------------------
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
------------------
Chapter 44: The Name of the Morning Star (5)
The mutation that Verheim had been delving into was fundamentally focused on a kind of “state alteration.”
It wasn’t about inducing madness, but rather, a transformation.
The stark difference between those two was most evident in the terror incident Yuren had experienced in his past life.
All the clergy within the Papal Curia had mutated into something non-human, and yet retained their sanity as they wailed in anguish.
That was the critical part.
The key point at present was this: “Even after mutation, reason remains intact.”
Kkagagak—!
Though Verheim seemed to be rampaging madly, he was still fighting with precision and skill.
He wielded sacred arts more savagely than before, infused with divine power tainted by awe, and continued his reckless, all-out paladin combat style.
To Yuren and Callios, he imposed the same oppressive pressure as any paladin would—
No, even more so, when factoring in the enhanced capabilities granted by the mutation.
It is often said that paladins are war machines.
And there was a good reason for such a name.
“Persistent bastard won’t stop regenerating!”
Callios shouted, his voice thick with frustration.
True to his words, even if Verheim’s body was cut, he regenerated instantly.
Even if his insides ruptured, he charged without hesitation.
Not because he was mad.
Not even because he was mutated.
Because that’s just how paladins fight.
Someone once insultingly compared them to cockroaches.
As long as divine power remained, even if their bodies were completely crushed, high-ranking paladins would rise again.
Thus, the most critical role in this battle fell to Yuren.
Chaaaang—!
Yuren’s eyes were fixed on the divine ability of awe entangled around Verheim.
He wasn’t just observing.
“Thirty-two!”
Zzzzzrrk—!
He read the structure and struck.
Yuren’s sacred tree responded to him, steadily severing the two conflicting energies within Verheim.
Counting aloud served a purpose—
It let Callios roughly estimate how many more strikes were needed.
This had several effects:
It enhanced Yuren’s concentration, allowed Callios to manage his stamina, and planted anxiety in Verheim.
Verheim felt more pressure with each count.
Not because of the countdown itself, but because the strain on his body grew heavier with each passing moment.
He began using ranged sacred arts from a distance for that very reason.
[Die!]
Number 7 Divine Spear, Number 8 Divine Trust, and Number 11 Acceleration.
His favorite trio of sacred arts were unleashed.
A crimson lightning spear hurled toward Yuren at light-speed.
Of course—
“A last-ditch effort!”
Zzzzzaaaang—!
Yuren held an absolute advantage against all divine abilities.
No sacred art could touch him.
[Rebecca…!]
Verheim growled as he prepared another spell.
Number 19, Divine Flame, wrapped around his body.
[Give me back Rebecca—!]
It was then that Callios stepped in to block him.
“Told you. She’s gone. Snapped her neck and tossed her to the dogs.”
KWAANG—!
His sword collided with Verheim’s flaming body.
Both forces clashed evenly.
Neither yielded nor overcame the other.
A perfect equilibrium.
One might interpret it as equal power—
But only if one didn’t truly understand Callios.
“Gotcha.”
Callios smirked crookedly.
Verheim felt a chill.
He tried to pull away—he couldn’t.
That’s when he realized.
It wasn’t balance.
Callios’ mana had locked him in place under the guise of a stalemate.
“Well done.”
A whisper behind him, the feel of a footstep.
And then—
“Twenty-one.”
A number.
Zzzzzrrrk!!!
The sacred tree slashed the corruption on Verheim’s back.
The severed corruption was immediately erased by Yuren’s follow-up strike.
[Ghhk…!]
Overwhelming disadvantage.
That alone was crushing, but worse was the torment from Callios’ words.
[Rebecca…!]
“I’ll send you to her—so shut up.”
Callios didn’t stop his psychological attacks.
Even if Verheim tried to dismiss it as provocation, Callios’ unwavering demeanor said otherwise.
Moreover, for Verheim, even imagining a world without Rebecca was unbearable.
“Seven!”
Zzzzzaaang—!
The more he thought about it, the more his mind crumbled.
The fear of being left in a world without Rebecca slowly eroded his sanity.
“Three!”
Kwaang—!
He kept denying it—
But the more he did, the clearer the truth became.
‘Rebecca is dead.’
The moment that thought engraved itself in his mind—
“No…!”
[Uwaaaaah!!!]
KWA-GWANG!
His divine power exploded.
The awe-infused energy ballooned dramatically.
The shockwave blew Yuren back.
His eyes widened as if they would tear open.
Verheim’s emotions went berserk.
Resentment, guilt, rage, regret, and then—emptiness.
His identity drifted away in the tide of hollow despair.
Tears of blood flowed from his beast-like eyes.
—It’s a promise!
He wailed at a memory.
A moment forever lost, a vow he could no longer keep.
[Aaah…!]
That was the trigger.
Crack—!
His body began to ripple in blood-red hues.
The reindeer bones he wore like armor, the wolf body within him—twisted and reshaped.
They merged into one, then split apart into something else entirely.
A violet-black energy surged from his body.
* * *
I gasped.
I recognized that phenomenon.
‘Self-destruction…!’
That was the precursor.
That ominous energy flow, that formation—it was the same one left behind where Historia had exploded.
A chill ran down my spine.
Alarms blared in my instincts.
‘I misjudged…!’
I had assumed a saint wouldn’t implant a mutation in himself.
I had assumed he sought victory through combat.
I had let the survival instinct I sensed in his flailing blind me.
In the final push, I had erased “what if” from my mind.
A suicide attempt.
The worst-case scenario.
‘Escape?’
Let Verheim die and flee.
In that case, the crown prince and I could survive.
But what about Historia?
That hesitation anchored me in place.
Meanwhile, the saint’s rampage accelerated.
There was no time to analyze the structure.
And then—
[Rebecca…!]
Just as he screamed her name, looking ready to burst at any second—
“Number one.”
A quiet voice rang out.
A low voice echoed.
My breath caught.
My head turned.
Something was caught at the edge of my gaze.
"Sealing."
In a remote corner, Historia was casting a sacred spell, looking as though she were on the brink of death.
At that moment, our eyes met.
She smiled faintly.
A dreadful premonition swelled within me,
even before I could comprehend what it truly was.
Fwoooosh—!
A golden radiance swept across the space.
* * *
Historia drifted through a dream.
Her blurred vision and fading breath clouded her consciousness even further.
Before she knew it, she had circled through time and arrived in the distant past.
------------------
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
------------------
—Historia.
—Saintess!
—Hehe, you’re the Saintess now, aren’t you?
It was from the time she had just been chosen as the new Saintess.
The former Saintess’s face remained so vividly etched in her memory, from her wrinkled features to her warm smile.
Everything in those days had felt unfamiliar, but joyful.
What Historia particularly loved were the tales told by her mentor, who had once been a teacher.
Tales of where the divinity of hope originated.
Or how the previous Saintesses had lived their lives.
It had been more pleasure than duty back then.
Because of that, she never took things too seriously—
until that one event changed her.
—Today we’ll learn about duty.
—Duty?
—Yes, a duty that hopefully, you’ll never have to perform.
She remembered the worried expression.
With sorrow and regret in her voice, her mentor taught her the “forbidden arts.”
—The First Saintess always feared the whims, or rather, the arrogance of Fate. She was a truly free spirit—almost childlike. Not a force of pure good, but a whimsical trickster. Isn’t that just like Fate?
The Goddess of Fate.
Her darker nature had been terrifying for the young Historia.
Even more so were the examples given by the former Saintess.
—She could throw tens of thousands into the fire. Or pull them from the sea and save them.
—Wow, that’s amazing!
—She might do it just for fun.
To kill and save tens of thousands for fun?
What kind of god would do such a thing?
What if the Goddess of Fate played some cruel joke?
Her knees had gone weak at the thought, and that’s when the former Saintess had said:
—That’s why we must exist.
It was a lesson about the reason for the divine arts of hope.
—Only when Fate is cruel can Hope shine.
It was for days like today, when Fate was at its cruelest.
Ruuumble!
Historia opened her eyes.
Her vision was still blurred.
But she could still see.
Verheim was about to fall.
A brutal energy was about to engulf Yuren and Callios.
Everything was spiraling toward misfortune.
Toward the ending Historia had hoped to avoid.
She wished for no one to die.
Not Yuren, not Callios, not even Verheim.
‘Ver…’
A surge of pity rose in her.
She felt truly sorry for him, falling apart like this.
Not just because he had been used—
but because she knew him better than anyone.
Because they had shared more time than anyone else.
—There are so many wonders in the outer world!
He had been a child who dreamed of adventure.
Too young to bear the weight of that position.
Why had Fate treated him so cruelly?
Why had it not protected its most devoted servant?
There was such sadness in her heart, and because of that, Historia rose to her feet.
“Cough…!”
If today was a day when Fate was cruel, then she had to be Hope.
That was the reason she was here.
With a breath that rasped like metal, she looked forward.
She narrowed her eyes, trying to focus her sight.
And with great effort, she pulled her lips into a smile.
She had no strength left.
No more life force to burn.
But she had one thing left to use.
Dooong—
The seal she had placed within her to block contamination—
That divine power, at least, was still hers to wield.
‘It’s okay.’
Once all her divine power was used, her breath would cease.
There would be no time for corruption to take hold.
Her body would vanish with the taint.
‘It’s okay.’
If she did nothing, they would all die.
She wasn’t so foolish as to ignore that.
The right choice was to trade her life to save the three of them.
‘It’s okay.’
Everything was okay.
She only had one regret.
‘…I have to tell him.’
That it’s okay now.
To a conscious Verheim, that he wasn’t wrong.
That she knew he had suffered too.
That it’s okay now.
She wanted to say that.
She wanted to thank Yuren.
For showing her parts of herself she didn’t know.
For making her curious to explore more.
She wanted to eat that “meat-bread” thing and talk with him more.
‘Ah, such a pity.’
Thinking that, Historia reached out her trembling hand.
“…Number One.”
Fwoosh!
Historia’s whole body lit up.
Her remaining life, the divine power that had sealed the corruption, and all her prayers began to pour into one sacred spell.
It wasn’t a spell of ordinary means.
This brilliance was the very definition of a final blaze.
Pain surged through her,
but she could endure it.
Just then, her eyes met Yuren’s.
His expression had frozen like stone.
Historia conveyed her apology with her gaze.
And mouthed the words:
‘Please.’
Then—
"Sealing."
Fwaaaaah—!
The spell was cast.
Light wrapped around Verheim.
* * *
As he was swallowed by the light, Verheim heard a voice in the warmth.
—Let the morning star light the dark night. I who shine upon your path, I am Hope!
A girl had shouted it brightly.
Who was she?
He couldn’t recall.
Only the conversation from that day remained.
—How was that? Pretty good, right?
—Yeah.
—Then clap!
—O-okay…!
She had demanded applause after her exclamation.
He didn’t know why, but clumsily clapped.
Then she had said—
—You better learn well, Ver!
—Why do I have to learn?
—Because that’s what a clone does!
The girl had no logic.
But she was ridiculously energetic.
And that—he remembered—was something truly wonderful.
Her bright smile had looked cool.
The way she would run ahead and lead the way was something he admired.
On dark nights, she would stay up late just to listen to him—that had been comforting.
The girl had been his world.
—I want everyone to smile. Okay? Ver, you have to help them! The Saint is a vessel of the divine, after all!
And so it must have been.
—...Yeah, I promise.
—Great! It's a promise, okay?
There was a promise.
His chest ached.
This was a memory Verheim had never once forgotten.
And a memory he must never forget.
For that memory, Verheim erased the false name he had once given himself.
'...No.'
She was not Rebecca.
This warmth, this vitality, and that laughter—
It was not in pastel tones, but in radiant, pure white.
Not the green of the forest, but the golden sun had been etched into his eyes.
It was absurd that he had ever forgotten.
So Verheim opened his eyes.
CRACK!
Chains of radiance bound his entire body.
Clear tears, veiling the blood-tears in his eyes, began to fall.
His expression twisted in pain.
Far off, he saw Historia collapsing.
Because there was a true memory he had torn down himself.
[...Ria.]
With a broken voice, he called her name.
By then, the corruption had settled.
And so, his mind grew clearer.
Verheim did not want to believe what he had done.
His hand reached out on its own.
But at that moment, something else blocked his view.
"You son of a bitch."
A menacing force crushed down on his entire body.
The hand he reached out with never touched her.
Only—
CRACK!
It was struck down by a beastlike man’s rod.
With a searing pain, the hide of a beast began to peel off his body.
* * *
The grip on the sacred tree loosened.
My body, drained of excessive mana, screamed in agony.
My breath came in gasps.
In that state, I saw the Saint collapse and lose consciousness.
The final seal had bought us just enough time to sever the last strand of corruption.
His mutated body had completely reverted to that of a human.
And so, at last—victory.
Yet my heart remained unsettled.
"Yuren? Are you alright...?"
Ignoring the Crown Prince’s words, I turned around at once.
Toward the fallen Historia.
My head felt hot.
My heart pounded loudly.
Her motionless, deathlike figure distorted my vision.
Surely she wouldn’t die again.
Surely she wouldn’t sacrifice herself and disappear again.
The thought wouldn’t stop echoing in my mind—and then, just as I reached out my hand—
"...Hey."
A sharp breath escaped my lips.
My face contorted.
"You're seriously so reckless. How could you—"
"Heh..."
Historia gave a faint laugh.
Barely breathing, on the verge of death.
But it was a relief.
'She’s still alive.'
So, there was still a chance.
Still, it could be undone.
------------------
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
------------------
