Chapter 38 : Chapter 38
Chapter 38: Degrate (2)
“Semenu.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not going to take your sister’s side?”
“If you attack.”
“Him?”
“Be careful with your words too.”
“Are you really going to kill your sister?”
“If you touch him.”
“……”
Jiaren’s face turned pale.
It wasn’t due to fear. It was obvious to anyone that she was openly disappointed.
Noticing the sign, Aran deactivated the Black Hemisphere.
“…Three people. I’ll allow it.”
Jiaren, matching him, dispelled her unique Phantasmal Realm and entered the castle.
“Are you okay?”
“Ha!”
As Semenu asked Simurtr, Jiaren, who was leaving deep footprints in front of them, let out a dry laugh.
“……”
Simurtr didn't answer.
Blood dripped from his tightly clenched fist.
“Are you hurt?”
“I didn’t do it. Can’t you tell by looking? He’s just pissed off on his own.”
“Jiaren.”
“I know! I know!”
Jiaren turned her head so sharply that it made a whooshing sound, then walked away, her footprints sinking even deeper.
‘…Hah.’
The angry Jiaren in front of him.
Naor, looking at him with worried eyes from the side.
Aran, scratching his brow with his index finger as if in a difficult situation.
“Don’t do that. You’re still weak.”
…And Semenu, who was fiddling with his bleeding fist with worried eyes.
‘Fuck.’
He didn't like any of them.
Simurtr clenched his teeth tightly. Crack. The sound of something crumbling echoed from his molars.
The emotions were varied, but the reason they arose was one.
‘What kind of a mess is this.’
Weak.
Too weak.
Simurtr knew that fact.
Reincarnation was undoubtedly an incomprehensible opportunity, but at the same time, it was like tearing down everything he had built up.
Meeting Aran. Seeing Medeoban.
He felt it keenly when he reunited with Semenu as well.
The powerhouses of the past, who were weaker than his past self, were now all above him.
He had thought that he had been keenly aware of his weakened self every single moment since his reincarnation.
‘No.’
The expression ‘keenly aware’ is one that can only be attached when faced with it directly.
Yes. Not like the pathetic losers of Jabad he had met sometime ago.
Like today. When he finally encountered a powerhouse.
It was different from when he had encountered Aran, Semenu, Medeoban, and Orde.
Leaving aside his adoptive father Orde. The rest of them all cared for and favored him. They were people who had thought well of Exa from his past life, who was rumored to have a rotten personality.
A balloon doesn’t pop in an acceptable atmosphere.
‘Phantasm.’
By a mere Phantasm!
And one that he had never even seen in his past life, one who had clearly just ascended to the position.
She might not have intended to kill him, but if she had wanted to, he would have been dead already.
‘I could have blocked it.’
He had definitely reacted to the illusion that had been created and unleashed from the unique Phantasmal Realm. It was late, but he could have blocked it.
‘But that’s it.’
It obviously wasn’t her full power. The killing intent Jiaren Degrate had harbored was due to Aran. She had no intention of killing him.
That’s why he could block it. If she had attacked with all her heart, he would have died. Even if he had sensed it, his body wouldn’t have been able to react.
‘Not yet.’
He had the memories of his past life.
His life after reincarnation would be accelerated, and the past 16 years had been like that. A faster progress than his past life. The 4-star Star-Breaking Style was proof of that.
There were many problems, but he was confident he could solve them somehow.
‘Someday.’
Yes. Someday.
That someday was far too late.
Star-Breaking Style. Simurtr insisted on the methods of his past life.
Of course, he wanted to do so now as well. There was nothing more outstanding than his master’s Star-Breaking Style, nothing that had captured Simurtr’s heart more.
But it was already a failed path. The world, history, all belonged to the living, and Exa had proven his failure by dying.
Confidence that he would reach the end of Star-Breaking?
It was a funny thing to think himself, but he had had it back then too.
‘What was the problem.’
The reincarnated Simurtr.
He had once had such a thought.
The final battle at the Doom Species fortress. The exhaustion of his energy due to it. The timely betrayal that aimed for that moment.
…The process of death.
‘What was lacking.’
Confidence. He had more than enough of that.
That’s why he had left those bastards alone even though he knew they would definitely betray him one day.
‘Preparations?’
There were minor injuries, but it wasn’t bad. In preparation for the final battle, Exa had made his own preparations.
The lines of the Pagna had covered his arm past his elbow, and the 8-star Star-Breaking Style had made him confident that his injuries didn’t matter.
‘That’s it.’
He had found the problem.
Star-Breaking Style. The secret technique carved into his soul.
Simurtr was convinced that the Star-Breaking Style, which had led him into the path of mana, was more splendid and powerful than anything else in the world.
‘It’s my master’s.’
He had looked down on things that were not the Star-Breaking Style.
He had respect, but he didn’t feel the need to learn or master them.
The Phantasmal Ability of Degrate, the black color of Mectera, the blue flames of Bahab, the blessing of the Imperial Family, the Magic Tower, the Sword Tower, the Sage’s Castle, the gloomy black magicians of the Black Land.
No matter what was brought before him, nothing was more splendid than the Star-Breaking Style.
That conviction had not changed even now.
‘But it’s not my Star-Breaking Style.’
If it had been his master. He would have ended the final battle in an instant without the help of the Pagna. He would have cut off the heads of the traitors before they could even open their mouths.
The master Simurtr remembered had such an ability.
‘In the end, I’m the problem.’
If he had been stronger. If he had mastered the Star-Breaking Style.
Death would have been an impossible event.
There would have been no need to consume eight lines of the Pagna, and no betrayal by the traitors.
No. Even if he had been betrayed, he would have been fine. He would have calmly taken it and turned around, blowing up their heads one by one.
‘I could have won if they had come at me one by one? I could have killed them all if it hadn't been right after a battle?’
Bullshit.
He had once laughed at Bahab. Who was the commander who whined about his condition in a war.
‘Idiot.’
That commander was the closest person in the world. Simurtr was ashamed of his past self.
‘Mastery. I can do it someday.’
He was expelled from Mectera on the first day of his 17th year.
He met his master at the end of that year, and he met a dragon and had the Star-Breaking Style carved into his soul.
He reached 4-star at 19.
Just before he died, he was on the verge of enlightenment for 9-star.
‘But I don’t know when that someday is.’
10-star of the Star-Breaking Style. That state was said to be a state that only the first Star-Breaker had achieved. Even his noble master had striven for decades but had remained at 9-star.
‘At this rate, it’ll be no different from my past life.’
He would surely reach it someday. He was confident, as long as he didn’t die.
But he had already failed. He had died without reaching it.
‘In this life.’
He couldn't wait for that vague someday.
He had to walk a different path from his past life.
‘I need a means.’
A means to supplement his current weakness.
Simurtr decided to abandon the stubbornness of his past life.
Until he reached the end of Star-Breaking.
***
“So who are you?”
The Phantasm’s office was on the top floor of the castle.
“Simurtr Mectera.”
His tone had become much calmer.
The direction he thought he had grasped since his reincarnation, he had now completely grasped.
“Direct descendant?”
“Adopted son.”
Jiaren’s gaze turned to Aran.
“You were so protective of him, and he was just an adopted son? You even wanted to bring him along?”
“He is a person worthy of it. Be careful with your words.”
“Jiaren.”
Aran and Semenu said almost simultaneously.
“What is this situation.”
Jiaren found this situation lamentable.
Even Semenu, who had come with them, was defending that adopted son.
“Alright. Alright. I won’t. Don’t look at me like that.”
Jiaren, unable to withstand Semenu’s gaze, raised the white flag again.
“It’s separate from that little kid being despicable. Aran Lubeil, bringing the 6th Sword Order here was a clear act of provocation. You know that, right?”
That insolent adopted son should not be touched.
Jiaren’s target returned to Aran.
“Jiaren Degrate, this Sword Order has come to interrogate Degrate.”
Aran immediately got to the point.
It was because he had lost the previous power struggle. Although Semenu had joined in, that was also an unpleasant thing.
He couldn’t protect Simurtr with his own strength. That fact made Aran’s nerves sensitive.
“Oh my? What did you say? Interrogate?”
“This is the reason why Young Master Simurtr had to be brought along. He was attacked by a Degrate.”
“What?”
Jiaren’s eyes widened.
Semenu as well. For a moment, the office was filled with shadows.
“…Who?”
Semenu looked at Simurtr, Aran, and Jiaren in order. It was as if she would rush out immediately if she just knew who the culprit was.
‘A hidden Phantasm, you say.’
Simurtr let out a dry laugh.
Now that he had accepted reality, the world was seen more intuitively.
A simplified Phantasmal Realm of a similar scale. Semenu was not lacking even when compared to the Phantasm Jiaren. She had grown that much.
“Calm down. I killed him for now.”
“What?”
“Of course I had to kill him. He touched Mectera. Even if we’re allies, a line must be drawn.”
Aran’s gaze was cold.
Although he suspected that the culprit was not a Degrate, this was the time to come on strong. His personal feelings had also piled up.
“No. No. You said he was sixteen?”
“That’s right.”
“When was the attack.”
“It’s been ten days.”
“Then it’s not us. You’ve got the wrong address.”
Jiaren waved her hand.
“The last time one of our blood relatives died was 20 years ago. What are you talking about.”
“How can I believe that. You’re a clan of culprits.”
“I’m telling you the truth. It ended 20 years ago when the previous Phantasm was turned to dust. Since then, no one among the blood relatives has died.”
“Even this Head of the Sword can say such words. Jiaren Degrate died by the black sword, but Mectera has never visited Degrate.”
Aran stroked his pommel.
The video Deban took. The culprit’s body.
The evidence was more than enough. If he couldn’t even manage this small meeting with this much evidence, he had lived his life in vain.
“Hah. Are you serious?”
“Otherwise, why would this Head of the Sword have come here.”
The 6th Head of the Sword, who held the next highest authority in Mectera after the Sword Master, surpassing the vanguard 1st Head of the Sword.
Such an Aran Lubeil had come in person.
“Jiaren Degrate. This meeting is a place where you must convince the main family. Not a place to demand the understanding of this Head of the Sword.”
Even if they somehow dealt with the 6th Sword Order, Aran Lubeil, here… they could not face Mectera.
They were just one of the six Sword Orders. To break the symbolism of Aran Lubeil? It would only serve to set Mectera’s heart on fire.
“What on earth did you see to be like this. Why are you so certain? That it’s us?”
At Aran’s words, Jiaren realized the seriousness of the situation.
They would recall the Sword Orders scattered across the continent and prepare for war. The empire would also get involved. And that detestable Magic Tower.
It was an unstoppable flow. It had been decided that way from the moment they had let the 6th Sword Order into the main mountain.
“Is there any other evidence as certain as the authority of illusion.”
The abilities passed down through bloodlines were usually unique and strange, but that was why they became clear targets.
“You said you killed him?”
“There is a video. The person involved in the incident is next to us. And the body also exists.”
“…Show me the video first.”
***
There was nothing that came to mind.
A few blood relatives had returned after completing their requests, and a few others were still out completing requests.
So, very, very coincidentally, with a really low probability, there could have been a conflict with that little kid. They might have won.
‘That little kid is strong for his age.’
But it was a meaningless assumption.
The culprit who had been in the conflict was dead.
And the whereabouts of all existing blood relatives, the Phantasm Jiaren knew. She remembered it even if she didn’t want to. Because there weren’t that many of them.
“It’s not one of ours……”
That was why Jiaren found it hard to believe her own eyes.
That video, the culprit, the green light of the elves. That was, by all accounts, a Phantasmal Ability.
“But it is.”
Jiaren trailed off.
It was a face she had never seen before. Although one could paint an illusion on one’s face, in the end, didn’t he become a corpse? The illusion of a dead implementer was bound to disappear.
“But it’s not.”
Jiaren decided to come clean.
“You’re going to deny it when the evidence is so clear?”
“I told you it’s not! It’s a Phantasmal Ability, but it’s not one of ours. Open your eyes wide and look again. Do you think our Phantasmal Ability is that weak?”
The culprit was definitely not a blood relative of Degrate, but there was no way to prove it.
There was, but it was something that should never be revealed to an outsider.
“Is there another elven bloodline besides Degrate?”
“Maybe someone got knocked up outside a long time ago.”
“You’re going to shift the blame?”
“It’s not our kid, so what responsibility.”
“Then go and find that someone.”
“And do what when I find them.”
Jiaren secretly wiped away the cold sweat that was running down her face.
Even after dragging it out like this and thinking, nothing came to mind.
“Don’t look.”
Simurtr suddenly blurted out.
“Really?”
Jiaren’s face brightened.
This was why she liked human kids.
They hated it when other people’s conversations dragged on, and their own mood was more important than the gravity of the situation.
“Of course. We’ll find them on the battlefield. They’ll show up if we keep killing.”
The one whose face brightened was also Simurtr.
The face that had been wrinkled with displeasure had now smoothed out. The corners of his mouth were raised high. Simurtr was smiling brightly.
“Young Master.”
“Enough. Let’s stop dragging this out.”
Aran let out a sigh.
That Young Master resembled him in ways he shouldn’t. His smile was also a carbon copy.
And the conditions for it too.
When fighting, or when wanting to fight, or when about to fight. The past Exa had only smiled like that at such times.
“Do you have a grudge against me? Is it because of what happened earlier? I said I’m sorry.”
Defeat in a power struggle? The gap created by reincarnation? It was a trivial matter now.
He had already made a decision, and he had become much calmer. The face of that Phantasm was hard to bear.
As he pleased. The teaching of his master that he had once kept in mind was deeply engraved in Simurtr’s mind.
And Degrate was one of the groups Simurtr had detested the most in his past life.
“Who would like the head of a culprit?”
Jiaren hadn't even shown her face during the Doom War, but he understood her becoming a Phantasm.
The experience of war was truly precious, but also useless. Because those who were destined to be would become so even without such experience.
Jiaren must have risen to the position of Phantasm by having her abilities acknowledged.
‘But you shouldn’t have worked Semenu to the bone.’
Even if you didn’t participate in the war, you should have known the horrors of it. If you knew how Semenu had survived, you should have kept her safe and sound in the main mountain.
Giving her whatever she wanted to eat. Doing whatever she wanted to do. While doting on her like that.
‘Shameless bastards.’
In the first place, Degrate should not have expected anything from Semenu.
‘If that was the case, you should have at least given her the position of Phantasm. What’s a hidden Phantasm. You’re just making her your lackey.’
No matter how shameless the assassin bastards were, this wasn’t it.
And after abandoning her on the battlefield. Now.
‘What’s so good about this place for her. Heh heh.’
When their eyes met, Semenu smiled with her eyes.
She seemed quite pleased to have met him here, in her hometown, in an unexpected place.
“Don’t be annoying.”
This place. Degrate was too disgusting.
If he had his way, he would have taken Semenu and left immediately.
“Hurry up and finish. What are you going to do.”
Simurtr looked at Jiaren.
She swallowed hard. The dignity of the Phantasm who had imagined war was nowhere to be seen. Mectera was one thing, but they had the empire on their back.
“If we’re going to do this, we’ll return and report to the imperial family. And we’ll meet with the spellcaster bastards too.”
The thousand-year empire of Melken.
And if the situation escalated, the Magic Tower of Basor, which would surely volunteer to participate in the war to aim for the Phantasmal Ability.
“If you want to kill us and delay the war even a little, then do so. But be prepared for all your blood relatives to be dissected.”
For a moment, Jiaren’s face turned pale.
If a war broke out? Jiaren was confident she could live out her lifespan. The same went for Semenu next to her.
The war would naturally end in defeat, but Degrate, which had succeeded in constructing a unique Phantasmal Realm, would not be caught. They had more than enough ability and confidence for that.
But what about the remaining blood relatives?
“Bring out the body.”
The Phantasm, Jiaren, closed her eyes and made a decision.
It was time to reveal the secret of her blood relatives.