Translator: EndlessFantasy Translation Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation
“Sage? Cage?”
The elderly pope could not help but sigh after hearing the two singular worlds that were completely unrelated. Then, his expression turning grave instantly, Igor spoke to the girl in a somber voice.
“Though it’s rude, could you please tell me your name?”
“Me? I’m Hillya Ferragni.” The dragon-winged girl briskly replied, blinking and slightly baffled. “My last name is my mother’s—my father was a dragonkin, he does not have any last name, just a first name.”
“Ferragni, huh.” Igor nodded lightly and paused for a moment, as if considering the history behind the name Ferragni, before questioning the girl slowly again, placing weight on each word. “May I know… Miss Hillya Ferragni, what did you see in the Sage’s vision? Please do not hold anything back.”
“I saw…”
As if the elderly man’s words seeped deep into her heart, Hillya who for some unknown reason was unable to refuse, and began to tell Igor of all that she saw in the Sage’s vision.
She had seen many great things.
First, it was a world filled with scorched earth.
The skies were covered in the dust of dancing sparks. On the land, the radiance of scorching lava outshone the sun by so much that it was a dull little dot. Forests were burnt into ash, streams dried by the intense flames while all hills and plains were blackened, turning into ever-present dust along with the cities of many races.
In the gray and hazy dust storm, seven giant dimensional portals stood in the distance—their crimson brightness spreading from within as if seven dull suns.
But the suns were soon extinguished too. Sacred light broke through the gloom, a greatsword formed from runes tore through peaks, while greataxe and warhammer broke apart one savage monster energy after another, bashing everything that stood in their way into minced meat.
Behind the doorways, the sanguine sky and scarlet lava lakes, as well as endless black iron fortresses turned into floating islands in the void as the earth boomed and shattered. A gaping cavity broke through the skies as if the entire world was punctured by some majestic power like a cracked egg shell.
That was the end of the world—all things were in ruins. What the girl beheld was the sight after the war ended.
“It was a thousand years ago,” the girl mumbled, “the war between the Sage and the multiverse against countless malevolence… The Sage and the gods had destroyed several floors of the abyss then, ending everything.”
“In that war, countless cities were pulverized, displacing many. But even amidst the blood and fire, there were heroes who kept resisting against the innumerable ranks of the enemy and would never abandon their glory, and also… traitors, who sold us out just to survive.”
Those people, who knelt on the floor, had aimed their sharp blades true on the backs of those who were still standing. Astonished face and fresh blood fell upon the land simultaneously, sent to the dust by those vermin. They had opened the city gates afterward, destroying the unified defense lines and deliberately welcoming the foes of their own home, wearing cajoling smiles against the destroyers of all peace and prosperity.
“Those were the ancestors of the Grandia people,” Hillya closed his eyes as she spoke softly of the truth she had witnessed. “Perhaps due to coercion or temporary concession, these people had abandoned the right path and went on a journey they would never return from. They were accomplices to tyrants, some even changing form into demons… After the Sage and the gods had put an end to all chaos, they started a final judgment.”
It had certainly been one final judgment.
As the broken sun slowly descended, the wrath of the surviving gods was filled with red dusk clouds that swirled over the skies. Even the Sage who loved the world had closed his eyes closely—a face made in reply to those traitors who beg and cried for forgiveness. They did not choose to use their lives to protect their homeland and glory against the demons and monsters that wanted to destroy the world, turning their blades instead against former companions.
It was an inexcusable sin, an evil deed which price must be paid.
Traitors do not deserve absolution or salvation. Even plants would cast aside those filthy souls, unwilling to carry their tears.
“The Sage said that he would use the purest Holy Light to clean their souls. However, their souls do not deserve to enter the world of Mycroft’s reincarnation cycle in the company of those heroic spirits that fought gallantly.”
The dragon-winged girl’s narrative has not yet ended as she continued softly. “But my ancestor, whose heart was unable to bear the sheer weight, suggested another form of punishment.”
She was an elf, who appeared as if she was an incarnation of the stars, whose jade hair dropped like satin, reaching the earth. An apostle who held the Starfall Longbow in hand and stood in the frontlines in the battlefield against the Evil Gods, she beseeched her teacher’s forgiveness, saying that though the sinners deserve punishment, their descendants should also be given a chance to be born, grow and atone for the sins of their predecessors.
The Celestial Apostle who was ranked at sixth added that it was not easy for the spirits to be birthed. To destroy it so easily would quicken the death of Mycroft’s already-fragile flames.
She desired to seek a chance by trading her past merits, so that the traitors would have a chance to redeem themselves, so that the many unborn souls had the opportunity of existence.
The Sage kept silent for a long time as he watched his follower who bowed with her head on the ground, pleading. In that very moment, he was thinking about the Mycroft Continent that approached destruction and that method which would propagate his home—the method had him hesitating for a long time.
In the end, he slowly nodded as he came to a decision.”
“The Sage gave her his promise.”
Nonetheless, the elderly pope muttered quietly to himself.
“But, why… Sending a flock of transgressors to a whole new world and turning it into a cage that holds them—that’s too much a waste!”
There was endless pity in the voice of that old man.
It was exactly because of his awareness regarding all sorts of information that the pope knew how much of a threat the Mycroft Continent was in.
A thousand years ago, the Sage had used the Evil God of Fertility as firewood to ignore the Flame of Order and maintain the long-crumbled world. There were millions of inhabitants in the Mycroft Continent from dozens of races still living on this world that would break at any given moment. If the Sage had the power to find an Initial Flame so quickly in the void and shape it into a World of Order that was suitable for life, why not move all the races there and keep the sinners here instead, while arranging for an apostle to watch over them?
After a millennium worth of propagation, the number of lives living on Grandia had surpassed billions. If not for the undead spirits calamity, the number was enough to stand shoulder-to-shoulder against Mycroft—even with most of them having died to that disaster, the survivors numbered up to millions.
It was such a waste that there must be something happening behind the scenes.
Igor closed his eyes to think for a moment, before opening them again to stare at the silent Hillya.
“I’m now clear on the causes,” he said dispassionately. “But there’s still much you left unsaid.”
“What is the truth behind the Sage’s penance?”
Igor’s voice was now imbued with an extraordinary cadence, boasting layers of ripples that could vibrate the spirit and compel the most stubborn transgressors to speak the truth. He never favored acquiring candor this way because it was a disrespect of the self-awareness that others possessed.
However, this was a fact regarding two worlds. He would not mind doing it—no matter how many times he had to.
He was the pope of the Seven Gods Church, shelter to innocents, bedrock for the kind. Still, that does not mean he was a completely compassionate and blameless incarnation of light.
He was Saint Igor. The Pope of the Mycroft people, and only that.
And so, words that compelled the soul were spoken tranquilly.
“Tell the truth. All of it.”
“I… Well… No! Sage… Aaaargh !”
Even with the Sage’s Legacy and herself being a Gold-tier champion, would Hillya’s spirit compare to a deity who walks amongst men? Igor’s spiritual ripple easily crushed the dragon-winged girl’s self-awareness, forcing her to open her mouth with much difficulty and virtually seething to spill the final truth bit by bit.
“The Sage’s penance… was one whole world, and millions of dead souls…” Hillya said laboriously the truth she did her best to hide. She was tearing up, but her persistence was futile against the cold force of a Legendary champion.
“The world of Grandia is about to be destroyed. Only 103,000—an equal amount to the sinners moved to Grandia—would receive salvation, every other would be destroyed together with this world as fertilize—No!”
At those words, a radiant hint of resolve flashed through the eyes of the dragon-winged girl. Immediately, she shook free from the spiritual suppression of the elderly pope and quickly sealed her own soul, causing her physical body to drop to the ground unconscious.
It was such a determined seal that it was almost equivalent to death. Beside himself in shock, the old pope could not stop her near-suicide move, allowing her to escape.
“Huh.”
Igor stared coldly at the extremely-uncooperative fourth successor, before softening his own gaze and letting out a long sigh.
Even without Hillya revealing the final truth, he could largely guess it after learning many secrets.
It was assuredly a monumentally severe penance that was fitting for those traitors’ transgressions.
“There’s no wonder why would you hide it so fervently and resist us Mycroft beings to such extent… It’s hard to blame you when your parents’ souls are amongst those who will be punished.”
“That’s it,” Igor said softly. “That’s why the Fourth Legacy is needed to learn the Initial Flame’s mystery… Finding it—the successor who lives on Grandia—would be able to understand this truth.”
With a wave of his hand, the Legendary-pinnacle pope who could speak equally to the gods placed the girls’ body at a corner in the Star Altar, before slowly walking to the dimensional passageway that was unfinished.
“Oh, Joshua,” he muttered. “You said that you want to turn everything around… But do you what you’re about to face?”
“That’s the penance sentenced by the Sage, and… the way to save the Mycroft Continent.”
Igor then lowered gaze to stare at the Azurite in his hand, smiling bitterly.
“The destruction of one world and the rebirth of another.”
“What choice would you make?”
*****
Naturally, the warrior was unaware of everything happening behind the scenes.
He now treaded upon wilderness.
The earth trembled with every step he took, his very stride causing the entire wilderness to tremble at his feet. With each quake, innumerable souls that had fallen to the void mark was driven out by the power of the Searing Soul, claiming it as his Glorious Strength, the pool of souls that takes in every soul fragment.
His existence was like rubber, removing all traces sketched upon the world of Grandia. Every step he made was a step to free the many souls from the shackles of this world, holding them down within his own soul.
The warrior was not ignorant of everything. Armand had repeated several times that their fight against the living was not of concern for Joshua himself. And there was also the fact that the undead spirits had devoured the survivors without destroying everything, merely biding their time to act when the end comes.
He could guess that there must be something hidden behind the scenes. The living in the world of Grandia might not have been seeds spread by the Sage, but beings that held another purpose.
And that purpose perhaps might not have a hint of compassion, holding endless cruelty and coldness instead.
But what does that matter?
Joshua, weapon in hands, had a steady gaze.
A warrior who had his weapons had the power to fulfill everything he resolved to do, the awareness to take responsibility for his own actions.
With those, nobody could stop his pace, his will, and advance.
*****
In the faraway former Imperial Capital, Guetard.
Where all Death Shades were born.
An ancient knight gazed upon the surging black clouds in the sky as if receiving a sign.
Thus, he lowered his head, looked around him and said peacefully, “It’s time.”
Four pair of eyes burning with soulfire ignited upon the obelisk.
“It’s time to begin,” the old knight said.
Therefore, a melodious horn resounded. As raging winds broke through the wilderness and the highlands billowed through most of the continent, legions of undead spirits advanced in the cascading fog towards the final settlement of the living, the Four Great Holy Cities that encircles the Tomb of the Saints.
The final battle begins here.
