Requiem of Souls (1)

March.

The snow had melted, and small sprouts were beginning to bud from the earth.

Ian, having returned from the labyrinth to Sunshine Castle, stayed a few weeks before setting off once again.

Now that he had obtained the Demon Sword Jinggela of the Mixed Ancestry, he finally had bait to lure out the Sword Fiend.

It was time to challenge him to a wagered duel, putting Jinggela on the line, to take from him the Ghost Sword Quiennio.

“The last confirmed activity of Silence Doomraven was in the Valley of Dead Souls.”

Finding the Sword Fiend was not difficult.

He only needed to go to Nightingale and ask.

“This information is from a day ago, and the Sword Fiend has been staying in the Valley of Dead Souls for two months now.”

“As always, thank you for your help, Vivian.”

“It is my honor to assist the Apostle of Night.”

“Ah, and one more thing.”

Ian handed a glass bottle filled with red blood to Vivian, the branch manager of Nightingale.

“This is both a token of thanks and a gift for your continued help.”

“This is…?”

“It’s dragon’s blood.”

He had copied what Aris gave him as a birthday present some years ago through Projection.

“…! This, this precious thing…!? H-how in the world do you have so much of something so rare…!”

An amount nearly equal to a bottle of mineral water.

Dragon’s blood is a thousand times more expensive than pure gold. This much was on par with being given a ton of gold bullion.

“I believe you, Vivian, will put it to good use.”

“Y-yes! Thank you so much…! I’ll treasure it and use it wisely! Thank you again!”

With Vivian seeing him off, Ian set out for the Valley of Dead Souls.

The Valley of Dead Souls (死魂谷).

A dusky canyon between the western edge of Hisperion and the border of the Roderen Empire.

A sinister place shrouded all year in mist and black clouds, where sunlight never reaches.

It used to be an ordinary canyon called the Samai Valley.

But about forty years ago.

A powerful group of necromancers known as the Black Spirit Society tried to summon the corpse of an Outer God there, but failed, polluting the region with ghastly miasma. Since then, it came to be called the Valley of Dead Souls.

‘One of the world’s demonic lands.’

There, ghosts truly flitted through the air and corpses rose to devour the living.

The Black Spirit Society had perished, unable to contain the calamity they unleashed.

But after that ritual, the valley became a holy ground for necromancers, and many dangerous necromancers secretly studied dark magic and necromancy there.

‘The perfect place for the Sword Fiend to train.’

The Demon Sword’s curse harmonized well with the miasma of the dead.

There was hardly a better place to recharge swords running low on dark energy, or to sharpen blunted ghost-iron blades.

And, of course, it was ideal for amplifying the cursed powers dwelling within the Sword Fiend’s body.

‘But the problem is…’

The Valley of Dead Souls was vast.

Comparable even to a major mountain range.

It was dauntingly vast.

‘How should I find the Sword Fiend in all that reach?’

Should I emit my overwhelming aura to provoke him?

No. That would attract not just the Sword Fiend, but unnecessary attention from all around.

It could even lead to entanglements with troublesome individuals, so that was out.

‘Then…’

Should I search mainly in the deepest parts of the valley?

At the heart of the Valley of Dead Souls was a dimensional rift connected to the corpse of the Outer Deity.

All the valley’s evil spirits and heavy miasma emanated from there.

The Sword Fiend would come seeking thick miasma, so his likelihood of being near the depths was high.

‘But…’

The deep zone was also vast.

What’s worse, the miasma there was suffocatingly dense.

Miasma is the breath of death—a harmful energy that pollutes the body and soul like demonic energy.

You had to use holy power constantly to purify yourself or suffer dire exhaustion from wandering there, not to mention constant battles with monsters, making any search troublesome.

‘Then there’s only one way.’

Not to find the Sword Fiend, but to have him seek me.

‘Luring the Sword Fiend is simple.’

He had lived all his life drawn to evil things.

‘If I walk through the Valley with Vladiark in hand, massacring necromancers, the Sword Fiend will surely come to watch, at the very least.’

Spread a gruesome rumor that an unknown swordsman was slaughtering necromancers with a man-eating demon blade.

‘A man-eating demon blade.’

An irresistible lure for the Sword Fiend.

And it just so happened Vladiark could use a new meal.

The necromancers of the valley would someday be humanity’s first betrayers, siding with the demon race, so it was better to eliminate them now.

Truly, two birds with one stone.

Summon the Sword Fiend, and clear out the necromancers.

― Wuuung!

Ian drew Vladiark from his subspace and strode into the mists of the Valley of Dead Souls.

There, cities founded by necromancers—Necropolises—were scattered about.

‘I’ll just erase them one by one from the map.’

Ian walked along a path heavy with mist.

He checked worn signposts here and there, questioned any necromancers he met for information, and headed for the nearest Necropolis.

* * *

Ian quietly passed through the Necropolis’s main gate.

With his hood drawn low and employing the Shadowless Swift Step, an assassin’s movement technique, the gatekeepers didn’t even register him.

“…”

Before slaughtering the necromancers, he wanted to see how they lived.

He’d had no chance to enter their cities like this in his previous life.

If, by any chance, he found they lived with an unexpected shred of humanity, Ian was prepared to change his plan.

He would refrain from slaughter, finding another way to draw out the Sword Fiend.

Even Ian, who was ruthless in pursuit of his objectives, hated killing truly innocent people.

Otherwise, what made him any different from the demon race?

“…”

But as soon as he entered their market, the sight that met him was spectacular.

“… This is insane.”

Rotten limbs hung like butchered meat, and human souls screamed, trapped in glass jars.

Evil talismans and potions littered every corner.

Half the merchants were drugged slaves, the other half undead.

“…”

Suppressing his nausea, Ian pressed deeper into the city.

What awaited in the shopping district was even more grotesque.

A live human vivisection performed on stage as a sort of talent show, without any anesthesia.

Human bones and embalmed organs displayed in shop windows.

Slaves, soaked in chemicals, locked in iron cages.

Among the slaves were even children.

What cruel experiments had they suffered, before being discarded?

They were hideously distorted, with rotting flesh and unnatural limbs stitched on.

‘… If this isn’t hell, what is?’

It was no exaggeration to say that everything in this city was built on death and suffering.

― Wuuung!

Ian took Vladiark from his subspace.

‘This needs to be erased; now.’

He’d dared, just in case, to witness with his own eyes how they lived.

But as expected—they were beings unworthy of mercy.

‘A cancer festering within humanity, spreading pain, disease, and death, enslaving the living for their own ends.’

If he culled this den of evil, the world he hoped to save would become a little better.

― Kwaaaang!

Ian slammed Vladiark into the ground and muttered low.

“Sword Spirit Release.”

His intent—the will to annihilate them in one blow—was imbued with peak-stage Grandmaster-level aura.

“Vladiark.”

― Brrrrrr!!

At his call, Vladiark shuddered violently, the tendrils on its guard burrowing into the earth with fierce vigor.

― Kurururururu!!

And moments later—

As if struck by an earthquake, the ground vibrated.

― Kwaaaah!

― Kwadudududuk!

― Paaaah!

Enormous black tendrils burst forth, overturning the ground throughout the city.

“Wh-what!?”

“Kyaa!? Kyaaaaah!!”

Some coiled around towering spires, crushing them to dust.

Others tore entire buildings from their roots and threw them aside.

Some smashed the market square flat as a pancake.

Still others swept across the ground, flattening everything as if dusting it away.

“Kk-kaaah!”

“Kyaaaaaaa!!”

The tentacle arms, resembling an octopus’s, ended not in suckers, but in giant mouths.

― Bbeokkeum! Bbeokkeum!

― Kwaaah!!

― Kududuk! Kududuk!!

Like whales devouring schools of fish, the tendrils swept the ground, swallowing everything.

Exhibited corpses, cursed objects, broken slaves, the necromancers’ deepest malice.

In an instant, everything crumbled and was destroyed—Necropolis ruined in total chaos.

Judgment had come to a city whose roots ran deep with sin.

* * *

Less than an hour later, a Necropolis had completely vanished.

News spread rapidly throughout the Valley of Dead Souls.

The few necromancers who’d barely escaped the calamity spread the word everywhere in hopes of protecting their assets in the other cities.

Necropolis leaders in the valley were skeptical at first upon hearing of the sudden disaster.

But before half a day had passed, news came that another Necropolis had been destroyed by nameless tentacles, forcing them to prepare for the highest state of alert.

‘What the hell…! What is attacking us…!?’

Moltazar, an 8th-circle lich who ruled Vartanis, one of the valley’s Necropolises, clutched his heart—his very own life vessel—standing atop a high tower, gazing out at the horizon.

‘Damn! Just half a day, and two Necropolises are gone!?’

And the next city closest to those two was his own.

‘That means this thing is coming for us next! Who the hell…!’

Those who fled the first destroyed Necropolis only spoke of an enormous tentacle monster attacking.

Those who escaped the second spoke of a mysterious swordsman commanding the tentacles.

‘A swordsman who commands a gigantic tentacle monster…? What on earth is that!?’

Only so many people in the world could erase two Necropolises so quickly.

After all, each Necropolis was a stronghold for necromancers and liches of at least 7th-circle prowess.

For them to be wiped out without any resistance, in under half a day…

The assailant should at least be some absurd monster, like Hisperion’s Heavenly Sword Lord, Mirnoi’s Dragon Blood Lord, or the Holy King of the Selveris Holy State.

But.

‘I’ve never once heard of a monster among them who uses gigantic tentacles as a primary weapon!’

Lich Moltazar had lived five hundred years.

Not even among the ancient champions of old was there one who wielded such tentacles.

‘Then what the hell is this…! What the hell is coming here!?’

Had some fool inadvertently awakened an ancient being?

Or had an Apostle of an Outer God emerged from the rift at the valley’s center?

After ascending to the 8th circle, Moltazar hadn’t known fear in centuries.

But before a being more mysterious and powerful than himself, even he was but a creature clinging to life.

For the first time in ages, his hands trembled in fear.

‘Should I flee while I still can?’

Although he kept the essence of five centuries of necromancy in this Necropolis, nothing was more precious to a lich than his own immortal life.

‘If possible, I’d take all my wealth and flee…’

But even if he crammed every piece of his property into his subspace artifacts, it was impossible to bring with him all the riches accumulated over five hundred years at once.

‘Damn…! How did this absurd disaster happen!?’

He’d survived all manners of calamities in half a millennium, but never such a baffling catastrophe without warning.

‘I don’t want to run if I can help it! Everything here is the product of hundreds of years of toil!’

If he abandoned it all and fled, Moltazar would have to start his long labors all over again.

The mere thought was nightmarish.

‘But if what is coming is something beyond my power…?’

He wouldn’t just lose his hard-won treasures, but his most precious life itself.

‘Damn! Damn! What should I…!?’

Caught completely at a loss.

Run, and lose his centuries’ worth of essence. Stay, and risk dying.

While Moltazar hesitated—

‘W-what!? T-that…!?’

Someone appeared on the horizon.

His blue spectral gaze caught sight of the approaching figure.

A man, face hidden under a deep hood, carrying a vast black greatsword with writhing tentacles.

‘Th-that’s him! He’s come!’

Ian had arrived at Moltazar’s Necropolis, Vartanis.

Too late now to flee.

————-= Clacky’s Corner ————-=

Trash cleanup…

【ദ്ദി(⩌ᴗ⩌)】

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