Chapter 97

Chapter 97

***

Belief. Belief in God. Belief in humans. And belief in oneself. Whatever it was, humans ultimately relied on belief to live.

And belief is always subject to being tested and shaken.

Ice, who had been subjected to brainwashing masquerading as education practically since birth, found it incredibly difficult to break free from those chain-like shackles.

What was true belief, and what was fake? Anxiety and doubt seemed to crawl through his mind like parasitic worms.

They had met at the academy. It had been awkward at first, but at some point, they began fighting back-to-back, and before they knew it, four years had passed sharing a peaceful everyday life.

It was only recently that they had overcome hardships and adversity together, sharing their joys and easing each other's sorrows.

Now, the tips of the swords Bori-bori and Ice aimed at one another trembled like aspen leaves. Were they truly going to strike? Could they really kill each other? Was this what they had honed their swordsmanship for?

It was a truly agonizing moment.

Then, the Cult priest spoke.

"To you, the things we do might seem horrifying and cruel. But do you know where it all came from? It was all the handiwork of that old monster, Court Count Kelbron."

"That's a lie."

Marie denied it. She didn't like her great-great-great-grandfather on her mother's side, but she didn't want him falsely accused either.

"He is over a hundred years old. He's been committing all sorts of atrocities since long before you were even born. But he stopped halfway through purely because it was inefficient. It cost a lot of money, and the results weren't as good as he expected. He didn't even care when we stole his techniques. He is terrifyingly indifferent to the things he discards. Avenge the late Emperor? That's all just an excuse."

His words were incredibly insidious. Even if they were true, bringing them up now was clearly intended to sow doubt and division. Just as one would expect from an expert in brainwashing, it was as if a demon were wagging its tongue.

Fortunately, neither Bori-bori nor Marie was the type to be swayed by such drivel. They hadn't come here out of loyalty in the first place. They were just here to do a job.

In the midst of this, Bori-bori and Ice faced off. Gripping his Ghost Sword with one hand, Bori-bori gritted his teeth and launched the first attack.

Putting his weight onto his left foot, his signature stroke-like attack sliced sharply from left to right. Ice retreated to dodge, but Bori-bori pursued, initiating his next stroke.

CLANG!

Black and white mana intertwined, mixing together like splashing paint.

Should he continue the stroke, or write a new character? Having seized the initiative, Bori-bori pressed forward boldly.

Just as soft and rough strokes vary depending on the calligraphy style, Bori-bori's attacks shifted from soft to rough, and rough to soft. The profundity didn't feel disjointed, but rather blended seamlessly—it was truly the work of a master.

But would such swordsmanship be advantageous when defending? Ice moved with extreme precision, as if measuring with a ruler.

He evaded while retreating, occasionally launching sharp counterattacks, and at one point, he ghosted right through Bori-bori's opening, taking advantage of his opponent's fixation on strokes and dots.

CLANG!

As Bori-bori stumbled back, Ice tightened his grip on the offensive, swinging his sword with lethal intent.

CLANG! CHAAAANG! SCREEEECH! WHOOSH!

The lightning-fast attacks were almost blinding, the black and white afterimages painting a picture in the empty air.

It was truly an evenly matched fight, but as Marie watched anxiously, she realized they weren't aiming for each other's vitals.

It was more akin to a sparring match with live steel than a duel to the death. As those feelings resonated with her, tears naturally streamed down Marie's face.

But the two who understood this better than anyone else were Bori-bori and Ice.

Did they really have to swing to kill? Really? Why did things have to be this way? Why did we have to do this?

Life and death. The desire to kill and the desire for the other to live. Standing on that boundary, Bori-bori roared.

"Snap out of it!"

CRACK-!

Ice's sword was cleanly severed and sent flying. With a clatter, the broken blade hit the floor.

Bori-bori's blade now overflowed with a black mana that seemingly resembled the universe itself.

Tragically, in this very moment, a new Sword Master had bloomed.

With his defeat clear, Ice dropped the broken hilt from his hand and closed his eyes. I lost. Yes, it's over now. It's a relief. A relief that I lost.

"Hah, hah, hah, hah..."

Only the final blow remained, but even Bori-bori couldn't bring himself to strike him down.

"Just snap out of it... please..."

Even after becoming a Sword Master, he felt zero joy. His face simply contorted as tears fell thick and fast. But then, Rickart's voice, whom everyone thought was asleep, rang out.

"What are you guys doing?"

Everyone present hurriedly turned to look at Rickart.

Using the sword he had taken from the enemy as a cane, Rickart had barely managed to stand. He stumbled over to Ice, pressed the sword into his hand, and smiled as he spoke.

"Didn't I tell you? Even if you abandon me, I won't abandon you. Is this the third time I'm saying this? You choose. Choose your God, or choose me. I won't resent you. Oh, by the way, killing yourself isn't an option. That's just running away. You know that, right?"

In this tragic moment, Rickart was the only one smiling. Seeing that face, Ice felt as though his heart was shattering into pieces.

Breaking free from brainwashing was incredibly arduous. Someone who hadn't experienced it couldn't possibly understand.

Breaking free from brainwashing was accompanied by agony akin to severing one's own limbs.

It required taking what one had believed in with an ironclad certainty, throwing it on the ground, and trampling all over it.

Ice squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, and gripped the hilt so tightly his hands shook violently. Yes, I'd much rather hack off my own limbs than kill Ricky.

Even if I condemn myself to eternal suffering, I cannot kill Ricky. The moment that resolve firmly set in, Ice opened his eyes and swung the sword with a sharp arc.

Watching nervously, Marie and Bori-bori flinched in surprise before noticing the Cult priest twitch violently. Then, his head slowly slid sideways off his shoulders.

Before they knew it, a snowflake-like white aura was glowing from Ice's sword. A beautiful afterimage, akin to fluttering white snow.

"See? I told you. If there is a God, he'd compensate you for all your suffering."

When Rickart repeated the joke he had made last time, Ice managed a tearful laugh.

Rickart was overcome with drowsiness, the wound on his side was far from healed, and with his lungs rapidly deteriorating, it was difficult to even remain standing.

So, he barely managed to stay upright by leaning on Ice's shoulder, until Marie and Bori-bori rushed over and supported him from both sides.

"You look terrible, but let's go right now. Let's finish this. If we take a nap first, that God or whatever might actually resurrect."

As they began walking down the massive corridor, Daisy, who had been watching anxiously from the corner the entire time, spoke up.

"If you go, you'll die..."

Rickart stopped briefly and looked back. Daisy sobbed as she spoke.

"You don't have to love me. But I don't want you to die, Ricky... You guys love Ricky, don't you? Then you have to save him..."

Rickart thought for a moment before speaking with absolute sincerity.

"What's the point of running away from what is meant to happen? We aren't that kind of people, Daisy."

Then, the four of them pressed forward together. Seeing this, Daisy prayed to God for the very first time. She prayed for forgiveness. She begged forgiveness for not believing all this time. So please, please spare Ricky's life.

Perhaps seeking to share his fate till the end, she stumbled after them.

Light became visible at the end of the grand corridor. It looked like the gates to Heaven. However, when they finally reached it, the reality was far from heavenly.

The sky was clear, and the sunlight was blinding. Atop a tall, square-pyramid structure, a dark, murky sword was embedded in the stone. Resentment and hatred clung to it in thick layers, almost like the bark of an old tree.

Scattered around the base were statues of people, dried and stiff. Wait, they weren't statues; were they actual people who had dried up and died?

And the Cult believers, whose whereabouts had been unknown—they were all here, furiously kowtowing toward the altar. Muttering over and over, 'Please close your eyes, please close your eyes.'

Nuns of Prophecy, draped in white wedding veils, were singing a monotonic aria. Their voices were so beautiful that simply listening to them evoked a sense of profound holiness.

However, a truly bizarre and horrific scene was simultaneously unfolding. Helauman and his following adventurers had already arrived. They were wandering around the area, casually running their weapons through the backs of the bowing Cultists.

Even with people being slaughtered right next to them, the believers simply continued to kowtow toward the altar. What in the world was going on here?

Rickart untangled himself from his friends' support and approached Helauman. Helauman widened his eyes in mild surprise upon seeing Rickart's group.

"Oh? You got here quite fast. Or should I say, as expected?"

"Your Excellency, this doesn't seem right."

"Hm? Which part? The operation was always total annihilation."

Rickart had nothing to say to that. Because, as Helauman pointed out, they had entered the operation already knowing that. He understood. They all had to die. But it was still incredibly difficult to accept.

"There are children here who haven't even learned how to speak yet."

"My dear Lord Rickart. It's precisely because of such complacent thinking that things ended up like this. If we hesitate, these cockroach-like creatures will just lay more eggs. Then we might have to kill even more later on. This is a time for decisiveness, not mercy."

"But this is a mess of your own making!"

Marie suddenly stepped forward, shouting. Her face was flushed bright red, and it looked as though something was boiling violently within her.

Helauman casually glanced at his great-great-great-granddaughter. As their eyes met, Marie trembled like an aspen leaf. But what needed to be said, had to be said.

"Snatching people up for experiments, manipulating things from the shadows, and then tossing them aside and ignoring them when things don't work out. That's why it came to this. You brought this upon yourself. You did it to me, too!"

"......And?"

Helauman responded with a completely emotionless expression. If he had scolded her or gotten angry, she might have been less taken aback, but his utter indifference left Marie speechless.

"I already calculated the costs ages ago. To produce a single Sword Master, you must gather and train a thousand talented children. Among them, roughly ten are true geniuses. You gather a thousand of those geniuses, and maybe, just maybe, one makes the cut. Do you really believe that's a realistic endeavor? Isn't it only natural to seek a more efficient method? If you take children of average aptitude and castrate their emotions, they can still produce the light from their blades. I simply didn't anticipate they would break down so completely. If they're broken, they're useless, aren't they? So I discarded them. Mad Dog Steiner was probably the last of them. Thank you for taking care of him, Lord Rickart. He was quite the headache."

It was hard to even fathom where or when his common sense had derailed—his way of thinking was just that alien. He was a monster who birthed other monsters.

Helauman turned back to Marie and spoke.

"Securing greater military power to protect the Empire. And to protect our family. Do you believe that is a bad thing? You're done whining now. You aren't needed at the moment, but you must learn to be an obedient dog as well. Martelia."

Marie stared with a look of utter devastation at the man who embodied terror itself, the very existence that crushed her spirit. Then, she realized something. As long as this man lived, she would never know freedom.

So she drew her sword.

"I'm sorry. Ricky."

As she drew her blade, Bori-bori and Ice drew theirs in unison. Violet, black, and white lights blazed brightly.

Seeing this, Helauman looked surprisingly intrigued, letting out a small 'Oh?' before breaking into a wide, childlike smile.

"It is a pity, but a dog that bites its master must be put down. I have never once broken that rule."

But right now, Rickart didn't have a sword. He only had a single dagger.

He was confident in his hand-to-hand combat skills, but he couldn't use them against that old man. Rickart was perfectly aware he would be killed before he even got close.

Furthermore, his body was a wreck. He was battling intense drowsiness, the wound on his side was far from healed, and his lungs were struggling more with every breath.

Amidst all this, Helauman smiled cruelly and drew his sword. That dense, deep blue light snaked along the blade. And without a moment's hesitation, he launched a preemptive strike.

He was single-handedly taking on three Sword Masters at once.

CLANG-! CHAAAANG! SCREEEECH!

Rickart, with a far better eye for combat than anyone else, immediately knew they couldn't win this fight.

Bori-bori, Ice, and Marie desperately tried to coordinate their attacks, but they were the ones being pushed back. The best they could manage was frantically interfering to prevent the others from being injured or killed.

It was almost unbelievable how strong one human being could be.

A duel to the death could end at any given moment. In the blink of an eye, a head flying off or limbs being severed was practically a joke. Let alone when it was between Sword Masters.

Rickart scanned the ground for a weapon, but naturally, there was nothing. Even if he wanted to borrow one from the other adventurers, they were watching from a safe distance far away.

With no other options, he threw himself at the altar. He had to do something. Though his body was in tatters, he pushed himself with every ounce of remaining strength, barely managing to pull himself up.

The malevolent energy accumulated around the sword over the long years descended upon Rickart, seeming to crush him from all sides. It wasn't just difficult to breathe; it was simply impossible. It felt like sinking into thick, viscous muddy water.

The closer he got to the sword, the more his skin felt as though it were being sliced open, and real blood began to flow from his pores.

Despite this, Rickart reached out and grasped the hilt. At that moment, a massive circular shadow began to block the sun from top to bottom.

Witnessing this, Daisy was struck by a profound shock and froze entirely. No way, it can't be!

Rickart's sudden, reckless action drew the eyes of the adventurers as well. The believers temporarily ceased their kowtowing and watched Rickart from their knees.

The sun was increasingly swallowed by the shadow. And then, at the moment when more than half was obscured, the world suddenly plunged into darkness. Only then did Helauman and the three pause their battle to look up at the altar.

Rickart stood exactly at the intersection of friendship and friendship, love and love, resentment and resentment.

Time itself seemed to stop, and within that frozen time, Rickart felt as though every sound in the world had been abruptly cut off. He couldn't even hear his own breathing or heartbeat.

In that pitch-black silence, someone spoke to him. It was the voice of the young boy tending sheep on the Haiden plains. The purest iteration of himself.

'I've waited a long time, Ricky.'

'For me?'

'Yeah. Are we going to excitedly chop some more people up?'

'Excitedly chop people up?'

'Why, you were having a blast. Killing people, I mean.'

'......There's no way.'

'Have you forgotten? You couldn't have unleashed that kind of talent unless you enjoyed it to some degree. You're a natural-born killer.'

'......'

'Just as people carelessly define you, judge you, and use you as an excuse, you do the exact same thing, Ricky.'

'What do you mean?'

'Hatred and anger. Those are just convenient excuses for you, aren't they?'

The truth, submerged in the deepest abyss—a truth even Rickart himself hadn't realized—was finally laid bare. The justification to kill people... he simply wanted it. It didn't truly matter if it was hatred or something else.

It was shameful, even agonizing. Yet, he could neither turn a blind eye to the truth confronting him nor run away from it.

'Not... anymore.'

'Why?'

'I learned things I didn't know back then.'

Rickart recalled his memories. The cherished memories of his childhood, the love of his family, the salvation brought by Nameless, the ascetic journey with the vampire, the camaraderie with his friends, and his lover. People.

He didn't need to put it into words; the feelings conveyed themselves directly.

'I see... You've met a lot of good people. I'm jealous. But you still kill sometimes, right?'

'If there is a reason to fight.'

'Alright. That's acceptable. You'll likely have plenty of reasons to fight anyway.'

The Ricky from his most innocent days answered with a sunny smile.

Rickart closed his eyes. Tears flowed freely. Whether from repentance, or simply sadness. Like a white mourning dress instead of black, like the morning sun rising upon a dawn of agony, a single, silent tear fell like a prayer.

At last, his past life and his present life were no longer two, but one. A wind blew within his body. It wasn't like water coursing through his veins, but merely wind. It effortlessly swept away the toxic rot accumulated in his lungs and blew his drowsiness far away.

Finally, the sun was completely eclipsed. It was broad daylight, yet the world was plunged into night. Rickart was entirely shrouded in pitch-black shadow, and a halo-like ring of radiant light flared from behind his head.

The bark-like layers of resentment clinging to the sword cracked and splintered. Golden flames erupted from within those fissures. They blazed brilliantly in the very center of the darkness created by the eclipse. He looked like a solitary star shining in the vast cosmos.

Rickart slowly extracted the sword that had been embedded for a century. As he did, the encrusted shells crumbled away.

He slowly opened his eyes. Golden flames blazed within them, too. He slowly turned his head and looked down from the altar; people of all kinds were staring up at him with identical blank expressions.

Daisy received an indescribable shock; her body trembled so violently she could barely stand. Oh my God, all I had to do was accept the prophecy exactly as it was! All I had to do was genuinely believe in God! All I had to do was submit!

A holy epiphany tore through Daisy's heart. Even though I foresaw the future, I actually saw nothing at all.

She finally realized the truth. She was destined to never be chosen until the very end. Because even though everything was shown to her, she refused to truly look.

Helauman felt a shiver of pure electricity. After pursuing the ultimate sword for over a century, he had finally witnessed it again. Behold. The one who sprints across the horizon of infinity.

He finally understood the true identity of the lingering sense of déjà vu he had always felt whenever he looked at Rickart. How it was possible didn't matter. Now, he could duel him.

As if completely possessed, he ascended the steps toward Rickart. Yet, the man hailed as the absolute strongest in the Empire appeared as nothing more than a faint firefly before the blazing sun.

He faced Rickart briefly before unleashing an ultimate, instantaneous strike imbued with the culmination of his life's martial arts.

However, Rickart's movements were neither slow nor fast, much like swimming through frozen time. Yet, the resolution was akin to a lightning strike.

CLOOOOONG-!

An alien sound, reminiscent of a tolling bell or a hammer striking an anvil, echoed through the darkness of the eclipse.

Preceding the sound, a single, straight line of golden light cleaved through Helauman. His sword shattered, and his body was split into two pieces like chopped firewood. An astonishing amount of blood and viscera instantly cascaded across the altar.

The onlookers felt as though their breath was ripped from their lungs by the sheer overwhelming display. It was almost understandable why they worshipped a mere human as a god.

Rickart slowly turned his head. It wasn't over yet. It was time to sever this cycle of evil. It was also time for the people to face the truth. The god they desired never existed from the start.

Or rather, while it wasn't exactly the method they desired, it was time for true judgment to be delivered.

Those who met his blazing eyes felt as though they would faint from that alone. But whether it was out of abject terror or sheer euphoria remained a mystery.

If one could cut down a person with anger and hatred, could one also cut down a person with a heart full of compassion? Perhaps that truly was a heart resembling God.

This was not a realm one could reach merely through training. It was, quite literally, a singular masterpiece forged by two intertwined destinies over the course of two lifetimes.

It was unknown by what criteria he judged them, but practically no one survived the temple.

And thus, the prophecies were all fulfilled. They had seen it, but they simply failed to truly see.

The sun, which had seemingly closed its eyes, slowly began to open them again. Its holy gaze shone down upon the blood-drenched sanctuary.