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[Translator - Night]
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Chapter 45: The Name of the Morning Star (6)
The aftermath of the battle was desolate.
Callios let his shoulders droop, feeling as though his entire body had fallen apart.
Had he ever experienced a battle this intense?
‘…No.’
He could say that with certainty.
Even the fight with the Orc Champion hadn’t been this desperate.
What’s more, it wasn’t even a situation where he could simply be happy about the victory.
‘There were sacrifices.’
Callios's expression darkened.
He could see Historia lying on the ground, gasping for air, with Yuren supporting her.
In the final moment, it had undoubtedly been her help that saved him.
Had it not been for that, even if he had escaped with his life, Verheim would have been reduced to scraps of flesh.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips.
‘A complete mess.’
Nothing had gone according to plan—he could only sigh in frustration.
Composing himself, Callios lifted the battered Verheim and slung him over his shoulder.
Then he spoke to Yuren.
“…I’ll take this one and go investigate the Sealing Vault. We need to gather evidence.”
It was an excuse.
He simply wanted to step aside.
For some reason, he had sensed a heavy sense of debt in Yuren toward Historia.
So, he wanted to give him the time to stay by her side in what could be her final moments.
“I’ll see you later.”
And with that, Callios left the scene.
* * *
Historia tried to see Yuren’s face.
But it was difficult.
Her vision was so blurred that she couldn’t distinguish features.
She could only vaguely tell that a hazy human figure was looking down at her.
Still, there was something she could sense.
‘He’s angry.’
Even without seeing his expression, the atmosphere, the rhythm of his breathing, and the trembling in the hands holding her told her that much.
She felt a pang of regret.
Maybe she had disappointed him.
She felt sorry.
But more than that, she was relieved she could say something with the life she had left.
“Thank you.”
At least she could say that.
That alone was a comfort.
Historia gave a faint smile.
Yuren stayed silent for a long time before suddenly speaking.
“…Aren’t you seriously selfish?”
“……”
“Whenever something big happens, you always act like this. You never think about the people around you, just do whatever gives you peace of mind.”
There was anger in his tone.
But hearing it oddly made her sleepy.
It was the natural pull of death nearing.
Despite his emotional intensity, Yuren’s voice felt like a lullaby.
Its low tone and even cadence only deepened the effect.
And what struck her as amusing was how informal he was with her.
Like he knew her well.
Like they had always been close.
It felt oddly comforting.
Was it because his manner was familiar?
Or because she felt a strange closeness to him?
“Just, I don’t know…”
Yuren trailed off.
Historia mustered the last of her strength to speak.
“…Go. I’m… dangerous.”
She had released the divine power that had contained the corruption.
Her body, though dying, would soon be permeated by it.
If he stayed too close, it could harm him.
That’s why she said it.
But—
“Dangerous? Please. You’re practically dead already.”
Instead of leaving, she felt his hand press against her forehead.
“If you survive this, I swear I’m going to beat some sense into you. Maybe that’ll knock you back into reality.”
How could she not hope for that?
How could she not yearn for a tomorrow?
Historia thought that, if such a tomorrow did come, it would be nice.
She imagined Yuren scolding her, and herself cheekily replying, “But it worked out in the end, didn’t it?”
That would be… fun.
Of course, it was a foolish fantasy.
“Hah… haha…”
“You laugh, you idiot.”
“Go… now.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Danger… to… you…”
It was at that moment.
“You’re not dying. Quit saying that crap. Didn’t you once tell me?”
Something warm began to radiate from his hand.
It sank into her chest.
“You said, hope is when someone believes in you. So what are we supposed to do if you stop believing?”
Her eyes trembled.
Her fingers twitched.
Those were her own words—words she had once said to him.
And now, warmth was spreading from his hand through her whole body.
“…Yeah. Well, whatever. You’re about to die, so I guess you get a pass.”
His voice whispered into her ear.
“So I’ll believe in you. Just for today. Just for now.”
Then he placed something in her hand.
“I’ll be your hope.”
And in that moment—
DOOONG—!
The corruption pulsed.
* * *
Ever since the day I met her again… I had a vague feeling.
That there would be many more battles ahead.
And that this woman would inevitably be involved in them.
As long as she lived, there would be situations demanding sacrifice—and she would willingly offer herself up.
I knew her too well already.
The time we had fought together, and the conversations wee’d shared since our reunion, only solidified that certainty.
So I had thought about it.
If she tried to pull this kind of crap again, how would I stop her?
If I couldn’t stop her, how would I fix it?
Letting her die on her own terms wasn’t an option.
I couldn’t do it.
Not for any rational reason, not because of logic or stakes—I just didn’t want to.
So I thought up a few solutions.
Fortunately, some were realistic.
And this situation fell into that category.
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[Translator - Night]
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Crack—!
Historia had absorbed the corruption.
It had remained inside her even in the moment of death, still pulsing.
Of course, if her heart stopped, the corruption’s pulse would stop too.
But what if she hadn’t actually died?
What if she still had just enough life left to trigger a “mutation”?
Then—
‘She’ll mutate. The corruption will keep her alive.’
And I had just the thing for that.
‘The necklace.’
A necklace that converts mana into life force.
An ancient artifact, whose mechanism is unknown but whose effects are certain—so he used it.
Just as I’d hoped, the life force infused by the necklace became the nourishment for the corruption.
It triggered a mutation, causing the corruption to heal Historia—serving as its energy source.
Crack—!
The corruption entangled with the mana.
The mana amplified.
The amplified mana turned into healing energy.
Historia’s heart began to beat faster.
Whoooosh—!
Then her body floated into the air.
A dark violet mist surrounded her.
But the reaction I was hoping for hadn’t come yet.
So I waited, recalling one of the fundamental truths of this world:
‘All supernatural powers…’
Are triggered by life.
And as long as the life remains, they can be replenished—mana, spirit power, even divine power.
Finally, the response came.
WOOOOOSH—!
Even if fueled by corruption, it was still life force.
And through that life force, divine power began to rise again.
Golden brilliance intertwined with deep violet.
Thus, Historia began to change form.
I let out a hollow laugh at the final result.
"An angel."
Whether such a being truly exists is beside the point—it suits her quite well.
That woman, who only ever cares for her own peace of mind, now bears a form that perfectly reflects it.
Her white body, jointed like a wooden puppet, had an abnormal number of joints in her arms.
Golden hair and wings, as if made from melted wax, shimmered stickily.
Most striking of all—her legs.
She had two right legs and a third leg attached on the left. Three in total.
I recognize this form.
If Historia of the past life hadn’t controlled the corruption… if it had gone beyond mere distortion, she would’ve become this.
Still, such thoughts are best left as just thoughts.
"Humans should live in human form."
I won't let this continue.
Everything I sought—I’ve obtained.
Life force, divine power—then this corruption has fulfilled its role.
It’s time to clear it away.
I stood.
Grasped the sacred tree.
Historia stared at me with only the whites of her eyes.
There was no reason left within her.
Perhaps because she transformed without regaining her mind.
And so, the result:
[Ahh……]
Only instinct remained.
The will to survive.
A system reacting to stimuli, made for counterattacks—that’s all that’s left.
Wooooong!
Divinity and corruption converged around Historia.
They aimed at me, filled with a devastating power.
I checked my condition.
‘I can fight.’
No necklace.
But my body still moved.
Mana?
I could barely squeeze some out.
But hey—
‘This was just normal during the war.’
No time for whining.
Crack—!
Mana erupted around me.
I coated the sacred tree with it, shaping it anew.
Kiiiiiin—!
With a screech, I forged aura.
The space itself became my domain.
I took a stance.
I tasted blood in my mouth.
My insides felt like they were turning inside out.
I clenched my teeth and focused.
What glory do I hope to gain by going this far?
If I were to ask myself, there’s only one answer I could give:
"Let’s call it even."
Because she saved me on her own and then went and died.
That debt still lingered.
"I owe you nothing now."
I'm just pushing myself a little so I can feel at peace.
Boom—!
I charged at Historia.
Cut through the rain of attacks, thrust the sacred tree toward her heart.
The aura slashed, pierced, and tore the threads of her being.
Twisted away interfering limbs, tore off her wings, shattered her arms and legs.
Still, she regenerated—divinity sustaining her.
So I attacked even more ferociously, ready to tear her into pieces.
Crash—!
We fought with such ferocity, it was clear it would end only with someone's death.
Stripping away her form layer by layer, more desperately than before—
Tear—!
I peeled the angel's skin off this woman.
* * *
Callios headed toward the Sealed Vault, lost in thought.
Ever since he realized everything had been orchestrated by Rebecca, one question lingered.
Looking back, though the demons’ schemes were undeniable, there were still puzzling elements beyond that.
First—the Orc Champions.
Why did they charge him without fear of death?
Why use tactics instead of brute force?
Second—Beatrice.
Out of all options, why did she attempt demon summoning?
More importantly, how did she even learn to do that?
Third—Verheim.
Could he really conduct such research alone?
He wasn’t even a scholar—just a priest, supposedly—and yet he managed to read forbidden knowledge?
‘What nonsense.’
If forbidden tomes were that easy, the world would’ve already fallen into chaos.
They typically require magical understanding of at least the 6th tier.
Among these, only Beatrice's case had been verified.
But even she couldn’t recall how she came to know demon summoning.
That part had already been overwritten by the demon.
Given the circumstances and known facts, one conclusion emerged for Callios:
‘A group.’
The ones who made Rebecca, who shook the spirits of the Golden Generation.
If they were acting on other fronts too—
If they were doing more than just observing for their purposes—
Then it was a truly unpleasant thought.
After all, it would mean that rats were running rampant through his Empire.
Callios wasn’t generous or forgiving enough to let that slide.
Nor was he trusting enough to leave the investigation to someone else.
And above all, the battle with Verheim had solidified his resolve.
‘I’ll have to handle this personally.’
He had to act himself.
The kids of the Golden Generation were too incompetent to figure anything out alone.
Anyway, back to the main point.
When, where, and how do they move?
To what extent are they monitoring their own actions?
Callios only found the answer once he entered the Sealed Vault.
"Hmm."
A vicious smile curled Callios’s lips.
"Looks like someone’s already been here. I’m a step too late."
The Sealed Vault bore clear signs of intrusion.
To that, Callios muttered toward the burdened Verheim:
"I’ve got a lot of questions for you."
Only those authorized by Verheim could enter the Sealed Vault.
Meaning… it wouldn’t take long to figure out who he shared his research with, and who he granted access to.
"So wake up soon—before my patience runs out."
Behind Callios’s smile burned unmistakable fury.
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[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
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