Chapter 113

Chapter 113
Chapter: 113

Chapter Title: Judgment of Atala (16)

—

A fragmented, hazy memory drifted through the mind of the Wilderness Shamaness.

The sun was blinding.

It was a radiance so intense it felt overwhelming. The golden ring of light expanded slowly, its heat brushing against her skin with a soft touch, while a deep scarlet hue permeated her closed eyelids. Her heart pounded with a restless, childish energy, aching with the realization that she could not hold this brilliance within her sight forever.

That glare represented the final sunrise she would witness in her mortal life.

“…….”

She stared until flickering spots danced across her field of vision like spilled marbles, only then forcing herself to look away.

At her feet sat heavy slabs of stone carved with ancient runes. Beside her stood the companions who shared her grim destination—youthful Wilderness Shamanesses whose features still carried the softness of childhood. Across the vast lands, ninety-five of their sisters had already been entombed within various ruins. Now, a mere five remained, including herself.

And leading them was the preeminent figure of all the Wilderness Shamanesses.

She was a woman whose eyes were clouded and dark, yet who perceived truths far beyond the reach of the sighted. She was the legendary protector who had fought alongside Atala’s Great Warrior to bring the archdemon low. It was she who had conceived and orchestrated the grand strategy to wait for the Great Warrior’s eventual return.

The Blind-eyed Shamaness, Cyril.

Her hair was a pale silk that reached her waist, glowing with the luster of platinum under the sun’s touch. Though a tattered cloth covered the upper half of her face, her ethereal presence and regal grace remained striking. The grueling journey of the past days had left her face thin and weary, but…

Cyril moved toward the shamaness with a step that betrayed no exhaustion, her tone gentle and kind.

“…You are shaking quite violently, aren’t you?”

The shamaness was aware that Cyril could not actually see her, yet she instinctively shook her head in denial.

“I am not. In truth… I feel joy. I am finally able to join my fallen sisters in this holy endeavor.”

Cyril’s mouth thinned into a line of sorrowful irony.

“I am truly sorry… for forcing such a crushing weight upon your shoulders. The path ahead will be grueling—filled with agony. Yet you must persist for centuries, for millennia, for ages beyond counting… without end. He is destined to return, so do not let your spirit break. If the burden becomes unbearable, use my name as a curse, and hate me as much as you need to…”

“…That shall never occur. Have no fear, Blind-eyed Shamaness. You are well aware of my title.”

She was known as the ‘Shamaness of Endurance’—a name won by her ability to survive boredom and pain that would have broken anyone else many times over. In many ways, this specific fate felt as though it had been crafted specifically for her.

A tiny, subtle smile touched the corner of Cyril’s lips.

“It is true. Because of that… after we spoke together yesterday, the others and I decided to give the ‘Engraving Needle’ to you—along with some objects of immense importance.”

Cyril made a slight motion with her hand in the empty air. A soft gust of wind swirled, and suddenly, a relic shaped like a gnarled root and a pitch-black axe materialized before them.

The shamaness’s eyes grew wide with shock.

“B-Blind-eyed Shamaness…? What are these…?”

Cyril offered a concise explanation.

The item on the left was the ‘Root of the Wilderness’—a relic of extreme peril. It was to be kept under a powerful seal and protected from all seekers. The item on the right was ‘Judgment of Atala’. The Great Warrior would undoubtedly come looking for it when he walked the earth again, so she was to guard it faithfully and return it to him when that day arrived.

The shamaness could only blink in stunned confusion.

“Why… why give such crucial treasures to me? Would it not be wiser for you, the Blind-eyed Shamaness, to keep them in your own care…?”

“…….”

The woman who had walked through an eternal night since the loss of her vision gave a peaceful smile. In that expression, the shamaness saw a holiness that defied description, a deep and permanent longing, and a quiet, prepared acceptance—like a shroud readied for a funeral.

It was the look of someone whose time was nearly spent…

“From where do we emerge, and to where do we depart…? Is there any riddle that haunts the living more? The traditions of the Wilderness claim that our fighters and shamanesses find a heaven of constant combat and celebration after death. Yet, during those endless nights in the abyss of the demon realm, where we were surrounded by total darkness, the Great Warrior and the rest of us would often say…”

“…….”

“‘Someday, in a meadow where the sun never goes down, we shall meet once more, wearing smiles like the moon.'”

“…….”

“…Even if some among us finish the path before the rest.”

The shamaness felt her spirit sink. Cyril turned her sightless face toward the distant sun.

“A heaven shared with the Father of the Wilderness is a fine thought… but a place where every person we long for is gathered would be quite beautiful as well, wouldn’t it? In the distant future, when your task is finally complete, if you could find your way there so we can be together again… that would be a wonderful thing, ■■■…”

Static began to tear through the audio of the memory. Like the brittle pages of an ancient book falling to pieces, bits of the recollection stripped away, and her consciousness was forced back to the present reality.

“…Gasp.”

Opening her eyes once more, the shamaness found herself looking at Atala’s Great Warrior across the span of eons.

Rumble…

The final stone colossus crumbled. The spectral images of the ruins dissolved into nothingness. Kadim pulled back his celestial energy and walked toward the shamaness. She was a broken mess, looking like a shattered relic from a forgotten age.

“…….”

A sharp glint of light sparked from beneath her dusty waistline. It was the ‘Engraving Needle’—unquestionably a tool of Cyril’s making. Kadim snatched it up immediately and thrust it into his metal flask.

The needle’s point, saturated with blood and pulsing with a hot red glow, was driven into his right side. The vital energy surging from his own body began to take a defined shape. This blood was more potent and aggressive than anything he had felt before—it writhed violently, sending waves of dizziness through his brain and dulling his nerves with every pulse.

However, the trial was brief. He waited with discipline until the form became steady.

Kadim had successfully etched ‘Pebylatus’s Tattoo’ into his skin without needing the shamaness to guide the tool.

“Hoo…”

It was a hard-won triumph.

He now possessed the ability to return his physical form to the state of his first life without any limit on how often he could do so. Furthermore, by drawing upon his divine power, he gained protection against the berserk madness, permitting him to use the ‘first-playthrough strength’ without the danger of losing control—at least for a certain duration.

Naturally, this did not mean he was entirely free from the threat of the frenzy.

The use of divine power carried a heavy toll. Using it for too long would inevitably cause his physical frame to give out. Moreover, the negative impacts intensified at an accelerating rate, necessitating long periods of rest for his body to recover. In simpler terms, he could not keep it active forever to maintain constant safety.

If his divine power alone were enough to completely master the berserk frenzy, his first life would not have been so filled with misery.

‘Regardless…’

He had gained a way to restrain the madness and a level of power that was beyond comparison. It was enough to easily dismantle even significant high demons.

Yet, his internal development was even more striking than the physical upgrades. By accepting his identity as a warrior and taking responsibility for all his past actions, he had sliced through his inner turmoil. He would no longer hide from his history, struggle to call forth his power, or be distracted by trivial reminders of his past life.

Not in this realm—not until he finished his final mission of war.

“…Gasp.”

The shamaness, who appeared to have passed away, let out a breath. Kadim moved closer. A weak, rasping voice, drained of its previous malice, spoke to him.

“Cough… It truly is you, Great Warrior… Heh heh… Such incredible divine energy… I have never seen its like… It seems even the heavens of Atala had… a valid reason for your departure…”

“You were slow to realize it.”

“So it seems… heh heh. I never imagined our meeting after so long… would happen this way… Cough, cough… I don’t know how I can… ever look the Blind-eyed Shamaness in the face…”

“…….”

“Regardless… I offer no defense… I was consumed by my own hunger for power and my delusions… My judgment was flawed. I offer my deepest… apologies for the crimes of this withered body…”

“The time for apologies was before you summoned those stone monsters and acted like a child.”

Thud—!

“…Keurk!”

Kadim’s foot slammed down, pinning the shamaness to the ground. Her ribs snapped, and her chest collapsed inward. He looked down at her pained expression with a cold gaze, then slowly eased the pressure and sat down in front of her.

“If your regret is genuine, give me the truth. Did Cyril leave ‘Judgment of Atala’ in your care? Did you hand it over to Agon’s Furious Horn? And are you the reason this territory became a desert?”

“Cough, cough… Hoo… Yes, all of it… is the truth…”

Struggling for air on the edge of death, the shamaness admitted to everything, her answers woven together with the history of what had happened. As the story unfolded, Kadim’s expression grew increasingly grim.

“Then… what happened to Cyril? Did she enter a seal after giving you those items?”

“The Blind-eyed Shamaness… likely not… She seemed… to have already decided to embrace her end. Though I shouldn’t guess… the chances that she stayed in this world… are very low…”

“…….”

Kadim squeezed his eyes shut.

He had suspected that might be the case, and yet the suffocating weight of his emotions would not subside. His right hand was balled into a fist, while his left—fingers mangled—shook uncontrollably. Finally, he regained his composure and spoke.

“…I understand. One final inquiry. Why did you label me the ‘source of calamity’?”

The shamaness trembled, her shoulders bunching up in distress, before she finally gave her confession.

“Visions… terrible… dark omens. I saw your body splitting open… a monstrous disaster erupting from within… That is what I witnessed. Did you… trap something inside your own frame… during the time you were gone?”

“…….”

Kadim rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Initially, it sounded like nonsense. But a memory began to surface. He remembered the sight when he had killed the high demon Pebylatus and succumbed to the madness—a silhouette even darker than the demon’s own lifeblood, rising from a void.

However, its true identity remained a mystery. Trap something while away? His second life had begun immediately after the first. It didn’t make sense. He pushed for more information, but the shamaness was just as ignorant as he was. He had come looking for clarity, but had only found more puzzles.

Even so, he had learned all he could from her.

She would succumb to her injuries shortly, but the Great Warrior did not intend to let her die that way. He stood up to carry out the sentence himself.

“Tell me your name.”

“…….”

“Your crimes are enough to earn the destruction of your very soul. But in recognition of the suffering you endured during your long vigil, I will at least carry your name with me.”

Her dry, cracked lips twisted into a sad smirk.

“This old frame… has wandered for so long… that I have forgotten my own name… But I beg of you… one last favor…?”

“No.”

There was a limit to how much mercy he would show. The black axe was raised without pity. Using her mangled arms, the shamaness desperately dragged herself upward.

“Pl-Please! Spare Goltaran! Only Agon’s Furious Horn! If a sword is used for evil… punish the hand that wields it… The blade itself, moved only by its master’s command, bears no guilt!”

Kadim’s brow furrowed in deep annoyance.

“…That is ridiculous. Is Agon’s Furious Horn some mindless tool that cannot think for itself?”

“Y-Yes, precisely! He is nothing more than a simpleton tricked by my own schemes! He was desperate to stay alive, to protect his hunted people, and he mistook me for the real Great Warrior—he is just a weak, dim-witted fool!”

“…….”

“The blame rests solely with me… I will take every strike, I will throw myself into the deepest pits of the afterlife with a smile. Just please, let Goltaran live, only Goltaran… Cough, cough, cough…”

Kadim’s face became as hard as a stone wall. After a moment of quiet thought, he shoved the edge of the axe right in front of her face and tilted his head—a silent instruction to show her commitment through her own hands.

The shamaness did not argue. She did not cry out. She simply looked one last time at Goltaran’s face, a small smile appearing on her lips.

‘Someday… in the meadow… smiling… let us meet…’

Muttering her quiet parting words, she drove her head into the sharp edge of the axe without a second thought.

Splurch—!

The withered flesh tore, and her skull cracked like rotted wood. The impact was so violent that it split her from the top of her head down her spine. The body, which had survived for centuries, turned to fine dust and blew away in the wind.

Hummm…

Kadim’s lips twitched slightly. But quickly, showing no outward feeling, he brushed the bits of dry skin and bone from his weapon. He then turned his attention to Agon’s Furious Horn—Goltaran.

The man was still unconscious, completely unaware of his surroundings.

The frenzy had left him long ago, and his injuries were almost entirely closed. It was as if he had been treated with powerful medicines while he slept. Kadim looked down coldly at the pretender lying peacefully in the middle of the wreckage.

The shamaness had proven she was willing to die to protect him. However, Kadim had not yet decided his fate. In truth, her sacrifice provided just enough reason to stop and think.

As he pondered, a rule he had lived by for a long time came back to him.

Never leave a threat behind to grow.

Companions, names, rank, respect, weapons… When ‘Agon’s Furious Horn’ woke up to find he had lost everything, would he simply accept it without a thirst for revenge?

“…….”

Kadim made his choice.

Crack—thud!

The edge of the axe came down hard, splitting the skull of the fake Great Warrior.