Wail 2

“Nooooooooooooo—!!!”

The bone-chilling scream made everyone jolt, turning their heads.

A lone skeleton came charging through the mud, plunging into the crowd.

“No, no!!”

“Uhhh…”

Though bewildered, the people instinctively parted to let him through.

Though an unidentified undead, the sheer overwhelming emotion pouring forth compelled them to yield – he had already become a key figure through this single war.

The fervent will blazing in his empty sockets ignited azure flames, precariously flickering within.

Vyuskr knelt beside Brudhild.

“No… no, no… ah, aaah…!”

Blood still gushed from Brudhild’s chest, mingling with the rain to form a crimson stream.

Unable to touch his body, Vyuskr helplessly grasped at the empty air above, his composure from the battlefield utterly shattered into anxious, despairing tremors.

“What’s this? What’s going on?”

“That skeleton, no, that Mr. Skeleton… just who is he?”

The abrupt shift in demeanor left the onlookers wondering if he had lost his mind. Some looked to Doyun for explanation, but he could not bring himself to speak.

Brudhild’s eyelids fluttered faintly.

“Ah… Fa…ther…”

The single uttered word sent a murmur through the crowd.

“Ah, this can’t be… this just can’t be… what is this…?”

Vyuskr’s quivering bony fingers gently caressed the cold cheek.

Brudhild too seemed to try moving his fingertips, but could only tremble faintly.

Noticing this, Vyuskr extended his chilled skeletal hand to clasp his son’s.

“Ah… Fa…ther… ghuck!”

“Say no more!”

He cried out in anguish.

The azure flames gazed down at the pallid, punctured face and chest, the flickering embers dripping like teardrops. The skeleton wept.

“You’ll live… this can’t be happening… after I… finally reunited with you…!”

“Father…”

Vyuskr felt a feeble strength enter Brudhild’s chilled grasp.

With wavering focus and blue-tinged lips, Brudhild haltingly uttered:

“Thank you… for taking in this orphan child…”

Shhhhhhhh—

Even amidst the pouring rain, that frail voice reached his father’s ears distinctly.

“No, no… don’t say such things, please…”

“To have you… and reunite again… I was happy…”

“Aaaaaaaaah!!”

Vyuskr let out an anguished wail, as if driven to madness by those torturous words.

Even the Buske’s Style’s cardinal mental state of Stillwater Mirror proved utterly powerless before that most dreaded of moments.

“Forgive me… for departing first… this unfilial act…”

Brudhild’s struggling words ended as his pupils rapidly dilated – the final throes.

“No! Please, please don’t die, nooo—!!”

Brudhild raised his head, jaw chattering, and shouted:

“A revival item! Does anyone have a treasure-grade revival item?!”

None could answer. This came right after the life-and-death throes of combat – any spare lives had already been expended on themselves and comrades.

Of course, Vyuskr knew this too, but he persisted in denying reality.

“I am Vyuskr! The Sword Emperor Vyuskr! I shall recompense you however! On the Sword Emperor’s name!!”

“Wh-What did he say?!”

“The Sword Emperor…? Vyuskr? That legendary hero?”

The shocking revelation sent the surroundings into an uproar.

Many turned to Doyun for confirmation, his silence affirming the truth.

“R-Really him?! That Vyuskr, in that skeleton?!”

“Mind your tongue!”

“Hup…!”

“Sweet mercies. Truly, the legendary Hero himself…!”

The weight behind the name ‘Sword Emperor Vyuskr’ was immense, leaving even the Heroes stunned.

Indeed, a name befitting the awe-inspiring presence he had displayed on the battlefield.

Only then did the people understand his frantic demeanor. But they could not produce a nonexistent item, turning away in pained lament.

“That’s right…!”

Vyuskr unfastened a sword from his hip, displaying it to all. One of the continent’s finest Named Blades, the seventh in his collection shone brilliantly despite the overcast.

“I have the Twelve Sword Collection! I shall relinquish them all!”

“The Sword Emperor’s Sword Collection!”

“All twelve pieces…?”

Many flinched at the overwhelmingly generous offer. Yet none could step forward.

“That is not all! Enslave me if you must! We can forge a subjugation pact! So please, someone, anyone…!”

The wailing hero rasping with his bones now seemed utterly pitiful. The Heroes could only avert their gazes.

“Please…”

None came forth. Vyuskr fell silent in despair.

But then, recalling another possibility, he abruptly rose.

“Enoch!”

Doyun gnawed his lip as if expecting this.

The pitiful skeletal figure rushed towards him.

“Enoch! You must have a way! You who have always solved the impossible!”

“…”

“Yes, an Elixir! Do you have any remaining Elixirs?!”

“…”

“With an Elixir, Brudhild can be revived. The greatest panacea, the Elixir is all we need…!”

His voice rasped like grinding bone as he pleaded.

Doggomu-yeong, with whom Doyun had conversed before the war, gazed at him with a solemn expression.

Doyun looked down into those pitch-black empty sockets, then opened his mouth.

“…I have one vial remaining.”

“Oho! As expected! Only you could manage this, Enoch…”

“But I cannot give it to you.”

“……What did you say?”

Despite his expressionless skeletal visage, Vyuskr’s previously brightening demeanor turned stony once more.

“I cannot give you the Elixir. Vyuskr.”

“…Why not?”

“Because of our promise.”

“…”

“The Elixir can only be used by me. For I am the Regression Turner, the Hero, the embodiment of the Alliance itself.”

It was a promise Vyuskr had made.

The 18th Iteration Vyuskr had not made such a vow. But he had heard of it from Enoch and nodded his assent then.

People change based on the memories and events they experience. With each iteration shift, the figures around Enoch showed minor or major alterations.

But Vyuskr was an unwavering man. He remained ever the same Vyuskr. Hence, Doyun knew this Vyuskr would be identical to that time.

If Doyun used the Elixir on Vyuskr, he would commit suicide before Doyun’s eyes, just as in other timelines.

Of course, Doyun also knew that for Vyuskr, his own son’s existence held greater value than even his own life.

Thus, he spoke with adamant resolve:

“Brudhild is precious. But he cannot be more precious than the Alliance. I will not use the Elixir on him.”

A ruthlessly steadfast tone leaving no room for change.

Some opened their mouths in dismayed sighs, others shook their heads as if sickened by the cold pragmatism. Truly the uncompromising leader depicted in the histories.

But everyone present understood he was right. Vyuskr was no different.

Yet as a father facing his son’s death, he unhesitatingly cast aside divinity, pride, cause – everything.

Thud!

Brudhild fell to his knees.

“Please… Enoch… my friend…”

“…”

“I cannot… live without Brudhild… please… please give me the Elixir… please…”

As Doyun remained silent, he slammed his forehead to the ground.

Thunk!

“Please! Save my Brudhild! I beg youuuuuu!!”

Thunk, thunk, thunk!

The sounds of bone striking earth rang out incessantly.

But as expected, Doyun did not waver.

“I refuse.”

Thunk!

“…”

Vyuskr froze, head bowed to the ground.

Shhhhhhhh—

Amidst the pounding rain and heavy silence, Doyun spoke solemnly:

“I will deliver the Alliance to salvation. And the Elixir is another life for the Alliance’s sake. Thus, I cannot relinquish it.”

“…”

“But I vow this. I will end this war, and take vengeance on your son’s behalf – on behalf of all who perished in this conflict.”

“…”

“I will sever the Demon Lord’s head, without fail.”

Shhhhhhhh—

Silence and rainfall fell once more.

It was a long while before Vyuskr opened his mouth, voice tremulous:

“No need… for that…”

“…”

“Instead… turn back time. Rewind the world…”

Doyun heard no more, turning away.

The blessing of regression was no longer his. His friend knew this too.

His friend was not in his right mind.

“A world without Brudhild… is worthless… end this world… just rewind everything… just…”

“101 AD.”

Vyuskr flinched.

At the voice from behind, he slowly raised his upper body to look back.

“Fourth month, twenty-first sun. Two-fourteen post-meridian.”

The speaker, an Elro, reached out to gently close the eyelids of his former friend Brudhild. Brudhild did not stir.

“The Hero Brudhild Vyuskr. Deceased.”

The Elro and all joined their hands in solemn farewell, honoring the warrior who had given his life for the Alliance.

But one did not join the tribute.

“…”

Vyuskr could not tear his eyes away, speak, nor move from that sight.

Fwoosh—

The azure flames in his sockets winked out.

Shhhhhhhh—

The rain fell.

The pitiful skeleton slowly bowed his head, body going limp.

The darkness pouring from his hollow sockets resembled bloody tears, as if the skeleton itself wept bitter anguish.

Without a word, Doyun’s footsteps carried him further from his friend.

Shhhhhhhh—

The rain fell.