Chapter 762

At Hale’s signal, the mages immediately turned around. Their sudden movement stirred the air, scattering ash-gray dust in every direction.

It was astonishing how someone who had just been there could vanish in an instant. Beric stood frozen, forgetting even to breathe. His pupils trembled uncontrollably, tears welling up at the corners of his eyes.

“Ah—”

Only the empty sleeve of Jerrett’s uniform remained, abandoned and lifeless.

Beric staggered forward as if in disbelief, then dropped to his knees. It felt as if his respiratory system had shut down; he couldn’t draw a breath.

“Jerrett.”

He wanted to curse, to blame someone—anything—but he couldn’t. Captain Jerrett, and indeed every member of the Imperial Palace Guard, had risked their lives with every mission.

Just as Beric had done, Jerrett had done the same. It was only that the thread of fate had snapped under the unbearable weight. Beric clenched the dirt beneath him as if trying to grasp the remnants of his fallen comrade.

Crack.

King Toorun died with his eyes wide open. His entire body was pierced and soaked in blood, just like Captain Jerrett.

…It was unbearable. Jerrett had disappeared without a trace, yet that thing lay there, meeting its end fully intact. Tears streamed down Beric’s jaw.

“Ah…”

“This… this can’t be…”

“Captain Jerrett is dead? R-really?”

The soldiers were frozen in shock.

Jerrett was the heart of the three commanders. Since the civil war ten years ago, every newly appointed captain had been his disciple. With his death, it was as if the very pillar supporting the Imperial Palace Guard had crumbled.

What are we to do now?

It was the first time Beric had felt so powerless since Ian and Rutherford vanished into the abyss. As he stood there, tears falling silently, a gentle voice whispered in his ear.

—Beric.

It was Ian.

After failing to save Jerrett, Ian had immediately raised his altitude, clinging to the shadow god, and unleashed a furious assault.

Now, the situation was reversed. The endless darkness had spread, and black wounds crept from Ian’s knuckles up to his pale neck.

—What were Captain Jerrett’s last words?

“What were they?” Beric stammered through his tears.

“For the honor of the Empire… everyone, fight to the very end…”

Fight alongside me.

Beric rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

—There is still a chance. The captain is not dead.

His will still lives on—right here, beside Beric and the others. But if they lose now, even that will vanish with the wind, forever slipping beyond reach.

—What was the look in the captain’s eyes at the end?

Steadfast. Unwavering and bright. Sharp with determination, filled not with worry but with trust. The Imperial Palace Guard was certain they could succeed. And beneath it all, a quiet satisfaction—grateful to die with honor on the battlefield after fulfilling their mission. Beric had seen it all in that fleeting glance.

He took a deep breath, bowed his head briefly, then snapped his eyes open.

Whoosh!

Behind them, a colossal World Tree began to rise. It was a binding spell conjured by the mages working together.

Its sturdy, vibrant trunk encircled the royal palace grounds, soaring endlessly upward. The vines writhed like living creatures, climbing over the shadows and tightly ensnaring the enemy.

Shhh!

Like stars orbiting a sun, the mages unleashed their power in a continuous circle around the shadow god. The World Tree grew denser and thicker, tightening its grip as if ready to swallow the darkness whole.

Swish.

Beric stood up and turned to look at the soldiers behind him, who stood helplessly. Their eyes were red-rimmed; none tried to hide it.

“All of you—”

Beric raised his hand, and the soldiers swallowed their sobs, responding in unison. This ritual was all too familiar to the Imperial Palace Guard.

“All of you!”

“From now on, we support the mages in annihilating the shadow god. Our top priority: absolute victory.”

Beric’s voice seemed to merge with Captain Jerrett’s, echoing in their ears. The soldiers wiped their tears and placed their hands over their chests. Their hearts pounded beneath their palms, just as they had when following Jerrett’s orders.

Ziiing! Ziiing!

The magic swordsmen summoned their strength once more, releasing bursts of magical energy. Compared to the mages, their light was faint, but they were confident.

They were Jerrett’s disciples. The Imperial Palace Guard had never failed a mission in their history—not once. Even if it meant dying to seal the end.

Beric closed his eyes and declared aloud. Jerrett’s image, as he had spoken those words long ago, appeared vividly before him. And that memory echoed through Beric’s voice once more.

“Remember this: we are the heart of Bariel.”

Whoever pierces the heart will be repaid by that very heart.

Beric slowly opened his eyes and looked at the soldiers. He would bring every one of them back alive. No exceptions. Jerrett had entrusted them to him, and no matter what it took, he would not let any of them fall.

Tap! Tap-tap!

Led by Beric, the magic swordsmen charged forward. They climbed the World Tree, striking down the beasts that slipped through the gaps.

They knew well that unless it was someone like Ian, or a group of mages united as one, their attacks would never break through.

But they were not fighters who only faced opponents they could beat.

Shhhhhh!

The moment the swords touched the beasts, a pure white light shimmered from somewhere. No one could tell where it came from—they were too focused on their blades cutting through the monsters.

It’s working!

Why?

They cut through!

The entire guard rejoiced simultaneously. Was it the binding spell? Or something else? It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was—

We can do this!

They had taken the first small step.

Change strengthened their faith, and faith pushed them forward, bringing hope to all. The beginning of a solid, virtuous cycle.

“Hah, hah—”

Eirin clasped her hands together, gazing upward. Astonishingly, the white light that had enveloped the magic swordsmen originated from her. A powerful energy radiated from her eyes.

“…Eirin. Is that ‘our prayer’?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Without a doubt.”

Bwooo—! Bwooo!

Instead of the halted song, the low, solemn sound of water buffalo horns echoed. It lent weight to the Empire’s desperate prayers.

Every soldier in the Empire sought the divine as if chanting a spell, and through Eirin, it took form. That light was the power allowing the magic swordsmen’s attacks—previously unable to reach the shadow god—to pierce the darkness.

Swish.

Eirin raised her hands to the sky, continuing her prayer. Her entire body glowed with a sacred white light that overflowed and filled the area. The mages felt the concentration of power intensify.

“Let the inner flame burn forever!”

At Hale’s call, the mages joined in. Following the swirling path, beams of light left trails behind. The golden waves of energy grew stronger and more furious.

“That light will soon illuminate the world—!”

It was the mages’ oath. The wisdom passed down for over a thousand years, their guiding truth.

The World Tree tightened its grip around the shadow god as if ready to sever it.

We will warm you, and ourselves.

Crack! Crackle!

The shadow’s form twisted and contorted. Yet despite this, its momentum did not falter. If anything, the darkness deepened in response—like a thick shadow cast beneath a strong light.

Ian took a moment to steady his breath, then lightly traced a magic circle with his fingertips. Was it an attack? Every mage and magic swordsman focused on supporting him.

Ziiing! Ziiing!

But what Ian had cast was a broadcast spell. Unlike before, this time its message reached every living soul in the capital of Toorun.

To the Empire’s soldiers praying fervently, to the Toorun survivors clinging to life among the corpses, and to the shadow god’s hidden followers still holding onto hope.

—The King of Toorun is dead.

The soldiers flinched in surprise, then quickly grasped the situation and erupted in cheers. They had taken one step closer to victory.

“W-what?!”

“Wow, the king’s dead!”

“The King of Toorun is dead! The king is dead!”

“Waaah! Waaah!”

“Bariel! Bariel! Bariel!”

The Bariel Empire’s flag fluttered proudly. The soldiers’ fists punched the air repeatedly, their cheers ringing out.

—The god you believe in manifested on earth, yet failed to protect a mere human child. How can you call that a god? The king’s heart was pierced by a sword, and he left no final words. When the rain clears, his body will be hung high for all to see.

The King of Toorun was the link between the shadow and its followers. Severing that bond would weaken the shadow’s power further. Moreover, the Empire’s faith would only grow stronger.

Ian, the one who cast the broadcast spell, stared directly at the shadow god.

—Do you still believe in this? Look closely. This is nothing but a demon that wishes to be a god.

Ian’s voice was laced with a sneer. Shards of shadow that had slipped out from beyond the World Tree lunged to block his magic, but the magic knights swiftly dismantled them.

Fwoom! Bang!

Everyone facing the underground god instinctively sensed it. Faint, yet unmistakable—the power of the shadows was weakening.

“Ian! Keep going!”

“You bastard, you’re dying!”

“Come on, keep struggling, you damn son of a—!”

“There! The trunk is about to burst!”

“Focus! Concentrate consciously!”

“Yes, Captain!”

“Uaaaaah!”

Crack! Crack!

The irksome shadows tried to force their way out by splitting the World Tree’s trunk, but the mages held their ground. One by one, blood began trickling from their eyes, noses, and mouths.

“You bastards!”

Grrrrr!

The World Tree’s trunk slowly split open as the shadow god’s body swelled. Ian raised his hand gracefully, conjuring a massive bow.

“Ian.”

“Just a little more.”

“Hold on! Just a little longer!”

Thin beams of light etched themselves from one end of the bow to the other, and an arrow formed at Ian’s fingertips. As he nocked the feathered arrow, flames roared from its tip.

“Fire Arrow.”

“Shadow of the gods.”

Screeeech.

Ian drew the string back hard and called out to the creature.

“I am one who moves according to the will of the gods, accepting every step of the process. But have you ever considered this?”

The rain intensified. Ian closed one eye to aim, water streaming down the contours of his face. Even in the downpour, the flames at the arrowhead burned brighter and fiercer, infused with a sacred energy.

“That your existence, your will, and your actions—all of it—might be resting upon a fate called the gods’ will.”

The shadow could not move on its own. It always followed the movement of light.

“Return to the light and reflect upon yourself.”

Thwang.

Muttering this, Ian released the bowstring.