Chapter 493: The Day After the Apocalypse (2) [END]

Chapter 493: The Day After the Apocalypse (2) [END]

The year BE 1,020 on the Continental Calendar.

The rivers of blood have finally dried up.

The decades-long war between the human and demon worlds has been recorded in the history books as the Age of Destruction.

And the day the human world's victory was carved into stone.

A head was hung at the main gate of Tochka, humanity's last fortress.

Baal.

Aka 'Mother of Destruction'.

72 The Spiritual Pillar of Demons.

The day its head fell to the ground, the Age of Destruction came to an end.

And there were several people who made great contributions to driving Baal and other demons from the earth.

Morg Mu Camus, lord of the House of Morg.

Osiris Le Baskerville, lord of the House of Baskerville.

Bourgois Ju Sinclair, lord of the House of Bourgois.

Dolores Lun Quovadis, Pope of the House of Quovadis.

The Warden of the Nouvelle Vague 'Orca Montreuil-sur-Mer Javert...'.

.

.

There are so many other heroes that humanity has barely survived.

... but.

There were also heroes who fought more brilliantly than anyone else, but never made it into the history books.

They appeared out of nowhere.

Accompanied by the 8th guiding star, they descended upon the battlefield and drove away the demons like messengers promising salvation.

Age unknown, identity unknown, name unknown.

But the man who was the eldest of the six heroes was clearly the Iron-Blooded Swordsman Baskerville.

Rumor has it that he mastered the 9th Form, a rank that was said to be unattainable in a lifetime, but the truth of the matter has never been revealed.

Other figures have also failed to make it into canonical history due to unusual questions.

They surprisingly had the exact same appearance and the same powers as already existing figures, such as Morg Mu Camus, Dolores Lun Quovadis, and Bourgeois Ju Sinclair, who were among the heroes who saved humanity.

Some were from long-extinct tribes of barbarian warriors, and there was even a deserting prison guard of unknown rank who was vaguely suspected to have once been a member of the Nouvelle Vague.

Eventually, at their hands, Baal fell, and a long peace came to humanity.

Immediately after the end of the Age of Destruction, they were able to receive recognition for only a small portion of their enormous achievements and receive a small amount of territory.

Can Only Share Sorrow and Cannot Share Joy.

They withdrew from the ugly squabbles over the public domain, and, satisfied with a small amount of compensation (considering their merits, a level so small that it would be considered absurd), they quietly retired to their territory and have not been seen in the world since.

The world can only assume that they had raised a large family, had numerous children, and were living out their final days in quiet and comfort.

....

However.

As I write this journal as a conscientious officer, a scholarly historian, a popular author, and a survivor of an Age of Destruction, I cannot help but ask additional questions.

Where did they come from and where are they going?

Who were they, and what were their purposes and intentions?

These are questions that can never be answered no matter how much I think about them and study them, and it is a lifelong task for me, and for all of humanity whose lives were saved by them.

In a situation where everything is questionable, the guiding star they came down to today is silent and only shines brightly.

Seven stars shining ever brighter...

-'Nymphet' from 『History of Magic』, Volume 3,021 page-

* * * *

-# Credit cookie-

Whiiiiing-

A dry wind blows, peeling away a layer of desert flesh.

A black robe flutters in the wind, and a long, graying beard.

An old man walks across the salt flats.

A side effect of being a time traveler?

A body that grows one year old only when others have lived ten or twenty years old.

The children grow up, and the children's children grow up, and the children's children's children grow up, and again, and again... Anyway, quite a long time has passed.

The old man is about to leave.

Throwing off all his shackles and restraints, he gives in to the instincts he's been suppressing for a very, very long time.

Whiiiiing-

Another gust of wind whips up, chipping away at the rocks.

The old man rode silently over the crescent-shaped sand dunes covered in salty salt sand.

And then.

What the old man was looking for came into view.

It was a Tower.

A Black Tower, jutting up against the white horizon.

Like an awl jutting out of the ground, it bathed in the blackness of the night sky and the red of blood.

'Grave of Swords'

The old man nodded silently as he read the crude writing on the front of the Tower.

"...A true Baskerville is born in the 'Cradle of Swords'."

After a moment of silence, the old man continued.

"...A true Baskerville dies in the 'Grave of Swords'."

Just then.

[This is the Grave of Swords, the final resting place of those who follow the extreme will of the sword.]

There was a heavy, echoing laugh from within the Tower.

Then the top of the Tower opened like a dog's mouth.

Inside the Tower was a throne of steel and an old man in black armor seated upon it.

A Baskerville, with a long white beard.

A former Seven Counts who had seen the turbulence of war, and the strongest man in all of mankind, even in the Age of Destruction.

He stroked his pure white beard and smiled broadly.

[This is definitely a familiar face, even though it's the first time I've seen it. The intuition of a superhuman who has reached the realm of the supreme transcends even space and time.]

The gray-bearded old man did not reply to the white-bearded old man's words.

He simply pulled out a crimson sword with the back of his hand.

Seeing the momentum that the gray-bearded old man exuded, the white-bearded old man smiled with satisfaction.

Then.

The two old men with white and gray beards swung their swords at each other.

It was a split second.

Nine teeth met nine teeth.

The gray-bearded old man stopped moving as if struck by lightning.

In the meantime, his body trembled as if something that had been blocked for so many years had been unlocked.

At the same time, space and time began to distort.

...ppajig!

In the midst of the nine teeth's ferocious clashing, a tiny speck of light flashed.

It's teeth. It was the tenth teeth.

It was so small it was barely visible, but it was clearly attached to the nine teeth.

And then... the storm subsided.

Only one man remained. An old man with a gray beard.

He raised his head and looked up at the Tower.

He stood there for a long time, then slowly took a step.

Inside the tower.

And behind the gray-bearded old man, who slowly entered the Tower.

[Your birth will be like the birth of a sword, and your death will be like the death of a sword].

The voice of the old man with the white beard, who had now disappeared, was slowly becoming distant.

完. Thank you.

* * *

-# Real Credit cookie-.

...kwakwang!

With a loud bang, hot flames leaped up.

"Who says it's over!"

A woman stomped her foot, her anger rising to the top of her head.

"Aaah! I don't know if it's a side effect of time travel or whatever, but it made me into a body that never ages, and are you already trying to send me to a venomous workshop!? This is really a dog that can't give up its old habit of running away without saying a word! like he's from Baskerville!"

Her red hair erupts like a volcano.

All around her, flames and spikes of blackened metal soared murderously.

And beside her, pacing was a copper-skinned woman.

Her muscles were toned, her bow strapped to her back, her choker tied around her neck.

"I want to have many children, to rebuild my tribe, and since the human population is so small, and fertility is encouraged as a virtue, ... I need to fill at least three digits."

A native woman preaching the virtues of fertility.

And next to her, a woman in a white nun's uniform can be seen knitting in a calm manner.

"Oh no. Calm down, everyone. Overexcitement is bad for your body. Well, it's almost demi-god territory at this point anyway, so there's no chance of getting hurt.... Ah? Is it possible that just because your body is strong and supreme... you asked for too much, and that's why he got scared and ran away!"

A saintess who has a calm demeanor but is the first to panic.

The next to speak was a woman with short-cropped white hair.

"Brother, stop being lazy, that's why it splashed again. If I were him, I'd run away because of the noise. Wherever he goes, you always follow him around. One must have faith."

The white-haired woman criticizes the other women.

The last to join the conversation was a woman with dark hair and red eyes, who seemed to have a cold demeanor.

"Leave it to me. Catching escaped prisoners is my specialty, and I've found where he's gone this time."

All the women's eyes lit up.

"Where? Where did he go this time?"

"The desert again, I'm sure."

"If he went looking for the Tower, I'm disappointed, it's the same old pattern."

"Well, this time it seemed to have a different momentum."

"Don't worry. I've already found the Tower, and I've been there twice, so I can find it with my eyes closed."

The five women bonded instantly.

Despite their usual bickering, they had always been able to work together to solve problems quickly in situations like this.

"Just wait and see! If he gets caught this time, he'll get fifty years in prison, he's dead, really dead!"

"Wow, the bitch who will cry and snot out her tears and beg him to come back whenever we meet is always good at talking."

"I miss him already, I don't want to be away from him even for an hour...."

"Don't worry about it. By the way, if he gets caught this time, I'll have to cut brother's allowance in half."

"I wonder if he's running away from home because you keep cutting his pocket money like that."

"Well, instead of cutting his allowance in half, why don't you double the number of defense battles?"

"I think that would scare him more."

"I'm fine with just watching from the sidelines."

"Ugh- you've been a sissy for decades, really?"

"Yeah, but this time it looked like he was really trying to run away."

"Hey! it's the Gave of Swords, it's obvious, I've got it all mapped out."

"Oh, there? The place guarded by that basilisk? He hasn't come out since I beat the crap out of him on my last preliminary exploration."

"If it had a map, it would have scared it away and moved its nest. It's a pretty intelligent creature."

"Anyway, isn't it about time we found it?"

"Oh, look! I see it!"

The five chatty women cross the desert to the Tower.

[A life of running and fleeing from chase until the end of time, with words that reflect loneliness and solitude].

[But those who pursue you will find you, and in the end, they will reach where you are].

[You cannot escape from them. For all time. Forever.]

[I see the furious faces of those who pursue you. Your miserable future, bound and shackled to them forever.]

It was the moment when the ominous oracle that someone had predicted a long time ago came true.

[In the end, there shall be five bodies!]

Real 完. Thank you.

–

–

–

tl/n: 完 (finish)

Side Story Chapter 1

The river of blood is slowly drying up.

It happened in the highlands of the Western Front, where the battle against the remnants of the Demon Army had not yet ended.

* * *

The Morg's Citadel is made up of countless towers.

It appears to be made up of countless skewers stuck into the ground.

Among them, the basement of the tower is hidden in the most remote place.

Each of Morg's two major factions, the Light Hall and the Dark Hall have their own secret underground spaces.

One of them is the 'Dark Side', the deepest part of the Dark Hall.

The underground space stretches more than 600 floors below the ground.

And on the lowest level, the 666th floor is the headquarters of the Dark Hall.

It was a space known only to the Dark Hall's delegates, inaccessible to Imperial monitoring, demonic gaze, and even the head of House Morg.

At the bottom of a spiraling staircase with no end in sight.

There, a lone woman sits on a throne, her eyes closed.

Tsutsutsutsutsutsuts...

She is a mage who checks the mana flowing through her veins.

With her red hair and white skin, she is clearly a master mage who has reached the peak of her powers.

Morg Mu Camus.

She trusts no one and relies on no one.

She has stood alone her entire life, battling the world tooth and nail, sometimes winning, sometimes losing, and living each moment as if she had never been hurt before.

"Huu...."

Finally, Camus opened her eyes from her meditation.

By nature, when a mage checks their mana, they are very vulnerable.

As the saying goes, 'A mage who checks their mana is like a crab or a shrimp who has just shed their shells'.

That's why Camus always meditated only on the 666th floor of the Dark Side, where no one else was allowed to enter.

Absolute self-righteousness.

She trusted no one, so she didn't do any favors.

Only she could guard and protect her own body.

....

"Did you finish your meditation? It took longer than usual?"

When Camus opened her eyes, she saw an unbelievable sight.

A mask with a stork's beak.

A woman in a grim, ominous mask had emerged from behind a stone pillar.

It was a wonder that any outsiders existed on the 666th floor, where only delegates of the Dark Hall were allowed to enter.

"... More than usual?"

More than anything else, this statement made Camus frown.

This meant that the mysterious intruder in front of her had been watching her meditate a lot and for a long time.

In reality, Camus had been meditating longer than usual, so the words were not just a taunt.

kuleuleuleuleuleug!

Mana boils around her.

Camus summoned flames and iron skewers and hurled them at the intruder in front of her.

"I don't know who you are, but die, and I'll ask questions later."

As a master of the art of death, Camus was more comfortable and accustomed to dealing with the dead than the living.

Especially when it came to interrogating prisoners or spies.

But.

kwakwakwakwang!

Her eyes widened at the unbelievable sight.

Flames and iron skewers, flew in from the other side, offsetting Camus's attack.

And then something else happened that stunned her.

Sssssssssssss...

Tree branches as long and thin as a woman's hair hang down in front of Camus.

Wraith Tree.

A tree of mana that takes root in the minds of mages and nourishes the karma of souls.

An incomprehensible being that feeds on abstraction and metaphysics and delivers its harvests to the material world.

It was also the signature of the eighth demon lord, Seere.

"No way! Seere, I definitely destroyed that guy along with Snake!"

Camus was aghast.

It was a natural reaction.

The demon lord she'd slain so long ago had returned to life.

But.

"Calm down, I'm not here to fight."

The masked woman neatly parried Camus' attack and took a step back.

"What are you, a demon lord? How do you possess the power of the 8th Corpse?"

"Like this."

In response to Camus' question, the woman shrugged one shoulder.

Then something crawled out of her shoulder.

"Se, Seere... that?"

Camus stopped in her tracks, about to shout in surprise.

What was in front of her now is something that is a bit lacking to say that it is 'Seere, the demon of necromancy' who once brought this world to the brink of destruction.

"...Why is it so small?"

Camus opened her mouth halfway in disbelief as she looked at the tiny, insignificant Seere.

The mysterious woman tilted the mask on her face in a pointed manner.

"Because I've absorbed most of it."

"...demonic power, is that possible?"

"It is possible."

Then Camus made a face of disbelief.

"What kind of a crazy bitch are you, eating demonic power because you had nothing else to eat? You're no ordinary crazy bitch, and you'll do the world no good by keeping you alive."

"Don't lie down and spit on me."

"...?"

Camus shakes her head in confusion.

Then, the woman removed the mask that covered her face.

Red hair, red eyes, and a vaguely familiar face.

"...!"

Camus' eyes widened.

It was Camus standing in front of Camus.

"W-what is it?"

"What is it? It's you."

The unmasked Camus smirked and walked forward.

"I thought you were a lot older, but you're not that old? It's me too. You're still pretty no matter how old you get."

"...?"

Camus walked forward and stood in front of the confused Camus.

Camus then revealed her identity.

"I'm you from the parallel world."

"What the fuck...."

"Does that sound like shit?"

"...."

Camus, in her 20s, raised her head.

Camus in front of her looks no different from Camus in her 20s, despite the fact that she is now well into middle age.

"Let's just call it 'you on this side' and 'me on that side,' because I'm from a different world anyway."

"What kind of nonsense are you talking about?"

Camus on this side said through gritted teeth.

"Demon Kills. We kill people who use demonic powers. We just have to kill them all."

"...Oh. It's a lot hotter over here than it is in the West."

Soon, fire and skewers fly from Camus on this side.

Camus on that side blocked it, using Seere, who was tied to the roots of the Wraith Tree, as a shield.

[Kyaaaaaaah! Camus-nim! It hurts so muuuuuch! I'm not Decarabiaaaaaa!]

Looking at the screaming and wailing Seere, Camus on this side half opened her mouth in disbelief.

Then.

"Can you trust me?"

Camus from that side throws a token of reconciliation to Camus from this side.

...tug!

It was Baal's head.

Camus on this side opened her eyes wide.

"This is Baal, the First Demon Lord, did you kill this guy?"

"Technically, only the shell, it looks like the main body is hiding somewhere else."

Camus from that side continued, unconcerned.

"I've never been able to locate Baal's true body, and I've slain many demons, but no one seems to know. Perhaps Baal itself has no great desire to conquer the human realm, the problem was that there were too many low-ranking demons who wanted to continue its legacy."

"How do you know such things, bitch?"

"I told you, you're me and I'm you, which is how I got in here."

When Camus from that side finished speaking, she looked around.

The seals on the door that responded only to Camus' body, the familiar array of pillars, and the magic circles on the floor.

Everything was as she knew it.

Finally, Camus from that side blinked, her eyes moist.

"This is where Master died. I still get teary-eyed when I think of Uncle Snake...."

"What? Snake? Master? Why is that filthy beast a master?"

"What? Beast? Are you calling Uncle Snake a beast?"

"...?"

"...?"

At this, the two Camus exchanged sharp looks.

"I have only one uncle, Uncle Adolf. He, too, died in an all-out assault by demons. Snake, that despicable, filthy man is nothing but a dog who sold his soul to a demon."

"If you insult my master, I will never forgive you."

"Shut up. Snake is a shameless traitor who caused the deaths of Uncle Adolf and Mother"

"Not to me."

"It's different from what you just said. I am you and you are me."

"Maybe not."

The mood of reconciliation, which had been created only briefly by the shell of Baal, quickly became as precarious as a sheet of thin ice.

Right then.

"I sent you to hold her hand, but what if you start playing the game?"

A muffled voice came from behind the stone pillar.

Then, a shadowy figure stepped between the two Camus.

Vikir. A hound who had crossed many lives.

An old man covered in wounds was standing there.

A moment.

"...!"

Camus from this side froze.

The man's eyes were deep and intense, enough to make even the most arrogant and stubborn person in the world freeze in her tracks.

Moreover, just by looking at them, for some reason, her body felt weak and her heart trembled, as emotions she had never experienced before in her life suddenly sprouted from the depths of her heart...

"Hey, what are you looking at!"

But Camus on this side was forced to snap out of her reverie by the shout of Camus on that side.

Camus on that side rushed over and grabbed Vikir's arm.

She turned to Camus on this side and gave her a stern warning.

"Don't set your eyes on someone else's husband."

"I am you, and you are me?"

"Oh, I guess not!"

Camus on this side snorted in disbelief.

Then, turning to the other version of herself and her husband (?) in front of her, she asked.

"So. Why are we here?"

Camus on that side replied.

"Let's hold hands."

"Hands? What, are you suggesting we do nail art?"

"I'm you and you're me, so you know my personality. If you make one more sarcastic remark, I'll kill you."

"I'm you and you're me, so you know my personality. Go ahead, kill me."

"Ha, is this bitch is really...."

Then Vikir shook his head, as if he'd seen this coming, and stepped between them again.

"Let's join forces."

"Join forces on what? Slaying demons?"

"There's more. There's something else, something more fundamental."

"...What's more important than slaying demons?"

"To restore humanity."

"!"

Vikir spoke up, answering Camus' question.

"Since the Age of Destruction, 99.99% of humanity has perished. On this side of the world, Tudor, Bianca, Sancho, Piggy, and countless others met a different fate. The same goes for those who were used as hosts for demons."

"What can you do about it? The dead are dead. They can't come back now...."

Camus on this side shook her head, her voice bitter.

Perhaps she was thinking of Respane or Adolf, who had died in the war against the demons.

But.

"There is a way to resurrect them all."

At Vikir's words, Camus on this side raised her head.

And in front of him stood Camus from that side.

Thump-thump.

Camus stamps her foot on the floor with a smile on her face.

And on the floor, a large, yet incomplete magic circle can be seen drawn.

Suddenly, Camus on this side's eyes widen.

She looks more agitated than she has ever looked before.

And then.

The voices of the two Camus come together as one.

"Liquor of complete revival!"

Side Story Chapter 2

"...The Magic Circle of Full Revival"

Camus on this side was skeptical.

"Isn't it something that can only be attempted by reaching the state of being able to draw at least ten mana rings, which is practically impossible?"

"It's close to impossible, but it's not impossible. Just because it's close to fire doesn't mean it's fire, right?"

"Don't play games with me. I know, because I've tried countless times to perfect this formula, but it's a wall I could never get over on my own."

"Yeah. I'm with you on that one."

"...?"

Camus on this side looked puzzled, and Camus on that side spoke up.

"'Alone'?"

Morg Mu Camus.

How many people had betrayed her so far?

How many people had failed to fulfill her expectations?

Her unparalleled skill, her arrogant temper, and her distrust of others honed through countless heartbreaks.

All of this has led her to distrust others.

... But what about herself?

Camus on that side spoke in a confident voice.

"I am a magical genius. The strongest Morg."

"...."

"You are a magical genius. The strongest Morg."

"...."

"What if we joined hands and made up for each other's shortcomings? Can't you see what would happen?"

"...."

Camus on this side remained silent.

She had always kept to herself, even when meditating to check her mana because she didn't trust others.

Finally, after a long silence, Camus on this side spoke up.

"...Can you really bring them back? All of them."

"I can't say for sure, of course. But if there's even the slightest chance, don't you think we should try?"

Camus on this side nods in agreement with Camus on that side.

Eventually.

kkwaag-

The two rare magical geniuses joined hands.

The objective: the 'The Magic Circle of Full Revival', a forbidden method that no one had ever succeeded in creating.

"Should we do it right now?"

"Are you sure?"

"Of course not."

Camus on that side slid down to the floor and stood.

Then she turned to face Camus on this side.

Camus on that side took a small, deep breath.

Then she spoke in a low voice.

"Did you know that the Morg started out as a morgue, a mortuary?"

"...!"

"And it was a small family that specialized in that kind of business, keeping only unidentified corpses."

Camus on that side was rummaging through a long, long memory.

'Morgue' was the name of a very old bloodline, dating back to before humans had any concept of family or nation, and the main job of those who carried on the lineage was to collect unidentified corpses and find their relatives.

They were paid to collect bodies that had been mutilated beyond recognition, find their relatives, and hand them over to them.

As a result, they were often in the presence of the dead, and as time passed, those who could communicate with the dead gradually emerged.

Whether they were once a power on par with a nation, whether they had been cut off for decades after the downfall, or whether they were once again called a house of Mage, those with this strange ability continued to emerge.

A nostalgic voice that is no longer there.

A lifelong benefactor to Camus on that side.

The voice of a teacher who had left behind a heavy debt that could never be repaid.

"So, technically, Morg's origins are very close to death. For from the beginning, Morg was one who spoke to the dead and called upon them."

" ...You mean that from birth our ancestors were in touch with the Black Magic?"

"Exactly."

"Hmm."

Camus on this side listened to Camus on that side in silence.

"Bianca! My funny girlfriend!"

"What, what kind of bitch is funny gf?"

"Well, it's just an idiomatic expression...."

Tudor and Bianca started bickering as soon as they were reunited.

Then.

"What... here?"

A man stood up from the crowd of revived soldiers.

Tudor, Sancho, and Bianca recognized the man's face at a glance.

"Second Prince!?"

* * *

Here is an old man.

Cold eyes, a stubborn nose, a mouth that looks like it has no hair and a mustache that gives off a heavy aura.

This old man is giving off a chilling impression.

"Huaaaaahhhhh!"

He was crying.

Very sobbing, too.

"Roxana! Penelope!"

Hugo Le Baskervilles, the patriarch of the House of Baskerville, was hugging his wife and daughter, every ounce of moisture in his body spilling out of his eyes.

Roxana and Penelope stare into each other's faces, dumbfounded.

"How did we survive?"

But there was something more important than that right now.

"Pomerian, my dear!"

Penelope held the small girl, who must have been six or seven years old, tightly in her arms.

Hugo thrust his tear-stained face into Pomerian's wide-eyed, helpless face.

"Patriarch, from this day forward, you'll be the Patriarch of the House of Baskerville, and I'll do anything you want!"

"Uaahhh- mustache!"

"You don't like mustaches! Hello! Is there no one there? Bring me my sword! Nope! Just grab it with your hands and tear it away!"

Hugo hugged his wife, daughter, and granddaughter and sobbed like that for a while longer.

...and.

Osiris, his eldest son, was looking somewhat dazed at the sight of his father, whom he had never seen before.

"I see. My father was human after all."

He smiled faintly and turned his head.

There stood his younger brother, Set.

"Brother."

"Yes, brother."

"I don't know what to tell you. Because my body was taken over by a demon...."

"I know all about it. Say no more. If everyone has been revived, that's enough. You are innocent."

"Brother...."

Set began to sob.

Osiris, who had soothed Set's shoulder, turned away.

Over the railing, in the bell tower, he saw a familiar face.

CindyWendy.

She stared at Osiris with a wavering gaze.

hwag-

With that, CindyWendy turned and disappeared down the stairs.

...tatag!

Osiris ran after her.

* * *

A little more time passed.

The Morg and Baskerville families, who had become in-laws, held a friendly tournament.

The instructors strolled among the eight-year-old boys and girls sparring.

"If you hurt each other badly, it counts as a defeat. Keep this in mind!"

"Hehehe- you're always so eager."

Instructor Pavlov van Baskerville exclaimed.

And Deacon Barrymore, who was watching, smirked.

The two men began to laugh and chat.

"I hear you're quite skilled, Deacon. I hear you've slain quite a few demons."

"No matter how I've been serving the House of Baskerville my whole life, and even fought with the patriarch when I was younger."

"Hahaha- speaking of which, the patriarch has also become much gentler as he gets older. I can't imagine what has also become much he used to be like."

"That's true. How time flies."

Just then.

...Boom!

A loud bang from the rehearsal hall interrupted their conversation.

"Let's settle this today!"

"I'll give you a good smashing!"

Highbro of House Baskerville and Highsis of House Morg fought fiercely against each other.

"Let's settle the matter!"

"All you can do is parrot your brother's words, you idiot!"

As their swords and magic clashed, their younger siblings, Midbro and Midsis, could be seen holding their own.

Highbro, Midbro, Lowbro.

Highsis, Midsis, and Lowsis.

The triplets of Baskerville and the triplets of Morg are fiercely competitive with each other.

kwakwakwakwakwakwakwang!

Is it because of the commonality of having survived a war together and risen from the same battlefield at the same time?

Their rivalry was still burning brightly today.

...Of course.

"I guess it's because my brothers are idiots that they don't get tired."

"My sisters are also dishonest."

Looking at Lowbro and Lowsis holding hands tightly, it didn't seem like that was the case.

A newspaper fluttered in the wind at the feet of Baskerville and Morg, a handsome man and woman holding each other tightly.

[Outside] Marquis de Sade, 666th Failed Prison Break!

-Last night afternoon, another prison break occurred at Nouvelle Vague, the worst prison in the world...

-Marquis de Sade is the mastermind of this latest escape...

-His granddaughter, Professor Sady, disguised herself as a guard and tried to rescue her grandfather, but...

-They were stopped by the combined efforts of Lieutenant General Souare and Countess Isabella, who happened to be in the right place at the right time...

-The first person to discover Professor Sady disguised as a prison guard was known as 'Colonel Kirko' and became the talk of the town...

-She was a prison guard among guards, an elite among elites, known for her stern and strict behavior...

-Professor Sady, on the other hand, is known to have had a mysterious behavior since her escape...

* * * *

And it was not long ago that the Baskerville and Morg families became in-laws.

"...."

There was another person who gained a new lease on life from the Day of Full Revival.

Unnamed minor graduate.

No one knew his name.

A retired soldier, whose last name is better known as 'Baskerville', was sitting alone at the fountain in the square.

"...."

He stood still for a while, taking in the scenery of the square.

Thinking about what to do with his life now that he's out of the military.

Then.

"Buy flowers – fresh flowers -"

A girl walks by the fountain.

At that time.

"...!"

The girl suddenly stops walking in front of the fountain.

She walked up to the dazed man and handed him the flower in her hand.

It was a white, pristine lily.

The man looked at the flower, puzzled.

"I don't have any money,".

"I'm just giving it to you."

The girl gave the man the flower.

"Why are you giving me this?"

"Just because, for some reason, I felt like I should."

The girl smiled.

Then she asked the man

"My name is Nympet. What's yours?"

"...Vikir."

The girl smiled brightly as the man revealed his name.

"Thank you for protecting this world, Mr. Soldier."

And with that. After she left, the man was left alone in the square with the flowers in his hand.

He stared at the flowers for a while, then muttered in a low voice.

"... I think I'll start a flower shop."

Then.

"There you are."

An unfamiliar voice came from behind him.

A woman, her red hood pulled down deep, came to the man.

The man stared at her as if he'd never seen her before.

Then, the woman lifted the hood slightly to cover her face.

"...!"

Then, the man's expression finally shows surprise.

"I see the war hero, The Empress of Heaven."

"Oh, never mind. No need to say hello."

The woman walks over with a brisk stride, then slows down again.

She leaned against the fountain's railing, her gait awkward, clumsy, and somewhat shy.

She was right next to the man.

" ...What brings you here, Camus-nim?"

"Omit honorifics, we're the same age."

"You're the same age as me? I didn't know that."

The woman smirked at the man's comment.

Now, she looks into his face with a pointed gaze.

'Don't set your eyes on someone else's husband.'

'I am you, and you are me?'

'Oh, I guess not!'

A voice crackled in her ear.

She smirked and muttered.

"I'm you and you're me, but... This is this, that's that, that's this."

"?"

The man stares at her in confusion.

She considers for a moment, then nods.

"The flower."

"??"

"Can't you give it to me?"

"????"

The man looked a little confused.

But the woman was undeterred.

"It's just. I thought I'd get to know you a little better."

That's one thing.

This was this side's business.

* * *

"Wow. I guess everything worked out."

"Yeah."

Vikir smirked as Camus clapped her hands.

All of those who had died unjustly at the hands of the demon's handiwork were brought back to life.

Camus had controlled the Magic of Full Revival to the finest degree, those who died regardless of whether they were evil or demonic were not revived.

Meanwhile.

"I suppose I'll be revived in this world, too, since the Red Death was the work of a demon."

"By the way, the original Vikir from this world is also very handsome. He's like a mature middle-aged man...."

"Hehe, I heard you used to like flower arranging when you were younger. In a world without fighting, you'd be a flower artist."

"The Nouvelle Vague on this side of the world has been restored, and judging from the newspapers, it looks like I'm alive and well here too. Happy."

Aiyen, Dolores, Sinclair, and Kirko, who had crossed over from their original world to this world, were still busy chatting.

Everyone on this side of the world, and everyone on that side of the world, had been brought back to life.

However, the six from this side of the line had decided that they would no longer interfere with their fate.

"Now we must plan our lives."

"We'll have to adapt to this world."

"There are some subtle differences, but I don't think it will be too difficult."

"If you have money, you can live anywhere!"

"You guys are so easygoing. I like that."

But.

"...."

In particular, Vikir still had unresolved concerns.

[...I see. A milestone. Was this my role.]

[Just by traveling here, you will get what you want].

[But even after you get what you want, you'll have no choice but to come back here again].

[Because that's what 'he' wants].

The words of Baal that day are stuck in his head.

Also.

'And when the last moment of your life comes, come to this place.'

Is it the mystery of the Magic Abyss?

What was that voice that came from Baal's head for an instant?

"...."

Vikir stroked his chin with his finger.

He didn't know who the voice belonged to, but for some reason, there was a place that immediately came to mind.

"...Grave of Swords."

Vikir let the words slip out of his mouth without realizing it.

And then.

"What? Grave of Swords? Where is that?"

"I heard about it from a revived soldier. It's where the demons were mysteriously exterminated."

"It's in the Yuuni Salt Desert, right? But why is that...."

"What is it? I have a sudden suspicion. You don't think he's going to run off again, do you?"

"It's possible if it's him."

The five women who were busy chatting overheard Vikir's muttering.

Camus, Aiyen, Dolores, Sinclair, and Kirko began to silently monitor Vikir's condition.

"...."

"...."

"...."

"...."

"...."

And Vikir, who is completely unaware of this, mutters quietly to himself.

"Perhaps I should meet the man who guards it once more."

An old memory flashes through his mind.

'I will see him again someday.'

He clenched his fists.

...kkwaag!

It was truly the first victory he felt in a long time.

Side Story Chapter 5

Wiiiiiing-

A dry wind blows.

His black robe fluttered in the breeze, and his long, graying beard.

Vikir walked across the white salt desert.

Hongmen(Great Door).

Once a vast expanse of greenery.

Now a wasteland of rock and salt.

Vikir turned his head and looked out over the desert horizon.

"...."

Desolate and lonely.

Age weathered many things.

Emotions, desires.

... But there was one emotion that still pulsed as strongly as it had in his youth.

A sense of victory.

Who is stronger.

It is greed and a delusion that a mere mortal who lives on swordsmanship would not let go of until death.

So Vikir moved on.

Throwing off all restraints and shackles, he surrendered himself to the instincts he had held in check for so long, so many years.

Wiiiiiiing-

A salty breeze blows in.

His sword sliced through the edge of the storm like a curtain, opening a path into the center of it.

Vikir found what he was looking for.

'The Grave of Swords.'

An awl-like tower jutting out of the ground, it bathed in the blackness of the night sky and the red of blood.

It still stood there, unchanged from the last time he had seen it.

Vikir brushed the salt grains from his long beard and muttered to himself.

"...A true Baskerville is born in the 'Cradle of Swords'."

It's a famous phrase passed down within the Baskerville family.

But. there's a sentence behind it that's actually hidden.

"...A true Baskerville dies in the 'Grave of Swords'."

At this point, he's probably the only Baskerville who knows this phrase exists.

With that, Vikir entered the Grave of Swords.

The steps, each one pointed like an awl, rose high and steep.

This, too, was the same landscape.

A terribly desolate, suffocating, lonely place.

With each step he took, his whole body shuddered, and he felt like his stomach was being ripped open.

Countless swords are embedded in the floor, walls, and ceiling.

The water dripping from them was red and fishy.

jeobeog- jeobeog- jeobeog- jeobeog-

Vikir continued climbing the stairs.

One step at a time.

In this way, it was sliced, chipped, cut out, and worn away, climbing towards the top.

And then he came face to face with it.

The iron throne at the top of the tower.

Then he heard a heavy, clanging voice, like the clash of steel against steel.

[This is the Grave of Swords, the final resting place of those who pursue the extreme will of the sword.]

And there stood a man in thick iron armor, his long white beard hanging down.

Beneath his white eyebrows, where the whites should have been, there was a hollow darkness, and in the center of it, eyes as red as the sun burned coldly.

His nose was sharp as a knife, his lips tightly pursed, and the dead, blue skin seemed to be so dry that it barely covered the skull.

His dark heavy armor and massive greatsword made the stronghold he was building seem even more imposing.

Vikir already knew his face.

CaneCorso Le Baskerville.

A former Seven Counts who had seen the turbulence of the Warring States, and the strongest man in the world that even the Age of Destruction had not been able to stop.

He stroked his snow-white beard and smiled wryly.

[It's definitely a familiar face even though it's my first time seeing it. Does the intuition of a superhuman who has reached the realm of the supreme transcend even space and time?]

Vikir didn't bother to answer his question.

'It reminds me of old times. When I first met him, I had a hard time even receiving a single sword slash.'

I wonder how it is now.

He hadn't really had a chance to test his strength since the war with the demons ended, and this was a good opportunity.

...Chaang!

Vikir drew his favorite sword, Baalzebub, which had been with him all his life.

The two swords clashed.

CaneCorso swings his large serrated greatsword, and Vikir plunges the long, awl-like shaft of Beelzebub through the swirling maelstrom of strikes.

Baskerville's 9th Form and Baskerville's 9th Form.

It was only a matter of moments before they clashed.

Nine teeth against nine teeth.

"...!"

Vikir stopped moving as if struck by lightning.

A moment too late.

His mind raced with the many truths he had seen in the Magic Abyss.

Meanwhile, something that had been blocked for a long time was opened up.

...ppajig!

Space and time began to distort.

A tiny speck of light flickered amidst the fierce clash of the nine teeth.

A tooth protruded from the space where dust, gas, clouds, and star clusters floated.

It was the tenth tooth.

It was so small it was barely visible, but it was clearly attached to the other nine teeth.

...Flash!

The moment it pierced his body, CaneCorso thought.

[... Is it the last one?]

As if in response to this thought.

ppagag!

The sword hilt of his trusty companion, 'Fragarach', snapped in half.

CaneCorso gazed warmly at the broken serrated sword with warm eyes and muttered.

[I see, now you're going to get your Godhood, congratulations.]

The black energy within Fragarach rose into the sky.

CaneCorso's body also turned to red dust and began to fade away.

[I may not have become a Sword God, but I was able to become a Sword Immortal. I'll be content to serve as a milestone for future generations.]

He let himself be carried away by the storm of slashes created by the clash of swords.

It was the end of a man who had spent his life obsessed with the sword.

....

...And then.

The storm subsided.

Only one man remained. Vikir alone.

[Your birth will be like the birth of the sword, and your death will be like the death of the sword.]

The voice of CainCorso, now fading away, drifted away.

Just then.

"Ouch, you burn!"

There is a loud voice behind him.

Vikir turned around in surprise to see familiar faces standing there.

"I knew you'd come this way."

"I've been keeping an eye on this place ever since I heard you mutter something once."

"Everyone is so paranoid...."

"We have a former prison guard who is a master of tracking."

"Uh, you mean me? I'm a former prison guard, but I'm not very good at tracking unless you count arrests."

Camus, Aiyen, Dolores, Sinclair, Kirko.

All of his friends from the other world were there.

"I, I was going to come alone, but how...."

On rare occasions, Vikir even stuttered.

It was Camus who stepped forward.

"You should have brought me, if not the others. You don't even know how to open the gate to the Magic Abyss."

"...."

Vikir shut his mouth.

Camus stepped into the Grave of Swords of his own accord and stared at the giant sigil carved into the bottom of the spiral staircase.

"...The traces of ten mana wheels."

Camus looked at the magic circle engraved on the floor and the marks of the mana injection.

"It's similar to a Full Revival Magic, but far more noble, greater, and powerful. ... I can't believe this kind of magic exists in the world. What was its purpose?"

"It's almost as if it symbolizes the truth itself, though it's not for me to know what sister Camus doesn't know...."

Even Sinclair, who was no stranger to magic, was breaking out in a cold sweat.

Aiyen, Dolores, and Kirko put their heads together.

"I can tell by the trail. There must have been a huge explosion."

"From what I've heard, this area used to be densely forested. Maybe the explosion turned it into a salt desert...."

"Maybe there was a meteorite or something, and that would explain the two gaps in human history."

And it was Camus who summarized all these opinions into one.

"We'll find out when we go there again."

A second expedition into the Magic Abyss.

This opinion was the only one that matched Vikir's.

* * *

Vikir and Camus reached the Magic Abyss once again.

After passing through the 'Five Fingers of the Creator' area, they saw a familiar phrase.

-All things are born in the Magic Abyss and return to the Magic Abyss.

-One day, when the stars move, a door will open to a new level and all things will come to their inevitable end.

These two phrases stand like gatekeepers of timeless nothingness.

Camus stretched out the roots of the ghost tree and twisted the locks on the pillars and between the pillars.

Eight doors opened, and only then did Vikir come face to face with something.

It was a spirit being in the form of a human, a female form.

Vikir knew the moment he saw it.

'Motherhood (Maternal).'

The being that was now radiating a bright light in front of him was his distant ancestor, the 'First Mother'.

And the mother said to Vikir, and to her son.

[I missed you].

"...."

Vikir couldn't say anything.

And the mother opened her mouth once more.

[I was so worried about you that I couldn't leave. I don't know how many generations have passed, but you are still my daughters and sons.]

The mother hugged her son tightly.

Then she spoke in a warm, moist voice.

[Now I can finally leave in peace, to where he has gone.]

"Where are you going?"

Vikir asked, and the mother replied.

[To grab him by the hair].

"...?"

At Vikir's puzzled expression, she reached out and stroked his head.

[Live].

"....?"

[Live. Live to the fullest. Live to your heart's content. Live this world cheerfully.]

The mother seemed to know and understand what Vikir had come here for.

But Vikir still didn't know what to do.

"Can't I go with you?"

The mother shook her head at the question.

[When the last moment of your life comes, a long time later, a very long time later, come to this place.]

"...."

[Until then, enjoy common flirtation and ordinary self-satisfaction, for that is the highest cheerfulness, awareness, and love.]

That was his last word with his mother.

* * *

Vikir returned from the Magic Abyss.

He spent a very long time in this world.

His beautiful wives, his cheerful children, and his happy times with them passed like a dream of the Nine Clouds.

How much time had passed?

When all the crimson dust of this world was covered by the sands of time and could no longer decay.

For the third time in his life, Vikir traveled to the Magic Abyss.

pis-

On his first visit, he learned the Full Revival Magic and the truths of the 10 Form.

On his second visit, he met his first mother.

What will he do on his third visit?

".... .... ...."

Without a word, Vikir walked up the stairs of dust, clouds, and stars that appeared before him, one by one.

And at the end of the staircase, at the edge of the Magic Abyss, he came face to face with someone sitting on the edge.

'The Five Fingers of the Creator.'

Beyond the five giant fingers glowed the endless jade throne, or rather, the constellation.

An old man sat there.

He fiddled with a handful of personalized glass beads.

".... .... ...."

With a look on his face that Vikir wasn't sure what to make of.