Episode 243
Chapter 76: Broken Promises and Burdens (Part 8)
“Seriously, just like his master, that fire’s a real pain in the ass. I thought I was going bald.”
Murakan grumbled as he formed a dense orb of spiritual energy in his palm, running it through his singed hair. To everyone’s surprise, the burnt strands absorbed the energy and began to restore themselves to their original state.
“Why’d you put out the fire with your body instead of just using your energy?”
“Yeah, why’d you do that? I guess I panicked for a moment. Damn it.”
“Hmph… Anyway, good job. You just pulled off something that’ll go down in the history of magic. And I’m the only witness.”
“If anyone ever writes your biography, make sure they include this story.”
“Got it.”
The final form of the Annihilation Flame of the Heavenly Rock.
Jin’s eyes gleamed as he held the spellbook. In his past life, thanks to Valeria, he’d encountered countless rare spellbooks, and in this life, he’d even inscribed magic from Chenmi and the Kidad Hall onto his body.
But the legacy of Riol Ziphl was truly a masterpiece in the annals of magic history. Beyond being the strongest of his time, he was always mentioned as one of the greatest mages ever, and this was his magnum opus.
As a mage himself, Jin knew it would be hard to experience a greater joy than this. Though he was eager to open it immediately, he carefully tucked it away for now.
Before the thrill could even fade, a low groan suddenly echoed.
“Ughhh…”
“Chukon?”
He called out to Chukon Tolder.
Unlike Susan, whose head had been completely severed, Chukon seemed to be barely clinging to life. The moment the severing blade pierced him, his protective shield had activated, shielding his heart.
But upon closer inspection, recovery seemed impossible. The shield had only delayed death momentarily; his face had turned a ghastly blue, and he was little more than a corpse.
When the outcome of a battle is decided, the victor usually says a few words. Jin spoke to him accordingly.
“Chukon Tolder. Do you have any last words?”
Coughing up blood foam, Chukon’s eyes were filled with dark resentment. It was only natural—he had been struck down by the blade of the lord he served, right in front of the enemy.
“My… my spellbook…”
Even those few words were enough to understand.
He wanted to leave behind a legacy, just like Riol. No mage wanted their lifelong achievements to vanish without a trace.
And having been betrayed and meeting his end, it was only natural he wished to pass his spellbook to the enemy.
“Where is it?”
“The Eternal… Storage Room 3… password: Roklava.”
With those final words, Chukon passed away. Jin closed his unfocused, darkened eyes.
“Storage Room 3 in the Eternal Vault must be highly valued. Well, it was a decent defensive magic after all.”
Murakan shrugged.
Neither Jin nor Murakan felt much sympathy despite Chukon leaving behind a spellbook. The experiments he conducted on innocent civilians surely weren’t limited to this alone. If anything, Chukon should be grateful that his last wish was granted.
“Let’s go.”
They quickly moved deeper into the ruined castle. It was time to gather the survivors, including Mertual, and return to the kingdom to wrap up today’s events and prepare for the next battle.
‘Kinzelo has uncovered my identity. As for that commander, I still can’t figure out what he really is. Could he be a demon, like Murakan suggested?’
The ability to form iron.
Jin had never heard of such a thing. He could understand forging swords, but teleporting through space? That was beyond imagination.
The commander had clearly lived for over a thousand years. Maybe even longer—perhaps since the era when the Pluto race ruled the world.
‘Restoring the Pluto race must be under the commander’s direction. He knows about my brothers too. The one he spared and took away must be essential for the restoration.’
It was also clear he had some connection to Temar.
Murakan’s reaction to the commander’s words—“It wasn’t Temar who went berserk, it was you”—was anything but normal.
He looked like someone confronting a past he desperately wanted to forget, his mind elsewhere.
Over time, Jin had asked Murakan why he fought Temar. Murakan never wanted to talk about it, and Jin respected that silence.
‘He’ll tell me when he’s ready. If there’s anything I need to know about Temar.’
Lost in thought, Jin entered the castle.
Unlike before, the place was heavily damaged. Murakan’s relentless assault had left its mark.
They cleared piles of broken stone and headed toward the laboratory where Mertual had been.
The lab, ravaged by explosive magic, was completely destroyed. Not a single experimental device remained intact; debris was scattered everywhere. Finding the secret passage door was no easy task.
“Mertual! Mertual Sila!”
“Here… I’m here…!”
“Over here!”
Voices of unfamiliar men echoed, not Mertual’s. They pushed aside rubble and tore up the floor.
When the secret passage opened, what appeared were terrified survivors, their faces streaked with tears, and the magic infusion device Jin had brought.
Mertual herself sat with her hands folded neatly over her chest, eyes closed.
“…The saint has saved us and gone to Ayula’s embrace.”
“Please, take the saint’s body back to the kingdom with you.”
She had poured every last drop of her life force into infusing magic into the survivors before heading to Ayula’s realm. She had fulfilled her duty as a saint.
‘She must have known from the start that saving them meant sacrificing herself. That’s why she begged us to wait so desperately.’
Though not an ordinary healer but a ‘saint,’ Mertual died saving these people for a reason.
The survivors bore the scars of cruel experiments. Some had hearts protruding outside their bodies, others had one arm transformed into a golem, some even had tails.
They were no longer ordinary humans—just barely hanging on. To save them, Mertual had to pour all her life force into the magic infusion device.
“She asked me to deliver this to you. She said it must be given to His Majesty the Holy King…”
As they wrapped her body in a robe, one survivor handed over a book and a pendant—Mertual’s pendant.
The book was a diary. After becoming a spy for the Dark Magic Council under the Holy King’s orders, she had risked her life every day to document the truth of this place.
“Let’s get out of here. Time to go back, everyone.”
The final day of the Descent Festival.
As if blessed by Ayula herself, the capital of Vankela was bathed in dazzling sunlight.
Amid the packed crowd in the square stood a massive, pure white carriage.
Fake Miklan and Lani stood atop it, waving to the people.
Surrounding the carriage were thirty Golden Shield paladins for protection, and behind it stretched a procession of saints—a grand spectacle for those who had come to witness the festival.
The square was literally packed shoulder to shoulder. Citizens, commoners from various nations, and nobles alike waited eagerly for the consecration ceremony to begin.
“Long live His Majesty the Holy King!”
“Your Majesty!”
Many cried out in awe just at the sight of the Holy King, especially the lower class suffering from serious illnesses.
For the sick and poor, the Holy King’s consecration was a precious chance to extend their lives. Receiving the blessing could cure their ailments.
But the Holy King’s divine power was limited, so only a few were truly blessed each year during the festival.
About fifty people received the genuine blessing directly from the Holy King; the rest only received verbal blessings.
The latter had no real effect on fate or reality, but still, countless people were desperate just to speak with the Holy King.
As the Holy King lowered his waving hand, the noisy square fell silent instantly.
“My beloved children of Ayula, and all who have traveled from across the world to see me, I first offer my deepest thanks. I am Holy King Miklan.”
A roar of cheers erupted.
“As always, my precious daughter, Lani Salome, will read the blessing in my stead today. Tomorrow, please give a round of applause for my daughter, who will pray with a hoarse voice.”
The fake king patted his daughter’s shoulder affectionately.
Lani smiled brightly, linking arms with the fake king. The impostor perfectly mimicked the real Miklan’s humble demeanor and deep love for his daughter.
Clap clap clap clap!
As the applause died down, Lani opened the blessing scroll.
“We now begin the Holy King’s consecration ceremony. As the carriage moves, please follow in an orderly fashion to avoid injury or accidents.”
As with any such event, those who would receive the true blessing—where divine power was expended—were already predetermined. Few outside knew this.
The carriage moved forward, stopping at each location where the chosen awaited.
Each time, the Holy King disembarked, kissed their forehead, and bestowed the blessing, while Lani read the blessing aloud.
“May Ayula’s will, heart, and love be with you…”
One by one, about forty citizens received the true blessing. Those who had difficulty walking began to move, and the blind saw new light.
Moved by the sight, the onlookers couldn’t stop wiping away tears.
A group of commoners, not the designated nobles but cloaked in robes, broke away from the crowd and blocked the royal carriage.
“Your Majesty!”
“Please, Your Majesty, hear our story!”
Jeers erupted from all around.
But since such disruptions were common every year during the consecration ceremony, most people paid them little mind.
The king wore a gentle smile as he faced the intruders, and Rani whispered into his ear.
“Please bless them, Father. Last year, you willingly stepped down from the carriage for those who interrupted the ceremony, didn’t you?”
The false king nodded.
He and Ziphl had concluded that Rani had given up entirely, now playing along with their act. They believed this was the result of the psychological torture she endured while imprisoned by Bitura.
The king stepped down from the carriage to greet them.
“Come, children of Ayula. How much suffering must you bear to seek me out? Tell me your story.”
The bowed heads of the commoners slowly lifted.
“Your Majesty, we…”
As they pulled back their robes, their bodies revealed grotesque scars—evidence of horrific biological experiments.
“Oh my god, what on earth is that?”
“Ahhh!”
Spectators gasped and screamed at the sight of the mutilated commoners.
Only then did the false king flinch, sensing something was terribly wrong. Rani bit her lower lip and averted her gaze.
Far off, beyond the circle of guards, she looked toward Bitura, who met her eyes with an unreadable expression.
The thirty Golden Shield knights surrounding the carriage clenched their teeth, staring daggers at Bitura.
“We were dragged to the laboratory against our will… and this is what they’ve done to us.”
“W-who did this to you?” the false king asked, forcing calm. Showing panic now would be his undoing.
The commoners answered in unison.
“Captain of the Paladins, Bitura. He sold us to Ziphl’s laboratory! He’s the one who did this to us!”
“Silence!”
With a sharp step forward, Bitura shouted.
Rani couldn’t tear her eyes away from him, barely holding back her tears.