Chapter 479: A Far Away Tale. The Mage of the Military State

The Fallen Comet.

The greatest genius ever born of the Military State.

Despite the lofty titles piled upon him, Erzsebet felt only indifference.

The reason was simple: she had never heard the name Lankart before.

“I don’t recall such a name. Some local notable, perhaps? Forgive me, but I don’t bother to remember the worthless.”

Even if he was a “historic genius” from a country only thirty years old, what was that compared to the humanity Erzsebet had witnessed?

Power and authority were forged in history, and a mere regional figure was beneath her notice.

Someone like her, who appeared even in history books, had no reason to remember some fleeting mage.

Lankart, ignored to his face, looked more incredulous than angry.

“Worthless? Are you talking about me?”

“Of course. Mages may believe themselves special, but you’re just another one of the rabble underfoot. How laughable, the way you think so highly of yourself.”

Arrogant words, but an Elder had the right to utter such words.

Erzsebet mocked the conceited mage, yet Lankart only tilted his head and asked.

“And yet you’re just a ‘Right-Hander,’ bending to the Progenitor’s will, aren’t you?”

Right-Hander?

Erzsebet frowned at the unfamiliar title.

True, she was right-handed, even now, she held her fan in her right hand.

But he clearly didn’t mean it literally.

“What does ‘Right-Hander’ mean?” she asked.

“The trend. The flow. The mood. Or power. Whatever you call it, you’re on the side that follows. Whether you were born a right-hander or made into one, it doesn’t matter.”

Nonsense.

But then, mages were eccentrics who delved into their own worlds.

She had no need to understand his rabbling.

She decided she would kill him and extended her right hand, the blood-red fan touching his Unique Magic.

At that moment, a memory surfaced.

She had once been a noblewoman.

Nobles were expected to master proper etiquette and conduct.

Parents even hired tutors to ensure their children were trained strictly.

“Erzsebet, you are perfect.”

“There’s nothing left to teach you.”

“If only my children could match even half of you…”

She had been the model student.

Praised and envied by all.

Among them were left-handers.

“How many times must I tell you not to use that wrong hand!”

“Perhaps we should bind it altogether!”

Students who clumsily used the wrong hand, unable to keep pace.

From the start, they were broken.

But you couldn’t live life left-handed.

At the table, you’d clash with right-handers.

Reading and writing became awkward.

Above all, being different was itself a flaw.

Better to correct them and present them properly to the world.

And so, one by one, left-handers vanished, replaced by manufactured right-handers.

Erzsebet pitied and despised them from her place far ahead.

She had always been a right-hander.

She had ridden the flow, taken the lead, and proudly enjoyed its benefits.

“In a world you’ll never understand, the world turns right.”

As she recalled the past, his voice whispered in her ear.

“The bungling sage’s cosmos. The sapling that grew into the Tree of Corruption. Or just the masses of right-handed humanity. They all set the ‘right’ as superior and forced everything to turn that way. Why? Because it’s better? No. Right and left are the same, only their direction differs.”

“Presumptuous livestock…”

Within Lankart’s Unique Magic, blood and wind whirled.

Erzsebet hurled her blood against it, trying to consume him in the storm.

“And yet, why did left vanish and only right remain? The answer is simple.”

Even as an Elder sought her life, even as blood sought to devour him, Lankart calmly continued.

“Because there are more right-handers.”

Erzsebet’s body slammed into the windmill wall.

A curving torrent of blood smashed a side of the windmill to rubble.

The structure collapsed as its supports gave way, gears falling toward Lankart’s head.

And still, he remained unperturbed.

“Right and left collide and erase each other. Over long ages, pairing off and vanishing, only the right-handers remain. Why? Because they’re the majority. Survival of the fittest. Even ‘nature,’ so grand, is only the survival of rules that endured.”

Crash, crash, crash

The falling wreckage veered away from him.

The storm shielded him from every assault.

Clutching his right hand, Lankart looked down at her.

“My Unique Magic, the Right-Handed World, destroys and erases all that is left. The vortex is merely the result. In the Right-Handed World, I am a god. Mere followers of the flow like you can’t even touch my hem.”

He mocked her as a coward who clung to the strong.

It cut so deeply her pride burned.

Erzsebet spread her blood once more and shouted:

“You flaunt yourself with a single Unique Magic! Let’s see if you can still prattle once you’re drowned head to toe in blood!”

She snapped her fan shut, twisting it in both hands.

Blood poured forth like wrung from a cloth.

If she couldn’t strike him, she would flood the space itself.

Lankart clucked his tongue at the rising tide.

“Tch. I explained kindly because you’re an Elder, but… You’re outdated, unwilling even to try to understand. That’s why fools are hopeless. An fool is still a fool, even if you are an Elder. No, worse. An undying fool, unfit for survival.”

Against a mage with an absolute Image, only two tactics worked: surprise, or overwhelming force.

Historically, most mages died to surprise.

Elders, though, had the overwhelming power to kill them.

Erzsebet, with her overflowing blood, was among the few who could, save perhaps Valdamir or Muri.

The only problem: her opponent was no ordinary mage.

“Unacceptable. Fool.”

At last, Lankart moved.

One light yet heavy step toward her.

His Unique Magic centered on himself: he was the vortex’s core, the eye of the storm.

And now the eye turned on her.

｢How generous, to approach on his own.｣

Erzsebet thrust out her hand.

As a vampire with the strongest Bloodcraft, she could crush a frail mage with a touch.

If she could touch him, that is.

Crack.

Her arm bent unnaturally.

Within the storm’s eye, his vortex was at its strongest.

“There’s no point talking to relics of the past. Go fetch your Progenitor. Since I’ve come this far, I might as well see the face of the new Divine.”

“You—!”

Every force aimed at him missed.

Conversely, when he moved toward something, he could make it deflect itself, even an Elder.

He didn’t strike her.

He merely feigned throwing her with an invisible hand.

But his Unique Magic made illusion reality.

His storm swept her away.

“Giant’s Right Arm.”

Erzsebet and her blood were hurled skyward, more a launch than a flight.

The storm’s peak had come to her, leaving no time to respond.

In an instant, she vanished, a crimson cloud on the horizon.

Lankart watched her disappear from the ruins of the windmill.

“It’ll be a while before she makes it back. Now then, shall we talk, just the two of us?”

Despite having repelled an Elder alone, Lankart turned with little interest.

“Where is Huey?”