Chapter 137
Chapter 137 – The Thread of Fate
A cold mist drifted over the ruins. The frigid, heavy air seeped deep into the lungs, like the smell of an ancient tomb.
Draug, the being that devours nightmares, stood alone atop a crumbled retaining wall.
Rumble.
In the distance, the outer walls of Niboria's capital shimmered faintly. The upper sections of the ramparts had crumbled, and powdered stone hung suspended in the air. The wind had come and gone many times, yet not a single fragment had shifted.
The garrison soldiers had lost the will to move. There were no banners, no torches, no battle cries. They merely breathed and waited.
For their own end.
Thud!
Another man flung himself over the outer wall. He drove a blade into a comrade's heart, shattered a brother's jaw with a shield. He thrashed about to bring an end to the long hours of suffering.
Yet the power that ‘flowed in reverse’ made no distinction between enemy and ally, reviving every living thing.
Those with shattered skulls, those with pierced throats, those with broken pelvises. The fatally wounded areas slowly recovered, defying the laws of nature.
"Ugh—, AAAA-AAAAH!"
The reason they screamed, however, was that it was no true healing. Flesh oozed out beyond the body's surface. Fractured bones jutted out like thorns.
They had come back to life, yet had fallen into a state worse than death.
Naturally, there was no one left to defend the capital, Cardium. The will to protect had been broken, and loyalty toward the Emperor had long since turned the other way.
‘Truly befitting of a sovereign who flows in reverse.’
Then, Draug's countless eyeballs slowly drew inward. It was there, on the plain before the walls.
Reverse-Flowing Kohtan.
His mere existence twisted the grain of the earth. Light warped everywhere he passed. Every faint sound was devoured whole, and not even Draug's shadow was exempt.
‘Where he dwells, all flow ceases.’
It was not alive. Nor was it dead. That was precisely why it was the most fearsome of beings. It could boldly be compared to the presence of the Corrupted Lord—De Generitum.
And it was thanks to that mighty power that Draug could steal glimpses of news from the far side of the continent. Within the deep darkness, the battlefields from every region overlapped in his eyes.
Whoooosh!
The southern Kingdom of Gardia had fallen. Saulak, the Legion Commander who bore the form of a serpent, was burning towns and cities to the ground. Ships laden with refugees crowded the sea.
To rescue them, Kalahim cavalry came riding down from the central region. They were caught by the ankle by wolves and failed to arrive in time.
‘That means…… The humans' swords will appear over there in earnest now, too.’
The Kingdom of Gardia had been assigned to two Legion Commanders—Urelta, who sows doubt, and Saulak, who ravages. Judging by how things were unfolding, the day of a decisive battle in the southern continent was not far off.
All twelve of Draug's eyeballs flared at once. This was no mere war—it was the prologue to the overturning of the world.
He turned his gaze for the last time.
Beyond, at a distance closer than expected, humans were gathered in force. At their center, the banner of the Mountain Rabbits fluttered.
‘Cal-lix. Your breath bores through the shadows.’
Just as with Kohtan and Draug, the bond with Calix too grew ever deeper. Scarcely a day passed without them meeting in dreams, and even without trying, he would find himself sensing the man's presence.
Contempt and curiosity, a subtle dread.
That, perhaps, was why De Generitum kept his gaze fixed upon him.
‘Yet once again, you have met a wall. What will you do now?’
* * *
At that hour, a heavy atmosphere hung over the allied forces' command tent. Every commander had been summoned. Dozens of small flags had been planted across the map spread over the table, yet more than half had already fallen.
"……This is the intelligence obtained from the imperial messenger."
Hadiya held out an unsealed document. Calix skimmed the lines laid out briefly before him. Each sentence stirred a sense of mounting crisis.
[Viscount Farsa's forces dispatched in response to the capital's call for relief; formation collapsed just as they arrived at the front. Half scattered immediately, and the remainder charged the outer rampart and were annihilated.]
Dwarf Basim muttered in disbelief.
"Charged the rampart? Their own side's rampart?"
Royce didn't so much as twitch an eyebrow. He unfolded the next report instead.
[Imperial cavalry: internal casualties sustained mid-engagement. Examination of the fallen revealed wounds with trajectories showing no distinction between front and rear. No mana stone traces. Presumed to be friendly-fire engagement.]
Silence followed. The sound of breathing sank to the floor. Then, Vice-captain Marik knocked on the table and spoke.
"Kohtan's doing. The degree is worse than before, but the pattern is the same. The closer they got, the more exposed they were to the enemy's aura."
At that, Master Imran placed a finger on the map, over the area east of the capital. The terrain marking the riverbank was smeared with a deep crimson stain.
"Well said. He doesn't favor open battle. He prefers to constrict the breathing, and slowly smother his prey."
Unremarkable as a commander, yet the words carry the weight of one who has fought a Legion Commander directly. Marquis Ashapel spoke through gritted teeth.
"As things stand…… The capital cannot be reclaimed."
The high-ranking nobles, as if by prior arrangement, all grimaced at once. There wasn't even the composure left to put on a show of confidence.
‘Even so, the knights' morale has not broken.’
Calix exchanged a glance with Nuvel Groxat, Knight Commander of House Ashapel. It lasted only a moment, yet within his gaze lay something solid.
In the end, the core members had to be selected.
"We cannot keep grinding down our forces the way we have been."
"I'm listening."
Every gaze in the room converged on Calix's face.
"If the enemy seeks to drain our strength, we need only approach things the same way. A vanguard adjusts their distance to determine the range of Kohtan's power, and after that we send in elite troops to gnaw away at the enemy's numbers."
At that, Lugar, the lord of the west, shot to his feet.
"You're suggesting we gamble with this much combined force? That monster is in the capital, but his power has already reached us here. You're talking about a war of attrition against something that breaks soldiers down and revives the dead! With the Emperor having lost his mind on top of that—do you mean to turn my house to ashes as well?!"
The lofty pride that had survived many battles crumbled in a single engagement, and in its place, an uncharted dread had taken root. The torches burned down to black and guttered out at that very moment, and even the water in the bucket sloshed in only one direction.
Several nobles, including Marquis Ashapel, chimed in.
"I understand you wish to build your name, but this force is not the property of any one house—it belongs to the entire empire. You are being far too rash."
"……Would it not be wiser to wait a little longer for news from the capital? Whatever else may be said, the Emperor resides there—surely it will not fall so easily. Let us wait until his strength is spent."
In an instant, the council hall erupted into clamor. This time, however, Imran Akran's intervention was not needed.
The deaths of those who had fought alongside him flashed through his mind. Knights trampled by enemies after being unhorsed. Elves coughing blood from mana stone wounds. A dwarf clutching a shattered axe blade—all of them flickered past in a single moment.
Calix quietly released the power within.
Those who spoke only with their mouths had no standing to make demands.
Crackle.
The far edge of the table shuddered finely and froze solid in an instant. No one had seen the color of the energy, yet the intent contained within it was delivered with perfect clarity.
Before long, the room fell quiet.
"From the battles already fought, cull only those who resisted the enemy's aura. Though our numbers are considerable, we cannot commit every soldier to the field."
Calix addressed the cold reality first.
‘Kohtan isn't as sustained as Midra's cold—but within a short span of time, he exerts a far stronger influence.’
In practice, the allied forces had recorded casualties amounting to nearly half their strength in a single battle. When those gravely wounded and those whose spirits had been broken were excluded, barely thirty thousand remained.
"……I understand. Then what comes next?"
Imran's question followed naturally, and Calix answered in kind.
"Draw the enemy's forces out and thin them wide, confirm that they are scattered…… And then go and drive a blade into Kohtan's heart."
When he finished speaking, Calix stared hard at the map.
Within his composed expression, his eyes wavered for just a moment. It was less the unease of the outcome, and more the question of who would die and who would survive at the end of it—that thought crossed his mind.
Yet that faint tremor was soon covered over by a clean, settled resolve.
"……We did not gather here to charge toward the place where we die. We are those who know the danger, yet wish to fulfill our responsibility regardless. Even a broken clock—its hands do not stop. The ground we stand on may look precarious, but nothing has ended yet."
Calix's voice resonated, quiet and steady. The Mountain Rabbits stepped silently forward. Royce gave only a short nod; Marik placed a hand on his back. Gregor thumped his chest, and Adrian…… Blinked one eyelid.
The knight commanders, too, gave their answers through their eyes.
Their positions differed from one another—yet when a clear objective was given, they could unite as one.
* * *
Imran Akran looked around him and offered a brief assessment.
"Interesting."
In response to Calix's decision, people's reactions had split into many directions. Those who valued honor welcomed it; the nobles were quietly satisfied by the fact that nearly half the forces would be sent back to their territories. The soldiers' sentiments were not so different.
"I'm going home! Ha-ha-ha! I'm alive!"
"……The only thing that's changed is the order in which we all die anyway. Celebrating like that."
‘Are they truly so glad simply to be alive one more day.’
Even within the Mountain Rabbits themselves, opinions were divided. Hagen, a veteran member, displayed his feelings openly as always.
"What's there to be happy about, letting them all go? We should be using them to draw the enemy in. There's nothing better as bait. This one time, he made the wrong choice."
"He's different from how he used to be. Calix will take care of it well enough."
"Different how? He's still a mercenary at the core."
He had vented his displeasure in that coarse manner for only a moment. Suddenly, he stared blankly ahead. He snapped back to himself shortly after, but unease was written all over his scowling face.
"Damn it—all of this is because of that Kohtan, isn't it?"
Volga answered with a glance. While Royce polished the blade with cowhide, a feather Zahira had been preening crumbled away for no discernible reason.
Strange things were not happening to Hagen alone.
Shortly after, Imran muttered to himself.
"……A death squad."
"Are you worried?"
He turned to look, and saw a young man seated before a campfire. The one who had introduced himself as the Prince of Latia nibbled at a hard piece of bread as he continued.
"I'm worried. My gut feeling just isn't sitting well."
"Are you afraid of losing?"
"Afraid, yes. Who could face defeat with composure?"
Adrian regarded the man across from him with an unbothered expression. Calix looked on with puzzled eyes, but ultimately did not intervene.
"What I mean is—it seems like a few pieces are missing."
"What pieces are you referring to?"
"For instance, what's inside your body. I heard you sustained injuries—you're hardly in any condition to call yourself whole, are you?"
"……."
The power of fortune bored through deep into the Master's inner core. Within his body, an immense energy swirled. Only, that flow was anything but smooth.
At those words, Imran did not open his mouth. Instead, he tapped the hilt of the sword at his hip with a fingertip—tap.
"Surrender! I surrender!"
As Adrian raised his one remaining hand in an exaggerated gesture of yielding, Vice-captain Marik stepped forward urgently.
"……Sir Akran, please forgive the rudeness. There is surely a reason he raised it."
Dwarf Basim muttered,
"What a madman", and clicked his tongue, while Volga hardened his face and murmured,
"Is that the level of madness required?"
Yet at the same time, they all knew his true nature. The new recruit of high standing had seen what the Mountain Rabbits could not.
Much like Calix.
"I'll hear you out."
Sure enough, the moment permission was granted, Adrian's gaze shifted entirely. He had deliberately held back during the council with the high-ranking nobles earlier. They had been people not worth the effort.
The man before him now was different.
"You are the predator that lords over Niboria. Under normal circumstances, you would never have left those halfhearted schemers to their devices. Yet you restrained yourself. Your strength is not what it once was. In the critical moment, for the fight that truly matters—you need to save your claws for the decisive strike."
"……."
Imran's expression shifted faintly. Mingled in the creases at the corners of his eyes were doubt and a long-exhaled resignation. The man had read a truth that even his own disciples did not know.
"The problem is that neither of you is whole."
The remark that followed was understood immediately. The Master's gaze flicked—briefly toward Calix and then back.
"And come to think of it, the mage who went to rescue the Order's survivors looks like he'll be running pretty late as well? That's what my gut tells me. My gut."
"……You said you were from Latia."
He was recalling the man's identity belatedly, coming to understand that it was an ability obtained from a Neural Accelerator. And then, immediately after, Adrian's voice rang out with absolute certainty, driving the point home.
"Anyway—at this rate, we're going to die. Very miserably. So please do something about it. Ah, even with a stomach ailment, a Master is still a Master, isn't he."
"……."
Fate does not let even this brief window of respite go to waste.
The gazes of Calix and Imran Akran locked together. Neither of them was whole. One had a crack running through him, while the other had been honed to a dangerously sharp edge.
In that moment, Imran felt his calling.
Yes.
He had finally, truly, come face to face with his successor.