Chapter 194

CHAPTER 194. No, What the…

An icy stillness enveloped the chamber.

The room was packed with ancient texts that had survived countless generations, radiating an atmosphere steeped in the heavy passage of time. Amidst this motionless environment, the spirit shuddered, its translucent form trembling continuously.

There was something hidden here. Right?

Confronted by that inquiry—which directly targeted the very secret the entity desperately wished to avoid, namely the true function of these ruins—the spirit fell into a conflicted pause.

‘How should I handle this?’

Deep down, it genuinely wished to answer the savior who had arrived to liberate them, holding nothing back. If the question hadn’t been raised, that would be one thing, but since he had asked, it refused to utter a falsehood.

Yet, apprehension consumed it.

If it revealed the unvarnished truth regarding the actual function of this sanctuary, Baharmut, would this new savior simply transform into another oppressor? Would he, like countless mortals before him, become intoxicated by avarice and lose his humanity?

If that occurred, the spirits would not gain their liberty, but would instead face a fresh wave of subjugation and bondage. Just as it had been millennia ago, they would remain imprisoned within these constricted ruins, forced to bear witness repeatedly to atrocities they wished to forget, all because of human covetousness.

As these agonizing reflections spiraled into deeper dread, the spirit’s luminous form flickered precariously.

It was at that moment that Aster spoke up.

“Is it that difficult to talk about?”

[A bit… difficult.]

The spirit offered its reply in a thoroughly disheartened tone.

Concurrently, a different anxiety entered its mind. If it remained silent, would their savior become offended and desert them, walking away from the ruins entirely?

Sensing that growing panic, Mycelln interjected himself into the dialogue.

“Hmm. What if we approach it from this angle?”

[……?]

“Even after we learn the purpose of Baharmut, we give our word that we will liberate you. I pledge my own spirits on this vow.”

Upon hearing those words, the spirit’s radiance flared intensely and expanded.

[Elder human, truly?]

“Ah, naturally, that condition stands provided that saving you doesn’t unleash some dark catastrophe upon the land. But I assume that won’t be an issue, correct?”

[O- of course.]

Faced with this unexpected compromise, the spirit felt as though a heavy fog had suddenly lifted from its mind. With such a guarantee in place, it wouldn’t need to reject the savior’s inquiry, and their ultimate liberation would remain secure.

The one who expressed skepticism, however, was Aster.

“Is it really necessary to go to such lengths?”

“I admit to being quite intrigued myself. What exactly is the function of this subterranean sanctuary that required the imprisonment of so many spirits? Aren’t you curious as well? Baharmut… these are forgotten remnants completely omitted from historical records.”

Looking for consensus, Mycelln shifted his attention toward Demian and Chenbi.

Their responses were entirely predictable.

“I definitely want to know! It feels like something incredibly massive is hidden here, though I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“I am curious as well.”

Having gathered their input, Mycelln turned his eyes back toward Aster.

“What do you say? Even these two agree.”

“No, I understand that, but still. Putting your own spirits on the line like that…”

“The spirit is clearly terrified, isn’t it? If we have no intention of coercing it into giving us information, doesn’t this strike you as the most straightforward method?”

Aster gave a nod, seemingly conceding the point.

Yet, simultaneously, an unsettling thought lingered in his mind.

‘…Why?’

If it were a matter of simple curiosity, there was absolutely no reason to wager his own spirits. Staking one’s spirits was akin to putting the lives of one’s own parents on the line, much like the desperate vows exchanged among the orphaned youths of the Black and White Zone. Why go so far as to risk your own spirits just to uncover the historical purpose of these ruins?

‘It feels as though he has a hidden motive here…’

Aster found Mycelln’s actions rather peculiar and grew suspicious—though it did not take long for that skepticism to be answered.

“Then we are in agreement? Regardless of what Baharmut is designed for, we are bound by a strict vow to grant the spirits their freedom.”

“Are you being serious right now—”

“Ahem, cough. It isn’t that I lack faith in you. This is purely to set the spirit’s mind at ease.”

“…….”

Aster gaped at Mycelln with a look of utter disbelief.

‘Does this old man genuinely believe I might discover the purpose of this place and then proceed to enslave and exploit these entities?’

No, what the…?

The sheer absurdity of the assumption left him entirely speechless. No matter how cynical one was, did Mycelln truly believe Aster would sink to such depths? Was the ultimate reason he risked his own contract spirits merely to safeguard the residents of these ruins… from Aster himself?

‘Talk about an incredibly deep-seated cynicism toward mankind.’

Aster could only offer a silent nod of respect to Mycelln’s profound lack of faith in humanity.

Meanwhile, the spirit, its light completely revitalized, shimmered brightly and began to spin in joyful circles around Aster once more.

[Then, I speak? Savior, me friend?]

“Yeah. Sure. Go ahead and tell us.”

Honestly, what else could he say at this juncture? If it’s settled, it’s settled.

The moment Aster finally yielded, the spirit expanded its illumination to its absolute limit. Did this creature possess no sense of moderation whatsoever?

[Baharmut, objective. View tomorrow.]

The revelation struck straight at the core, instantly delivering an overwhelming impact.

Baharmut.

This vast architectural marvel was constructed millennia ago during the height of the Grand Elemental Era, and its initial function was intended to be “climate manipulation.”

Its origins were, in truth, born from pure intentions.

A legendary spirit mage, having lost his beloved to a devastating natural cataclysm, engineered the site out of a profound wish that no other soul would ever endure such heartbreak. Hundreds of spirits who revered him, alongside thousands of fellow spirit mages, united under that singular dream.

From that collective desire emerged the absolute pinnacle of spirit craftsmanship.

During its initial period, Baharmut existed as a sacred monument fully deserving of its legendary status. Operating precisely as intended, it monitored severe weather anomalies across the entire land—including typhoons, seismic shifts, volcanic eruptions, and massive tidal waves—and utilized the collective power of the spirits to neutralize or mitigate their fury.

It was during this golden age that it earned the title Baharmut, which translated directly to “Ruler of Nature.”

However, the descent into tragedy was triggered by a single itinerant mage.

To be precise, it began with a solitary “item” that this wandering spellcaster presented to the legendary spirit mage, who by then had ascended to the position of Emperor.

“Great Emperor. Sovereign who commands the entire realm and holds dominion over the natural elements—if I were to present a method to render your sovereignty absolute, would you grant me your belief?”

In an era where traditional magic was largely looked down upon, the Emperor initially paid little heed to the elderly mage’s assertions. He had granted an audience only due to persistent rumors claiming the visitor possessed remarkable talents for a practitioner of magic, but during that period, magic was viewed as a vestige of a bygone era. It was deemed nothing more than a secondary discipline meant to complement spirit arts.

Even so, the gracious Emperor maintained his courtesy so the elderly mage wouldn’t take offense. The sole reason he entertained the vagrant’s words was out of pure politeness.

Yet, who could have anticipated the consequences? That minor act of consideration would ultimately guide the legendary Emperor toward absolute devastation.

“Heh heh, as I foresaw, the Great Emperor stands above the rest. Where others were occupied with scorning this frail old man and disregarding my presence… Even if magic is viewed as an antiquated pursuit, a path always reveals itself, regardless of the era.”

“Those are wise words. Since the hour grows late, I shall get straight to the point. This object, right here, represents the key to making the Emperor’s dominion flawless.”

“This is…?”

What the spellcaster passed to the sovereign was merely “a single sheet of paper.”

The Emperor discerned its supernatural qualities instantly—a reaction anyone in his position would have shared. The parchment, emanating an enigmatic power that was distinct from spirit energy, mana, or Aether, radiated an unsettling aura that defied description.

Captivated by the parchment’s overwhelming presence, the spellcaster left behind a final instruction before vanishing entirely into thin air.

“Deliver this to the central altar of Baharmut. Do so, and the Emperor’s dominion shall achieve true perfection.”

When the Emperor finally snapped out of his trance at those parting words, he found himself entirely alone in the massive audience hall, holding nothing but that mysterious sheet of paper.

From that day forward, the sovereign mobilized forces across the continent to unravel the mysteries of the parchment and track down the identity of the wandering spellcaster. He refused to introduce an unverified artifact into the heart of Baharmut.

In this manner, several years slipped away.

The wandering spellcaster never showed his face again. The exact nature of the parchment remained a complete mystery. The sole conclusion the Emperor managed to deduce during those long years was a theory that the sheet was “a fragment torn from a magical tome,” imbued with some form of highly anomalous power.

It was precisely during this period of uncertainty that a massive war erupted across the continent.

“The frontline situation… is grim, Your Majesty.”

A coalition of neighboring nations launched a massive invasion, with their primary objective being the capture of Baharmut.

The empire began to fracture.

The adversaries, who had been plotting in secrecy for an extended period, executed their strategies flawlessly, and their military assault proved devastatingly intense. Faced with such overwhelming force, Baharmut’s climate control capabilities and the specialized spirit mages the Emperor took immense pride in were neutralized, collapsing under the pressure.

Standing on the precipice of total annihilation, the sovereign was forced to make a definitive choice.

Total destruction… or otherwise…

That unverified piece of parchment.

Should he gamble everything on this unproven anomaly?

In reality, the choice had already been made from the start.

“…We proceed to Baharmut.”

Ultimately, the Emperor retrieved the mysterious sheet and made his way to the altar of Baharmut.

And following that act…

[Won, conflict.]

The spirit recounted that historical turning point with a noticeably melancholy cadence.

Utilizing the visions of tomorrow provided by Baharmut, the sovereign completely reversed the disastrous tide of the conflict. By peering into the future, he identified the enemy’s strategic positions and troop numbers well in advance, turning guaranteed defeats into staggering victories. Even in scenarios where loss was unavoidable, he managed to reduce friendly casualties to a minimum, preserving his military strength.

And when the fires of war finally subsided—

[Believed, joy would return. However, no.]

The Emperor grew obsessively dependent on Baharmut—consumed by a corrupt thirst for dominance—and from that moment onward, the sanctuary ceased to serve mankind.

It was utilized solely for warfare.

It degenerated into nothing more than an instrument to consolidate absolute authority.

Subsequently, even long after the Emperor’s demise, the custodians of Baharmut shifted repeatedly through the generations, yet the behavior of those who held power remained identical. It repeated over and over, in an endless cycle.

[We were forced to witness. Methods to slaughter multitudes. Endured pain. Too grueling.]

A vision of the future painted entirely in rivers of blood. The individuals who populated those visions were uniformly monstrous—mortal throngs driven entirely by avarice, deceit, and corrupted stubbornness.

Evoking those agonizing memories caused the spirit to shudder violently as it brought its tale to a close.

In a sense, those few centuries of active exploitation were far more agonizing than the millennia spent waiting in isolation. No—the term “agonizing” failed to truly capture the depth of the misery.

It was pure horror.

While the entity remained paralyzed by the weight of those grim recollections, Aster’s voice cut through the silence.

“Is that the entirety of the tale?”

[Yes.]

The spirit offered its confirmation and timidly raised its gaze.

This marked the first instance since it began narrating that it looked directly at Aster, and in that brief moment as its eyes met his, its core filled with deep apprehension.

‘Could it be…?’

Would this savior eventually succumb to the same corrupting avarice that ruined the others? Like his predecessors, would he become intoxicated by the precognitive gifts of Baharmut and attempt to bind them to his will? Naturally, it had exacted a firm vow beforehand, yet a lingering trace of dread was impossible to suppress.

Thus, the spirit gazed upon Aster with a heart full of trepidation—

Kugugugung—!

A sudden, violent tremor reverberated through the chamber.

“……!”

Aster’s companions, who had been entirely absorbed in the spirit’s tale, instantly tensed up and dropped into defensive combat stances.

[I- Infernal!]

The spirit shrieked in a piercing, terrified voice.

In a flash, absolute terror overwhelmed the anxiety that had occupied its mind just moments prior.

The Infernal units, which had been undergoing self-repair following Aster’s previous offensive, had completed their regeneration and were mounting an assault.

[Mu- must flee immediately!]

Prompted by the spirit’s hysterical warning, Aster immediately hoisted Chenbi and Demian over his shoulders, positioning himself to make a swift retreat.

‘Tsk. I still have a mountain of inquiries left…’

His throat felt dry, a wave of irritation washing over him.

Above all else, his initial strategy to temporarily separate Demian, Chenbi, and Senior Mycelln before commencing the main operation had completely fallen apart.

But what options did he have? Survival dictated evading the immediate threat first.

Even so, he had verified one crucial piece of information.

‘A piece of Yeokcheon.’

Just as he suspected, it was located here.

Dealing with five active Infernal units presented a decent challenge, but even so… wouldn’t this scenario prove far less troublesome than dealing with Destrow?

If things went south, he would cross that bridge when he got to it.