Chapter 235: Chaos (1)
While Elves had the custom of placing the name of their birthplace before their own, Orcs had the custom of adding a metaphorical expression based on the time of their birth.
If there was one thing Elves and Orcs—whose differences ran from one to ten—had in common, it was their immense pride in their bloodline and traditions.
If not a quarter, then at least when half the blood was mixed, whether it was the father or the mother, they would name their child according to their customs.
No—at times, even as grandfathers or grandmothers, they would go so far as to give their grandchildren names that followed their traditions.
Windy May Maddown was a Half-Elf.
Windy May Maddown’s name was Windy May Maddown.
She had not received a name from her parents.
More precisely, the name Windy May Maddown was one she had given herself.
That fact alone was enough for those who could guess her circumstances to treat her as an object of contempt and ridicule.
At times, when others inferred the life she must have lived, she received looks of pity instead.
In any case, though she now lived in a relaxed manner as if the wind had gone out of her sails, most of her life until now had been occupied by a single word: struggle.
Perhaps it was because she had lived such a fierce life that, despite her relatively young age, she had come to claim a corner among the Archmages.
At the very least, she herself was confident that in terms of combat ability alone, she far surpassed the other four.
And the other four Archmages readily acknowledged that fact.
To what extent?
She was enduring—somehow holding out—while simultaneously facing her own master and an Ancient Dragon who had lived for ages.
“You cursed lump of blood that should never have been born!”
Urkubar bared his teeth and roared after his abdomen had been pierced by Windy May’s magic.
If he could, he wanted nothing more than to tear her limb from limb and kill her that very instant.
“Back at you.”
Windy May shot back coldly.
Ignoring him as he spat curses in rage, she struggled in a contest of power against her master’s corpse—Archmage Edas—which was chanting strange, incomprehensible characters.
“Kh.”
Urkubar, his wound already healed, suddenly coughed up a mouthful of blood.
Fortunately, the injury had not been severe—but that was only thanks to Edas’ corpse, which was fiercely exchanging blows with Windy May in midair.
If he had been the only one facing her, he would have surely suffered a fatal wound.
Realizing that, he ground his teeth again.
“Ugh… ngh…!”
A wound deeper than the agony twisting his innards carved itself into him.
It was the pride of an Ancient Dragon who had lived for ages.
‘I….’
The enemy who had killed his child was right there.
Not only that.
She had killed his child’s betrothed as well—and had taken both of their hearts.
And yet the reason he had not killed Windy May back then was simple.
He had been unable to kill her.
On the contrary, he had nearly died alongside his own child that same day after being struck down by her.
The only reason that had not happened was equally simple.
Windy May, too, had run out of strength and failed to deliver the finishing blow that would have crushed his throat.
Dragon Slayers were exceedingly rare in this world.
Those who earned the name after killing two Dragons alone were rarer still.
Windy May was that strong.
More troublesome still was the fact that she never grew careless and always fought at full strength.
Even against an enemy she had once defeated in the past.
She never forgot the obvious yet easily overlooked truth: a past victory did not guarantee the next.
And so, even when she faced Urkubar again—whom she had once defeated—she gave everything she had.
And in the end, Urkubar had lost.
The fact that he had first fought another of his own kind, Amaruah, before facing her was no excuse.
Nor was the fact that he was a Dragon who had lived for ages.
By that logic, she too had been battling the corpse of an Archmage.
“Heh, heh.”
He let out a quiet laugh.
“…Ugh.”
From the other side came a faint groan from Amaruah, half-conscious and collapsed where she had been flung.
For a moment, the sound irritated him enough that he considered killing her—but Urkubar stopped himself.
It was true that he was consumed by vengeance, but the one who deserved it was Windy May alone—not others… and certainly not his own kind.
If that had been the case, he would have killed Junongren instead of merely binding her earlier.
‘She should be free by now.’
He gave a slight nod.
Junongren was still young, but she was exceptionally talented.
His praise of her potential had not been empty words.
If she gained a few more thousand years of experience and strength, she would more than qualify to lead their lineage.
Because she was that kind of child, she would surely have broken free of the binding by now and gone to inform their kin of what had transpired.
Yes. Everything was proceeding according to plan.
“Heh heh heh….”
Urkubar continued to laugh.
It was not the hollow chuckle born of emptiness and rage.
Rather, it was the smile of one convinced of his victory.
‘…You foolish wench.’
He looked toward Windy May.
She was still locked in fierce combat with her master.
In the blink of an eye, countless spells clashed, each one carrying power that even Urkubar could not ignore.
Had she anticipated this very situation?
The barrier that had unfolded at her signal remained intact, even as Windy May, Edas, and the two Dragons rampaged within it.
Even if he were to kill her here, it did not seem as though the barrier would easily collapse.
Naturally.
It must have been the final wall meant to confine foreign enemies.
‘Windy May Maddown.’
He silently chewed on the name of his sworn enemy.
He had endured by gnawing on that name alone.
That obsession had become his driving force—and in the end, it had led him to steal her ultimate technique.
Her art of creating a Duplicate nearly identical to herself.
Though imperfect, Urkubar too had come to wield it.
And his Duplicate had just now caught up to Behad and Menoruka.
* * *
Something was wrong.
That was the thought that crossed Behad’s mind as he fled while carrying Menoruka on his back.
Because I could not sense a single presence around us.
No matter that it was a festival day—worse, the very peak of the celebrations—it was far too quiet.
“…….”
Yes. The surroundings were unnaturally silent.
Multiple barriers had been deployed in succession, isolating the area from everything outside—but Behad failed to realize that fact.
“Tsk.”
Feeling the weight of Menoruka on my back, I clicked my tongue softly.
At the same time, I kept running, casting anxious glances in every direction without pause.
According to what Amaruah had told us, there had to be a way out of this place.
In any case, we had to go all the way.
If we could just reach the end, somehow things would work out—that was all I could believe.
“Ugh….”
Menoruka groaned again in pain from my back.
Her breathing was terribly ragged, and the intermittent moans that escaped her were soaked in agony—enough to unsettle anyone who heard them.
“It’s all right.”
I spoke.
“It’s all right.”
I repeated softly, as if soothing her.
“If we go just a little farther, that should be enough. So please, hold on a little longer. …I’m sorry. In a situation like this, this is all I can do for you.”
“…….”
Menoruka did not reply.
I assumed it was because she had taken a vicious drug—one potent enough to affect even a Dragon’s body.
And so I forced myself to continue speaking as if nothing were wrong.
“…To be honest, it’s embarrassing, but I don’t even know where I’m supposed to go right now. Unlike my sister, I’m hopeless when it comes to magic. I’m just thinking that if we keep going, something will turn up.”
I let out a hollow laugh as I said it.
It was an attempt to lighten the mood—but from behind me came only Menoruka’s pained groans.
Yet contrary to my assumption, the reason for her suffering was not the effects of the drug.
Inside her mind, a tightly sealed door had burst open, and a flood was pouring in.
The prohibition had been lifted.
Fragments of the past surged in like towering waves, ravaging her thoughts and bringing with them a crushing headache.
“…You must not… run.”
Menoruka muttered abruptly.
Her usual archaic manner of speech had vanished, replaced with the tone of someone speaking to a peer.
I thought she was merely confused.
“You must not… flee….”
She spoke again.
This time her voice and tone were clearer.
“Why?” I asked.
As I had said before, she seemed to have regained some clarity.
She answered in a dazed voice, as though only half-awake.
“Even if you flee… nothing… will be resolved. The path of survival… lies not behind… but ahead…!”
As she continued speaking—
Cough, cough—
Suddenly she began choking violently.
At first, I did not think much of it, but the coughing only grew harsher.
In the end, I had no choice but to stop and check her condition.
“Menoruka? Are you all right?”
When I carefully lowered her to the ground, she collapsed weakly, following my guidance.
Her complexion was deathly pale.
Even so, she kept clawing at her chest as if in torment.
“My chest… my chest….”
Seeing that, I hesitated briefly.
Then, offering a short apology for the impropriety, I reached toward the collar of her clothes.
Shhk. Shrrrk.
When I carefully pulled her garment down—
“…What is this?”
I murmured.
At the very center of her chest.
Right where her heart should have been.
Something thin—yet unmistakable—was embedded there.
Like an Iron Needle….
“Oh my.”
At that moment, a chilling voice rang out.
I did not turn around.
I could not.
“You have seen what you should not—twice.”
The owner of the voice spoke lowly.
“To think you would gaze upon the bare body of a maiden not yet married.”
And then—
“…Kuhk.”
Before he could even finish speaking, I coughed up blood and collapsed.
The blood that spilled from my lips drenched Menoruka’s face.
Perhaps because of that, she barely managed to regain her senses.
“…Ah.”
The first sight that entered her eyes was her grandfather standing behind Behad—his hand having pierced straight through Behad’s chest.