Chapter 587

Hale watched Beric standing still, puzzled. He seemed just like before—utterly lost in another world, as if trapped in a trance.

Even as Rutherford slowly rose and removed the object from his mouth, Beric remained dazed, his eyes flickering as if fixated on something unseen. Rutherford said nothing.

…Unless these are hallucinations caused by words—

‘The powder?’

Could it be the powder? Those tiny particles floating in the air?

Hale decided it was best to retreat for now and tried to pull Beric toward him. But at that moment, Rutherford’s metallic voice rang out sharply.

“You won’t be able to move!”

“……!”

Rutherford wiped the blood from his lips and smiled. Just as he said, Hale felt an invisible weight gripping his ankle, holding him firmly in place.

“Stand still and watch. Soon, you’ll be sent along with him.”

A sharp, branch-like Eidgal extended from Rutherford’s hand. Without hesitation, he jabbed it into Beric’s side. Beric was helpless, collapsing to the ground.

Sticky blood dripped from the Eidgal’s tip, pierced through flesh.

“Beric!”

“Ugh…”

Beric was crying—not from physical pain, but crushed under the weight of the hallucination.

Hale glared at Rutherford, a mix of confusion, shock, and vague unease swirling inside him.

He’s just a mere mortal. Someone who long ago abandoned magic, now brainwashed by the underground god, convinced his path is righteous. But could simply consuming Laromedia make him this strong?

“Hale. Your magic has been sealed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? You think this is a joke? Then try it. Like that red bastard did earlier—approach me while causing an explosion!”

Whoosh!

It felt like something was blocking his chest. Just as Rutherford said, Hale was trapped in a hallucination that sealed his magic.

Clutching the newly forged Eidgal sword, Rutherford slowly advanced toward Hale, his steps unsteady from Beric’s earlier strike.

“How did I get this far…”

The moment his eyes flashed and he raised the Eidgal sword—

Ziiing! Ziiing!

Bang! Clang!

A flash and an explosion erupted before Hale’s eyes. It was Ian—his clothes and hair fluttering lightly, shards of the shattered Eidgal sword sparkling around him.

Rutherford’s bloodshot eyes widened, while Ian’s green gaze shimmered coldly.

“Ian!”

Whoosh!

Rutherford stumbled back, lowering his stance to steady himself. Ian blocked Hale’s path with a steely glare, all the while glancing down at the fallen Beric.

“Ian, Rutherford has consumed Laromedia. The red flower—Beric called it Silask. It causes hallucinations. Be careful of his voice!”

“Ian!”

“Be careful. He’ll make you see illusions.”

Hearing that, Ian immediately lunged at Rutherford. Binding magic wouldn’t restrain his tongue, and summoning Man-Yeop or Hwe-Rok was impossible in such a cramped space. It would only endanger Ian and the others.

“Rutherford.”

Then, physical restraint was the only option.

Like a swimming fish, Ian slipped gracefully into Rutherford’s grasp. Before Rutherford could shout—or even decide what to say—Ian struck.

Swish!

“…!”

Ian swung the Eidgal toward Rutherford’s neck, who barely dodged. A fraction of a second later, his throat would have been sliced open.

Unlike Beric, Ian seemed determined to cut out Rutherford’s tongue. Silencing him was the safest way to end this.

Clang! Clang!

Their blades clashed endlessly, but the fight was one-sided. Ian pressed the attack relentlessly, and Rutherford barely managed to block. Each strike was lethal, leaving Rutherford no chance to speak, forced to focus solely on defense.

“Rutherford. I told you.”

“…You!”

“You’re on the wrong path. The god you believe in is but a shadow of divinity—a monster challenging the authority of the true gods. And—”

Clang!

Whenever Rutherford tried to speak, Ian’s strikes grew fiercer, as if commanding him to shut up and listen.

Suddenly, Rutherford’s right neck was cleanly sliced, blood spurting. Yet his tongue remained intact, and Ian pressed on without hesitation.

“Your soul’s countless cursed deaths, your weathered spirit—that’s the underground god’s doing.”

“Shut up! Ian, you can’t move now—!”

“The reason you survived the abyss was because words moved beyond Gaia. You’re a Bariel mage, aren’t you? You know the palace well, and your hatred runs deep.”

Whoosh!

Ian covered Rutherford’s mouth and slashed his shoulder. The muffled scream died before it could escape.

Rutherford panted harshly, muttering something Ian couldn’t catch. Even if he understood, it didn’t matter—he could draw his sword again if needed.

Swish.

Confirming Rutherford was incapacitated, Ian finally turned his attention to Beric. Already wounded from a torn abdomen during the battle, the Eidgal strike had finished him off. What worried Ian most was the potential damage to Beric’s regenerative ability.

“Beric.”

Ian helped Beric sit up and gently shook him.

“Wake up. It’s me, Ian.”

After several calls, Beric’s eyes fluttered open. Tears streamed endlessly down his face, and Ian frowned with sympathy.

…You’ve seen the darkness within yourself, too.

“Tears have gathered. Get up when they stop flowing.”

“…Damn it, Ian. You’re seriously annoying.”

Beric curled up, muttering, and Ian finally felt some relief.

At that moment, Nakina and other mages arrived deeper inside the cave.

“Ian! There’s no one else around!”

“Huh? Rutherford!”

“Captain Hale! Are you okay? Why are you just standing there?”

“I’m hallucinating. I can’t move.”

“Hallucinating? Should we knock him out?”

“Do we have to carry him? Captain, can you break the spell? How can we carry you like this?”

“Ian! The palace guards have arrived, and the upper area is being secured!”

Despite the mages’ shouts, Rutherford lay panting on the ground, his condition strange. Beyond the wounds Ian inflicted, something else was eating away at him.

“Gahk—!”

“Ah! Ian!”

Dark red blood poured endlessly from Rutherford’s mouth. Whether it was a side effect of Laromedia or the Eidgal, even he didn’t know.

He staggered to his feet, and the mages instinctively huddled together—not out of fear of Rutherford, but of the eerie sight he presented. He looked almost dead.

“That bastard’s gone mad.”

“Ian, what do we do?”

“Take Hale and Beric out of here.”

“Y-Yes!”

Ian gave the order, drawing the Eidgal sword.

What’s there to fear from someone who’s completely fallen? Rutherford roared in fury, spewing Eidgal energy.

“Who do you think you are!”

Whoosh!

From beneath his feet, hundreds of Eidgal tendrils spread out. The mages hastily raised shields, but the cramped space made defense difficult.

“Why do you keep trying to erase me as if I were nothing? A shadow of god? Insolent fool!”

“If that were truly a god, why can’t it emerge from beneath the rift? It’s a monster with limits.”

“Shut up! The reason the gods can’t wield full power is because of you Bariel scum!”

“Enough. I have no intention of persuading you. I just—”

Ian dashed forward lightly, and Rutherford shouted, blood dripping from his chin.

“Ian! Your heart will burst! You’ll be torn apart, your bones crushed, leaving not a trace in this world!”

“Ian! Don’t listen to him!”

Startled, Hale shook off his comrades’ grip and turned back. Though still trapped in the hallucination, he limped forward.

The mages grabbed Hale again, eyes fixed on Ian. Meanwhile, Beric ran toward Ian.

“Iaaan!”

Ian felt his heart pounding rapidly, the pain like it might burst his chest, just as Rutherford said.

But it was all hallucination. Since Hale and Beric had no physical wounds besides the Eidgal cuts, the trauma was purely mental.

Swish!

Ignoring the pounding in his chest, Ian charged at Rutherford once more.

“I’m going to die! I’m going to die! My heart will stop, it will tear apart—I’m going to die!”

He wasn’t hallucinating. That hideous figure, shouting as if cursing, deserved only one thing.

“Death…”

Thump.

It tears. His heart is being torn apart…

Ian bit down hard on his lower lip and held on.

“I’ve already faced countless deaths in the abyss because of you. Now that I know it’s not real, I can endure it over and over again. Even if… it were a real death.”

Boom!

His heart sank, and time seemed to freeze. A wave of unbearable pain and loss crashed over Ian in an instant.

At that moment, Ian paused. Sensing his last chance, Rutherford gripped the Idgal sword tightly and lunged at him again.

“Arrgh!”

Clack, clack!

Screech!

But standing in his way was Berrick. Though his side was torn open and he had no magic left, he could still block Rutherford’s attack. The clash of their strength rang out like grinding steel.

“Yah—!”

“I told you! You, in front of Ian—!”

Shing!

Berrick clenched his teeth so hard they ground together and pushed his sword upward. Summoning the last of his strength, he drove a fist into Rutherford’s abdomen.

“Ugh!”

“I’m going to make you kneel!”

Boom!

Rutherford finally collapsed forward. The danger of losing consciousness from a single wrong breath made him hold his groan and focus all his will.

But then, a shadow fell over him.

“…”

“Quite the sight. The fate of one who belongs beneath, alongside the Undergod.”

Ian’s heart still beat erratically, but he was okay. He could hold on. Grabbing the bloodied hair of the exhausted Rutherford roughly, he whispered.

“You asked me who I am.”

“…”

“I’m no different from you. Just as you move to fulfill the Undergod’s will, I am here to carry out the will of the gods.”

Rutherford’s consciousness began to fade. The sharp, sweet scent he’d smelled when biting into Laromedia suddenly flooded his senses.

“Ian Verocion. That is my name. The very master of the empire you’ve been desperate to bring down.”