SOTBW - 166

Popin’s voice trembled as he handed over the bow. Rachel didn’t respond, instead fiddling with the sharp arrowhead. Though she had only been exposed to the wind for a moment, her lower abdomen throbbed in pain as if it were being torn apart. Her internal organs were rotting again.

Cold sweat formed on her scalp as the chill wind passed by, but Rachel maintained a stoic expression as she stared into the forest, wondering how far the soldiers had advanced.

At that moment, flags rose above the bare, withered trees. The flags waved in a circular motion, signaling that all preparations were complete.

Rachel lightly drew the bowstring and gave Popin an order.

“Stay back.”

Popin hesitated, but seeing Rachel, who appeared more resolute and solemn than ever, he reluctantly stepped away. However, knowing what would happen to Rachel’s body when she used her sword energy, Popin watched her with a fearful expression as she nocked an arrow.

Rachel took a deep breath, then drew the bowstring back. Her arm trembled as it held the taut string.

The arrowhead gradually began to glow a bright white. The area around the siege tower, where dusk had already begun to fall, slowly illuminated.

Daniel had approached the fortress, but he remained on edge, not knowing how Rachel would destroy the walls.

Anyone who had trained in swordsmanship had likely heard of Rachel Rochelle’s reputation. She had easily overwhelmed her teacher, Taylor Elderkerth, at a young age, and had begun to create a new style of swordsmanship named after the Rochelle family. But she was struck by an incurable disease and was unable to become a sword master—a tragic genius...

Daniel, who had been looking down at the shadowed ground, turned around at the murmur of voices. The white light above the darkening forest was spinning, growing larger and brighter.

The light, far larger and brighter than thousands of torches, began to swell and spin rapidly. The bare branches of the trees swayed violently in the gusty wind.

Daniel quickly climbed to a thick tree and looked toward the siege tower. He knew there was a risk of arrows coming from the fortress, but he couldn’t look away from the spinning light.

It was sword energy.

It was the first time Daniel had witnessed sword energy of such overwhelming magnitude...

It felt like an oppressive force far beyond anything Najane could produce. Shocked, Daniel instinctively yelled to the soldiers.

“Everyone, get down! If you want to live, get down!”

With a voice so strained it seemed to crack, Daniel jumped from the tree. A white spear shot past his head, making a threatening sound.

The soldiers screamed and dropped to the ground, pressing themselves flat. In the distance, the deafening sound of a building collapsing was heard.

Daniel quickly got up and looked at the massive dust cloud rising from the area. A giant hole had appeared in the fortress, one so large that it seemed nearly impossible to repair. It looked as though a giant had struck it with a punch.

The shockwave that had surrounded the soldiers was as immense as the blow that severed the head of the sainted sword with an ordinary blade. Daniel, still in disbelief, stared at the hole in the fortress, then turned his gaze back to the siege tower.

Rachel’s ability to defeat the larger Maximón in their sword duel had been due to her incredible control over sword energy, which she could manipulate as if it were a mere toy.

Sword energy was a special force emitted only through a sword. But Rachel had the ability to infuse it into any metal and use it in any form she desired. This was something even Taylor could never dare to replicate—an ability unique to Rachel Rochelle.

Daniel’s eyes trembled rapidly. It was said that a country with a Sword Master would be safe for a hundred years.

Did Taylor handle sword energy like this in his youth?

If so, what about Najane...

In the midst of his confusion, Daniel jerked his head back to the soldiers. They couldn’t afford to miss the opportunity Rachel had created.

“Everyone, advance to the fortress! We can’t give the bandits time to regroup!”

At his command, the soldiers from Noctis fortress immediately rose to their feet and ran up the uneven hills.

At the same time, the servant, who had been waiting with Popin, grabbed the collapsed Rachel and rushed with her to the supply cart stationed beneath the siege tower.

The bandages that tightly wrapped around Rachel’s limbs and torso were soaked with dark blood, fluttering loosely. Her dress, unable to withstand the sword energy’s aftereffects, was torn apart as if shredded by beastly claws, exposing the decaying skin beneath. Her flesh, ravaged by the disease, was red and raw, and blood poured from the wounds without ceasing.

Unable to endure the pain of her body tearing apart, Rachel’s eyes had already rolled back, turning completely white. Popin hurriedly placed a handkerchief in Rachel’s mouth to prevent her from biting her tongue. Her hair, once neatly combed every day, now clumped together and was stained with blood.

Popin, struggling to look away from the horrifying scene, quickly pulled the cloth that covered the entrance to the cart. The servant swiftly laid Rachel’s broken body in a bathtub inside the cart.

“Hurry, pour the holy water! Quickly!”

Popin screamed, his voice frantic. The maids inside hesitated at the overwhelming stench of blood, but at Popin’s desperate cry, they hastily poured the holy water.

The ice-cold holy water cascaded over Rachel’s body. Unconscious, she writhed in pain, as if burning alive.

“Ah, Mistress... Mistress!”

Popin climbed into the bathtub and struggled to hold Rachel still as she convulsed. The maids removed the handkerchief Rachel had been biting and poured lemon-scented holy water into her mouth.

After forcing about seven bottles of the highest quality holy water into Rachel, the blood that had been flowing from her body slowly started to stop. But Rachel’s consciousness still did not return. Holding back tears, Popin gave the maids another set of orders with great difficulty.

“Throw all the blood away into the forest. One of you will stay behind and tell Lord Luamars that the Mistress is safe...”

With the servant’s help, Popin painfully lifted Rachel and looked outside the cart.

“Are the new clothes and bandages ready?”

“They are in the cart.”

“Good... Let’s head to Elbision. There’s nothing more we can do here.”

The servants moved the unconscious Rachel into the cart. Popin climbed into the cart with one of the maids. The sounds of soldiers cheering could be heard from not too far away. It seemed Daniel had taken the fortress.

Popin, closing his mouth tightly as he stared toward the source of the noise, shut the cart door. The coachman cracked the whip, and the horses, shivering from the cold, began to run.

Popin tore off Rachel’s clothes and bandages, wiping her cold body with a towel, while the maid carefully bandaged her wounds with holy water-soaked cloth. Rachel, her lips pale and unmoving, lay still in Popin’s arms.

Popin gently stroked Rachel’s nearly bare head, whispering in a strained, tender voice.

“Miss... It seems Lord Luamars has taken the fortress. Now we can go to Noctis... Whatever you choose to do there, everything will go according to your will... So please, just hold on a little longer... Just a little longer...”

Popin wrapped Rachel’s body in the towel and softly wept.

________________________________________

Belshua, who had locked herself in her room, clasped her hands together as if in prayer.

Najane had already started vomiting blood and collapsed far too early. Even though Brighton hadn’t yet reached the Noctis fortress, this event signaled that the fate she had foreseen had already twisted considerably.

Belshua had always thought she must protect fate, for the sake of Sylin and her cursed body, which was marked by the Dragon Lord. But now, she doubted whether the future she had seen was truly fate.

In fact, fate was only a thick, long framework, and the events surrounding it shifted with each choice made in the present. If that weren’t the case, things wouldn’t have gone this way.

Originally, Najane was supposed to meet Brighton’s reincarnation and, by refining his body and abilities, would have eventually vomited blood from overexertion. Brighton’s reincarnation should be descending toward Noctis Fortress by now.

Belshua, sitting on the edge of her bed, darkened in expression.

She still held the magic stone left by Aron, which allowed her to perform magic comparable to what she had in the past, though not as powerful. But she had been trying to conserve it, unsure when, where, or who would try to harm Najane Schnicks.

The golden magic stone... this was Sylin’s magic. So, no matter what, she wanted to use it only on matters related to Najane.

As she took the magic stone out of her pocket, Belshua’s gaze wavered aimlessly. She still had Aron’s cursed one-eyed stone. With it, she could foresee the future.

But if the future she saw was not fixed, if it could change at any moment... Was it truly right to look into the future again in this situation? Should she really use this magic to spy on fate...?

Belshua sighed deeply as she clutched the magic stone in both hands, lying down on the bed. There was another problem, apart from Najane’s fate diverging in an unexpected direction.

Maximón had called Belshua “Mahilen.”

Mahilen, who had been lost in thought, slowly turned her gaze toward the stained ceiling. When Belshua had breathed the soul of Sainths into the infant’s body, she had sealed away all memories and emotions.

It was impossible to completely wash away the experiences engraved on the soul, even with magic. Had the memories not been sealed, Sainths, who had gained a new life as Maximón Elgort, would likely have gone on a rampage. Even though the past had been sealed, seeing Maximón regenerate wounds and wield incredible strength like Seriths, it was clear that a catastrophe could have occurred.

Maximón should not awaken yet.

Until Najane fully awakens the potential and power within himself—never, under any circumstances…

‘Mahilen.’

‘Please take care of Emaydis.’

‘Emaydis… please…’

With clenched teeth, Belshua irritably sat down.

“Damn it...”

She had no idea what to do. As long as Kieron’s whereabouts remained unknown, acting recklessly was dangerous. Moreover, she couldn’t figure out the intentions behind Mackanon giving Kieron the Soul Compass.

Belshua pulled the Soul Compass from the storage closet, her face filled with confusion as she watched the needle. As if it were the most natural thing, the needle pointed directly toward the mansion. Without even thinking of Emaydis, the needle pointed in the direction of the mansion as if it instinctively knew who Belshua was looking for.

Glaring at the needle that stubbornly pointed in one direction, Belshua tightly shut her eyes. To solve all the problems, she first needed to remove the obstacles in her way.

Kieron...

As soon as the name Kieron entered her mind, the needle began to spin. It spun aimlessly, no longer pointing in any particular direction. Seeing the expected result, Belshua sighed and hid the Soul Compass again.

The Kieron she had faced that day was not a being with a soul, but a will.

It was impossible to find Kieron with the Soul Compass. In that case, the only option left was to use the magic stone, but to track Kieron’s location, she would have to wait until he used his magic.

Clutching the magic stone with both hands, Belshua closed her eyes, overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness. An endless wave of anxiety flooded over her.

Belshua, gripped by the fear that she might have ruined Sylin’s plan, silently offered a meaningless prayer.