Chapter 47

Chapter 47
Chapter: 47

Chapter Title: Shaman of the Wilderness (3)

—

It was impossible to stop a foul oath from escaping his lips.

“Prove your worth if you are truly the warrior of Atala?” Why couldn’t they simply acknowledge the truth and step aside? If he addressed the voice directly, they would likely spout more nonsense regarding trials, tribulations, and the fruits of labor.

Nevertheless, those words had provided much-needed clarity.

The architects of this subterranean tomb were undoubtedly the Shamans of the Wilderness. Its entire design was a gauntlet meant to gauge him. That was the only reason he and the archaeologist had been permitted to cross the threshold…

And now, he was required to pulverize every single one of these clay sentinels.

Dong, dong, dong, dong, dong!

As the rhythm of the drums shifted, the eyes of one soldier snapped open wide, and it lunged directly toward him.

* Atalaaaaaaa!!!

The ferocity of its spirit was a world away from the mournful whispers heard previously. Kadim intercepted the plunging blade with Mosquito, rotating his wrist to parry the strike before driving his own weapon deep into the opponent’s midsection. Yet, the warrior initiated a counterattack with its sword as if the wound were nonexistent.

* Impossible! With Atala watching over me…

Bam!

Kadim evaded the edge and drove a fist like a lightning strike into the creature’s jaw. The face shattered with a sickening crunch, resembling the breaking of kiln-fired earth. As the soldier collapsed to its knees, Kadim forced its arm behind its spine, seized the advantage of height, and slammed the pommel of his weapon into the base of its skull. Only then did the demolished head disintegrate into a pile of dirt upon the stone floor.

* Atalaaaaaaa!!
* Atalaaaaaaa!!

Dong, dong, dong, dong-dong!

Two additional combatants charged forward. Cutting and stabbing motions seemed to yield little progress. Kadim slid Mosquito back into its sheath, pivoted his torso, and launched Salmon.

Whirrrrr, kaboomb!

The rotating, steel-blue edge of the axe demolished one skull, tore through the torso, and shattered several more standing in the rear. Tapping into an unseen momentum, he forced the weapon to accelerate its spin, obliterating more clay dolls before it spun back into his grip.

Whirrrrr, kwang!

* Atalaaaaaaa!!!

However, the soldier beside it took the returning blade directly through its chest and continued its advance without hesitation. Its mangled torso swayed precariously, yet it closed the distance rapidly.

A heavy flail whistled toward Kadim. He caught the axe head backward, using it like a blunt mace to intercept the flail.

Clang!

A sharp, vibrant metallic ring resonated through the chamber walls.

The forged steel of his throwing axe remained unmarked, but the clay weapon of the enemy showed no signs of breaking either. Furthermore, the warrior’s raw power was formidable—Kadim felt a stinging vibration travel up his arm.

‘…They must have used some incredible clay to bake these things.’

He dropped into a low crouch and swept the warrior’s legs. As the off-balance soldier fell, Kadim swung the axe in a rising, lethal arc. Shards of ceramic sprayed outward as the head detonated, and the flail fell from its grasp. Kadim spat the grit from his mouth and narrowed his eyes: destroying the head was the only definitive way.

Clang, crack! Whirrrrr, crunch-crunch!

He deflected a blade and struck back, caving in a skull, then hoisted the heavy body to plow through three more enemies simultaneously. He whirled Salmon in a sweeping circle over the fallen foes, popping their heads one by one. The wreckage of broken dolls began to pile up, losing all semblance of their former shapes.

Yet even as their ranks were noticeably thinned, the fervor of the clay warriors did not diminish. On the contrary—even those missing half their limbs crawled forward, screaming.

* Atalaaaaaaa!!!
* Glory to the Sovereign of Eternal War!!

It was a tidal wave of suicidal aggression that disregarded any sense of self-preservation. Even a fighter like Kadim couldn’t parry every single blow. A cut opened on his cheek, and small gashes appeared on his limbs—the attrition of minor wounds was beginning to show. In these lopsided skirmishes, he typically sustained himself with ‘Bloodsuck,’ but these hollow, bloodless statues made that strategy useless.

He briefly considered if he should consume the blood of the Hydra to simply erase them all in one go. He was weighing the cost when…

Dong, dong, dong, dong!

Suddenly, Kadim realized how incredibly irritating that drumbeat had become.

‘…Is that percussion giving them some kind of enhancement?’

It was worth investigating. He unfastened the hellfire dagger from his belt and snapped his wrist, sending it flying like a crossbow bolt.

Swish—thunk!

Immediately, the eyes of every warrior snapped toward the projectile…

* Atalaaaaaaa!!

Crack! Whoosh!

…One of them leaped with surprising agility to intercept the blade.

Consumed by the magical flames, the warrior blackened and solidified. The rest of the host immediately shifted their formation to shield the drum. Whether it was providing a buff or not, that instrument was clearly the heart of their defense.

Target identified—there was nothing they could do to stop him now. Kadim held Salmon in one hand and prepared his remaining weapons. He would hurl the axe to break their line, then follow up with the dagger.

There was no need.

A blurred shape appeared out of thin air and tore the drum apart first.

Riiip!

“I’ve handled the problem, mercenary! Focus on the rest!”

Ilenia stood there, waving the shredded remains of the drum skin.

Kadim’s eyes tightened. He had seen it clearly—a ghostly vapor had emanated from her hand before vanishing. Was she concealing some kind of artifact?

Despite his curiosity, finishing the fight was the priority. If the drum had been a buff, it was confirmed immediately; the moment it was ruined, the warriors lost their coordination, wobbling like drunken men.

* Atala…
* Atalaaa…

Crunch-crunch!

The clay legion of Atala were no longer formidable opponents. Kadim tore through them without mercy, like a child smashing a row of pottery jars. Within sixty seconds, the entire room was once again filled with nothing but dust and dirt.

The confrontation ended. He drew in deep, steady breaths, wiping the sweat from his eyes. Ilenia walked over quietly. She looked back and forth between the mounds of broken clay and the dust-caked barbarian, clicking her tongue in disbelief.

“Simply marvelous. The elite clay warriors… and their entire company, decimated single-handedly by the mercenary of Atala. It’s like watching a scene from an ancient myth.”

“…”

“Oh, forgive me, I’m rambling again. Are you alright? No deep gashes?”

“I’m fine. How did you destroy that drum?”

“Haha, to survive in these desolate lands, one must carry a few surprises. Let’s just say I used a ‘stone’ I had tucked away to throw in their faces.”

“…”

Ilenia offered a wide, friendly grin.

Kadim’s expression soured. How had she managed to overhear the exact metaphor he had used with Duncan? He cast a glance toward the back of the room. Near the doorway where Ilenia had originally been standing, there were the remains of several clay warriors he hadn’t even touched.

‘Hiding that level of combat prowess while pretending to need protection…’

That was enough—he wouldn’t tolerate it any longer.

It didn’t matter if she was an ally or a threat. He couldn’t keep a partner who was secretly monitoring him and concealing their true capabilities. Kadim’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. He was going to demand the truth about her goals and her identity; if she refused, he would use force.

He was a fraction of a second too slow.

⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙
[The evidence is gathered. Enter, Great Warrior of Atala.]
It wasn’t a vocal sound, but a pulse of will vibrating through the air. Just like before, the reality around him began to peel away like old parchment.

Crrrrrrrack…

“Wait, hold on, mercenary…!”

This time, Ilenia was caught in the transition as well, her form folding like a paper cutout before vanishing entirely.

“…”

Once again, he was alone in a new location.

The massive circular hall was gone, replaced by a confined, intimate space. Detailed carvings on the walls glowed with a faint, bioluminescent light; metal vines snaked across the ceiling and corners. Following the lines of a jagged ritual circle carved into the floor…

An ancient woman sat propped against the stone.

Aware of his arrival, she slowly opened her eyes. A voice as dry and brittle as parched earth grated from her throat.

“You have traversed the river of centuries and returned, Great Warrior. A life within the tides of time is worth less than a single raindrop—what harsh winds have blown you here, and what knowledge have you gathered? Does the eternal chain now bear the stain of false blood, or does it still radiate with the splendor of the fight?”

“…”

Kadim stared at the Shaman of the Wilderness for a moment, then rolled his shoulders and neck, the joints popping loudly.

Then, he threw his axe.

Whirrrrr, kwang!!!

…Rumble!

The blade buried itself in the stone centimeters from the shaman’s head. The wall splintered; the entire chamber shook with the impact. The woman gasped, her wrinkled eyes widening in shock. This wasn’t a simple warning; it was a strike heavy with murderous intent.

He was exhausted by the secrecy, the testing, and the cryptic riddles. Kadim reached out to pull his weapon from the wall and spoke with a frozen tone.

“The test is over. I am the one setting the conditions now. From this point on, I ask the questions. No more flowery nonsense. If you don’t have an answer, say so.”

“…”

“Otherwise, the next strike won’t hit the masonry. It will go through your skull.”

The air in the room became thick with his savage aura. Regaining her composure, the shaman offered a sad, thin smile.

“I offer my deepest apologies. I did not sufficiently account for how much your long trek has exhausted your spirit and mind… I give you my word: no more metaphors.”

“…”

As the elder humbled herself, Kadim’s temper cooled slightly. He retrieved Salmon, took a calming breath, and sat on the floor across from her.

“Why was this place built? My companion said these ruins are all over the continent.”

“We required sanctuaries to welcome you across the vast stretch of time. We, the Shamans of the Wilderness… were watching our influence bleed away. Before our power vanished entirely, we used what was left to seal ourselves within these walls.”

“…Losing power? For what reason? Did Atala take it back?”

“The truth is elusive—no one can say with certainty. Some claim we provoked the deity’s anger; others believe it is a trial from Atala; some even say it happened because the ‘Great Warrior’ who linked us to the god disappeared. Only the Master of endless combat and celebration knows for sure… Have you encountered any potent Shamans in the world outside?”

“None.”

“…Then, aside from us lingering spirits trapped in these tombs, the Shamans of the Wilderness have vanished from the world forever.”

A tiny spark of light flickered in her sunken eyes—the look of a priestess who realized her god had abandoned her and her bloodline was doomed.

He had been too quick to judge. Kadim presented ‘Mosquito’ and ‘Salmon’ to her.

“But Atala hasn’t completely turned away. It might be diminished, but as you can see, I still possess the blessing.”

“That is… a relief to hear. If that is true, then our vigil was not entirely for nothing.”

“Why go to such lengths? Did your order really gamble centuries of isolation on the tiny possibility that a ‘Great Warrior of Atala’ would come back and fix everything? Whose insane idea was this?”

The shaman stretched her neck forward like an old turtle, shaking her head slowly. The name he had expected to hear from her dry lips—the name he had hoped stayed buried—finally emerged.

“Do you recall the ‘Blind-Eyed Shaman’?”

The silence that followed was absolute, as if his pulse had ceased.

Kadim shut his eyes and bit his lip until it nearly bled. A knot he had tied deep inside himself came undone, and a name he could never forget slipped out on a ragged breath.

“Cyril.”

“…Yes, that was her name. So many eons have passed, I had almost lost the memory of it.”

“Cyril was the one who planned this?”

“She was. She designed the foundation and did most of the work. By that time, the rest of us had lost nearly all our strength—we were of little help. Without the enchantments she placed on this tomb, this structure would have turned to sand long ago.”

“Tell me everything. From the very start, I want every detail.”

Kadim’s fist clenched instinctively. The shaman raised her weary eyes. After staring into the distant past for so long from this dark cell, she finally spoke.

“After the archdemon fell and you vanished, she lived through the agony and the emptiness of loss, traveling through endless days and nights of darkness looking for you. Warriors and other shamans offered to guide her, but she wandered from one end of the world to the other, her feet bleeding and her body soaked in gore. Yet, she never found a single trace of your path.”

“…”

“But she refused to surrender. Even if she couldn’t find you then, she was certain you would eventually bridge the gap of time and return to us. So, she spent her life preparing the things you would require for that day.”

“…”

“She labored without end to create them. She went without food, water, or rest—spending a hundred days in prayer, a thousand days gathering rare offerings from the deepest wilds, and ten thousand days pouring her very soul into rituals that drained her life force… By the end, her body was nothing but a shell, her mind as fragile as a castle of sand. Decades of consuming the essence of the greatest shaman gave birth to those ‘sacred relics’.”

“…”

“Even then, she didn’t stop. Once they were finished, she constructed these ruins across the world, placing shamans like myself here as messengers. She wanted to ensure that no matter where or when you reappeared, you would find the story and the tools.”

“…”

“We offered ourselves as heralds because we trusted her words implicitly: the ‘Great Warrior’ will return, and our power will return with him. And so, our centuries of waiting began.”

“…”

“That is… the entire history of how this ruin came to be and why I am here to meet you.”

The narrative concluded, leaving a heavy, suffocating atmosphere in the small room.

Kadim stared at his hand. He was gripping it so tightly that his nails had punctured the skin, and blood was dripping onto the floor. He didn’t feel it. The physical sting was nothing compared to the crushing weight in his chest.

The shaman let out a weary sigh and pulled an object from her robe. A brilliant flash of light, like a falling star, illuminated her palm in the dim light.

“The ‘Needle of Branding.’ It is the manifestation of a shaman’s suffering and love, lost in a long journey through the dark. It will never be created again—nor should it be. It is a sorrowful thing.”

Kadim wiped the blood from his hand, forced his emotions back into a cold box, and spoke.

“…What does it do?”

Beneath her heavy eyelids, the shaman’s eyes turned sharp. As if she had survived the ages specifically for this moment, she spoke each word with heavy significance.

“Use this to tattoo yourself with the blood of a demon, and you shall command its strength without ever having to drink.”