Chapter 1: A Somber Tale (1)

Chapter 1: A Somber Tale (1)

The battle had concluded on the third evening.

The rain showed no sign of stopping yet. The raindrops pelting the skin felt more like lashes than water.

“Cough... Cough...”

Struggling to catch his breath, Ronan lifted his head. The once chaotic battlefield now lay silent, with only the sound of rain filling the air.

As his gaze widened, the landscape before him seemed like a scene transferred from hell itself.

The wasteland stretching to the horizon was mostly covered in a charred, reddish hue. It was the color of blood mixed with mud.

Upon the sticky ground were scattered fragments that had once composed humans. Puddles that had formed here and there carried the floating corpses of those who had been blown apart.

Apart from him, there was no sign of any living beings in motion. As he wiped his blade against his clothing, a voice echoed from behind.

“To think there was such a strong human, Amazing.”

Despite the fierce downpour, the voice was clear. It sounded like the deep resonance of a cave filled with flowing lava. Ronan turned his body with an expression of disgust.

“You aren’t dead yet?”

[It’s an evident failure on Ahaiyute’s part.]

About five strides away, a massive figure of a human sprawled out. This was the culprit behind the carnage. The giant referred to himself as Ahaiyute.

With a height easily surpassing 4 meters, the giant’s back bore two pairs of wings. Its appearance resembled the concept of angels, frequently depicted in religious art.

He had an oval-shaped bald head with distinct facial features. His white-tinged muscular torso was riddled with scores of deep and lengthy scars.

Blue blood oozing from wounds formed puddles around the giant’s center.

[Indeed. Not yet.]

Ronan’s grip on the hilt tightened. If it were possible, he would have torn Ahaiyute to shreds with a mere thought, but he no longer had the energy for that.

This single being had vaporized ten legions of the empire.

With each flutter of his four wings, storms raged, and with each swing of his light-forged spear, hundreds lost their lives. The innocent lives lost before the final battle were beyond counting.

[However, my end is near. Ahaiyute has been defeated, and soon they shall return to His embrace.]

“Well, good riddance. Stepping on dog shit on your way out wouldn’t hurt. You damn sticky mess.”

Thunk!

Ronan picked up a broken dagger and plunged it into the giant’s chest. Despite the attack, the giant didn’t rise, indicating a likely fatal blow.

Ronan perched on the giant’s shoulder. While rummaging through his pouch, he muttered curses under his breath.

“Hey, you bastard.”

The expensive pipe he had bought with a lot of money was completely shattered. He tossed the broken pipe at the giant’s face and stood up.

“Yeah, your friends, do you know that they’re dead?”

[Friends?]

“Yeah, the guys who came down with you.”

[Are you referring to Nirvana and Duaaru?]

“I don’t know their names... Anyway, they’re dead.”

Twenty days ago, three giants descended upon the land. The reason remained unknown.

They wreaked havoc to the extent that the continent’s map needed to be redrawn. Ahaiyute was the last remaining giant.

“One was fried alive by a hot-tempered red dragon, and the other one was sealed for eternity by an oldman called Lorehon. I don’t know what you guys were up to, but it’s all over now.”

Ronan wanted to see the giant’s face twisted with despair.

So he refrained from mentioning that the Red Dragon Navar-Dorje and her tribe suffered devastation akin to mutual annihilation, or the peripheral information about the Archmage Lorehon sacrificing his own soul as a conduit for a sealing spell.

However, the response he received didn’t fulfill his expectations.

[It’s fortunate.]

“What?”

[The fact that there are no more strong individuals like you. You can no longer stop us.]

Ronan slowly drew his sword. The gleaming tip aimed for the giant’s throat.

“...How do you know that?”

[The children of the Star share their senses with one other.]

Feeling even more agitated, Ronan closed his eyes. Now, he just wanted to die quickly. The days he had lived seemed to float and sway in the darkness.

[It’s truly fortunate for us. You wasted your talents in obscurity.]

Once again, those bold words brushed through his mind. They were infuriating, but true.

Most of his memories flowed like a stream of wasted moments or scenes where he wasted time like a fool. Ronan himself had squandered the shining talents, no one else.

“Should I have attended the academy too?”

Understanding his talent came quickly. Exceptional ability wasn’t something that could be hidden like poverty or a cough.

His only family, his sister, had earnestly wished for him to receive proper education. She raised him with love and care, saying he could undoubtedly become a great person.

Ronan disliked that and left home. It was bothersome.

For the next three years, he wandered the continent like a stray dog. As with most crimes, Ronan also ended up in the punitive unit for a moment of anger. More accurately, he turned himself in.

The military life turned out to be surprisingly tolerable. In a unit that granted discharge after surviving three years, Ronan remained for seven.

They provided food and shelter as long as he wielded a blade. He had no compelling reason to leave. Though various offers for recruitment came his way, he rejected them all.

And this was the result.

The giants’ invasion took everything away. The rascals he fought alongside for seven years, his caring sister, the nations and villages he encountered on his journey—all turned to ash.

If he had properly learned swordsmanship and dedicated himself to training, would the outcome have been different? Could he have protected them?

He didn’t know.

It was a meaningless contemplation.

With closed eyes, Ronan relaxed his body. He felt his soul gradually leaving his body. Someone had said death is nothing more than a deep slumber...

His mind...

Fading...

Dull...

[Is anyone... there.]

A human voice reached him.

“I’m here!”

Ronan jolted up from his position as if propelled. Mud splattered off his back and neck. He focused all his senses on his hearing and strained his ears. Once again, the voice reached him.

[... I’m injured and can’t move. Is anyone there.]

“Damn it, I’m here! I’m right here!!”

It was a woman’s voice. Judging by how the sound seemed to resonate directly in his mind rather than through his ears, she was likely using telepathic magic.

“Keep talking! I’m coming now!”

Ronan, who had roughly determined the direction, rushed forward. Despite smashing his face into the window multiple times as his legs gave way, he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was the fact that there might be a survivor.

[Here is...]

The voice grew fainter and fainter. Whatever the reason, it was clear that someone was fading away. Ronan increased his speed. Any traces of regret or stained ideals had long been cast aside.

He soon arrived in front of a pair of leaning rocks. The two rocks faced each other like a roof, creating a structure under which he could avoid the rain.

“Ugh... ugh...”

Every exhale was accompanied by dripping blood. Ronan wiped his mouth with his sleeve and entered the space between the rocks. The owner of the voice was lying inside.

“You are...”

And the moment he saw her face, Ronan had to swallow a sigh that rose up to his chin.

“General.”

A familiar face.

“Ronan...”

Struggling to raise her head, the woman spoke. Her voice was raspy, her throat was dry, but her former dignity remained unshaken.

A stature taller than most generals, matted dark hair covered in blood and mud. In contrast, her skin was so pale it was almost pure white.

Ronan repeated the words as if he was under some sort of enchantment.

“Grand General Adeshan.”

Despite having aimed for the idols of every imperial soldier, Ronan didn’t bow. He had no arm to salute her with.

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