Chapter 194: At the End of the Road
After the column of Drenv disappeared, the air in the north remained frozen for a time. The fact that no battle had taken place was, paradoxically, what gripped people's hearts and shook them. The snowstorm melted across the fields, washing away the traces left behind by the dead who had filled that space moments before.
And as time passed, movement stirred in every corner.
"The war is…… Over! We won!"
Someone let out a cautious voice. Those words spread rapidly—not only through the alliance forces, but across the whole of Elvra. Words became rumors, and rumors soon became legend.
People remembered not so much the facts themselves, but the stories they wanted to believe.
"The moment Master Calix appeared, the enemy's army commander retreated, they say."
"Saint Ella founded a new Sacred Ground, I heard."
"The Dwarf King split the gorge asunder and protected the lands of men!"
The stories spread with the Crusaders and the priests at their center. The Order emphasized the ‘restoration of the Sacred Ground’, and the Niborian nobles cried out of the ‘liberation of the northern continent’.
Though each account differed, the conclusion was the same. The survivors of Elvra finally set their hearts at ease and accepted the order Calix had established.
Above all else, proof of the miracle remained on the central plains—the golden dome Ella had created.
Ella became the object of reverence for all survivors. Each time she spread her palms and scattered golden particles into the air, those who stood nearby fell to their knees.
Her divine power cleansed the dark remnants left behind by Drenv's forces. The people who witnessed this became only more certain.
"The new sword drove back Verhas, and the Saint swept away the shadows."
"Now the north is reborn."
"We fear neither Verhas nor Drenv anymore!"
As belief hardened, hope spread like wildfire.
At some point, stories about Marik—the Crusader who guarded the Saint—began to circulate among those who loved to gossip. Among those stories was also one about Basim, ‘the Dwarf King from the west’.
"Did you hear? When the Dwarf King brought his hammer down 3 times, the mountain split clean apart, they say."
"He's a descendant of the great dwarves, apparently. Could it be the western mountain ranges are waking again?"
Of course, the details were exaggerated.
Basim heard the rumors and fumed, saying, ‘If I clip my toenails, does that count as splitting my own body?’—but either way, people already treated him as a figure of legend.
To the people of Elvra, ‘Saint Ella’,‘Master Calix’, and ‘Dwarf King Basim’ had become the 3 pillars rebuilding the north.
Yet Calix understood better than anyone.
‘The enemy had not retreated because they were defeated. It was simply that this place was not the battlefield they had desired.’
He surveyed the ground through which the dead had passed, together with Royce, Yelayen, Adrian, and the others.
"He said he'd return southeast, to the Land of Shadows?"
"Yes. The direction is correct."
Marik's blade scraped across the ground. Clumps of earth and snowflakes clung to it together. Distinct traces of dark magical power that had brushed past remained clearly embedded there.
A brief silence fell.
Then the mage, Yelayen, slowly raised his head.
"It is nothing more than postponing the hour of the decisive battle."
His voice was quiet, yet clear in a way that sent a chill down the spine.
"We have yet to even lay eyes on the face of the Corrupted Lord, De Generitum."
A desolate wind swept across their faces. Though summer was drawing near, a strange cold seeped all the way to the bone.
Calix turned and looked back. The faces of the soldiers still carried the joy of victory—but among the Mountain Rabbits, one look at each other's expressions was enough to know.
They had won, for now.
But it was not a decisive victory. To see the end, the Corrupted Lord had to be brought down.
And a few months after that.
Summer came.
But peace did not.
* * *
As summer began, the north of Elvra gradually changed its face. The warm sunlight turned harsh, and from the ruins of burned-out village sites came not the acrid smell of ash but the sound of earth being turned. People put new roofs over collapsed homes and gathered stones to build fences.
On the surface, it seemed as though things were returning to their former shape.
Centered around the Sacred Ground Ella had created, villages and towns sprang up in every corner. And yet, looking deeper within, the reality was different.
Sprouts had grown—but food was scarce.
Villages that had lost their farmland to the war were commonplace, leaving almost no grain remaining. The returning residents were many, and the problem only swelled as those who had wandered as resistance fighters and refugees all poured in at once.
"Bandits and marauders are roaming the roads in the north."
"……Is Sir Estal not there in person?"
"It seems even the Order's strength alone is not enough to handle it…… They're more of a headache than the rebels were. These are people who turned to banditry purely to survive, you see."
Ethica—Elvra's central stronghold city.
At the measured words of Sier Lagrin, Ella's expression darkened. There were problems that a single moment of miracle could not resolve.
Calix rested his hand on the map laid across the table. The settlements of each region of Elvra were marked upon it, and between them, lines representing supply routes and roads ran densely from end to end.
"The settlers keep growing, but the storehouses are slowly emptying."
Adrian exhaled a long breath.
"There's a limit to what we can receive in support from Niboria. Things aren't going well there either. We've barely reclaimed the north, and…… Now this mess."
Even the figures from the Order could not hide their exhaustion. Purifying the contaminated lands was a task without end, and the Crusaders, too, had split into 2 factions over the question of how to rebuild the Holy Empire.
Calix listened to all of it, issued directives through it all, and was compelled to make judgments from dawn until night.
How to distribute food, and where. Which fortresses to rebuild, and which to abandon. How to arrange troop deployments to maintain order, and so on and so forth.
‘Wielding a sword is easier than managing people.’
He slowly rolled his stiffened neck.
From outside the window, the faint sound of blacksmiths' hammering drifted in. As the night deepened, the sound gradually faded, until at last only silence remained.
Only then did Calix step outside the fortress walls. Since Ethica effectively served as the capital, a strict watch was being kept even in the dead of night. With each of his footsteps, the sentries bowed their heads.
At the end of that path, his gaze happened to fall upon an open space outside.
Claaang!!
Steel struck steel and spat sparks.
Calix approached before he had even realized it. It was a training ground. On one side was the familiar face of Helmut Barben, and on the other—Adrian.
The 2 men had drawn up their magical power, yet neither had overlaid that power onto their blades. And yet the swordsmanship each employed was entirely different.
Helmut was as aggressive as ever—but Adrian had grown far more fluid and supple.
‘He lost one arm, yet he's overcome it through technique.’
A quiet note of admiration escaped Calix as he watched the movements. With only one hand, Adrian received the fierce onslaught, maintaining his center of gravity by the narrowest of margins.
It was then.
"You've come."
Master Sevi Belgrado drew near and spoke.
"Watching over the sword at this late an hour?"
"If I watched over it in the daylight, wouldn't my so-called disciples come swarming all at once?"
Calix gave a nod, yet his eyes never left the training ground. Sevi observed that scene for a long while, then added in a low voice.
"You need to rest as well."
"……"
Calix had no words to offer in reply. The truth was, he would rather swing a sword than rest. But there was no suitable opponent to be found.
"If my body were still sound, I'd have kept you company—what a pity it's come to this."
"That is not so."
He declined immediately and directly. It was not a polite formality. Sevi had not recovered from his injury. Or rather, more precisely—he would never recover.
The old man was dying.
It was not from wounds dealt by the enemy, but from the adversary called the passage of years.
"They say aging is the natural order of things—but it truly is a shame. When else would I get the chance to face someone like you?"
Regret shadowed Sevi's eyes. It was not that he envied the youth of Helmut or Adrian. Rather, it weighed on him that he had never truly crossed blades with the young man before him.
In his younger days, he would have exchanged swords without any thought of night or day. But as death drew nearer, the flame within was fading along with it.
In that yearning, the old man opened his mouth once more.
"By nature, a Master is one who has pushed a single path to its very end and made it complete. You drive your own way, obstinately, relentlessly, until it reaches its limit."
His fingertips traced a slow circle in the air.
"But you were not like that. You were different from the very start. Grey magical power, of all things…… that carried a ferocity unlike anything I had ever seen. And yet, strangely, that ferocity did not destroy you—instead, it became the axis that bound all your power together. If I rose to the realm of Master by filling in my own deficiencies, then you were already carrying that qualification within you from the beginning."
Calix listened in silence.
His field of vision held the scene of 2 men colliding again and again. The blades flashed several times, and the ring of metal sang out clear and bright.
"I have heard that the one standing on the opposite side of us was once a being like yourself. A tremendous talent, who in the end fell into corruption."
He understood that the other party had referenced ‘De Generitum’. The one who had relayed those words was likely Yelayen.
Calix gave a quiet nod.
He did not deny that he would be different from that one. Proving it was not Calix's task—it was the task of the time that had already passed.
Whether fortunately or not, Sevi did not press deeper into that matter either.
Instead, he asked simply.
"Are you not afraid? Of the fact that you walk a path that is neither light, nor darkness?"
Calix exhaled softly. It was not a difficult question. Fear had been walking alongside him for a long time already.
And so—
"Yes."
He was not afraid.
"Good, very good."
In the moment that Sevi revealed his complex inner state in response, the duel between Helmut and Adrian hurtled toward its conclusion.
Adrian had managed to hold on well by bringing unpredictable movement into play—but in the end, he could not entirely overcome the constraint of being a one-armed swordsman.
Much as Sevi Belgrado had done just a moment before, he, too, acknowledged his own deficiency and lowered his sword. He then stepped back, offered his opponent a salute, and accepted his defeat.
"This is truly beyond coping with. This is Niborian Heavy Sword Style, I suppose. I've learned a great deal."
"……You were also excellent."
After both had stepped back, a stillness descended over the training ground, which had been seething with tension and heat.
It was at that moment.
A commotion broke out at the castle gate. Urgent voices rang out, and soon the sound of hoofbeats pierced the silence and reached their ears.
Calix reflexively turned his head.
At this hour, at this distance, at this speed—the only one who would drive a horse was a messenger.
It could not be an ordinary report.
A short while later, a rider covered in dust passed through the inner gate. The horse's mane was matted and slicked with sweat, and the rider's voice had already gone hoarse.
"Sir Calix! There is news that must be delivered to Sir Calix!"
Thanks to the sentries immediately clearing a path, the rider reached his destination before long. The messenger nearly tumbled from the horse, and fell to his knees before Calix.
"Sir Calix, urgent news! The Great Chief of Kalahim, Yoman……!"
He drew a labored breath, then somehow forced out the rest of his words.
"Has fallen in battle."
Though the heat of the training ground had not yet fully dissipated, the air all around them froze in an instant. The meaning of Great Chief Yoman's death was unmistakable.
The corners of Calix's eyes stiffened, ever so faintly.
The messenger completed his report in a voice laced with blood.
"The southern front…… Has been broken by the forces of the Corrupted Lord, De Generitum."
Calix slowly closed his eyes.
The words Drenv had left behind at his departure rose naturally to mind.
'At the end of the road you have walked…… You shall face the Corrupted Lord.'
Fate was drawing near.