392 – S8. Stars Lifted at the End of the Cooperative Journey

The pitiful old man murdered by his fanatical kin. The old man who readily offered help to others, only to have his kindness repaid with death. The old man who ultimately died miserably, trapped within the body of a broken machine.

Look at the life of this wrinkled old man. A pitiable life, deserving of sympathy and compassion, withered away by an evil god in a torturous fate.

But what image of him did Bennet remember? Did the old man Abraham… remain a pathetic human, wailing and screaming?

No.

Abraham, as he remembered him, would remain forever smiling as he counted the stars. Because, even amidst the waves of tragedy, he never broke.

“What defines one’s existence is, I believe, oneself. Therefore, I am Abraham.”

He carried the direction of his own life through to his final moment.

Even should a star fall from the heavens, do not weep. Its trajectory remains etched vividly within the soul, indelible. It is not grief that must be shown, but reverence.

And now…

“How… how are you here…?”

“The gods have granted me a new flesh. I hear you have already wed, though I am a touch late, congratulations. Surely, you two will build a happy home.”

“Ah, a-ah, y-yes…”

“Though I could not attend the wedding, I believe I can visit the next event of import. Would you care to extend an invitation, if it would not be imposing?”

“……….!!”

Even the obstacle of ‘tragedy’, which had been blocking our joy, is now crumbling!

“Of, of course. Of course, Abraham! Or perhaps we shall hold another wedding altogether…!”

Tara answered hastily, her eyes brimming with tears. She felt that if her response were delayed even by a moment, Abraham might vanish like a mirage.

Bennet, smiling, added another word.

“The mad professor also sent a lengthy letter, decrying the fact that he did not receive a wedding invitation. Perhaps a second wedding is not such a bad idea, as you never had a proper event due to the situation at the time.”

“W-well spoken, Bennet! Right?!”

-Ooh, I like that too! But we have something a bit more urgent going on right now…?

“IGNORENEMOREIGNORENEMORE──!”

Ah, yes, the battle.

Ne Head spewed forth a horrifying quartet, conjuring all manner of magic. Bones rained down from the air, and a toxic cloud, potent enough to rot organic matter, began to creep low to the ground.

Each spell was exceedingly difficult to counter. Even if the bones were shattered, they would reassemble, and the cloud was virtually impossible to touch physically.

“If only I could use holy magic, I could wipe it all away…!”

“Have you not yet connected with the goddess?”

“No. I think something must have happened to her!”

-I’ll hold on as long as I can. Everyone!

Niore twirled his magical wand with a flourish, preparing his incantation. Abraham, within his power armor, smiled.

“My apologies for the tardiness of this announcement, but I did not come alone. I have brought my daughter with me.”

His daughter…?

“…N-Now?! Does that mean we have another enemy, Abraham?”

Tara immediately raised her magic sword. Past memories flickered through Tara’s mind. Abraham’s daughter, Isaak. Was she not the cultist who had severed this old man’s head and offered it as a burnt offering to the evil god?

Another enemy whose head needs splitting open. But crushing a daughter in front of her Abraham, that feels a little…unethical. While caught in such thoughts, a voice drifted down from above, sounding somehow disembodied.

“Technically, an ally for now… but it’s alright to think of her as another enemy, Tara. Even gazing at the same sky, some count the glittering stars, while others stare at a wretched giant octopus.”

-Isaak.

“Welcome, Niore!”

*Thwack.*

Bennet’s and Tara’s blades, Niore’s staff, all snapped towards Isaak in a heartbeat. Remembering her past wickedness, they couldn’t help but be wary.

Especially since Abraham continued to show such softness towards his daughter. Perhaps the star-counting old man had been deceived.

To this, Isaak said calmly,

“Do you believe…that people cannot change, Bennet?”

“……….”

A pointed remark about Bennet’s past.

The light of faith still flickered in Isaak’s eyes, but its hue was different. No longer a gaze that deemed all creation worthless. There was a distinct sense of reason at its core.

Bennet made his decision.

“If the need to cut you down arises, I won’t hesitate.”

“Likewise, you heretical false champion.”

That was the end of the exchange. Bennet’s party and Isaak agreed to a temporary truce. She floated in the air, carried by an unholy bubble, and spoke amiably to Niore.

“Niore. You’ve become quite adept at casting spells. But, feel free to cut loose a little more, yes? You might even be able to use spells you couldn’t before. Because—”

*Shlurrrrrrr-*

From the bubbling, frothing space, fragments of shimmering ruin rose like soap bubbles, bobbing in the air.

“While this world’s goddess is blocked from interfering by the henchmen’s barrier, our mad parent in the sky oversees this space.”

Which meant the Mad Wizard’s mythos had taken over Crown Hall.

The source of Niore’s cosmic horror-esque magic was borrowing the Mad Wizard’s processing power through her own faith. It could be considered a form of primitive divine power.

Meaning, with the Mad Wizard’s seal broken, now wielding 100% of his power, the upper limit of the performance she could unleash was… roughly five times her previous output.

Niore and Isaak began an ominous chant in unison. Drawing the sound low, whispering entreaties, borrowing the power of a great being from the heavens to cast their spells.

-『Infinitely Pulsating Bubble』.

“『Contracting, Seething Void』.”

*Eeejick, ejick!*

The spherical space compressed, distorting the poisonous clouds and the bodies of the black mages, their four dangling heads swelling like balloons.

“aaagh──!!”

The horrific pain caused the black magician, Chimera, to falter in his spellcasting. Bennett’s party seized the moment.

“──Now!”

“hhhnnng-!”

“Let’s go!”

*Shkkk-* *Thud!*

Bennett’s *Howon* severed the corpse-flower and lamb-heads, while Tara’s magic sword pierced the torso near where the heart should be. Simultaneously, Abraham’s ironclad fist crushed the remaining heads.

“Ugh, ah, aaagh──!!”

But it did not die. *Glug-glug-glug*. The severed neck-sections bubbled, then dozens more heads of 『Lambs』 sprouted, screaming into existence.

Because the black magician Chimera was constantly being supplied with power from the black dragon, merely severing its heads was not enough to bring it to death.

“⋯⋯Revolting!”

“Immortality? Then it’s either a war of attrition, or we need to melt it down at once. I’ll use black magic!”

“What?! Don’t use it, Bennett!”

Black magic, which carved away at one’s own soul. To meet the destructive power required right now, he had no other choice. To protect everyone, Bennett had steeled himself.

Just then, Niore cradled her head, muttering to herself. Faint holographic images flickered across her corneas. The images clearly pointed to a 『Future』.

It was the intervention of a mad magician, to prevent Bennett’s self-destruction.

-⋯⋯Wait, Bennett. I think there’s another way. Inside the bubble, the 『Future』⋯⋯ is showing me.

“⋯⋯The future?”

-Push that monster toward the main street below!

“Understood. I’ll push it as far as I can!”

“Niore, don’t push yourself too hard! Using the power of such an ominous, heretical god like that, what if your soul gets pawned off or something!”

Niore chuckled softly.

-If that happens⋯⋯ Tara will speak kindly to the Goddess on my behalf, and redeem my soul, right?

“⋯⋯Honestly, both you and Bennett, take better care of yourselves!”

“Coming from you, Tara?”

Bennett’s party caught their breath and once again readied themselves for battle. With Abraham and his daughter reinforced, not even a single frame of defeat could be seen.

“I, I am, so, so maaanyyy──!!”

The second round against the undying monster began.

—

Demon God.

A calamity born of the heavens. A martial artist’s nightmare.

Possessing all martial arts within his form, yet rendering them utterly worthless, an incongruous being.

“Haaah── Gurk!”

Thwoom-!

Namgung Cheonghwi charged, drawing his longsword, but imbuing the blade with any semblance of logic proved futile. With a mere flick of the hand, Namgung’s swordplay was shattered, and Cheonghwi was struck in the solar plexus, sent tumbling across the ground.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d been struck down like this. His entire body was already stained with grime, sweat poured like rain, and his mana was dwindling.

“Huk, huk, hoo⋯⋯.”

“⋯⋯⋯⋯.”

The *Celestial Demon*, summoned by *Fear Summoning*, gazed down upon Namgung Cheonghwi, arms hanging naturally. He hadn’t moved a single step from his position, parrying all of Cheonghwi’s attacks.

Even if replicated and generated, the core tenets of his thought process remained consistent; as long as Namgung Cheonghwi continued to challenge him, he seemed to have no intention of leaving this place.

Then he would cling on until he collapsed from exhaustion. No… even if he wore himself to the point of death, he had to persist. The din of battle still echoed throughout Crownhold.

His comrades were already engaged in a grueling struggle. He couldn’t possibly add the weight of the *Celestial Demon* to the burden they carried. He had to contain this being, no matter what.

“One more time… I’ll go…”

This time, he mimicked the movements of a serpent. He’d refined the Redburn family’s assassination sword into something meticulously crafted. Namgung Cheonghwi’s body sank low, almost crawling, and the blade surged upwards from below.

To slay a snake is the paw of a tiger. Before the blade could properly gather strength and accelerate, the Celestial Demon’s hand deflected Namgung Cheonghwi’s longsword.

Thung.

The trajectory warped, exposing his defenseless body. The Celestial Demon’s leg moved.

Thwack-!

“Keuk⋯⋯!”

Kicked with a thrusting motion, Namgung Cheonghwi was launched into the air, rolling across the ground. Yet, he rose again. His body and mind still held some reserves.

“⋯⋯⋯⋯.”

The replicated *Celestial Demon* was lost in thought.

That the superior administrator’s account had changed from *Mad Mage* to *Crown* was of no consequence. He was a machine, simply processing the inputted commands. He possessed no concept of loyalty.

However, the administrator’s command itself was the problem. *Crown* had inputted a request to mentally pressure Namgung Cheonghwi, to trigger his traumas and inflict suffering.

But, how?

“I’ll go again──!!”

The *Celestial Demon*, intercepting Namgung Cheonghwi, who attacked like a soaring bird this time, clipping his wings, pondered the session. Envers Redburn, he too had pondered, agonized, and sought answers.

But…there was something slightly… different about him compared to the other players.

Upright? No…there was a more apt expression.

“Again!”

Yes. Simple, it is.

A simple shape of heart.

If his elder brother, Roderus, was akin to a tangled, ornate knot, then he was closer to a chunk of discarded iron, lying on the roadside.

Already wounded, he could be cleaved with a single nail, but after the scars had healed, you wouldn’t know how to break him. So stubbornly hard. No particularly vulnerable spot. Because he’s simple.

Because he’s simple, he doesn’t break.

Namgung Cheong-hwi had already been thoroughly routed by the ‘Celestial Demon,’ afflicted by a heartsickness born of that impact. His spirit had been broken by the Demon’s perfect mastery over his own martial arts.

But now, he had overcome it, and so. The same methods would no longer break his heart. He’d become immune.

“…Very well, let’s try again, Celestial Demon! I have not yet given up!”

Hammering, hammering, hammering.

This lump of iron named Namgung Cheong-hwi, it seems, is slowly taking on the form of a blade.

And that he can be hammered as he is hammered── is a most welcome tale to the mad sorcerer weaving the story from behind. Doesn’t it mean he’ll follow along even if you bombard him with every protagonist buff imaginable?

──Take this, then. ‘Flashback’ time.

“……!”

—

The world slowed, Namgung Cheong-hwi’s vision shifted. A landscape sketched in black ink upon yellowed rice paper, and before him, a long, winding path.

A footpath that distills the essence of a life.

He didn’t know why this illusion was being conjured, but Namgung Cheong-hwi walked calmly along the path as if entranced. Shards of memory bloomed along the roadside.

The distant past, when he and his brother Roderus had trained as assassins.

Being cast out from the manor, wandering the streets before entering the academy.

And meeting his first master, Gu Seung-gae, the leader of the Beggars’ Sect, in the ‘Tower of Trials’…

“…Yes, that was it. My life seems to have changed there.”

And after that?

Falling into the Murim world, aiding the Namgung Clan, and receiving the Namgung name because of that connection. Uncovering the secrets of the Emperor Sword Style in Bidong.

Reaching Ascendancy, achieving a satisfying revenge against Duke Redburn with his brother Roderus. Becoming his brother’s right hand… living on.

The Beggars’ Sect leader, painted in ink, opened his mouth silently.

“Cheong-hwi, what is the Emperor Sword Style?”

Namgung Cheong-hwi answered.

“…It is, a technique that suppresses the opponent’s movements by overwhelming them with countless forms.”

“Is that truly so?”

“Yes…?”

*Swish*. Images flit past. Namgung Chae-gong, the Lord of the Namgung Clan, painted in ink, lifts his gaze to the traces of the flying rain and speaks.

-The Namgung Clan’s founder ceaselessly sought to cleave the heavens.

A past battle replays: the fight against Namgung So, possessed by the Heavenly Demon. Namgung Cheong-hwi of yesteryear, brandishing a broken sword, mutters to himself.

-To cleave…the heavens…one must use the heavens as a blade…

“You are not the you of before. Cheong-hwi, I told you to see the essence (意), not just the shell (形) of the martial art. Why do you cling only to form?”

“…”

Since when had it been? Where had the ambition to seize and cleave the heavens gone? He had only focused on the power of his own art. On the countless sword paths the Heavenly Demon had displayed.

And…he even learned the *Heavenly Demon Transformation*, laughing gleefully. It was a path forged only from the shell of martial arts!

“–Fool, you must grasp it with your heart!”

“…Huh.”

*Thump!*

Namgung Cheong-hwi felt as if struck by lightning.

He remained frozen for a long while, a blank look on his face, before finally closing his eyes tightly.

In the past, it was alright to wield an empty sword. Back then, there was nothing to fill the sword with. He was frantic for things to fill his own heart, how could he possibly prepare something to fill even the sword to the brim?

But now?

Now…it overflows. His heart was already full. Behold!

-Hmph. You abandoned your betrothal with me, and yet you still haven’t found a lover?

The prim Namgung Seung-ah glares at him. That’s because…Luna is still sulking. He hasn’t been able to seize an opportunity to ease her heart.

-Cheong-hwi *hyung*. Weren’t you going to introduce me to your elder sister!

Yes, there was also the promise to Namgung Myeong. He had forgotten it. How could he forget? These sparkling eyes. But perhaps it could be a chance to introduce her older sister…

Many others also flit past.

The people of the Namgung Clan, Brother Roderus, his friends from the academy, the people he had teamed up with. And the figure of Hee Young-hyeon, the next-generation Chieftain of the Beggars’ Sect.

-…What? Why am I here? Am I about to fight an Evil Dragon? Is this Dad’s doing? Am I awake?! If Dad did this, then why suddenly summon me in front of Envers…?

For some reason, Hee Young-hyeon in the recollection looked a little… flustered. But it didn’t matter.

Yes. He must grasp the sword with the bonds that filled his heart.

—

Namgung Cheong-hwi’s aura shifts.

*Swoosh*. He closes his eyes and raises his hand as his heart dictates. There is no need to think about sword paths or martial arts. He only recalls the direction his heart yearns for.

He grasped it. The bonds he felt from his fingertips were vivid.

There had been a sign. At the end of the fight with Duke Redburn, Brother Roderus had given substance to the concept of “Fate,” forging it into the shape of a longsword.

That sensation, an extension of itself. At this moment, one could grasp the sky!

A sudden surge, internal energy ballooning. The *Cheonma* sought to move, recognizing the rapidly rising danger levels, but the heavens pressed down upon his very being.

Wielding with the mind(心), it becomes a mind sword(劍), a *Simgeom*!

Kugugugugugu──!!

“『Imperial Sword Form: Heavenly Mind(天心)』──!!”

An unseen, colossal blade tilted downward.

Saaa──

Wiping away the copied data of the *Cheonma*. And also.

-Now, Bennett! Tara! Abraham!

“『Howon』, shine brightly!”

“『Regret Eternal』, away, begone! You grotesque thing!”

“『Stellaria Engine』at 120% charge, a pile bunker for humanoid targets!”

Kuuu-! Kwaang-!

Driven back by Bennett’s party, the core of the black mage Chimera, existing along the same trajectory as the mind sword, was cleaved asunder.

—

Meanwhile, within the goddess temple in Crownshold…