, they walked with purposeful steps.

Toward the new continent.

Meanwhile, there were also gazes filled not with admiration but with envy.

Far south from the Sword Star Council’s territory, beyond mountains, rivers, and darkness, stood the imperial palace.

In its deepest recesses, something small like a fruit hanging from a branch made of shadows.

It raised its head to glare at the ceiling.

A ceiling that contained the sky. In the intense light that even stained glass could not filter, the shadow-formed monster screamed.

It sounded like both a shriek and a wail. A monstrous cry mixing jealousy, sorrow, faint admiration, and a sense of deprivation.

Amidst those cries, the Emperor shed tears. He screamed toward someone who had taken away the qualification that should rightfully have been his.

Shadows churned, the earth raged, and the primordial mother hidden within the shadows screamed just the same.

The screams that seemed as though they would continue forever soon subsided.

At the eastern edge where shadows fell, the sun was slowly rising.

Within the rising sun, someone was smiling contentedly, yet apologetically.

But under that sun, someone who had just finished meditating could not be so pleased.

A warrior with a long, thick tail and red scales.

Yet, from the faint curves remaining on the body, one could guess this being was female.

The Dragon King clicked her tongue.

“Fairy.”

“What is it?”

“It seems someone has become my disciple.”

While the one called Fairy—the Abbot of the Southern Elf Monastery—opened her eyes wide, and as the Dragon King glared far west where the sun had not yet risen.

A massive castle rose from the coast where her gaze extended.

The blackened castle was filled with magic-repelling formulas, but at its highest observation window, there were no formulas—only starlight.

Inside, the Knight Commander stared at the light with his firmly gripped sword thrust into the floor.

All those living on the coast saw the Anti-Magic School’s castle flying toward the new continent.

While the Anti-Magic School’s castle headed toward the new continent, a man with territory at the western edge stared blankly at the sky from his bed.

Known as the Blazing Void. The contractor of the most powerful star and the one with the purest soul among all contractors.

He saw the light burning the dawn.

“Lucilla?”

Starlight different from the transcendent being he served. An incomparably brilliant light, brighter than the sun.

Watching the sky where all darkness retreated and even clouds scattered, he carefully rose from his bed so as not to wake his wife.

As he gathered his burning soul sword and ran, ignoring the whispers of the “star” chattering in his ears.

In the upper part of the new continent, at the highest mountain, two women each raised their heads.

“Ruwellin…”

Unlike the worried light appearing in Melody’s golden eyes.

“As expected.”

Lucilla’s gray eyes took on a strange gleam.

Both women thought of the same man.

A man who, despite being a homunculus, maintained human reason and possessed a strangely brilliant fate.

The light that had risen did not set, but rather shone brilliantly.

Amidst all that attention, the woman who had gazed at the light from the closest distance opened her eyes.

It was a week after the light had risen.

*

“…Ha.”

The first sound the woman made upon waking was a hollow laugh.

It might not have been a perfect and thorough plan, but it was a plan close to success without a single variable.

Yet it failed. If it had merely failed, there would have been no problem.

If she had died in failure or if Ruwellin had died, the plan would still have proceeded as scheduled.

But that didn’t happen. A feeling of being thrown to the bottom, beyond the worst. Selma sat up and laughed dejectedly.

“You didn’t kill me.”

Selma’s blue-gray eyes turned to the corner of the room. In the damp, humid-looking corner, an identical pair of blue-gray eyes were fixed in the darkness.

“Because you’re my sister.”

A brief answer followed the brief statement. The woman who had been clinging to the wall and now walked out wore a sad expression.

An expression so faint that ordinary people would hardly notice it. But to Selma, it was vivid.

Because they had spent time together. Selma glanced at her bound hands and smiled.

“What is this?”

“Transformation prevention shackles. Someone made them.”

“…Hmm.”

You don’t believe me. No response came to the whispered words. Neither denial nor confirmation.

Without even such words, the woman stood silently.

A beautiful woman with short hair, the same body and face as Selma.

Isla.

Selma smiled crookedly, seeing the toy she had wanted slip from her hands.

“…Nothing left.”

Selma finally noticed that none of her mother’s power remained in her body.

Mother was capricious and emotional. She wouldn’t kindly treat a limb that had let her vessel escape her grasp.

The clothes covering her skin were bloodstained, and no matter how hard she tried to draw out her regenerative power, it didn’t appear.

Her body was enveloped in fatigue that made it difficult to move even an arm, and the power that had seemed capable of anything just recently had vanished.

In the emptiness and sense of deprivation, Selma slowly turned her head to look outside.

It was an unfamiliar space.

She could only tell that it was some kind of prison.

She had thought this might happen if she lost, but she never imagined it would actually come to this.

A prisoner, huh. Selma stared blankly at the wall.

As already stated, she had nothing left now.

Neither her mother’s power, nor the hand axe she had possessed for a long time, nor her freedom.

All that remained was spending an uncertain future as a prisoner.

Maybe I should just die. As Selma was thinking this.

“Here.”

Isla held out something.

“You still had this?”

Selma froze at that. She stared at the hand axe in Isla’s hand, unable even to blink.

“…Why?”

Selma couldn’t answer and lowered her eyes.

How could I throw it away? It was a gift from my sister.

The answer that came to mind didn’t leave her lips. Instead, Selma hid behind a twisted smile again.

“It just fits my hand—”

“That’s a lie.”

Selma closed her mouth. Isla bit her lip. With her tail dragging on the floor, she looked down at her sister with eyes swirling with all kinds of emotions.

“Why did you still have it?”

Selma didn’t answer. Instead, she closed her eyes and shut her mouth.

Vague memories drifted through her.

The kind of desire that wasn’t permitted, her mother’s sticky whispers that had been speaking to her since childhood.

Up to meeting the three clans she had sought out according to her mother’s wishes, suppressing again and again the urge to succumb to that desire.

It was a matter of life and death. But… it wasn’t entirely without her own will.

Preparation was needed. Preparation to abandon more of her humanity, to be more honest with her desires.

She thought she had succeeded this time. But in the place where everything had been taken away, all that remained was her own humanity.

It had no meaning to reclaim it now.

But if there was one thing certain, it was that the hand axe was no longer an ordinary weapon that could be broken.

Selma looked at her sister.

“I don’t know.”

At her faint smile, Isla closed her mouth.

She frowned, lightly swept the floor with her tail, opened and closed her mouth, then bit her lip.

Selma recalled the past as she watched this.

The memory of when both Selma and Isla were still young, when she had said she would join the three clans.

Isla had been like this then too. After hesitating for a long time like that, she had said:

‘Come with me.’

Selma couldn’t remember what she had replied then.

She was probably too busy controlling her desires while looking at her innocent and lovely sister to give a proper answer.

It was the same now. Selma smiled, knowing what Isla had not said.

“Go. I’ll tell you if I want food.”

Isla opened and closed her mouth, then lowered her head with a sad expression.

Her ears drooped, and her tail dragged on the floor.

But Isla knew she couldn’t break Selma’s will. She opened the iron door and left as quietly as she had entered.

“…Huh?”

Selma blinked at the unexpected people filling the space Isla had left.

“Awake, are you?”

“It’s true indeed. The damp, unpleasant magical power I sense suggests there is clearly, albeit faintly, a connection to those black mages.”

The man who had taken Selma’s consciousness, standing at the center of those with blackened, gleaming armor and heavy footsteps filling the space.

Selma stared blankly at Ruwellin entering the cell along with the black knights.