Chapter 127: Madman

It was hard to grasp the full meaning.

We could understand why the Transcendents were hostile, but to think they were also harmful to humans was baffling.

Rihanna and Sharen turned puzzled eyes toward Nameless.

Isaac, on the other hand, felt the vague sense of wrongness that had been gnawing at him snap into certainty.

“The reason these people are called condemned—”

“My, so many travelers pass through this place.”

Isaac’s words were cut off.

Peddlers with bulging packs were trudging in from the distant edge of the road, heading toward the village.

They spoke little, their steps heavy.

Rather than merchants, they looked more like pilgrims—

Stooped backs bent beneath the weight of some great vow.

“There’s a quieter place we can talk. Let’s head there.”

The first spot that came to mind was the livestock shed.

Northland soldiers were waiting there anyway, and it seemed best for everyone to hear about the village together.

“Nureumdol, stay on watch.”

“...Can’t I go now?”

“Want a taste of my spells?!”

“Eek! I-I’m sorry!”

Sharen waved her fingers through the air as if brandishing a wand;

Nureumdol hunched in terror, looking for all the world like an ordinary rock at a glance.

“Wait at the entrance, and if anything happens you’ll need to call us, right?”

“Understood!”

Their teamwork was oddly perfect.

Well, Nureumdol really did have a rock for a head, but Sharen…

Maybe it’s similar, Isaac mused.

Helmut was hard-headed too—perhaps the likeness was real.

A hush fell over the group as they walked toward the shed.

At length Isaac ventured a careful question.

“Are merchants in this world always like that? It doesn’t feel like they’re here to sell anything.”

“Mm, first thing you should know: this place is called the ‘Abyss Realm.’ It’s the homeland of the Transcendents, and they themselves call their land the Abyss.”

“They call their own home... the Abyss?”

“Makes your world look that much more dazzling, doesn’t it? By defiling and belittling their own ground, they grow all the more covetous of yours.”

Indeed—living in a place like this, the human realm must look like paradise.

To stoke that desire deliberately, they named it the Abyss Realm.

The fierce hatred implied in that choice of words matched every emotion Isaac knew the Transcendents to harbor.

“As for the merchants... they’re not usually like this. But it’s because of this region’s peculiarity. This is a ‘pass-through road.’ They only rest here briefly; they’re not eager to trade.”

“A pass-through road...”

They reached the shed, and the conversation had to pause.

Inside, the Northland soldiers all rose to their feet.

Just one solid meal and a good night’s sleep had put color back in their cheeks; Isaac felt a wave of relief.

“Isaac!”

Silverna, evidently waiting near the entrance, hurried over—then froze at the sight of Nameless.

“Who is this?”

Isaac had glossed over the details as gently as possible, yet he couldn’t hide that Nameless was an enemy assassin from the Transcendents.

Weapons shifted; the soldiers formed a wary ring around her.

Nameless twitched an eyebrow and looked at Isaac.

“Did you invite me here expecting this?”

“If you suddenly turned on us, I wasn’t confident we could stop you.”

“Cunning. Annoying, but consider me outsmarted.”

She shrugged it off with a wry smile—the same way a grandmaster humors a student’s unexpected strike.

“Now, about the village—”

“No. There’s something we need to know first.”

Naturally, the flow of the conversation settled in Isaac’s hands.

Uldiran, Silverna, and Rihanna simply watched in silence.

“Is there a way for us to return?”

That, above all, was the key.

Whatever secrets Benhaim Village held, they had to get home first.

Everyone tensed, eyes fixed on Nameless.

Basking in the attention, she smiled languidly.

“You can go back. We cross into your world from time to time ourselves.”

She dragged out the last words, clearly savoring the tease.

“But it won’t be easy. Even the Transcendents can’t just hop across whenever they please.”

“Could you be more specific?” Isaac pressed.

“How did you arrive here? It was a spell. So you must head to its core.”

“The core...?”

“The land where the Primitive Transcendents dwell.

The city with the tower that brushes the sky.

The place where the silver clock has stopped.

If anywhere can send you back, it’s there.”

The land of the Primitive Transcendents—

Their very own domain.

Even the mere description of that place was enough to hint at dangers they could scarcely imagine.

Still, they had to go.

They couldn’t stay on in the Abyss Realm as rootless refugees, nor could they keep pretending to be Primitive Transcendents forever; the ruse would be uncovered sooner or later.

“At least you won’t need a guide,” Nameless said, shrugging as though the timing were some grand cosmic joke.

“I told you—the merchants only pass through here. If you follow them, the road will reveal itself.”

A hush settled over the room.

Yes, their luck had lined up almost too neatly… but no one present was ignorant of the terror the Primitive Transcendents inspired.

Troubling, Isaac thought.

Everyone was already exhausted by endless clashes with the Transcendents; no one could blithely welcome another battle.

A gloomy weight pressed down.

To return home, they would have to stake their lives.

What could he say?

While Isaac struggled for words, his gaze locked with Uldiran.

The older man gave a long, boyish grin.

“Let us go,” Uldiran declared.

That single sentence thawed the frozen air.

The greatest among them always stood at the front.

Uldiran Caldias possessed a reassuring presence—that was how he had guarded the North for so many years, and why even the proud Arandel had acknowledged him as an equal.

“Sounds good!”

“We’ll follow you to the end.”

“Those bastards—now it’s our turn to strike back!”

The soldiers’ voices filled the shed, a storm-like roar meant to steel their own hearts.

Riding that swell of morale, their resolve crashed through the room like waves.

They were bound for the Primitive land.

****

At first it was impossible to tell whether it was night or day by the sky alone.

Then Isaac noticed something peculiar.

If stars were visible, it was night.

Perhaps this realm’s stars might shine by day as well—but the growing fatigue in his body insisted it was night.

A muted dome with only faint stars.

Yet the Silver Clock star—so called after a human—stood out all the more, perhaps because it, too, was named for one of his own kind.

Silver Clock.

A figure from history:

The sole human who had first reached out to the Transcendents.

A woman of hope and lofty ideals.

[She came seeking our land,] Rancelon had told him, his words drifting through the night wind.

[The Primitive Transcendents walked beside her for the sake of the world. We followed that hope.]

[They say the world was different then—gentler, kinder… a place where even the weak could survive.]

Did she truly believe she could become a bridge between Transcendents and humankind?

The question lingered—until Sharen’s hand on his arm snapped Isaac from his thoughts.

“Isaac, Rancelon is here.”

“All right.”

Following Sharen back in from the yard, Isaac stepped inside the house.

Rancelon was kneeling, watching Rihanna for any hint of her mood.

“Um, is something the matter…?”

Rancelon tilted his head in bewilderment.

Rihanna steadied her breathing the moment she saw Isaac enter—exactly the timing they had planned.

If Rancelon tried to bolt, they would cut him down.

Isaac, standing in the doorway, let his hand rest casually on his sword’s hilt.

At that instant Rancelon’s ears twitched, and he swallowed a thick, tense gulp, as though Death had crept to his side.

“Rancelon, do you know our true reason for coming here?” Rihanna asked.

“Eh? I thought you were merely passing—”

“No. We’re here because we have a dream.”

Rancelon cocked his head again, utterly lost.

Rihanna’s next words dropped with the weight of iron.

“Senseless destruction, pointless slaughter—today’s Transcendents worship nothing but nihilism.”

“……!”

On the surface, their creed sounded noble:

No hatred of humankind, no point in killing or razing if it had no meaning.

But that also meant the moment they found meaning, they would carry out those very acts.

“You’re right, condemneds,” Nameless had explained earlier—why these people were branded condemneds:

“The human world must be remade like the Abyss Realm.”

Because they sought utter annihilation.

“A world where the weak cannot survive,” Rancelon intoned, eyes shining.

“Cull those unworthy of life, let strength alone rule, and the world will sustain itself—”

Rihanna’s face went rigid.

To nod along with such twisted drivel made her stomach churn—yet—

“Yes, like the Abyss Realm!” Isaac cut in smoothly.

“If everyone lives in the same harsh world, needless killing will cease. We’d coexist with nature and survive by its laws.”

Only now did Isaac pinpoint what had bothered him in Rancelon’s tale:

“Even if you’re weak, even if you’re fragile… it was a world you could survive in.”

Most would call that peace—an absence of conflict.

Rancelon, however, viewed it with contempt.

That was the dissonance Isaac had felt—and the very reason the other Transcendents had driven these people out as condemneds.

“Exactly! If the human realm becomes like ours, all present wars and carnage will be meaningless, will they not?” Rancelon cried.

They were mad apostles of destruction.

Tears spilled from Rancelon’s eyes—perhaps sheer joy at meeting Primitive Transcendents who “understood” his creed.

His lips curved in rapture, as if beholding saviors.

That smile was a dreadful paradox.

– – The End of The Chapter ––

 

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