Chapter 119: The Tales of Cinder [13]
A violent jolt in the darkness dragged him back to his grim throne, set within that endless pool of black sludge. The impact wasn’t physical, yet he felt it deep within his existence, as if something had seized his soul and hurled it back into that forgotten place.
He sat there, shackled at the wrists and ankles by chains formed from the very hands that emerged from the thick, tar-like liquid. Those hands twisted slowly, alive, clinging to him with desperation. His crown of thorns dug into his pale skin, thin streams of blood trailing down his forehead. Purple flames illuminated the vast, infinite hall of the king, casting shadows that stretched endlessly into the void.
The air was heavy. Every breath felt harder than the last.
’We’ve lost,’ thought the King of the Void.
There was a note of disappointment in his inner voice—a bitter resignation, as if he had expected more of himself... as if, deep down, he believed this outcome should not have been his.
Now that he had fallen like a miserable fly, he understood that even as the Herald of that unnameable entity, it guaranteed him nothing. The title, the power, the promises... all of it felt hollow in that moment.
More than that—was that prophecy nothing but a lie? If he died, then the prophecy ended, which meant it had never truly been a prophecy at all.
’There’s nothing we can do...’
He gave up.
He closed his eyes.
And let everything fade away.
The sound of rain striking wet earth echoed.
It came suddenly, vividly, breaking the absolute stillness of the void. Then more followed: swords clashing, ringing with metallic echoes; distant screams; footsteps splashing through mud.
And in the middle of it all, he opened his eyes.
Before him stood a shadowy figure clad in gray armor stained with mud. Rain fell over them both, striking the metal with a constant, chiming rhythm. The figure held a bloodstained sword—a cold blade pressed against his abdomen.
He looked down.
His opponent’s sword was buried deep within his organs, piercing through the gaps in his plated armor. Blood welled around the steel, mixing with the rainwater and forming a dark liquid that ran down his body.
The pain came late... but it came violently.
He fell face-first to the ground as the sword was pulled from his abdomen. The mud received him with a heavy, cold, suffocating splash. Then his enemy moved on toward the other soldiers still fighting relentlessly in the rear, disappearing into the curtain of rain.
’Am I going to die here...? In a war?’
His eyes showed the early signs of death. His vision blurred at the edges, darkening slowly.
But a gentle, warm voice spoke to him.
"Don’t give up, little prince."
That voice—feminine and enchanting—reached his ear, clear despite the chaos.
"Never give up. It doesn’t matter if you are the embodiment of misfortune or if you’re too young to wield a sword. It doesn’t matter what your father the king says or what your detractors wish upon you. Walk your path—a path only you can forge—where your kind heart can find the light."
He clenched the earth beside his face. The mud slipped between his fingers, cold, thick... real. But he had no strength left to continue.
"Try... Try again. Give it everything you have..."
He tried once more.
He dragged his knees through the mud, feeling his armor weigh twice as much under the rain. Water ran down his face, mixing with blood. He planted both palms into the mud, but as he pushed himself up, a surge of blood burst from his wound—hot against the cold air.
It weakened him further, and he nearly collapsed again.
But the voice encouraged him.
"You can do it; death will never be an obstacle for you. Break your limits, little prince. Rise and win, because we believe you will become this world’s champion."
He continued.
He stood... or tried to.
He staggered, then fell to his knees once more. Mud splashed beneath his armored boots, staining his face, his armor, his open wound.
"Just a little more, little prince. Nothing is impossible for you. Your heart is as vast and powerful as a dragon’s, yet your body is small and cautious like a lion’s."
Once again, he tried with everything he had.
He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. He brought one knee forward and, trembling, forced himself upright.
He looked to the sky.
Rain struck his face without mercy.
He closed his eyes.
Then he let out a powerful roar that echoed across the battlefield, cutting through the noise of war.
Suddenly, a mysterious force flooded his body. A force warm, painful... absolute. His battered muscles swelled, tightening beyond their limits, and his eyes shone with a spectral golden light.
At the same time, the voice spoke again:
"Your mind is as strong as your body; you can endure the power of Limit Break."
[ One of your sealed skills has begun to tremble. ] the system displayed, overlaying the memory and slightly distorting the scene.
"You will win this battle, little prince. We will meet soon, for the Fairy Queen and I have prepared a gift especially for you."
The prince clenched his fist. The metal of his gauntlet creaked.
He looked at the soldiers.
And stepped forward.
"Soon, little prince. Soon, everyone will know your name: Arthur Pendragon..."
The memory filled with rain, distant thunder, and deafening screams, blending into chaos that slowly began to fade.
The King of the Void opened his eyes.
He returned to his throne.
Yet at the same time, his decaying body lay sprawled over the ruins of a marble and stone throne, surrounded by a vast hall of broken columns and corrosive ash. The air was thick with a metallic, burnt scent.
[ One of your sealed skills demands to be released. ]
’What is this?’
[ One of your sealed skills trembles violently. ]
’A seal... again...’
[ One of your sealed skills screams at you to stand. ]
’Stand...?’
Reality overlapped with his vision of the throne in the darkness. Both scenes coexisted like imperfect reflections.
He shifted his gaze, noticing his body drenched in blood atop the decayed throne.
One of his legs bent at an unnatural angle. His right arm was practically destroyed—the broken bone dangled from a strip of flesh, swaying weakly. His ribs protruded from his torso, and his heart, beating faintly, was exposed among the torn flesh.
Each beat hurt.
’How am I supposed to stand right now?’
[ One of your sealed skills demands that you stand. ]
’I can’t do that...’
[ One of your sealed skills demands that you stand. ]
It sounded absurd.
It made no sense.
Yet the system kept displaying the same message over and over, filling his entire vision, overlapping everything, demanding that he rise.
But how could Mitsuki Kirishima stand?
His body was shattered.
His fighting spirit was broken.
Mitsuki believed he was already dead.
Still, the system displayed the message again.
[ One of your sealed skills demands that you stand. ]
The messages glitched, trembling with visible errors that warped the words, as if even the system itself was being pushed beyond its limits.
There was nothing left for him to lose...
Even if he tried, he was already dead.
’Even if I can’t...’
With what little strength remained, he leaned forward and collapsed face-first before the throne. The impact was weak, almost silent.
He extended his trembling hand forward and dug his nails into the dusty ground. Ash lifted slightly at the contact.
’It doesn’t matter anymore... because everything is over.’
[ One of your hidden skills trembles violently. ]
[ Your actions have begun to break the seal. ]
’What good is a skill to me right now?’ he wondered, his mind clouded.
He dragged himself forward once more.
His blood painted the ground dark red, mixing with ash into a thick paste that clung to his skin.
[ The skill "Ash Manipulation Lv. 1" has been activated. ]
Around him, the ash began to swirl gently, rising into a small vortex that grew larger and larger. The particles brushed against his skin like fine needles.
[ The title "Master of Cinder" has taken effect. ]
His long hair dragged along the ground; its purple hue spread further, darkening at the ends as it mixed with blood.
His heart beat faintly, exposed between his ribs.
’What’s the point of doing all this if I’m already dead?’
Even so, he reached forward and dragged himself again.
’Is there some reward if I manage to stand? There probably is, but... I’m already dead.’
Once more...
’Ellegaard was right. I shouldn’t have come.’
And again...
’I wanted to prove how strong I could become... but I failed.’
There is no victory without failing at least once.
’I... am the failure.’
That failure could become virtue.
’Marco...’
Pinned to the ground beside a crystal sword, agonizing before his friend.
’Azel...’
Unconscious, suffering in the pool of blood pouring from his abdomen.
’Monar...’
The one who wanted to be his friend, whose tears mixed with the blood on his face as he felt the faint flame of "life" fading from his companions’ bodies.
’What am I really supposed to do?’
A grave silence filled the scene.
But the system shattered that silence with the sound of breaking glass and an ethereal distortion that vibrated through the space.
[ Be the Herald of the Unnameable. ]
Mitsuki ignored it.
’Can I even lift my head?’
[ Try. ]
’Would I even be able to do anything when I reach them?’
[ Do it. ]
’I... don’t want to die.’
[ Live. ]
’I can’t die. Not until I know I can return home.’
[ Stand. ]
’I want to...’
[ What do you want? ]
’I want to be stronger!’
The ash around him surged violently at his inner scream. Instantly, a massive tornado of ash formed, engulfing the entire castle—just like the one surrounding the kingdom. The wind roared, lifting fragments of stone and dust into the air.
[ You wish to break your limits. You wish to grow stronger and stronger. That is the path of the Herald of the Unnameable. ]
[ Through your effort, the power you have gathered, and the dangers that constantly push you to your limits, the seal of a hidden skill has been broken. ]
[ You have obtained the skill "Limit Break." ]