novelzi Chapter 500: Side Story 5
Chapter 500: Side Story 5
[Translator - Clara]
[Proofreader - Lucky ]
Side Story: Chapter 5
Whooosh—
A dry wind blew.
A black cloak fluttered in the wind, along with a long, gray beard.
Vikir was walking across the vast, white salt desert.
A place that was once a sprawling green field.
But now, it’s a barren wasteland, filled only with rocks and salt.
Vikir turned his head to look beyond the desert horizon.
"......"
Lonely. And solitary.
Time wears away many things.
Feelings, desires.
... But even so, one emotion still throbbed within him, unchanged from his younger days.
The desire to win.
Who is stronger?
This is the one obsession, the one regret, that every warrior who lives by the sword cannot let go of, not until death.
And so, Vikir continued to walk.
Casting off all shackles and chains, surrendering his body to the instincts he had suppressed for an endless number of years.
Whoooosh—
A wind filled with the scent of salt blew.
He slashed through the raging storm, parting the curtain-like winds with his sword, revealing a path within.
Vikir found what he had been searching for.
The ‘Sword Tomb.’
This tower, with its spire-like shape jutting out of the ground, held the blackness of the night sky and the red hue of blood at the same time.
It stood there, unchanged from when he had last seen it.
Vikir brushed the grains of salt off his long beard and muttered.
"... A true Baskerville is born in the ‘Cradle of Sword.’"
This is a famous phrase passed down within the Baskerville family.
But. There’s a hidden sentence that follows.
"... A true Baskerville dies in the ‘Sword Tomb.’"
At this moment, Vikir was likely the only one who knew of this phrase’s existence.
Soon, Vikir entered the Sword Tomb.
Each step was upon steep and pointed stairs that jutted out like spikes.
This, too, was an all-too-familiar sight.
A dreadfully lonely, suffocating, and isolating space.
With each step, his whole body felt as if it was being cut, sliced like thin jerky.
The floor, walls, and ceiling were studded with countless swords.
Drops of red, fishy-smelling liquid dripped from them.
Step. Step. Step. Step.
Vikir continued to climb the stairs.
One step, one stair.
Being sliced, shaved away, carved, and worn down, he ascended toward the summit.
And then, he finally came face-to-face with it.
The Iron Throne, located at the highest point of the tower.
Suddenly, a heavy, metallic voice rang out, like a clash of steel.
[This is the Sword Tomb, where those who seek the ultimate mastery of the sword come for their final journey.]
And there, a man clad in thick armor with a long, white beard appeared.
Beneath his snow-white eyebrows, where the whites of his eyes should have been, were hollow voids filled with darkness, and in their center, red pupils blazed coldly, like burning suns.
His sharp, blade-like nose and tightly closed lips gave him a stern appearance. His bluish-black skin was so dried out that it seemed barely clinging to the bones of his skull.
The heavy, dark armor that covered his body and the enormous greatsword he wielded made his fortress-like presence even more imposing.
Vikir recognized his face.
Cane Corso le Baskerville.
An old count from the era of warring factions, a man considered the strongest in human history, who even the era of destruction could not claim.
He stroked his snow-white beard and let out a hearty laugh.
[You feel familiar, even though it’s the first time we’ve met. Does a transcendent's intuition surpass even time itself?]
Vikir didn’t bother to respond.
‘Brings back memories. When I first met this man, I could barely withstand a single strike from him.’
He wondered how things would go now.
Since the war with the demons ended, there hadn’t been many chances to test his strength. But this was a good opportunity.
... Clang!
“Well, we’ll just have to go see for ourselves.”
The second expedition to the Abyss of Magic.
This was the one thing Vikir fully agreed with.
* * *
Vikir and Camus once again descended into the Abyss of Magic.
Passing through the "Five Fingers of the Creator", they encountered a familiar inscription:
- All things are born from the Abyss of Magic and return to it.
- On the fated day when the stars align, a new level shall open, and all things will meet their inevitable end.
These two lines, standing like gatekeepers to the void, were solemn and ominous.
Camus extended the roots of the ghost tree, deftly unlocking the locks between the pillars.
When the eight doors were finally opened, Vikir came face to face with something.
It was a human figure—an ethereal, female presence.
The moment Vikir laid eyes on her, he instinctively understood:
‘Mother.’
The radiant being before him was his distant ancestor, the "First Mother."
And the Mother spoke to Vikir, her son.
[I've longed to see you.]
"......"
Vikir remained silent, unable to speak.
Once more, the Mother spoke.
[I've stayed because I couldn’t leave you all behind. I don’t know how many generations have passed, but you are still my sons and daughters.]
The Mother embraced her son warmly.
And with a gentle, soothing voice, she spoke:
[Now I can finally leave in peace. To where he has gone,]
“Where will you go?” Vikir asked.
The Mother answered.
[I’m going to pull someone by the hair.]
“......?”
Vikir tilted his head in confusion, not understanding her meaning. The Mother reached out and patted his head affectionately.
[Live.]
"......"
[Live as you wish. Fully, joyfully. Enjoy this world with all your heart.]
It seemed as though the Mother already understood why Vikir had come to this place.
But Vikir still appeared unsure about what he should do.
“Can I not go with you?” he asked.
The Mother shook her head.
[Come here when the very last moment of your life arrives, far, far in the future.]
"......"
[Until then, indulge in trivial happiness, ordinary contentment. That is the true essence of joy, perception, and love.]
That was the last time Vikir spoke with his Mother.
* * *
Vikir returned from the Abyss of Magic.
He lived for a long time in this world.
Beautiful wives, cheerful children, and countless joyous moments passed like the fleeting dream of nine clouds.
And as time flowed by, until all the noise of this world was buried beneath the sands of time—
Only then did Vikir return to the Abyss of Magic for the third time.
Beep—
On his first visit, he had unlocked the truth of the resurrection and the ten truths of the ritual.
On his second visit, he had met the First Mother.
What would he accomplish on this third visit?
"....... ....... ......."
Without a word, Vikir ascended the stairs of dust, clouds, and starlight one step at a time.
And at the end of those stairs, I encountered someone sitting at the abyss of magic.
'The Five Fingers of the Creator.'
Beyond the enormous five fingers, there shone the throne at the far edge—or rather, the constellation.
There sat an old man.
He fiddled with a few glass beads in his hand.
"....... ....... ......."
With a look that seemed utterly unsure of what expression to make.
-The End-
[Translator - Clara]
[Proofreader - Lucky ]