Chapter 72
After the decisive victory that annihilated the main force of the Central Army—the “Final Battle of the Eternal Mountain Range”—the Southern Army did not raise any songs of triumph.
Setsunen of Neohyang personally erected a Memorial Tower at the battlefield in the mountains and conducted the funeral rites for the fallen.
The names of even the Central Army casualties were inscribed on the Memorial Tower. The total number of casualties on both sides exceeded 200,000.
Bodies were scattered across every ridge and peak of the mountain range, and because November that year was unusually warm, the corpses decayed rapidly.
“Your Excellency, why must we collect the bodies of our enemies? They are our sworn foes!”
“There is no death in this world that is not sorrowful. You need not weep. Simply regard them with compassion. It must be done.”
Thus, Setsunen spoke.
He tried to handle all the bodies himself, refusing to assign the task to anyone else.
Yet, most of the soldiers volunteered to assist him. It took three full days just to gather all the corpses.
When Setsunen offered a single bellflower in front of the Memorial Tower and joined his hands in prayer for their souls, the honor guard fired three ceremonial shots.
“Did you hear about Luxeria Ludwick?”
“Yes. To think that the descendant of Yonghyeon was actually a Stigmatized One…”
“Most still cannot believe it. She was thought to be the reincarnation of hope, yet to think…”
“Look at the sky. The sun and the moon each fell twice. Even with such irrefutable evidence…”
“The remnants of the Central Army believe that the falling sun and moon were our manipulation…”
“They’ve been completely bewitched! No wonder even the Central Marquess was under the sway of the Stigmatized One….”
The Central Marquess of Saion had married Luxeria in his youth and had a happy newlywed life.
They loved each other to the very end.
The Marquess still lived and commanded the remnants of the Central Army, so the bloodshed was far from over.
“Did you see how badly the Hero was injured? If Kaisen, humanity’s strongest soldier, hadn’t been on our side, imagine what the situation would be…”
The nobles and officers murmured among themselves.
The murmurs rose and fell, each time glancing at Neohyang to gauge his reaction, and then quieted.
Behind his closed eyelids, Neohyang recalled the days he clearly remembered with Luxeria Ludwick.
“She was such a lovely child…”
If only he could have met Kaisen differently…
“Perhaps it would have felt like watching my nephews meet and talk.”
Together, sharing memories of their mothers, laughing together, fighting together, and… together again…
“Yet even these memories and emotions were all manipulated by the Outer Universe.”
A lone eagle circled above the Memorial Tower and cried out.
The mountains were quietly still, with only the eagle’s cry echoing. Neohyang quietly shed tears within that sound.
At the funeral, Tarsio Yere Sharillion attended, even using crutches to be present, whereas Kaisen Alter Aradamantel did not attend.
Echoes of Another World
The True Face of Religious Innovation (7)
Since the battle at the Red Mountains, I have dreamt this same dream without a single exception.
A burning desert.
A land where the heat boils, and mirages shimmer endlessly across the horizon.
Many people walk through it, staring straight ahead.
At the head of the procession always stand the same three figures.
Roberis Alter Schirpen.
Seira Alter Solang.
Isla Alter Gaumris.
No matter how I reach out and cry, “Don’t go that way!”, the sound never forms—it scatters before becoming a voice.
Only…
Always…
The dream ends with a belated cry that never reaches them.
The dream would even overlap with reality during funerals—when the sorrow of death laid itself atop the living.
That’s why Kaisen never attended any funeral.
He simply swung his divine swords, scattering his thoughts as he did now.
“Hello.”
Then, moonlight arrived.
Perhaps, if moonlight took the form of a person, it would feel like this.
Surely, if moonlight could speak and smile, it would be just like this.
“…Tarcisio.”
Tarcisio never asked questions.
He never said things like,
“Why didn’t you come to the funeral?”
“There were people who wanted to talk to you.”
“Would it hurt to speak with them for a bit?”
No. He simply approached quietly, like moonlight, and stayed warmly, like an everyday presence.
The highest-ranked sacred swords, led by Aradamanthel, released a low breath as they bowed in reverence to the True Sword.
Sharilion, the true sword itself, answered their gesture with a single brilliant flicker.
“Hey, have you all been well?”
Tarcisio sat down on the nearby railing.
Sitting there, he spoke softly to each of the sacred swords, his voice carrying the fragrance of moonlight.
I never understood why it felt that way before—but now, I do.
“Gaumris, being stubborn won’t help you. Solang, same goes for you. Acting quiet doesn’t make you look cool, you know?”
Sitting beside him like this felt strangely awkward, so I decided to answer the unspoken question first.
“I’m just a fake hero anyway. I don’t belong in places like that.”
Unlike you, who carries the scent of moonlight, I only reek of blood.
And I don’t want to belong there.
The thought of severing bonds again… it terrifies me.
“What’s a fake hero?”
Was that a simple question?
It’s something I should know well—no, something as clear as common sense.
Yet, when he asked it so directly, the edge of the question felt frighteningly sharp.
“A hero who isn’t real…”
“Then what’s a real hero?”
What is it, really?
It’s been a lifelong question.
Akirea once explained that a hero is merely a milestone—a guidepost.
But that only made it harder to grasp.
“Someone like you.”
“There’s no one like me. No one like you either. There’s only you and me.”
“…”
“Isn’t it strange? Even if people share the same name, the paths they’ve lived are all different.
But heroes—they tend to be similar. Like you.”
“What did I do?”
A faint smile bloomed on his lips as he looked straight into my eyes.
“The hero who cut down three thousand men in his first campaign.”
“…”
“The hero who slew Mauna Loa in his second, then struck down every corrupt noble after that, and in the final battle at the Red Mountain Front—defeated Neigalas.”
“…”
“You earned titles like Uruk Slayer, Demon Slayer, Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, First Sword of Mankind, and the Greatest Fey Warrior in History.”
Hearing that endless string of embarrassing titles, the tension left my eyes, and a self-deprecating smile stretched across my face.
“You know too much.”
“When I was still in Haraldoniki, there wasn’t a person alive who didn’t know you. You were the hero everyone admired back then.”
“What?”
“‘Kaisen Alter Aradamanthel has slain a demon,’ they’d say.
‘Could this mean the war will finally end?’
‘Then, dear, maybe we can go home soon?’
I still remember the tears those people shed.”
“You remember all that?”
“Yeah. It was about you. So I memorized everything.”
Tarcisio smiled faintly.
That smile brought back the sights and whispers of a world I never got to see that day.
“You say you were only doing your duty, but each thing you did… became hope in people’s hearts.”
That pure, radiant smile—so mysterious and vast, like nature itself.
I found myself staring blankly at Tarcisio’s face, before lowering my head again.
Was I smiling? Crying? Perhaps both.
“I didn’t do it alone…”
In the dark, in the silence,
I can still feel the eyes of the dead watching me.
Even now, in my dreams, I see the backs of those who walked first into that nightmare.
“I’m just carrying the deeds and duties of the comrades who died before me…”
Their achievements, their tears, their pain—
All of it…
Before my bitter smile, Tarcisio suddenly drew Aradamanthel’s blade and held it high toward the sky.
“Maybe that’s what being a hero really means?”
“…?”
“Bearing sadness, pain, and tears—carrying what others cannot, and still moving forward.
That’s how I think the name ‘hero’ is completed.”
Strange.
When I’m with him, memories of my mother come back to me—
and of my master, my seniors, the Three Dragon Lords… even the days I spent with her.
“A person who wipes a friend’s tears is a hero.
A parent who works for their family is a hero.
In truth, everyone is a hero.”
They all shine.
They carry light that illuminates others with their own.
But I—who only knows how to fight and cut—
I could never shine like that.
“In that sense, Kaisen, you’re more of a hero than anyone.
From the day you took up Aradamanthel, you’ve been fighting for those who can’t stop grieving.”
Like sunlight flooding into a shadowed heart,
like light shining into the pit of sorrow—
he approached and knelt down before me, smiling tenderly.
“So never again say you’re a fake hero. Promise me.”
As the wind quietly brushed the silver grass swollen under moonlight, I suddenly thought—
A journey…
As each shining strand of his hair fluttered in that moonlit smile, the thought struck me again—
Master, right now…
Just being here with him.
His warmth.
His breath.
His voice—just seeing, hearing, and feeling it—
I am already traveling.
Not to a place where swords are needed or blood is spilled,
but to that world my master once dreamed of—
the world Tarcisio and I once promised to find.
Every moment spent with you,
I was journeying again and again to worlds I had never reached.
With you.
It was an unspeakable truth.
A daydream reaching toward an unreachable future.
“…Why did you try to save me?”
Even though I wanted to savor that moment forever,
I knew I couldn’t—so I changed the subject to shake off the illusion.
“No matter what you say, there’s a vast difference in worth between us.”
“Worth? Why?”
“Because you’re the Daughter of All That Is—”
“—And you’re the son of Lady Laminea.”
He answered with a loving tone, as if we were lovers speaking of each other’s parents.
“My mother was a great hero too, but she can’t compare to All That Is.
Just like you and me.”
“I’m the same kind of person as you.”
“No, we’re different. So why did you do it? Why did you save me and try to die in my place?”
“…”
“No matter how I think about it, I can’t accept that. Don’t ever do that again, understand? You and I—we’re beings of entirely different worth! Why would you make that choice? Because you’re the real hero who protects everyone?”
The comrades who died before us… they all dreamed of becoming you. Not me.
They knew they never could, so they simply dreamed of the day you’d come.
And yet—you, dying because of me?
When I die, how am I supposed to face them?
“…”
Tarcisio lowered his snow-white lashes and gave a faint, sorrowful smile.
“You shouldn’t ask a woman questions like that. Especially one who might like you.”
I didn’t know what words would come next—or maybe I did, but I stayed silent, watching that smile.
The reason still eluded me.
My heartbeat raced ahead of the rustling rhythm of autumn leaves brushed by moonlight.
Above us, two moons met among drifting clouds, spilling their radiance over the world.
That night.
That full-moon night—
Kaisen never forgot it until the day he died.
“I didn’t save you because I’m a hero.
Mm, it’s hard to explain in words…
It’s just that—you were there.
And because it was you I liked—
I just wanted to protect you.”
