Atonement (3)
The Hunter’s Cabin.
The place where you first open your eyes when starting a new game.
Perched midway up a snow-covered mountain, this cabin was a randomly generated starting point that could appear anywhere across the continent with each playthrough.
In essence, as long as there was a snow-capped peak, you could end up anywhere on the continent.
If you wanted a specific location, that required spending real money. It was a starting point selection option that cost about three thousand won.
“Money-hungry bastards.”
That’s what Dalen used to think.
Now, with the line between game and reality blurred, his stance was a bit more complicated.
Who were the game developers really? Did they truly know about this world?
In the rush to prevent the apocalypse, finding out seemed impossible. Even if he did, it wouldn’t be particularly useful.
Despite the randomness of the starting point, there were a few commonalities.
The shape and size of the cabin, the tools and supplies arranged inside and out.
And the narrow path leading down the mountain.
Crunch.
Brushing aside the underbrush that brushed against his ankles, Dalen walked slowly along the narrow path.
It wasn’t much of a path, really.
It was more like a trail formed by the repeated footsteps of a hunter, compacting the soil and breaking the grass and branches.
Following this trail down through the coniferous forest of the snowy mountain, Dalen stopped in front of a tree by the path.
Beneath the tree was a gravestone. A tombstone.
[Chepe Lariyev]
[Outer Guard of the Eklahim of the Tsar Kingdom]
[~Imperial Year 1131]
Name and status.
Not birth and death years, just the year of death.
The snow piled on the simple black gravestone was more like a block of ice.
Judging by how it was buried up to about half its original height, the gravestone seemed to have been erected quite some time ago.
What could be the meaning behind this gravestone? Lost in thought, Dalen was tapping at the icicles when he sensed a presence beside him.
”…Dalen.”
A low voice. Dalen turned his head.
The ancient dragon, Jeokchang, who resided on one of the snowy peaks, was looking at him with a somewhat ambiguous gaze.
She spoke.
“I understand that the power of other worldlines is important to you. But this time, the timing was not right.”
Her slightly furrowed brow and rare tone of reproach.
Dalen shook his head. It seemed there was a misunderstanding.
“It wasn’t me.”
[Then…?]
“It was the necromancer who erected this gravestone.”
Jeokchang’s eyes widened slightly.
[I’m not well-versed in how you gain your power, but… hasn’t this never happened before?]
“It hasn’t.”
[Then how…?]
“That’s what I need to find out.”
Dalen raised his hand from the gravestone and reached towards the sky. A holy sword appeared from the void and settled into his grasp.
Seeing this, Jeokchang nodded and conjured a spear of flame. She began to lead the way.
[We must find this necromancer quickly and end this fight. I am a being bound to your domain. When you set foot here, I had no choice but to leave your companions behind.]
Come to think of it, Jeokchang had been assisting the rest of the party in their battle.
When Dalen’s consciousness left reality, the power of the fully opened domain vanished, and Jeokchang’s summoning was canceled as well.
[The mage is knocking on the door of the sixth tier, but it’s uncertain how long they can hold out with just the apprentice’s help. Even if the remaining undead are dealt with and the witch and dwarf join, it won’t change much.]
Jeokchang spoke with a tone of urgency. It was indeed not a leisurely situation.
The only saving grace was that time flowed differently here compared to reality.
Based on his experience retrieving the power of the blacksmith, Dallukahim, it seemed to be about ten times slower.
[We should find the necromancer first. It seems they’re not in the backyard like with the blacksmith…]
“Hold on a moment.”
A large hand gently stopped Jeokchang, who was about to descend the mountain immediately.
Jeokchang turned her head, puzzled. Dalen’s gaze was fixed on the opposite mountain slope.
The gravestones densely covering the snowy mountain were all facing in one direction, curiously enough.
As if the gravestones of a mass grave were all looking in the same direction.
Considering that one person erected all these gravestones, it couldn’t be a coincidence.
Dalen followed the direction of the countless gravestones, looking beyond the mountain range, and spoke.
“I think I know where the necromancer is.”
Zap!
Lightning flashed, tearing through space. From the distorted space filled with blue lightning, Dalen and Jeokchang emerged.
After mastering the power of the thunder sea, he could perform such feats without opening his domain.
With a single leap, he could easily cover several dozen meters, and if he put his mind to it, even ten times that distance was within reach.
Whoosh…
Under the biting wind that scattered snowflakes at will, Dalen fiddled with the hilt of his holy sword.
The end of the communal graveyard that covered hundreds of mountain peaks lay before him.
In the direction all the gravestones faced, a man in a tattered robe was tending to the soil around one of the gravestones.
Dalen walked a few steps towards the man without concealing his presence. The snow crunched underfoot.
Hearing the sound, the man’s shoulders flinched. Without turning around, he spoke.
“Has the time finally come?”
His voice was hoarse and cracked.
The man, who had been pressing the soil with his bare hands, slowly stood up and bowed deeply to the gravestone.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Only after bowing deeply seven times did the man finally turn to face the two of them.
“At last, even I, unworthy as I am, have found the time for eternal rest.”
The man’s appearance was unexpected.
The typical black robe of a necromancer had faded and worn over the years. The wind whistled through the holes, and the clothes underneath were little more than rags.
Dark shadows hung under his hollow eyes. His hands were chapped and twisted.
”…”
For someone who had once led an era at the forefront of the apocalypse, and who had turned the entire continent into a sea of fire, his appearance was far too shabby.
Even a back-alley necromancer who couldn’t open a single gate to hell would look better than this.
He looked more like a monk who had spent years in the mountains than a necromancer.
It seemed Dalen wasn’t the only one who thought so, as Jeokchang, who had been silent, spoke up.
[Is that really him?]
Dalen nodded.
Though his appearance was vastly different from what he remembered, the face was unmistakably that of the necromancer he had spent hundreds of hours developing.
The faint trace of dark magic emanating from his frail body was also a clear sign of necromancy.
“Yes. The necromancer of Temomron and the black mage who killed a god, Dalen Jaive.”
“Indeed… you have touched the true fragments of omniscience.”
The necromancer murmured in a low voice.
“The one who has embraced countless possibilities lying dormant in the Well of Reversal. The observer who has witnessed the end of worlds, albeit with a narrow view.”
True to his nature as a spellcaster, he spoke in long, drawn-out sentences.
The necromancer raised his trembling fingers and rubbed his bearded face.
His hands were covered in dirt from tending the ground, but his face was just as dirty, so it made little difference.
“And you are the only living being who remembers me.”
The necromancer lowered his hand. His eyes, fixed on Dalen, held no glimmer.
In the deep, sunken pupils, only a dull darkness resided.
After staring intently at Dalen for a while, the necromancer asked.
“Are you surprised by how different I look from what you remember?”
“A bit.”
Dalen nodded honestly.
In his memory, the image of the black mage who had set the continent ablaze from beyond the monitor was vivid.
Riding a ghost ship adorned with skulls, he had brought cities to ruin with a mere wave of his hand.
A necromancer who wielded the power of hell as if it were his own, commanding over a million undead single-handedly.
If Daltalion was a character who had reached the pinnacle of pure magic, then Dalen Jaive was a character who had pushed black magic to its limits.
And in the case of these two characters, black magic was overwhelmingly more efficient than pure magic.
’…He must have reached the seventh tier.’
From beyond the monitor, the exact nature of the domain’s power was unclear. But Dalen speculated that Dalen Jaive had surpassed the realm of demigods.
After all, there were only two characters who had defeated the evil god across all playthroughs.
One was the lightning mage Daltalion, who had defeated the fallen and weakened true form of Suum, and the other was the black mage standing before him.
Even Daltalion, who had reached the end of the sixth tier, had been severely injured after defeating the incomplete true form of Suum.
He hadn’t been able to evade the pursuit of the archdemon underlings and had been killed, which was why Dalen had been able to retrieve his body to face Suum.
On the other hand, Dalun Jive not only fought the demon god Raphilem at his peak and emerged victorious, but he also boldly offered the demon’s great hell to its rightful owner, Temomron.
Of course, due to the existence of the final cycle, it wasn’t necessarily the strongest cycle.
Still, he never imagined he’d end up in such a state.
“Well, I suppose that’s true. No matter how powerful you are, you couldn’t have peered into the Well of Reversal. It’s only natural you remember my cursed form from when I was alive.”
“That, and it’s the first time I’ve been drawn into someone’s mindscape before I even made a move.”
Naturally, he assumed it was another fighter like Dalber or a lightning mage like Daltarian, eager to challenge him because they didn’t like some prophecy or another.
When he opened his eyes to see a mountain range covered in gravestones, he never expected they’d be able to have a rational conversation.
After hearing Dalun’s story, the necromancer immediately bowed deeply. He spoke.
“I formally apologize for that. For inviting you here without asking your permission.”
“You weren’t exactly the apologizing type when you were alive.”
“True. I wasn’t. I also apologize for the unworthy life I showed you. Please accept it.”
The necromancer remained bowed as he spoke. Dalun scratched his nose awkwardly. Somehow, it made him feel like he was the one in the wrong.
Even the Red Spear, who had been watching the situation with caution, was starting to wonder if this was really a dark sorcerer.
Fearing the necromancer might stay bowed forever, Dalun cleared his throat a few times and gestured toward the newly erected gravestones.
“I’ll accept your apology, so please stand up. You should at least tell me what all these gravestones are about.”
”…They are my atonement.”
The necromancer lifted his head.
His already hollow eyes seemed even more sunken.
He raised his scarred hands to cover his face, took a moment to steady his breath, and continued.
“During the time granted to me within the Reversal’s design, it was the meager… repentance I could manage.”