Chapter 173: Determination

(Happy New Year, everyone. Updates will be slightly lighter over the next two days, but will return to normal afterward. Please leave plenty of comments, heh.)

The study, piled high with scrolls, remained as soft and warmly lit as it had been before. The entire room still bore clear signs of being meticulously maintained, and although its master had been absent for some time, his status was such that no one dared to inquire into his whereabouts.

The door was pushed open, and Alyosha entered, his face etched with exhaustion. The dark circles under the eyes of this young Seventan nobleman were still prominent, yet, unexpectedly, his spirit seemed much improved; the clouds of despair that had once haunted his brow had faded significantly.

"The twelfth day..." Alyosha whispered, marking the time since his nominal "grandfather" had vanished. The nightmare that had perpetually coiled around him had suddenly evaporated, disappearing without a sound, as if it had completely scrubbed every trace of itself from this world.

"This is the time he once mentioned for the opening of some Great Library; he must have vanished right then... Could he have failed? No, given his power, I cannot imagine anyone capable of threatening him."

His hand rose of its own accord, resting upon the hidden mechanism within the bookshelf. A tremor in his heart drove him to open the secret chamber, to confirm the current state of the nightmare that had once bound him fast with chains of despair.

"Is this a test? Is he testing my loyalty?"

His words trembled, and Alyosha’s pupils darted frantically. That existence had carved fear and reverence so deeply into the young nobleman's soul that even the mere act of thinking about it made him shudder involuntarily.

"Snap!" He slammed his palm against his own face, his five fingers digging in with such force that skin tore and blood flowed. The sharp pain pressed against every nerve in Alyosha’s body, as well as his soul, which was shivering from terror.

"No, no, no—he said he would never do such meaningless things. Testing loyalty, performing rituals to bolster status—these were beneath him. There is no test; he is simply gone. Alyosha, why do you hesitate? What are you still thinking? Do it, do it!"

Almost everyone is the same: when fear reaches its limit, it transforms into an unprovoked, runaway rage. When the flames of fury consume everything, a person becomes capable of anything.

The constant imagining of the consequences should the old man discover his actions had brought Alyosha endless, mounting terror.

Yet, at the same time, the nameless fire deep within his heart was burning and roaring, screaming at Alyosha that this was his only chance—a chance to cast off the endless pain and despair. Open the chamber! Confirm the state of that creature!

If I am discovered...

Alyosha gripped his own throat, where an unnaturally hard object lay: a lich’s finger bone, sealing a seventh-tier spell within: Finger of Death.

He had exhausted all the assets he had accumulated over the years to acquire it—not to slay the nightmare, but to end his own life.

Before that entity, which had brought him such boundless despair, could do anything to him, he would use this instantly triggered spell to annihilate his soul completely, making death his final destination rather than the beginning of endless torment.

"!" The raging inferno of his anger completely incinerated his fear and confusion. Impulse drove Alyosha to press his fingers against the mechanism on the bookshelf.

In an instant, his fingertips were a bloody mess, but this pain was useless against an Alyosha whose reason had been scorched away by fury.

The familiar spatial fluctuation occurred, his vision darkened, and the dizziness was utterly ignored by his feverish brain. He strode forward, his mental energy already hooked onto the lich’s finger bone, ready at any moment to release the Finger of Death into his own head.

The light from the corner allowed Alyosha to see the state of the place where the old man claimed to store the twelve keys: it was empty. Nothing.

The fire of his rage was extinguished in an instant, as if doused by an ice-element forbidden spell. Along with it vanished the courage born of that fury. His limbs went limp, and Alyosha collapsed to the floor.

Tears spilled uncontrollably from his eyes, rolling into his trembling lips and teeth—salty, bitter, and filled with an indescribable sense of relief that washed over his entire body. The existence that had weighed so heavily upon him, wrapping him in clouds of despair, was gone.

Born from this relief was a new emotion: anxiety, mixed with confusion. Will he return? Run... run... I must run...

Only after the relief arrived did Alyosha realize that the fear had not vanished with the man; he was still subconsciously thinking of flight.

"Damn it, damn it!" He slapped himself hard, with enough force that his teeth, already loosened by long-term overwork, tumbled from his mouth along with blood.

"He will not return! Never again!" he roared loudly, as if hypnotized by his own voice, the hysterical sound echoing through the secret chamber.

"Hoo, hoo... I must tell the King. Regardless of whether he is a competent monarch, Seventan will not fall. Never!"

"We will win. This creature’s plan is sound; the problem was only the creature himself. Now that he is gone, the plan should be executed. In this war with no retreat, Seventan will be the victor."

Muttering to himself, the only remaining conviction in Alyosha’s heart dragged his young yet withered body out of the secret chamber.

The old man was dead, so he would tell the King everything: the data, the ritual of descent that the old man had shared, believing he had absolute control over Alyosha.

He had seen the decay of Seventan and its path toward destruction; he would not watch this aging kingdom be ground into the dust of history by war.

Using his staff as a crutch, Alyosha exited the building reserved for the old man and boarded the carriage driven by the coachman of special status.

"The palace..." His bloodshot eyes stared fixedly at the direction of the royal palace, and in a hoarse voice, he commanded the coachman to proceed.

Alyosha was no longer entangled by the nightmare, yet he had become all the more deranged.

The coachman glanced at the man who, in his eyes, had gradually withered from a promising youth of scholarly character. The man’s current madness was nothing new to him; he had seen the final states of many who served the old man, and it was surprising this one had lasted so long.

Ignoring the madman’s condition, the coachman cracked his whip. Regardless of what this man intended to do, he was merely a coachman; his duty was to deliver his passenger to the destination, whether it was the palace or elsewhere.

Along the way, Alyosha’s eyes swept over the surroundings: bleak and lifeless. Even though spring had arrived and the temperature was no longer bone-chilling, the royal city of Seventan was filled with a deathly silence. The bustle of years past, when the weather had warmed, was nowhere to be seen.

The carriage traveled through several streets and finally drove directly into the palace. The guards, having verified the coachman’s special status, offered no resistance and allowed the carriage to enter.

He stepped out and, familiar with the route, took the passage through the Royal Academy to enter the place where the King resided. As the liaison between the old man and the kingdom, Alyosha’s status was sufficient for him to do so.

In the dim palace, the King’s quarters—a building that should have been magnificent—felt only gloomy due to the lack of light. The armored soldiers standing in silence on either side of the throne added a scent of blood to the gloom.

"What does he require now..."

Sitting on the throne was an existence whose face was obscured by shadows, his form and features indistinguishable. He was the King of Seventan.

Though his figure was unclear, his voice revealed that he was quite young, perhaps even childish. It was hard to imagine that a monarch could be such an overly young existence.

"No, no, it is not what he requires. Your Majesty, he is dead. He will never return. I am here to tell you all the data he gave me—everything he hid from you, everything he tampered with. I will tell you all of it. As long as Seventan can survive, please, have someone record this. I shall begin now."

Alyosha’s words were chaotic, hurried, stuttering, and disjointed, but his meaning was clear. This was a bombshell: he was dead. Who was he? The architect of that plan, the creator of those "gods"—could he die?

"..." The impossibly young King remained silent for a moment. The throne room fell into a deathly stillness.

"Loyal subject of the kingdom, speak." From the shadows, a figure—presumably the Minister of Scrolls—stepped out, holding a magical scroll and a quill for recording.

"The key to everything lies in making those 'gods' whole again, gathering them, letting that which was originally..." Alyosha’s words, tinged with madness, rang out, and the Minister of Scrolls recorded everything Alyosha recounted.

Time passed. The data hidden by the old man was gradually exposed to the King. The prolonged narration made Alyosha’s voice hoarse and dry. Finally, as he spoke the last of the information, Alyosha coughed violently for ten seconds before looking toward the shadows where the King sat.

"The banner shall not fall! Your Majesty!" The fanaticism in Alyosha’s eyes was undisguised.

"Thank you for your loyalty. Everything you have done for the kingdom will be remembered," the King’s voice came from the shadows, carrying a hint of a smile and approval.

"No, this is what I should do. I will surely... uh..." Alyosha said excitedly. The King’s praise made his blood boil, but his words were cut short in his throat.

He looked down with incredulous eyes as several sharp longswords pierced through his chest, ruthlessly tearing out blood and viscera.

"This..." The trembling words rattled in his throat before fading away, and with them, Alyosha’s life.

At some point, the armored soldiers had surrounded Alyosha while he was lost in his speech, piercing his body just as he expressed his loyalty.

"The contingency left behind was successful. It triggered once the suppression of that creature was lost. Loyalty occupied his consciousness; as expected, that creature left many things behind..."

The Minister of Scrolls watched coldly as the soldiers dragged Alyosha’s corpse away. The pre-planted contingency would distort Alyosha’s will once the old man’s suppression was gone, and his overwhelming loyalty would compel him to tell the King everything the old man had hidden.

"Your Majesty, have you made your decision?"

The Minister of Scrolls looked toward the throne.

"I made my decision long ago. Just as that old monster said, all the suffering at this moment is merely labor pains. Even if I must give everything and perish, Seventan will not perish with me."

The King’s voice, perhaps too young, rang out, containing nothing but absolute resolve.