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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Mod7
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A fortnight later, a woman with flowing emerald green hair visited the Hohenberc estate.
The Master of the Red Tower.
Head of the Neserhane family, renowned for producing generations of skilled mages.
Querisa Neserhane.
Dressed in a revealing gown, with a broomstick tucked under her arm, the Master of the Tower entered the estate gardens.
News of her arrival, a member of the continent’s Seven Strongest and the ruler of the Red Tower, caused a stir among the Hohenberc household.
“M-Master of the Tower… We are honored by your presence in our humble estate.”
The bald man—
No,
Otto, the head of House Hohenberc, greeted the Master of the Red Tower, his face slick with sweat.
The household staff, having dropped their duties and hastily assembled, bowed respectfully. Querisa responded with a graceful gesture, placing her hand on her chest.
“There’s no need for such formality, Marquis Hohenberc. I’m simply here for a candid conversation with a fellow parent who shares similar concerns.”
“A fellow… parent?”
Otto asked, his face creased with confusion.
Edanant, who had joined them, explained that the woman before them was the Sage’s adoptive mother.
The Hero’s father. The Sage’s mother.
The parents of two members of the Saintess Party, who had vanquished the Demon King, had met.
Maximilian and Madbay were classmates of Beatrice at the academy. So, the term “fellow parent” wasn’t entirely inaccurate.
“Raising a teenage son is truly a challenge. To think my model student would become a rebellious runaway… It’s a trying time, to say the least.”
“…”
Teenage?
Runaway?
Her son was twenty-three years old.
Perhaps he still seemed like a child in her eyes.
A parent’s worry for their child was universal.
Edanant, having listened patiently to their parental woes, stepped back. Querisa then smiled brightly and reminded him of their agreement.
“You promised to provide me with a small blood sample in exchange for the teleportation magic. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”
“Of course not. Consider it a blood donation.”
The thought of handing over his blood to the monster of knowledge was unsettling, but he had no choice. He had made a binding agreement with the Master of the Tower before she activated the teleportation magic.
There was no collateral.
It was practically a verbal agreement.
But Edanant, eager to have the Master of the Tower as an ally, had agreed to the deal. Even if it meant risking the possibility of her creating a clone using his blood.
“And I’d like to collect a sample of your Calamity’s divinity as well! You’ll agree to that as well, right?”
“…”
‘Next, she’ll be asking for my semen…’
Edanant grimaced at her ever-increasing demands.
“What was that, Edan?”
“Don’t fall for her charms, Father. She’s a madwoman in disguise, a seventy-five-year-old hag using Polymorph magic.”
Otto cried out in surprise.
A beautiful woman, with a youthful appearance and a slender figure, was actually a seventy-five-year-old hag. It was a jarring discrepancy, difficult to reconcile.
How horrifying.
An elderly woman masquerading as a young maiden.
“Marquis Hohenberc, would you mind if I spoke with your son in private?”
“Of course.”
Having witnessed the power of Polymorph magic firsthand, Querisa politely requested a private conversation with Otto, who was still reeling from the shock.
“Perhaps you could show me around the estate, Young Master Edanant? I’d like to take a stroll and chat.”
“How dare a hag from the Magic Tower address the great Pioneer so casually!”
The beautiful vampire, dressed in a maid uniform, interjected, her voice laced with indignation.
Still humiliated by being effortlessly subdued by Querisa’s gravity magic, Ariel glared at the Master of the Tower, her hostility evident. Querisa simply shrugged, a mocking smile playing on her lips.
“Still haven’t learned your lesson, have you? Seems like you need another round of discipline.”
“Eek!”
A chilling glint flashed in the Master of the Tower’s eyes.
Ariel yelped and quickly hid behind Edanant.
“…Do as you please.”
Blood.
Divinity.
And now a guided tour of the estate.
Edanant sighed and began walking. Querisa, a playful smile on her face, strolled beside him along the garden path.
“Don’t you find it strange? The Holy Kingdom’s silence. The followers, having witnessed the One True God’s humiliation, should be demanding a holy war.”
“…”
Her sweet, melodic voice, whispering a question filled with suspicion, made Edanant’s brow twitch.
He wanted to know.
No,
He needed to know.
He felt a growing unease towards the Master of the Tower, who seemed to be enjoying his confusion. His desire to understand the situation in the Holy Kingdom burned within him.
“The Calamity of Death has descended.”
“…What?”
Edanant’s voice was sharp with disbelief as he repeated Querisa’s words.
Confusion.
Disbelief.
And a primal fear of the unknown.
The shocking news that the Calamity of Death had descended upon the mortal realm struck him like a physical blow.
The Saintess Party had resurrected the Calamity of Death. Edanant clenched his fists, his thoughts consumed by images of his former comrades, now turned enemies of humanity.
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Driwaine Castle.
Reduced to rubble, the fortress that once stood as a bulwark against the demonic hordes was now a desolate wasteland.
And in its place, a bottomless chasm, a gaping maw in the earth, had appeared.
It was the scar left by the clash of divinities, the remnants of a battle between beings of unimaginable power.
The very landscape had been reshaped by the collision of these forces. The terrain, unchanged for eons, had succumbed to the overwhelming power unleashed upon it.
“Do not approach!”
“Even a brush with the divine shockwaves will rot your flesh!”
The clash of power creates ripples, shockwaves that radiate outward.
Black and white.
Contrasting shades of nothingness.
The divinities of the Creator God and the Disaster God lingered in the chasm, their power still palpable. The Holy Knights, wary of being caught in the residual energy, cautiously navigated the perimeter of the chasm.
“W-What is that?”
“Oh, dear god…!”
The clash of divinities, defying all logic and reason, had created a bizarre phenomenon.
Massive boulders and jagged rocks hovered in mid-air. The conflicting divine powers had nullified gravity, creating a pocket of zero gravity.
The Holy Knights, witnessing this impossible sight, recoiled in horror. The laws of nature, once taken for granted, no longer applied in this distorted space.
“Aaaaagh!!”
The ground beneath their feet, solid moments before, suddenly cracked and split open like a spiderweb. And from the fissures, the concentrated divine energy surged upwards, escaping the chasm’s depths.
Exposed to the shockwave.
Their bodies blackened instantly. The paladin’s flesh, where it had come into contact with the divine energy, began to necrotize. They met a gruesome end, their bodies melting like candles in a furnace, their screams echoing through the desolate landscape.
“I apologize. We should have arrived sooner…!”
A handsome paladin knelt, his voice filled with regret.
Cirel Veillard.
Captain of the Holy Knights and the Unrivaled Sword.
Having deployed the Holy Kingdom’s forces as soon as the divine shockwaves were detected, Cirel escorted the prospective Saintesses, who had been at the scene, to safety. Most of them were suffering from exhaustion and shock.
“The Calamity of Death… has possessed the Second Saintess.”
“What?!”
The Demon King was dead.
The Calamity of Death, needing a new vessel, had possessed Beatrice.
Impossible.
How could the Calamity of Death possess the Saintess of the Earth Mother?
The First Saintess, Zebeline, had become an apostle because she was chosen by the Calamity of Famine, sealed within the Holy Kingdom’s guardian dragon. But Beatrice was different. She was a true Saintess, her soul attuned solely to the Earth Mother’s divinity.
If the Calamity of Death attempted to possess her, a divine collision should have occurred.
And Beatrice should have perished.
“I don’t understand either. But there was no mistaking it… a dark, ominous aura, the divinity of Death, emanated from the Second Saintess. The Earth Mother herself confirmed it when she briefly possessed my body.”
“…”
“And that’s not all. The Sage, the Mercenary King, and even the Sword Saint…! All of the heroes who served the Second Saintess… they all radiated the Calamity of Death.”
“M-Maximilian… What about the Hero, Maximilian?!”
The Second Saintess had become an apostle of Death.
And the heroes who served her had become her followers, accepting Death’s divinity.
It was the worst possible outcome. The heroes who had represented humanity had fallen, becoming agents of ultimate evil.
Cirel, her voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and anguish, asked about Maximilian’s fate. Though he had betrayed the Holy Kingdom and the One True God, she couldn’t sever her ties to her former comrade. A desperate groan escaped her lips.
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