Chapter 371: The North’s Will (6)
Using World Destruction in one-on-one combat was a taboo even He didn’t break. The process of unleashing it inevitably left openings, turning the user into a sitting target. In other words, using World Destruction against an individual was madness—it meant having absolute faith that the opponent wouldn’t interfere.
Anyone with a shred of common sense would never even consider it. But why?
I don’t feel hesitant.
Was it because of Tala’s precedent? Or did I instinctively know that this meaningless battle wouldn’t end otherwise?
But I vaguely sensed one thing: even without a precedent, and even if there was a way to finish this with a simpler method—I would have nodded. My reason screamed that it didn’t make sense, but my instinct whispered otherwise.
It’s perfect for a grand finale.
It was a fitting way to end this tiresome bad blood for a lone, wandering loser who couldn’t die to conclude things. If I had to bring it all to a close, this was the only method grand enough to be worthy of it.
To finish everything here, in the very place where He had fallen—using His technique. Just imagining it made me smile. Finally, I could bury all the regrets that had weighed me down.
“Fine. Let’s do it.”
So I answered him. If we still failed to settle things after all this and walked away yet again after three years, I would’ve bitten off my own tongue in shame. At least we could avoid such a disaster now.
He nodded at my answer. It was strange, as if he believed I’d definitely accept. How could he have had such faith that anyone would accept such a crazy idea?
I unfortunately became one of those crazy people, but that didn’t matter. From the moment I raised the banner of rebellion against the empire after Him, I had abandoned all common sense and reason.
“Tala would be happy to see you.”
“That bastard would be happy to see anyone, but he’d be happier to see a comrade.”
I couldn’t deny it, so I just smirked. Right. No matter who won and who died, that idiot would be there in the afterlife to welcome us with open arms.
And he’d roll on the ground laughing once he found out that our cause of death was the same World Destruction as his. It was obvious.
What a damned lunatic.
As I steadied my stance, I almost let out a hollow laugh at what I saw. He was preparing for World Destruction, just like me.
If he attacked me now, then I’d honestly fall right there. Enhanced or not, death was instant if a sword pierced your heart while you were defenseless. Even He couldn’t avoid such an end.
But surprisingly—no, naturally—he gave up on a surprise attack and prepared for the strongest strike he mentioned. We were the only ones here. If he broke his word, no one would witness his dishonor. Even if there were witnesses, no one would have blamed him for striking down his enemy.
He should’ve been born a bit further north.
He really chose the wrong birthplace. If he’d been born a nomad, he might have been the greatest warrior after Him. He might have galloped across the steppes with us, building a nation of nomads.
I gently shook my head at the sudden flood of thoughts. It’d be stupid to cling to impossible possibilities. I don’t want to create new regrets when I finally have a chance to shed my old ones.
A thrust?
Before I knew it, he had drawn back his sword, both hands gripping the hilt as he pulled it back to his right shoulder. Probably intending to end it in one strike, he chose a thrust over a slash.
That was right. If the goal was to end the fight in one strike, then a narrow, concentrated attack was the correct choice.
So I would do the same. Since we had agreed to exchange single strikes, wouldn’t it be best to use the same attack?
I’ll pour everything into it.
As soon as I took my stance, I made all the mana in my body go berserk. Until now, I never dared try this for fear of destroying my body, but this was the last attack. It didn’t matter if my arm broke or my organs burst.
Besides, I couldn’t hold back when I saw the madman before me going all out.
I can end this.
I was certain as I felt the energy emanating from him. When that energy collides with what I’m wielding, someone will definitely die. We might both die, but there was no way we’d both survive. There wouldn’t be an embarrassing conclusion like ‘it was a draw, even with World Destruction.’
For a moment, I felt grateful to Tala. Without that pioneer, the idea of exchanging World Destruction blows would have been impossible, and my end would have been far off.
“Carl Krasius!”
Carl Krasius answered my cry wordlessly.
“It’s been fun all this time!”
And with those final words, we both struck. I felt my bones twisting and muscles melting, but I ignored it.
Then, Carl Krasius als—
—Darkness swallowed everything.
And then, there was light.
***I jolted awake. A flood of memories rushed in, only to crash into a wall and scatter. I must’ve passed out, but I almost died this time.
Lying flat on my back, I saw the sky horribly ripped apart. Even though it was aimed at a person, that impact was far beyond what a mere human could handle. The shockwave had torn into the sky itself once more.
And if the sky was in that state, then the ground was even worse. As I forced myself to lift my head, I saw the earth literally melting.
And it seemed to still be melting.
This is even worse than I and Tala used it.
Well, Dorgon and I probably surpassed Tala in using Sky Cleaver. We survived for years after Tala’s death, after all.
After taking a few deep breaths, I tried to push myself up—
Ah.
That familiar sense of emptiness hit me. I adjusted my stance and forced myself up with my legs and core instead. After throwing everything into that last strike, my arms were completely ruined.
Still, this is holding up well.
My right arm below the shoulder was completely gone, and my left arm hung useless with a few fingers missing. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a bad price to pay for the price of a full-power Sky Cleaver without considering the side effects. Plus, these wounds didn’t have any permanent healing debuff. If they can be fixed, then that was good enough.
Anyway. As soon as I stood up, I started walking. I could feel, very, very faintly, the mana of someone else.
It was barely perceptible, a weak and precarious energy. I already knew who it was.
“Heh, you can still walk?”
Dorgon, sprawled in a strange place as if he’d been thrown far by the impact, let out a hollow laugh as soon as he saw me approach.
“Look who’s talking in that state.”
From my perspective, it was amazing that this bastard could speak—no, that he was alive at all.
His arms, which should have taken the biggest impact, were either cut off or exploded, and I couldn’t tell which. Everything below his waist was gone. Seeing him like that made me feel like a miracle for losing just one limb.
“I overdid it with the spells. The fact that I’m still breathing just means my sorcerer was too good at his job.”
Seeing that grotesque sight, Dorgon chuckled, even complaining that the excessive doping had prevented instant death.
“Ah, don’t you worry. It’s not an injury I can recover from.”
“I can see that.”
He was stating the obvious when it was clear he’d barely avoided instant death.
“By the way, it’s disappointing. To think that after all that struggle, all those years—one strike, and it’s over. We should have done this from the start.”
Dorgon muttered, gently closing his eyes. But contrary to his words of disappointment, he sounded relieved.
“At least it was you who finished me off. It’s only right, after all. In the end, there was only one person fit to—“
“Hey.”
I cut off Dorgon’s words as he was about to slip into his own eulogy time and sat down on the ground. Now that this guy was still alive, I had a lot to ask.
“You, what were you thinking when you rebelled?”
Dorgon closed his mouth and silently stared into my eyes.
“You knew the empire considered you dangerous and that you hadn’t fully united the North. More tribes chose to surrender to us than to fight. And yet, with that kind of army, you still waged war against us?”
I just couldn’t understand. This bastard wasn’t reckless or thoughtless. If anything, he could be classified as cunning and quick-witted. Wasn’t that how he alone survived the last war and started a second one?
So why had he built an army with fractured loyalty? Why hadn’t he used every advantage to weaken the Empire? Why had he thrown away command just to fight me one-on-one?
I just couldn’t understand it. For now, I focused on the benefits the empire could reap from Dorgon’s intentions rather than the intentions themselves, but if I could hear the person’s own calculations, then I should address it.
“What an embarrassing question.”
After a long silence, Dorgon chuckled and turned his head towards the sky. It looked like he wasn’t going to say anything, so I was about to press him—
“Tch. I was planning to take this to my grave, but since I’m alive, I have no choice. Isn’t it the loser’s duty to answer the winner’s questions?”
At his willingness to confess, I closed my mouth again.
“...As the one left who didn’t die, I wanted to take final responsibility.”
Those words made my mind go blank.
***Kagan led 100,000 nomads against the empire. The nomads, who had been unilaterally suppressed by the empire at regular intervals, expressed their anger freely and sought to create their own country free from imperial interference.
But they failed. The 100,000 nomads suffered near-total losses, and the heroes and great warriors who led them died.
Amidst all this, Dorgon alone survived. He was the sole remnant of the nomads’ dream and hope.
“I was confident. With him leading us—with all of us fighting as one—I really believed we could defeat the Empire. We never wanted the land, only to drive them back, force them to negotiate, and claim our own.”
In fact, the empire came close to recognizing a nomadic nation. The nomads’ dream was almost realized, just as Dorgon believed.
“But we still lost. So, I couldn’t see hope anymore. We lost even with advantages that might appear only once in history, so what about after that? Hope instantly turned to despair.”
They say the higher you rise, the longer the fall. When this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity vanished, the nomads fell into self-loathing and helplessness. If they lost with such forces, what could they possibly do? ‘Our fate is to live like this and die like insects at the empire’s hands,’ they said.
“I wanted to stop that. We failed to create our own country, but I couldn’t accept my compatriots, my people dying without even leaving their names behind.”
And so, he gathered the nomads again. Rather than staying put and being wiped out by the empire or becoming a miserable subjugated class, he decided to bring the empire to the negotiating table.
“You can guess the rest.”
I found myself nodding unconsciously. Knowing Dorgon’s inner thoughts, all the puzzle pieces fit together.
Why he had rebelled so recklessly. Why he had threatened the Empire just enough to be noticed—but never enough to provoke full annihilation. Why he never truly controlled the tribes beneath him, and why he let so many defect without consequence.
He was raising his own value.
If Dorgon hadn’t rebelled, the northern nomads would have lived in tribal units like before Kagan’s appearance. Then, they would have faced the full brunt of the empire’s crazed oppression to prevent a second Kagan and died silently. In that process, the nomads would have become thoroughly subjugated or enslaved.
However, Dorgon united the nomads and threatened the empire. As a result, the empire pulled out the card of co-opting rather than unilateral suppression.
Now I understand. I understand, but...
“Was it really worth volunteering for your death?”
It was too extreme and too insane a reason. The empire, having gone through a major suppression war and succession disputes, was reluctant to expend more national power. So why did the guy, who grasped all this and caused the empire to pull out the co-opting card, not know anything else?
He was too intelligent not to realize that the Empire wasn’t looking to exterminate them immediately. If nothing else, it would have taken decades, or maybe even centuries for such an expedition to begin.
For something that far off into the future, Dorgon stood before the empire again. If he had simply disappeared, he could have lived out the rest of his days in peace.
It was clear suicide. This guy didn’t have Kagan’s power. Even if he’d killed me here, he would have been suppressed by the imperial army someday.
“Didn’t I tell you? It’s the responsibility of the one who couldn’t die alone.”
I fell silent again.
“I made promises to my people. I swore I would give them a nation of their own, that I would free them from the Empire’s grip, but I failed. I took on the burden of the North’s will, but I wasn’t strong enough to fulfill it.”
The doping effects seemed to be fading as Dorgon coughed up blood several times before barely continuing.
“He died while shouldering the will of the North. But I, who am not even His equal, must die crushed beneath that same weight.”
Now, the will of his compatriots should be loyally subjugating the evil one under the empire’s name instead of the rebellious heart that once followed the Rebel to oppose the empire.
After adding that, Dorgon laughed for a long time.
He just kept laughing as if this situation pleased him.
Crazy bastard.
Hearing that laughter, I couldn’t help but think so.
The guy who couldn’t die with the others and shouldered the responsibility alone, floundering in an unrealized ideal, finally went mad.
Unless he went mad, there was no way he could have come up with such an idea.
Footnotes
1. aka Sky Cleaver
