The Ancestors’ Tomb (4)
The sanctuary trembled violently, and fragments of the shattered stone sarcophagus began to float in the air.
The purple specters that had been crushed by Dalen’s hand were now reforming at the spot where they first appeared.
“The chieftain’s domain is truly something else,” Dalen mused, watching the shamanic specters begin their incantations as soon as they were summoned.
The domain of the High Orc chieftain had always been about one thing: reviving the power of the departed ancestors.
Since the ancient wars, over a hundred High Orcs had taken the mantle of chieftain and passed on. Each one, when passing their domain to the next candidate, would leave a part of their power behind.
Thus, the chieftain’s domain, inherited over millennia, was a tapestry of diverse abilities and potential, as varied as the number of ancestors themselves.
In its original form, it would have been nearly impossible for Dalen to resist.
Of course, with a demon now occupying the chieftain’s body, it was only a shadow of its former self.
“Impressive tricks! But the outcome remains unchanged! From the moment you set foot here, my victory was assured!” the demon declared, recovering from its initial shock. Dalen couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh.
He knew exactly what the demon was aiming for.
This underground hall, where dozens of ancestors were buried, was the place where the chieftain’s domain was at its strongest. The demon intended to exploit this to the fullest, buying time.
The idea of completely stealing the legacy built by the High Orc ancestors over thousands of years in just a few months was absurd.
The specters’ actions were full of flaws, and their spells and swordsmanship were less than half as powerful as they should have been—clear evidence of the demon’s limitations.
The Grand Duke of the Corpse Swamp must have known this would happen, which is why he chose this place as the battlefield.
This sanctuary was the last bastion where the chieftain made his final stand during the great invasion of the evil gods.
It was a place that granted the chieftain regeneration rivaling that of a demon’s true form and allowed the endless resummoning of specters.
Even if the domain’s power wasn’t fully realized, the demon believed it could overcome with the sanctuary’s mysteries and the domain’s synergy.
And it wasn’t entirely wrong.
“It was a fight set up to favor him from the start. If things went south, he planned to drag it out into a war of attrition to wear me down.”
The Grand Duke of the Corpse Swamp, Ztanc, the Deceiver of Pale Flames.
Among the demons who knew nothing but fighting, he was one of the few who could use his head.
His scheme began with ambushing the chieftain’s council, causing casualties, and inciting the High Orcs’ thirst for revenge, drawing the entire leadership here.
He hadn’t anticipated being caught by Dalen, but even that seemed to be part of his plan, revealing part of his identity to ensure it.
To avenge the fallen chieftains and rescue the demon-possessed chieftain, he had rallied whatever forces he could muster.
“Hoo.”
As these thoughts swirled, a deep-seated something began to rise within him again.
Feeling the vibrations from beneath his feet, Dalen took a deep breath.
The knot in his chest from the start of the battle was still there.
Wasn’t this enough?
How much longer did he have to endure this grueling ordeal?
It was a cry from deep within, one he had constantly ignored in pursuit of survival and return.
“Accept yourself as you are.”
Felber’s advice suddenly came to mind.
He was beginning to understand why the old man had said those words.
“I had the qualifications from the start.”
If the first condition of a grand domain was the ability to twist existing imagery to its limits…
And if, as the demon had hinted, glimpsing fragments of the future was the second qualification…
The hundreds of endings he had witnessed through the monitor, now indistinguishable from reality, had already granted him enough qualification.
Seeing the ever-changing face and the witch’s battle, and immediately opening his domain, was no coincidence.
“Was I missing the simplest final piece all along?”
A transcendent of the fifth rank who achieved a grand domain.
What was most needed to overlay one’s world onto the existing reality?
The expanded power of the domain, capable of twisting and accommodating existing imagery, and the knowledge expanded by glimpsing timelines were secondary issues.
What was needed first was conviction in the imagery one claimed.
If he couldn’t affirm that the world he created was right enough to cover this reality…
Who else could make that affirmation for him?
Sss…
He lifted his foot.
Even that simple act sent waves of colorless energy rippling through the area.
Scenes flashed through his mind like a revolving lantern.
The first time he opened his eyes in a snow-covered mountain cabin.
The first time he killed someone after receiving his novice mercenary badge.
Watching helplessly as the body of his first comrade grew cold, and writing letters to himself in the wagon, longing for the past despite being worn out.
Gathering all the resentment he had to accumulate to survive, he took the next step as if vomiting it all out.
Boom―!
The third step.
The tremors from deep underground intensified uncontrollably.
Part of his inward gaze had been fixed on a part of the snow-covered mountain beyond the imagery for some time.
[Leap (E)]
A technique to leap high with a single step. A simple motion, yet it embodies the comprehensive application of strength and skill.
Mastery 100%
Using the skill he had recovered after defeating one of the silver-masked apostles in the labyrinth city as a foundation.
[Stance (Unique)]
A unique skill that had evolved against the swamp’s vengeful spirits, bringing greater mobility and utility to his imagery.
Watching the waterfall of rocks and pebbles defy gravity, flowing over a cliff in the corner of the snow-covered mountain.
He pulled that phenomenon, as if gravity had been reversed, directly onto the reality before him.
“An Upward Waterfall”
“Reversal”
Crack―
The ceiling twisted bizarrely. The walls and floor of the hall undulated like waves.
The remaining sarcophagi were uprooted, flying up to crash into the ceiling, while the earth beneath the stone floor erupted like a spring.
“You’re overturning the terrain? Even without a full release, how can the imagery be this vast…?”
The demon couldn’t hide its bewilderment as its body began to float.
[Oh… So you’re overturning the board itself since it was set up to favor the opponent.]
Ignoring the murmurs of the ancient dragon awakened by the vibration of the imagery, Dalen looked up at the ceiling.
Crack! Crash! Crack!
The dome-shaped ceiling, pushed upward, began to tear apart.
Like a bird breaking out of its shell, cracks of pure white light split open, revealing gaps.
At the end of it all.
Boom―!
The entire hall was torn from the ground, and the clear sky filled his vision.
A crimson spray filled his vision.
With a choking sensation, Tarum screamed.
“Aaaah!”
The overwhelming scent of blood, salty and metallic.
For Tarum, the chieftain’s heir and a skilled warrior, it was a familiar smell and taste.
But seeing the massive shoulder and upper arm muscles, which he should have had to turn his head to see, flailing right in front of him was not something he was used to.
As Tarum staggered back, the guardian who had twisted and severed his left arm tossed it aside like garbage.
“Guh, huh…”
Panting, he steadied his sword. Beyond the trembling blade, he saw the large, dark-skinned High Orc.
That was probably the ninety-somethingth chieftain, if he recalled correctly.
From the hazy history he had studied in his youth, he remembered a warrior who had beaten a demon hiding in the mountains with his bare hands.
A warrior who had been formidable in life had become a guardian in death, meant to protect the chieftain. And that guardian would have protected Tarum when he became chieftain.
But now, it was the opposite. That warrior had already killed two chieftains and was now trying to kill the chieftain’s heir who had come to save them.
All under the orders of the current chieftain, or rather, the demon controlling the chieftain’s body.
Swoosh―!
The guardian swung its sword. Tarum leaped back.
The guardian’s sword followed him like a living serpent. Even without any sorcery or supernatural power, it moved with such precision.
He swung his sword with his remaining arm to block, but the guardian’s sword didn’t stop; it sliced his sword in half.
Slash!
The guardian’s sword, still powerful after breaking his weapon, tore deeply into his shoulder.
The sword came at him again, this time with a trajectory and speed he couldn’t avoid.
Tarum stared unflinchingly at the sword approaching him. A true warrior never turns away from the moment of death.
“Do not…”
He began to speak. His final words had long been decided.
Words passed down to him when he inherited the power of the realm, spoken by the previous chieftain. Words that the first chieftain, the great ancestor of the High Orcs, had left for his descendants.
“Do not falter! Fight to the end! High Orcs fight freely!”
As he expelled the last of the air from his lungs, his limbs went limp. He had released the breath and strength he had saved for this final moment, just as he had been trained.
The sword’s edge was now mere inches from his throat, its gleaming tip poised to pierce—
─────!
The world flipped upside down.
Instinctively, Tarum rolled several times, regaining his stance. In his only hand, he found a spear, though he had no idea whose it was.
He must have grabbed it without realizing. But that wasn’t the important part.
BOOM!
His ears, momentarily deafened, quickly recovered as a deafening roar assaulted his eardrums. Before he could summon his magic to protect himself, the sight before him left him speechless.
A massive basin surrounded by cliffs. At its center stood the sanctuary of the High Orcs.
The ancient stone structure, said to have been built over two thousand years ago, was erupting skyward in fragments, as if a volcano had exploded.
‘What is this…?’
Was it a hidden defense mechanism of the sanctuary? Or the demonic power that had consumed the chieftain?
If it were the former, it made no sense to destroy the sanctuary itself. If the latter, it would only undermine the authority and power the chieftain had gained.
Amidst the rising debris, two figures emerged.
One was a High Orc covered in white tattoos. The other was a human, his armor torn in places.
The High Orc leapt between the floating debris, evading the human, who left ripples in the air as he scattered fire and ice.
‘The chieftain… and Dalen?’
Even from a distance, Tarum could tell who they were. The battle didn’t last long.
Dalen, kicking through the air, caught up to the chieftain and drove a holy sword into his tattooed chest.
At the same time, a bolt of lightning struck from the clear sky, piercing a massive hole through the chieftain’s chest where the sword had landed.
Rumble…
”…”
The delayed sound of thunder rolled in. In its low rumble, images of the shattered sanctuary, the fallen chieftain, and the defeated kin flashed through Tarum’s mind.
Overwhelmed by a mix of emotions, Tarum collapsed to the ground. He turned to look at the guardian who had been trying to kill him just moments before.
”…”
With the sanctuary destroyed, the guardian had ceased to function. Only the preservation spell remained, keeping its form intact for now.
With the source of its power obliterated, it wouldn’t be long before the spell’s energy ran out and even that form crumbled to dust.
The sanctuary’s guardian was a significant asset to the High Orcs, so they would need to create a temporary sanctuary and summon shamans to revive it.
As the newly appointed chieftain, thrust into the role by the previous chieftain’s death, Tarum’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts.
First, he needed to heal his severed arm. Then, tend to his injured comrades. The rest could wait.
At that moment—
Whoosh!
Out of nowhere, a blue flame erupted in the air, consuming the lifeless body of the guardian.