Chapter 474 - Transformation (2)
The once-quiet sky was, before anyone noticed, shrouded by nimbostratus clouds, the kind that appear right before rain.
On the peaceful sea, large and small waves began to surge, encircling the island. It was like a colossal whirlpool.
And yet, strangely, the wind itself was not blowing hard, but the plants growing on the island shook as if struck by a storm.
Leaves fell like autumn foliage.
The animals, confronted with the changing environment, shrank back, their bodies stiffened. Even the birds with wings did not attempt to flee.
Prey, bound to instinct, stubbornly refused resistance.
Likewise, overwhelmed, Heras fell to both knees.
"Ku, hup."
His voice would not come out properly.
It felt as if he were suddenly crushed under a boulder rolling down from a cliff. Even if he tried to stand, his legs would not budge.
'What is this?!'
It was a situation that broke out the very moment he arrived on the Society's island, so his bewilderment was beyond measure. The phenomenon itself was unfamiliar.
With the knowledge in his head, he could not comprehend the current situation.
He barely managed to tilt his head.
It was the only part of his body that could move, however slightly.
And so, with great effort, he slowly raised his gaze, and finally beheld the cause of the disturbance.
"...Sup, reme?"
Verden.
The ash-haired Magus holding in his right hand Interis, the staff said to have been created by the legendary dwarf.
Though outwardly no different from the Ownerless Land, the atmosphere radiating from him was utterly different from before.
'What in the world....'
──!
In an instant, infinite magic power spread outward.
Heras, caught within its range, groaned and pressed both hands to the ground. The head he had barely held aloft dropped downwards.
His forehead almost touched the ground.
It was the limit of a 5th-tier Magus confronted with a transcendent of magic.
Verden looked down upon Heras.
'Still, worthy of being the Society's elite, his mental fortitude is impressive.'
Though he was not fully revealing the majesty of a Transcendent, by desperate focus Heras was barely retaining reason.
That alone was something he could be proud of.
Step, step.
Verden walked forward.
When Interis touched the ground, and his footsteps left prints, the world surrounding the island stirred.
The nearing presence.
Directly opposite, Melard Tastienne gripped the armrests of her wheelchair tightly.
Unconsciously, she closed her eyes.
That sense of déjà vu sent her consciousness racing into the distant past.
'Dahit Wethroel.'
Back during the usurpation of Black Hour, she had directly confronted that immense presence, and it was nothing less than awe-inspiring.
As one who walked the path of magic, she had keenly realized he was a being of higher order.
Even so, Melard did not bow.
Not only she, but the leader of Black Hour, and all the original members save the traitors who sided with Dahit—such as Harkan—fought with all their strength.
'Ah... everyone.'
It was a fierce magical battle.
Though the betrayal of disciples and friends twisted their innards with rage, none gave up, all fought in a slaughter.
But.
'We lost.'
Dahit, who had long concealed his true realm, had already stepped into the domain of transcendence. He was not someone to be overcome with abstract powers like indomitable will.
In the end, had the leader not sacrificed himself, they would not have escaped Dahit's grasp.
Of course, there was no joy in survival.
What little remained for the scattered survivors of the original group was only grief and resentment.
Despair was like a swamp.
Floundering all day, it took a long time to stand again.
So it was for Melard.
Now, feeling once again that same bitter, nightmarish shiver, tears welled in her eyes as she slowly lifted her lids.
'But, this isn't Dahit.'
Though of a similar grade, the nature was different.
Before Melard's eyes was something harsher and more savage than Dahit's aura decades ago. An immeasurable ferocity pressed upon her.
It was as if she were beholding a natural disaster given form.
Melard whispered.
"Some move swiftly, some slowly... the flow of time's great river is absolute, yet the current differs for each, they say."
She asked.
"Then, in what time do you live, Shinseong?"
"Hearing you speak thus, I suppose no further proof is necessary."
The footsteps ceased.
At a mere ten paces between them, the gaze of a Sage and a Transcendent met.
At the same time, the surging magic abated.
As Verden withdrew the majesty of his existence, the world engulfed in turbulence gradually returned to its true form.
From behind came the rough breaths of Heras, freed from the crushing weight.
Verden turned his head, gazing toward the silver citadel at the island's center.
"Are we the only ones here?"
"Yes, at present only the three of us are on this island. Not only Ethan and Rebecca, who know you personally, but the Sage of Power and the Sage of Guardianship are both away on the continent. The magical world has been noisy lately... so it's truly fortunate. If they had seen you as you are now, there would have been a great uproar."
Because of her disability, Melard had remained on the Society's island to conduct the meeting with Verden.
Her calm disposition played a part in that decision.
True to the name Sage of Wisdom, she was the most rational of the three Sages, and eloquent as well.
Even so, even she could hardly contain her shock at seeing Verden return as a Transcendent in just a few months.
She had to suppress the urge to scream.
Melard exhaled softly.
"Then, should I be showing the courtesies due a Transcendent, Shinseong?"
"The Society and I are partners, not superiors and subordinates. Thus, I think it proper to treat me accordingly. Don't you agree?"
"Is that so... yes, I suppose I misspoke."
The wheels of her chair rolled slowly.
Moving her arms, Melard eased the tension in her body, and continued.
"At the Silver Citadel, we Sages have held meetings over several days. About the current state of affairs, about the Society's response to it... and about why you wished to see us. Many theories abounded."
And yet.
"Now that I've seen you today, it seems the one hypothesis we thought least likely is in fact the answer."
Melard looked up at Verden.
"To be frank, none of us ever considered you might have achieved transcendence. Not even as a far-fetched guess. Had I not seen you myself, I would not have believed it."
No matter how exceptional his talent, this went beyond even the outer bounds of possibility... whatever it was that brought him to awakening, she could not fathom.
It was dizzying.
And so, Melard accepted reality as it was, and instead spoke of something more practical.
"I know well that the power you now possess is beyond my estimation. Even before, you were abnormally strong—how much greater must you be now? Still... Shinseong, as you also know, even if you have become an equal to Dahit Wethroel, there must still be a gap."
"Indeed."
"And yet, are you already intent on usurping Black Hour?"
"Delaying the time won't change anything."
The one chosen by transcendence, and the one who chose transcendence.
Verden understood the gulf between the two. He knew himself to be unlike the other Transcendents.
And.
'To elevate and master my realm, I cannot rely on the mere passage of time.'
In the end, how many countless years would it take, dissolving into time, until he could confidently claim victory over Dahit and Balrog?
That would be the inferior path.
Rather than that, it was making all the experiences he had accumulated on the frontlines his nourishment, that was, for him, the most perfect method.
As it had always been until now.
'I am, prepared.'
The confidence that in life-and-death battles, he would surely prevail.
The fury to usurp Black Hour and tear apart the magic tower of Bohemirn.
The resolve that he would complete the ideals he had longed for, that was within Verden.
If so, was there any reason to hesitate now?
Verden asked.
"As expected, what I want is a way to drag out Dark Moon, Dahit Wethroel, into a usurpation war for Black Hour. But before I get to the main point, it's proper I answer the question of one of the leaders of the Society first."
"…Of course."
Melard nodded.
"So those hints mentioned during the subjugation of Rayshen Tailroad at Gargant, you deliberately scattered them. To indirectly pass information on to us."
"It would make it easier for you to accept it that way."
"Indeed. Had Shinseong suddenly spoken of it, we would not have easily understood. It's too great a matter. But with time, we could calmly put our thoughts in order. Then, shall I try to guess?"
She folded her hands neatly.
"The name Asher is an alias, and Verden is your true name. The swordsman at your side is none other than the Central Continent's vanished one of the Four Greats, the Heavenly Sword, Adrian Chambers. He is the one referred to by the number 89."
"..."
"And with that, the unpleasant words that spilled from Rayshen's mouth, and the fierce wrath you showed toward him... in my magical opinion, the conclusion these things point to is limited."
Melard lowered her voice, laying out a dreadful conclusion.
"Bohemirn's magic tower conducted human experimentation. And Shinseong and the Heavenly Sword are its victims. Are we correct?"
At last, the secret of Bohemirn's magic tower was revealed through the lips of an outsider.
"That is correct."
Verden affirmed.
***
The greatest reason Balrog Bessias had chosen Verden as a test subject was his magical comprehension that defied all norms.
That genius was not only deep, but of such universality across all fields of magic that its value was evident at a glance.
Thus Verden was dragged from one unofficial laboratory to another, forced to endure the malice of countless mages.
He was treated little better than a consumable item.
They would whisper from time to time that his was a talent far too excessive for a piece of junk whose upper limit was only the 1st tier.
'Some must have died from power source overloads... but the rest should still be alive. I hope they are.'
Verden remembered, without exception, every single name and face of the mages of the tower who had participated in the unofficial experiments.
Perhaps some would spout excuses that they had no choice because of the forced magic circle, Coercion, but no matter what, there would be no leniency.
The curious eyes, the mocking smiles, the cold disregard turned on Verden, who had been dying by installments—there had been no exception among them.
Controlling the seething emotions with practiced ease, Verden recounted to Melard the vile truth of Bohemirn's magic tower.
But rather than dwell on what he had personally suffered, he focused on the scale of the unofficial laboratories and the types of experiments conducted.
That was more suitable to the current subject.
Above all, Verden had not the slightest intention of demanding pity with appeals to injustice, despair, or pain.
"..."
Melard, listening intently to Verden's calm account, gradually twisted her expression, and at last was aghast.
It was not simply because of the human experimentation.
As one deeply acquainted with the Black Hour's infamy as a collective of death mages, and as one who knew the inner workings of the tower through the Society, violations of magical taboos were not something to shock her so easily.
What shook her was the scale.
'How could such experiments be conducted, not anywhere else, but inside the magic tower itself...!'
No matter how well security was kept, where mages—or rather, humans—gathered to form an organization, cracks would naturally appear.
Unless every single member were carefully selected.
Yet they had not known.
In all the information the Society had accumulated till now, there had been nothing.
This was not something to dismiss as mere coincidence.
'There is something.'
Some measure Bohemirn's tower had taken to keep such enormous unofficial laboratories hidden all this time.
"How was that possible?"
"That, we'll leave for later."
To Melard's question, Verden deferred.
The truth about the forced magic circle, Coercion.
Revealing that as well now would be premature. It was a topic ill-suited to the matter at hand.
The immediate blade was to be pointed not at Bohemirn's tower, but at Black Hour.
"This should have cleared up some of your questions."
"…Yes."
"Now it is your turn."
Verden fixed his gaze on Melard.
"How can Dahit Wethroel be made to take part himself, wagering the seat of Black Hour's leader, in a magic battle?"
Forcing the filthy shadow of Bohemirn's tower to the back of her mind, Melard gave her answer.
"You must invade the Grand Hall, the stronghold of Black Hour that we, the original members, created."
At last, discussions began on a plan aimed directly at the faction of Transcendents.
***
Meanwhile, in Gargant.
On the rooftop of a building under the vast city's night sky, a young girl appeared.
"Hmph, so I wondered who had the nerve to summon me so boldly."
Ignacia smiled.
"And it turns out to be the one they call the greatest criminal of the current magical world. What brings you here, in the Central Continent and not the Western?"
"That distasteful appearance of yours hasn't changed."
From dark flames that flared up in an instant, Dahit Wethroel manifested.
Outside-the-World and Dark Moon.
The two Transcendents who reigned over the world had met.
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