Chapter 300-The Manga Pariah's Guide to Self-Salvation
Heath hadn't lied. She really had taken Percy on her own initiative. Just as she was scrambling over her exposed connection to Ye Zheng, she'd stumbled upon him by chance.
The Sei Curia knights were clearing the wreckage left by the flood—searching for the injured, removing debris. The unconscious Percy lay on a stretcher in a corner alongside the others. The knights didn't seem to care much about him; he'd been set down carelessly.
Heath had never understood why Ye Zheng didn't eliminate Percy. His identity was far too special; that genuine Holy Sword could threaten Ye Zheng's position at any time. If she were in Ye Zheng's place, Percy would be at the top of the Sei Curia's wanted list.
Yet Ye Zheng had been tolerating Percy's movements all along, a pair of hidden hands subtly guiding him from the shadows.
Heath couldn't be entirely sure whether her actions today were also part of Ye Zheng's plan.
"...Roy mentioned your ability. What do you want me to do?"
The thought of his fallen companion made Percy's expression even grimmer. Ye Zheng had taken so much from him; he had lost nearly everything.
Heath withdrew the hand she'd used to activate her ability. She stared at Percy for a long moment, then let a single sentence slip out:
"I want you to help me kill the Emperor—Vincent Aston."
The vast castle plunged into deathly silence. Percy thought his ears were playing tricks. Every word from Heath baffled him, especially that name—Vincent... Wasn't that the name of the legendary Aston XIV?
Suddenly, Percy's expression shifted. He turned toward the tree-lined path outside the castle, keenly sensing someone approaching.
Heath noticed his movement, her expression growing graver. That person had arrived sooner than she'd anticipated.
Even now, Heath hadn't steeled herself completely. A wave of nausea surged; her heart hammered as if it would leap from her throat at any second.
"Percy." Her voice trembled. "I know you won't trust me so quickly, but what happens next will make you understand what I mean."
"Five hundred years ago, Aston XIV seized his descendant's body. Generation after generation, his soul has migrated from one body to the next, ruling this nation for five centuries."
"And you are the next body he's chosen."
Percy's blue eyes widened abruptly. The claim was so absurd he almost laughed—but the moment the corner of his mouth curled, clear footsteps sounded from outside.
Through the window, he saw a figure in red.
Old doubts surfaced in his mind. A storm erupted inside his head, and his expression turned increasingly incredulous.
"From here, follow my lead. I'll show you the truth."
Heath leaned against the windowsill and whispered into his ear.
Percy looked down. A cold, hard weapon had been pressed into his hand—his Holy Sword.
He turned. Heath flashed him a smile, then spun around and headed downstairs.
As she descended the staircase, Heath communicated with Percy through her ability while keeping alert to her surroundings. She stepped off the last stair. The doorbell finally rang through the hall, and her body jolted.
On her own, she stood no chance against that monster. She had no faction, no powerful ability. He could crush her without effort.
She had no weapon that could fight him. Her only option was to turn the little monster he himself had created against him...
The doorbell rang without pause, urging her on. Even her fingertips were rigid with tension. Several deep breaths tamped down her ragged gasps. She braced herself, reached for the door handle, and pressed it down—
An unusually tall figure blocked the sunlight beyond the doorway, head bowed, eyes dim.
Warm blood dripped onto the young woman's face. Heath screamed without a sound.
"My... daughter..."
A guileless-looking young man squeezed the greeting from his ravaged throat. His body was caked almost entirely in blood. That unfamiliar face wore the smile Heath knew best of all; ordinary brown eyes glinted with a faint trace of gold.
*
The lower district, East District. The stench of blood drowned the entire area. Pointed, black creatures kept plunging from the sky to the ground. Eyeless, earless, a gaping maw taking up half their bodies, they were ravenous to feed.
Their appearance was horrifying and their numbers vast, yet they caused few casualties. Most of the knights present were frontline veterans who had battled Demonic Domains for years and knew how to handle them.
...To say nothing of the two terrifying existences that dominated the battlefield.
Most of the creatures never even reached the ground. They were either swatted into pulp by the Giant Dragon's tail or sliced into chunks by a flash of crimson. The base instantly became a gruesome slaughterhouse.
The vast majority had no time to process Ye Zheng's stunning declaration before being thrown straight into combat. The shock in their eyes hadn't faded before their hands were already channeling abilities on reflex, mowing down the endless tide of monsters.
God of Hope, Demon Dragon—none of it mattered. Instinct screamed: survive!
The warriors killed until they were numb. Only when the white glow at the horizon faded and gentle sunlight fell once more upon cold armor did some snap out of their bloodlust. They checked the time—barely ten minutes had passed.
A mere ten minutes, yet it felt like half a lifetime. In the blink of an eye the world had become something unrecognizable, leaving heads spinning.
"Matthew, what are you doing!"
A scream shattered the eerie silence. A man with zero presence had crept soundlessly toward that being. Dozens of blades materialized from thin air and hurtled at her with lethal intent!
Ye Zheng turned. Several blades pierced her blood-soaked robe; the red staining her front seemed to deepen. But she merely glanced down. The blades clattered to the ground.
The man called Matthew gaped. He was absolutely certain the blades had penetrated that monster's body—and she hadn't so much as furrowed a brow. Was she just forcing herself to act unfazed?
"Why did you attack me?"
Ye Zheng asked softly, her features relaxed.
Matthew strained to focus, hunting for any crack in her composure. His expression grew more desperate by the second.
"You sacrilegious fraud! Monster!"
"You've dragged everyone into hell!"
This woman, hiding behind the title of Pope, had stood with the Demon Dragon and declared the God of Hope nonexistent. Her strength didn't come from divinely bestowed holy power—it was the Demon Dragon's filthy power!
The man screamed in anguish. The knights, freshly emerged from slaughter, stirred once more. Ye Zheng's words before the Demonic Domains descended came flooding back; the gazes that turned toward her were lost and grieving, a slow-burning fire of betrayal smoldering beneath.
Yet no one dared step forward to stand with Matthew. Not a single voice rose in his support.
The legendary Demon Dragon lounged lazily behind the woman, eyes rolling. But every gaze instinctively locked onto Ye Zheng instead.
"Hell? We've been living in hell all along. I merely tore away the world's mask."
Ye Zheng blinked. The man's lips worked furiously, as though lodging a vehement protest, but no sound came out. His throat had already been slit by a thread of water.
Witnessing the brutal scene, the knights from across the land were even more shaken and terrified. Every one of them held their breath in unison.
Farther out, white domes of light were spreading across the emptied East District from every direction, racing toward that majestic, irresistibly alluring presence, desperate to devour it.
"Follow me, or die."
Ye Zheng shed the gentle, compassionate smile people knew best and delivered her cold pronouncement.
No matter how persuasive her words, she couldn't overturn five hundred years of entrenched belief overnight.
The moment she chose to stand with the Demon Dragon, she was destined to suffer the same misunderstanding and hatred as Margaret.
Ye Zheng's gaze swept over the timid, the conflicted. Then it found certain familiar faces among the crowd—blood-streaked expressions resolute, steady eyes answering hers in silent accord.
—Courage and loyalty, offered unto the Saintess!
That oath only deepened with time, growing ever more unshakable.
In some hearts, Ye Zheng had already surpassed the God of Hope. She was no immutable, lofty, frigid idol. She was their guide, their friend, their sister—their strength and their flesh and blood, intertwined.
This time, the seed of truth had been planted in people's hearts. It awaited the final victory to water it, so it could break through the soil and bloom.
Another white dome descended over everyone's heads. Ye Zheng looked up and suddenly thought: Percy should have reached the upper district by now.
She was waiting for them.
She would carry the Demon Dragon, carry the women of every world, and seize the ultimate victory. The new world would remember its true savior!
Author's Note:
I'd originally planned to write more tonight, but it's our last night in the dorm and my roommates suddenly started talking about bride prices—discussing how their families had arranged their bride prices, analyzing each other's marriage-and-childbearing value. I sat with my earphones in, typing slower and slower, not really knowing what to say. I hope everyone can live a life they're satisfied with.
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