WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Natty

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◈ The Regressor and the Blind Saintess ◈

Chapter 21: The End of the White Night - 3

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Dragonian Peshe felt their heart plummet with a Thud. at the sight before them.

Their comrade, their kin, was dying with their head severed.

It was an unreal sight.

The scales that were their race's pride, and the hide beneath them, were splitting apart before that unremarkable iron sword.

The sword's edge should have chipped first. Peshe could not understand why their kin's scales were breaking instead.

Thud.

Their kin's head fell to the ground. It rolled toward Peshe, its face still twisted in fury, unaware of its own death.

Creak. Creak.

Peshe slowly raised their head.

At the end of their gaze stood the stranger who had done this to their kin.

A human. One of the short-lived races.

A robe pulled low over the figure's face. Beneath it, pale skin and shadowed eyes were visible.

At first glance, those eyes seemed listless. But anyone who looked closer would find a terrifyingly savage presence roiling within them.

Peshe recognized that short-lived one's identity at once.

It would have been stranger not to.

Ash-gray divine power blanketed the entire area. Unknown rules were inscribed over it in gold.

And those rules carried an undeniable force of compulsion.

It was not magic. It was not sorcery. It was not even mystery.

How could Peshe not know? The blessing engraved in their dragon blood made it clear in an instant.

...Authority.

And Peshe knew what that meant as well.

An Apostle.

The gods' closest servant.

The most glorious seeker.

The demigods who had upheld for over a thousand years the nation called the Holy Kingdom, formed by a population of barely ten thousand.

An Apostle had come here.

That fact alone told Peshe many things.

The Saintess was here. That Apostle must have come to receive her. Their chief had not been wrong.

Then a thought drove itself into Peshe's mind like an obvious truth.

I will die.

Peshe and their kin would all die here, without exception.

It was not a conclusion reached through thought. It was a conclusion born of instinct.

Their body trembled. Their breathing quickened. Their vision shook.

Stagger.

...Even their feet retreated on their own.

Peshe gritted their teeth and tried to control their body, but even that was not easy.

Vengeance for their kin, their race's long-held wish, such secondary matters were fading from their mind.

Their thoughts narrowed to a single point, doing everything they could to summon only one emotion.

Fear.

The moment Peshe met the Apostle, the moment they saw those savage eyes, fear crushed their entire body.

Even after barely gathering their reason and judging their strength, the conclusion did not change.

Their body was stronger than ever. It overflowed with such vitality that Peshe doubted it was truly their own body.

It must have been an effect of the rules carved into the sky.

But it did not promise victory.

Their body might have grown stronger, but they had no magic. They had no spell capable of stopping that blade or piercing the Apostle's heart.

Peshe knew why Dragonians were called a higher race. It was only because the Parent Dragon's blessing flowed through their blood.

Without it, even a Dragonian with immense strength was no more than a beast.

Then another option came to mind.

Escape.

But that, too, was impossible.

Peshe's group should have been faster. Their bodies overflowed with vitality, and there was still distance between them and the Apostle. Yet Peshe was certain that the moment they chose to flee, a sword would come flying into their back.

The Apostle's composure proved it.

The conclusion Peshe reached through reason only made the fear weighing on their heart bloom into despair.

Their teeth clenched again. Every muscle in their body tensed.

Peshe looked toward the kin who were still alive.

Their eyes shook with unease.

Through those gazes, Peshe realized that every one of their kin standing here had reached the same conclusion.

The atmosphere grew tense.

Then the Apostle opened his mouth.

“Aren't you coming?”

It sounded like the cry of a beast.

That was the first thought that came to Peshe upon hearing the Apostle's voice.

Peshe flinched and looked at the Apostle. Seeing the faint smile on his face, rage rose from deep within them.

Their long-held wish was before them. Behind that Apostle stood the salvation that would bring glory to their race.

Yet what was this pathetic state?

Rage was followed by shame, then self-loathing.

“...My kin.”

Their voice trembled more than it ever had before. More than when they first saw the shadow of the Parent Dragon.

Their kin turned toward Peshe. Meeting their gazes, Peshe forced out a shout.

“For our long-held wish!!!”

Thud!

Peshe stepped forward. Their kin followed.

The smile on the Apostle's lips deepened. Despair rose in Peshe again at that sight, but they cast the feeling aside and reached for the Apostle's neck.

It was the movement of a desperate struggle.

A pitiful movement.

And a movement that would never reach him.

The Apostle raised his sword.

He lifted it only when Peshe's hand was nearly at his neck.

That belated sword severed Peshe's wrist.

Slice.

It was a sound that seemed more fitting to describe as ringing inside their head rather than in their ears.

Their vision stretched endlessly. The sounds they heard stretched as well.

Peshe's eyes widened as if they would tear apart while they watched their wrist being cut away before them. Their lips moved soundlessly.

After an instant that felt like eternity, Peshe returned to reality and felt pain that seemed to set their entire body ablaze.

“Gaaaahhh!”

* * *

Vera's heart pounded violently. Every sensation in his body sharpened. Sparks of electricity constantly flashed through his mind.

A wide smile stretched across Vera's face at a sensation he had not felt in a very long time.

A hand aimed for his left chest.

Teeth sought to tear apart his ankle.

Vera deflected them with minimal movement, then swung his sword in a long arc and severed the neck of a Dragonian crawling across the ground.

The sensation of cutting flesh and splitting bone traveled up his arm and into his spine. That feeling climbed his spine and spread through his mind, stirring his ecstasy once more.

Slice.

A chilling sound rang out, and a fountain of blood burst from the cleanly severed neck.

“Gyaaaah!”

Another scream followed.

It came from the Dragonian that had aimed for his heart moments ago.

Vera turned toward the sound. Sure enough, a Dragonian stood there with a face filled with rage and despair.

For some reason, that sight pleased Vera. He spoke in a voice brimming with amusement.

“Don't take it too hard. I'll send you to join them soon.”

Yellow pupils turned toward Vera. The light in them took the shape of rage.

The Dragonian charged again.

This time, Vera did not avoid it.

He tightened his muscles. He leaned his upper body back. He gripped his sword with both hands.

The moment the Dragonian came within reach, Vera swung his sword with all his strength.

Crack!

It was the sound of his sword grating against bone.

The sword passed through the outstretched fingertips, arm, shoulder, chest, and waist before sailing through the air again. The Dragonian fell to the ground, split in two.

Splat.

The sound of torn flesh striking the dirt rang out, followed by footsteps.

It was an ambush aimed at his back.

Sensing it, Vera spun around and swung his sword again. The blade swept cleanly through the ambushing Dragonian's neck.

Slice.

The Dragonian's head spun through the air before falling into Vera's view.

Vera watched it drop and continued his thought.

...Now.

One remained.

A long breath escaped Vera's lips. His eyes turned toward the surviving Dragonian.

At one corner of the clearing, a Dragonian with a severed wrist crawled across the ground.

The Dragonian choked out ragged breaths as they kept crawling, clearly trying to escape.

Vera let out a hollow Tsk of laughter and slowly approached.

“You call that acceptable? All your kin are dying in battle, and you're the only one running away. That's not very loyal of you.”

His tone was thick with mockery.

At Vera's words, the Dragonian's body jerked. Slowly, they turned their head toward him.

“Khk... Kgh...”

Moisture shimmered in their yellow pupils. Tears streamed down their dirt-streaked face, leaving crooked trails behind.

A face covered in fear.

The moment Vera saw it.

Jolt.

Vera stopped.

A sense of deja vu washed over him.

The mind that had burned as though it would melt cooled in an instant.

Those eyes, that face covered in fear as it looked at him, were far too familiar.

They were the eyes of those who had looked at him in his previous life.

The Vera of that time was reflected in those eyes.

The reason that returned to him too late stole away his ecstasy.

A question rose in his mind.

...What am I doing?

It was a question he asked himself.

A question for the self that had become excited at the sight of blood and once again wielded a beast's sword as he had before.

His empty left hand brushed across his face, and thick blood smeared over it.

A sticky, unpleasant sensation.

“S-Spare... me!”

Even as the plea reached him, Vera swung his sword again and cut off the Dragonian's head.

Slice.

The sensation of his sword cutting through flesh was the same as before, but this time there was no pleasure.

Vera looked around.

Chunks of flesh lay scattered in grotesque shapes. Pools of blood had gathered everywhere. And he stood among them.

At that moment, Vera felt as though he had returned to his previous life.

Not one bit...

I have not changed.

He had realized how lacking he was. He had been preparing to change.

He had consoled himself that way, but once battle began, just as in his previous life, he had become intoxicated with nothing more than swinging his sword.

His eyes turned to his left hand. The blood clinging to his red-stained palm held an endless heat.

Feeling that heat, Vera resumed his thoughts.

The sword I wielded...

Was it truly a sword meant to protect?

Clench.

His fist tightened.

...It was wrong.

The sword he had wielded moments ago was a sword meant to kill. A sword meant only to tear his opponent apart. A sword meant to provoke the ecstasy that rose as he tore them apart.

Suddenly, Rene's face appeared in Vera's mind.

He remembered how happy he had been at believing he had taken a few steps closer to her.

...I am lacking.

He was terribly inadequate.

He was far too inadequate to stand at her side, to protect Rene.

He had been mistaken.

He had thought that he stood at her side, that he had come this far and grown.

Suddenly, it felt as though a stone had dropped into his chest.

Vera grimaced and exhaled as if he were vomiting at the crushing feeling inside him.

...Still.

I am still wielding a beast's sword.

Vera only realized it once he raised his sword, once he faced an enemy.

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