Chapter 190: Chapter 189 : Death (2)
On the battlefield of bones and withering roots, death itself walked toward them.
The woman with purple hair moved with slow, unhurried steps, as if the world had all the time she needed. Her hair flowed behind her in rich waves, a deep amethyst that caught the sickly gray light of the sky. Black horns curled back from her temples, sleek and polished, like a twisted crown.
Her figure was voluptuous, every line of her body an intentional weapon.
She wore a tight black corset that hugged her waist and lifted her chest, strips of dark fabric crossing her torso and leaving hints of pale, flawless skin exposed. A high-slit skirt of shadowy cloth wrapped around her hips, revealing long, toned legs that ended in heeled boots. Dark gloves climbed to her upper arms, and each step she took seemed to pull at the gaze of anyone watching.
Any ordinary man would have his lust stirred just by looking at her.
She spread her arms slightly and drew in a deep breath through her nose, as if tasting the air.
"I thought the elves were too scared to send anyone now," she said, her voice smooth and velvety, carrying easily across the field.
Her dark eyes—pupil-less and bottomless—swept across the countless skeletons before settling on Arthur and Sakura.
"But still, someone decided to show up in my territory," she added with a faint, mocking smile. "Did they seriously not give up on the World Tree yet?"
Arthur’s whole body trembled as he looked at her.
She was nothing like the Demon Lord he had faced before.
Astaroth had been severely weakened when Arthur subdued him; even then, it was only because of Yuna that he had won. The woman in front of him now—Astarte—was whole. Thrumming with power. The air around her felt heavy, saturated with a presence that pressed on his lungs.
In a blink, she stood in front of him.
One instant, she was near the tree; the next, she was close enough that he could see the faint texture of her lips and the slight shimmer of her lashes.
Arthur’s muscles strained, his instincts howling at him to move, to run, to do anything—but his body refused.
Astarte leaned in.
She tilted her head and inhaled near his neck, her nose almost brushing his skin. Her eyes half-closed as she took in his scent.
"What’s this..." Astarte murmured. "You really do smell like Astaroth."
Her expression shifted into open curiosity. Unrestrained interest flickered in her eyes.
She licked her lips slowly.
"Tell me, boy," Astarte said, "why do you have this scent... and a bloodline that only a Demon Lord should possess?"
Her hand lifted to his face.
Long, dark nails traced along his cheek, a playful caress that still drew a thin line across his skin. A single drop of blood slid down from the scratch.
"And why," Astarte added, her voice dropping, "do you smell so good?"
Her pupils dilated.
"I just want to eat you right here and now," Astarte whispered.
Arthur swallowed despite himself.
He gathered what remained of his courage.
"Are you... a Demon Lord?" Arthur asked.
Astarte smiled.
"Bingo," Astarte said. "My name is Astarte. The one who rules Death."
She dropped her hand from his face and gestured around them.
"And this," Astarte said, "is my territory. You have stepped into it."
Arthur followed her gesture.
His eyes moved back to the massive tree in the distance.
Its trunk was cracked and darkened in places. Its roots stretched across the battlefield like veins, but many of them were blackened, rotting from within. The faint aura of life that still clung to it was being overwhelmed by a creeping darkness.
Understanding settled in his chest like ice.
’So that’s it,’ Arthur thought. ’That’s why the elves here are so weak. She’s corrupting the World Tree... their main source of power.’
Astarte tapped his nose lightly with one finger.
"You just thought something rude, didn’t you?" Astarte said.
Arthur shook his head quickly.
’Yeah, no way I’m admitting that,’ he thought.
Before either of them could say more, a broken, strangled sob drifted through the air.
Both Arthur and Astarte turned.
Sakura knelt on the ground, clutching Bobby’s corpse to her chest, her shoulders shaking. Tears ran down her face, dripping onto the boy’s unmoving skin. She held him tightly, as if she could somehow keep his body from growing cold.
Astarte watched her.
She smiled faintly.
"That boy ruined my fun," Astarte said. "He stepped in between the battle of you two."
Her black eyes flicked toward Arthur.
"Did he think he could play the hero?" Astarte asked. "Saving the heroine?"
Her smile sharpened.
"Didn’t he deserve to die for that?" she asked lightly.
Arthur didn’t hesitate.
"Yes, of course he did," Arthur said, nodding vigorously.
The truth was rude.
But it was also simple.
Sakura’s expression changed.
Her tears stopped mid-fall. Rage rushed in to fill the emptiness, burning away her grief for a moment. She stared at Astarte, her eyes bloodshot, her lips twisting into a snarl.
Her fingers closed around her bow.
"That’s enough," Sakura hissed.
Mana surged around her, wild and uncontrolled, but powerful. She formed an arrow of pure energy, nocked it, and pulled the string back with all her strength.
The magic compressed.
"Die, you bitch!" Sakura screamed.
She released.
The arrow howled through the air, a streaking spear of dark energy tearing through everything in its path. It cut through bones, split the air, and flew straight toward Astarte with enough power to obliterate anything it struck.
Astarte didn’t move.
She watched the incoming attack with mild interest.
Then, at the last second, she smiled.
The arrow hit.
For an instant, the impact kicked up dust and shockwaves around her, but when they cleared—
She was still standing.
The attack had done nothing.
It was like watching a rock strike a mountain.
"That tickled a bit," Astarte said.
Sakura’s eyes widened.
She felt something.
A strange hollowness.
Her bow slipped from her fingers.
She looked down.
There was a gaping hole in her chest.
Her eyes shook with disbelief as blood poured from the wound, splattering onto Bobby’s body, dyeing his clothes an even darker crimson.
She coughed—once, twice—vomiting blood onto the ground.
’So... it was hopeless from the beginning...’ Sakura thought. ’I’m sorry... Bobby...’
Her body collapsed, falling beside the boy she had tried so desperately to protect.
Arthur took a deep gulp.
He hadn’t even seen Astarte attack.
One moment, Sakura had been alive.
The next, she was dead.
He turned his gaze back to the Demon Lord.
"Is there any possibility," Arthur asked slowly, "that you’ll let me leave alive?"
Astarte tilted her head, considering him.
"Sorry, boy," Astarte said, shaking her head. "But you will also die."
She smiled almost kindly as she continued.
"You possess a fragment of a Demon Lord," Astarte said. "And the path you’re pursuing is too dangerous for us."
Her eyes darkened.
"A demon like you should never be born," Astarte said. "One with the powers of a Daemon... No one should stand above us Demon Lords. The path you’re pursuing is too dangerous."
Arthur felt his heartbeat steady.
’She found out.’
He drew in a deep breath.
"Okay," Arthur said. "One final question."
Astarte raised an eyebrow.
"What is it?" Astarte asked.
"Do you know Aiden Nexaris?" Arthur asked.
For the first time, Astarte’s expression cracked.
Her eyes widened.
Just a little.
But Arthur saw it.
And smiled.
An instant later, his heart exploded.
A hole tore through his chest from the inside, blood bursting out. His vision blurred; pain flared white-hot, then dulled as his nerves began to fail. He swayed, feeling his body grow distant.
His eyes flicked toward Bobby’s dead body one last time.
’System...’ Arthur thought.
Everything went dark as his body hit the ground, cold.
---
Meanwhile, outside the tomb in Elvania, the world held its breath.
Crowds packed the front of the ancient structure, nobles and commoners alike gathered in anxious clusters. Massive holographic screens floated above the city and the capital plaza, relaying images from the trial’s conclusion.
The host stepped forward—a court announcer in formal robes—and raised a hand for silence.
"The trial is over," he declared, his voice amplified. "Our ancestors, who have watched over us, have finally made their will known."
The screens flickered before stabilizing.
A clear image appeared.
Erica stood in the ruins of a stone chamber, breathing heavily, her clothes torn and dust-stained. Her silver hair clung to her face with sweat, and her blue eyes were tired but still shone with determination.
Sprawled on the ground before her was Freya Valtor—Dominic’s granddaughter.
Freya lay unconscious, her weapon knocked aside, completely defeated.
Around them, several other candidates lay in similar states, some conscious but unable to stand, others knocked out cold. Their guards kept a respectful distance now, their earlier hostility gone.
The moment they realized their lords had been defeated, the guards withdrew from the trial, backing off as their masters yielded.
Among those guards was Olivia.
She stood near one of the fallen contenders, her expression unreadable. She had joined the trial not because she cared about the throne, but to keep Arthur in check—to monitor him until Sakura’s plan was carried out.
Now, her eyes were not on Erica or Freya.
They were fixed on the tomb entrance, waiting.
’Sakura... Bobby...’ Olivia thought. ’I hope you guys are safe.’
For everyone else, the image on the screen told a simple story.
Erica had proven herself.
She had defeated the other candidates with her own strength, including the granddaughter of the Grand Elder, before the entire kingdom.
When Erica finally emerged from the tomb, the entrance was crowded with elven guards.
Some carried their injured masters out on stretchers, their faces pale and bandaged. Others supported the walking wounded. Freya was brought out as well, unconscious but alive.
Erica stepped into the open air.
The sunlight hit her face.
She blinked.
She immediately looked around.
Her gaze swept over the crowd, the soldiers, the nobles, the priests waiting to speak, and the healers ready to move forward.
She searched for black hair and crimson eyes.
For Arthur.
He was nowhere to be seen.
Her heart skipped a beat.
A royal commander stepped forward before she could dwell on it.
He was a tall elf with short dark-green hair and sharp golden eyes. His armor was ornate but functional, polished to a mirror shine, with the emblem of Elvania engraved on his chestplate. A dark cloak fell from his shoulders, edged with silver thread.
He knelt on one knee before Erica.
"By the will of our ancestors," the commander said, his voice ringing out, "and by the undeniable proof of your strength, we hereby acknowledge Erica Lysindra Lunaris as our new queen."
He bowed his head deeply.
One by one, the others followed.
Nobles lowered themselves, pressing their fists to their chests.
Soldiers went down on one knee.
Throughout the city, on every street where the screens floated, people bowed their heads. Some out of duty, some out of genuine relief, and some still uncertain but willing to follow the tide.
Even Dominic, standing outside with his staff, lowered his head toward her.
He, who had doubted her the most, bent the knee.
Yuna and Elizabeth stood a short distance away, watching.
They had fulfilled the instructions Arthur had left them.
Yuna brought her hands together and clapped slowly, a small smile on her lips.
Elizabeth clapped as well, her crimson eyes focused on Erica before shifting to the small green blur above Erica’s head.
Luna the fairy danced on Erica’s hair, spinning in circles with her tiny arms spread wide, laughing joyfully.
Erica smiled too, her eyes beginning to shine with something like hope.
Yuna’s expression softened.
"Where is Arthur...?" Yuna murmured.
Elizabeth shrugged lazily.
"Who knows," Elizabeth said. "Maybe he’ll come out lat—"
She stopped.
Suddenly, a symbol burned across her back.
Heat lanced through her skin like molten iron. Elizabeth gritted her teeth as her body doubled over in pain. For a second, she nearly fell to her knees.
Yuna turned to her at once.
"Elizabeth?" Yuna said sharply. "What’s happening? Are you all right?"
Elizabeth’s breaths came in ragged pants.
Yuna moved quickly, unfastening a few clasps at the back of Elizabeth’s dress to see the source of the pain.
What she saw made her breath hitch.
On Elizabeth’s back, a massive slave mark—a cursed symbol—was fading.
Bit by bit.
The dark lines that had bound her for so long were disintegrating, dissolving into nothing. The chains etched into her very soul were breaking, one after another.
Elizabeth could feel it too.
She felt something snapping inside her, like shackles that had been there forever suddenly falling away. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, her existence felt... light.
A single cold realization settled into her mind.
A sharp smile grew on her lips.
"It seems," Elizabeth murmured under her breath, "my dear master is finally dead."
The words were soft.
But they struck Yuna like a hammer.
Yuna’s legs gave out.
She fell to both knees, her eyes widening as her thoughts scattered.
’Dead...?’ Yuna thought. ’Arthur...?’
Erica, noticing the strange commotion amid the kneeling crowd, immediately ran toward them, her skirts and cloak swishing around her legs.
She reached Yuna’s side.
"What’s happening, Yuna? Are you all right?" Erica asked, her voice tight with worry.
Yuna didn’t answer.
Elizabeth straightened.
The pain was still there, but it was fading, replaced by an unfamiliar sense of freedom. The mark on her back continued to vanish, piece by piece.
Elizabeth smiled.
A real smile.
Not lazy.
Not mocking.
Just... free.
She lifted her head and stared up at the sky.
No chains.
No orders.
For the first time in a very long time—
She belonged only to herself.
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