ALL NOVEL Chapter 491
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EP.491 A Path Continued from the Past (2)
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Born into a human body, yet never understood humans. Ever since that moment I was thrown into this world, opening my eyes and gasping for breath, it was always like this. It wasn’t just because it was a chaotic era. It must have just been the way I was born.
Acrita, they called me.
My parents gave me a name.
It had no special meaning. Like any other parents, it was a name wishing for a safe life. It was a simple wish, but considering the times, it was an incredibly heavy ambition.
Because it was a time of chaos.
Because it was a time of war.
War, struggle, slaughter… Living beings on this land chose the simplest means to prove the greatness of the gods they served. They became the weapons, arms, and legs of the gods, rushing across the continent.
It was a time of war, a time of chaos.
Countless transcendents floating in the sky.
The continent that split under the myriad meanings possessed by the many gods, and the countless races that lifted weapons to prove righteousness. Wars ignited, declaring each other heretics.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
Caught up in their struggle, Acrita lost her parents. They shed tears worrying about their child until their dying moments… but in the face of their death, Acrita merely bowed her head.
Acrita felt nothing from the blood they shed, the moisture they released, nothing at all.
Walking alone, Acrita watched the humans from a distance. She saw their struggles and sometimes fought alongside them. There were times she gained considerable fame. At some point, Acrita was called by the moniker ‘Heavenly Grace.’
A natural talent bestowed by the heavens. A blessing from heaven. With an expressionless face, she resembled a doll at first glance. One of the few talents among the wretched human race.
Despite the multitude of praises, Acrita’s expression never changed. Even when losing comrades, bleeding, or facing blame, Acrita remained impassive. She lived without any change of expression.
Because she couldn’t understand.
Because she couldn’t understand, she didn’t desire understanding.
Someday, I will die like them. Thinking such thoughts, Acrita simply wasted her life. Nothing could make her heart race, nothing brought her joy.
“You can kill me.”
What brought change to Acrita’s life was.
“You can kill me, but spare my subordinates. They are innocent. I beg like this. Do anything to me, but let these ones go…”
It was a meeting with a general.
The general was known to be an extraordinarily capable figure, said to be the right arm of some god, and at the same time, a proud man. He was famous for never bending his head, even before a god.
Yet he bowed his head before her.
Kneeling with his head buried in the mud, he begged. For his subordinates to be spared. A man who was proud until the moment of defeat became utterly humbled when his cherished subordinates were taken hostage.
A contradiction. A duality. A hidden true heart.
Acrita seized the general’s hair, lifting him to meet her gaze. In contrast to her colorless eyes, the general’s were sparkling with a variety of hues. That light didn’t merely signify color.
It was the colors of emotions. An array of colors shining with feelings that Acrita could never possess. The moment she faced it, she felt intrigued.
Wasn’t this proud general trembling before her? Wasn’t he gripped by fear? How could this general, who never uttered a scream under severe torture, behave this way over his subordinates?
“Bring her.”
No, no.
Acrita had a woman sit in front of the general. The general’s secretary, known to be his weakness. The moment their eyes met, the general’s gaze wavered. Acrita didn’t miss that wobble.
What mattered to the general wasn’t his subordinates. It was likely this woman mixed among the hostages.
He was merely trying to cover himself; if he could save this woman, he probably didn’t care about the rest. To drag out his concealed true intention, Acrita proposed to the general.
“Shall I kill all your subordinates and you, and save this woman?”
Or.
“Shall I kill this woman and save all your subordinates and you?”
Choose, Acrita whispered.
As a subordinate tried to raise their voice to argue that he had no such right, Acrita cut their throat. Before the splattered blood, Acrita’s eyes gleamed. In the silence of the barracks, she spoke.
“I will give you time to count.”
Dwindling time.
gulp. eyes darting. exhaled breath. When the sound starting from one reached nine, the general replied. Gritting his teeth and with a trembling gaze, he squeezed out his voice. He chose to save only the woman.
Acrita granted his wish.
Holding the general’s head, Acrita stepped outside the barracks. She slaughtered all the soldiers of the general’s special unit, the hostages. As the soldiers screamed, the general turned his gaze away. He merely swallowed hard above the field soaked in blood.
When she returned to the barracks.
Meeting the woman’s eyes, the general exhaled the breath he had been holding. While something went wrong, he seemed to carry the thought that it was over now. Watching that, Acrita lightly waved her hand.
whack.
Acrita severed the woman’s neck.
The instant the woman’s decapitated head tilted and fell before the general’s eyes, his eyes widened.
One second, two seconds, three seconds.
At first, it was his eyes. The wide-open eyes reddened. Then it was his mouth. The previously closed lips quivered, opened, and the moment they opened, a sound escaped. It was a scream. Screaming, he charged at Acrita.
Ah.
Ah.
Aaah, she exhaled.
For the first time, the corners of Acrita’s mouth moved.
What slipped between her lips was laughter. When the hidden true heart was drawn out, and her held conviction was trampled upon, as a human fell apart and screamed, Acrita listened closely.
Nothing was understandable.
But that scream.
That scream echoing the decay of a single human’s inner self made her heart race.
In Acrita’s eyes, it appeared more beautiful than any artwork. Because the general, who was once known for his indomitable spirit, was called a hero among his people, because his life shone… that scream all the more precious. It was sweet.
whack.
Acrita lightly swung her hand and severed the general’s neck. She preserved the twisted face of the general in death. Thus, the head of the general became her piece of art.
Holding only the head of the general she killed, that day Acrita left the army. She began collecting pieces of art across the world. Initially, it was someone’s head, then it became someone’s body, and next, it turned into someone’s life.
What stopped Acrita, who stole heads, stole bodies, and stole lives, was a certain woman. A woman with emerald eyes and white hair.
“You.”
Regulation.
“You’ve really gone crazy, haven’t you?”
Gletus of Regulation.
At the pinnacle of the tower, recalling the past, Acrita slowly opened her eyes.
“······.”
As she opened her eyes, the Braver smiled.
Remembering the memories contained in her true form. Biting down on memories from so long ago, she exhaled deeply.
“Hoo···.”
The Braver rested his chin on his palm, looking at his collection. The huge cavern was filled with the bodies of heroes who had enjoyed a past era. Preserved heroes. Those figures were records of the life the Braver had lived.
Stolen fragments of a life.
The Braver lived through their bodies, their lives.
He proposed two choices to them and watched as they agonized between the forks in the road. While they struggled on paths leading only to ruin, the Braver felt alive.
Nothing else brought her joy.
Only the moment when a human life shattered, the moment when their existence crumbled, made the Braver truly feel alive.
“But it’s not like the old days.”
However, it’s not like the old days.
Gazing at those gathered here, the Braver clicked his tongue. Truly not like the old days. He sighed deeply, recalling the past.
In the ancient era. The humans who fought among numerous gods shone brilliantly. There were so many shining beings that just taking a step resulted in a world full of artwork.
“I had some peace for a while, but···.”
What was it like in the ancient times?
Even during the age of the calamity he had forged, when the Master of the Demon Lord covered the world, countless heroes were still born. It’s regrettable that he couldn’t collect the brightest heroes… but even in this era, artworks surely existed.
But what about the present era?
It is so overly peaceful. There are far too few trials for a brilliant hero to emerge. Let alone the Demon Lord, who is about to fall soon, isn’t it? Trials are needed. Greater tribulations, chaos, and a troubled world for the birth of heroes are essential.
So, doesn’t that mean I must return?
The chaotic era in which I was born, must be bestowed upon this land once again.
“And if that happens… ”
The Braver smiled slyly.
“You too will scream.”
Acrita’s eyes gazed far away. Beyond the horizon, farther still… to a separate nation existing just outside the world. Looking towards the land of the Ancient Dragons, the Braver smiled.
Yormun van Dragonik.
The mage who lost the woman he had dedicated everything to protect. Yet, he clung obsessively to the regulations left by her, without despair.
“If the regulations break, if everything she left behind is shattered… you too will scream.”
The screams of the Ancient Dragons, festered over millennia, would surely be beautiful. It could become the most beautiful piece of art. The Braver exhaled deeply, knowing that time was approaching.
A presence was felt in the wilderness.
Raniel van Trias, the blades honed to confront him, arrived in the wilderness. Sensing their presence, the Braver slowly rose from his seat.
swish.
As the Braver moved, shadows shifted. The shadows engulfed the cavern, slithering into the preserved faces of the screaming beings. Then, they jerked.
The corpses began to move.
The sight of the moving corpses isn’t grotesque. They don’t creak like the corpses raised by necromancers. They move gracefully, neatly, with no wasted motion. As if their living forms were perfectly preserved.
The Braver pointed towards the wilderness outside the tower.
The heroes from the past began moving towards the wilderness. whoosh, weapons made of shadows were drawn from their waists. Some were bows, some were spears, and others were swords.
thud, thud, thud.
As the hundreds of corpses moved, shaking the ground, the Braver smiled. They were the records of the life he lived. They were the countless artworks he had collected. Leaving behind those moving outside the tower, the Braver turned back.
“Skebal, it seems guests have arrived.”
【■■, ■■■■■■. ■■■■■■■■■.】
“Got it, got it. This friend.”
The Braver pretended to plug his ears. Tapping lightly at his ears, he walked deeper into the tower. Moving forward, the Braver smiled.
In a place where death is silent, Gehete.
Suddenly stopping her steps in the expansive wilderness, Raniel stroked her chin. Hmm, as if something was nagging at her.
“Hey, Kyle.”
“What?”
“What do you think?”
With her eyes half-open, Raniel shot a sidelong glance at Kyle.
“So how did you wake up? I forgot to ask earlier when we were talking. What happened to wake you up?”
The topic of conversation took a turn, causing her to forget to ask for the explanation. Kyle seemed to realize it too and sighed softly.
“I forgot to explain.”
Kyle answered briefly.
“The Apostle of the Goddess of Ashes awakened me.”
“… What?”
As Raniel blinked in surprise, Kyle added.
“The second Apostle of the Goddess of Ashes, Destel.”