Chapter 75: I Should Be Grateful?

"But why did he take that path? Why did he bring the sword hilt to Moriel? That path was specifically left by Akibard for the acting guild leader who has completed the True Meditation."

"I don't know, and I don't care to speculate. I only know that the one who has lifted the Black Star has finally appeared, and our journey has come to an end. This is the fate of those of us who have guarded destiny from above. We can only observe, wait, and then accept fate." Shante replied indifferently, his voice still dry, devoid of joy or sorrow. "That's why I wanted to come up here and take a look."

Stephen fell silent. The two necromancers gazed at the Black Star atop the altar. The howling gales remained fierce, and the two elders stood like statues atop the towering peak of this lifeless mountain range.

The Necromancer Guild was established by Akibard to protect this relic, and it was through the energy of this artifact that he founded necromantic magic. The guild, the magic, and the necromancers themselves all existed because of this sword.

"Was what Lord Akibard said truly… an inescapable fate?" After an unknown amount of time, Stephen finally spoke.

Shante, who had been gazing at the Black Star, furrowed what little remained of his brows and turned his eyes toward Stephen. He said flatly, "You are neither like Aiden and Nimbras, those foolish clowns who don't know when to advance or retreat, nor do you have Sandru's reckless and impulsive nature. Even you cannot face fate head-on?"

"It's not that I don't dare to face it. At our age and status, what is there that we would still fear facing?" Stephen said calmly. After a brief moment of daze, his eyes remained clear and sharp. "I simply… doubt it."

"Doubt it?"

Stephen did not respond. Dehya Valley was his creation, as was necromantic magic—this genius mage had invented it all. Everything about necromancers existed because of him. For a necromancer to doubt Akibard was as unthinkable as someone within the Church doubting the Lord above.

But faith does not always mean devotion, and devotion does not always mean sincerity. Shante understood this well. Necromancers were certainly far-sighted and wise, but their minds were not so easily dulled by faith or prophecy. He spoke slowly, "Even if you doubt it, it does not change anything. The moment he took up the sword hilt and merged with its energy, the aura that emanated from his body resonated with the mark of the Black Star within me. I nearly found myself kneeling before him."

"It was then that I understood—if he were to truly lift the Black Star, whether we willed it or not, the marks of the Black Star within us would compel us to submit to him, just as my Dread Knights are bound to my will. When we became necromancers, accepted the mark of the Black Star, and earned the right to live in the Spiral Shadow Mountains and Dehya Valley, we had already accepted our fate. This is fact; there is no room for doubt."

"I see… So this submission is not a matter of persuasion or decree, but an undeniable reality." Stephen let out a bitter smile, but soon shook his head and continued. "But that is not what I am doubting. I am doubting Lord Akibard himself. Perhaps not everything has gone according to his foresight."

"Oh? What do you mean?"

"At the very least, the path meant only for the acting guild leader was instead taken by that boy. Lord Akibard did not foresee that. Or rather, he may not have foreseen that boy's arrival at all."

Shante was silent for a while, then nodded. "Lord Akibard was a man, not a god. There is no reason to believe he could have predicted everything that would happen five hundred years later."

"And yet, it is this unexpected boy who has taken up the Black Star… and set foot on a path that was never meant for him."

Shante neither spoke nor showed any reaction; he simply listened quietly to Stephen's words.

"The most important thing is, I truly don't understand what exactly Lord Akibard intended. He left behind True Meditation, the Robe of the Ghost King, and even prophesied that the one who draws the Black Star will become the Necromancer King… But he never actually said that necromancers should be the ones to pull the Black Star from its place."

"Clarity and detachment have always been about being free of desires. True necromancers would never seek to become some so-called Necromancer King. Only fools like Aiden, or lunatics like Vadenina, would entertain such thoughts. Though, in these five hundred years, there have been plenty of such fools and madmen—all of whom ultimately perished trying to force their way through True Meditation." Shante spoke lightly, his eyes narrowing slightly as if recalling something. Then he chuckled. "Heh, decades ago, I nearly went mad myself…"

"The path you guard leads to Moriel, but that isn't the only way to reach the black dragon. Almost every acting guild leader has gone to inspect the seal at some point. Why is it that only those who have mastered True Meditation are allowed to take that path?"

Shante gave him a glance and replied coolly, "Didn't expect you to be such a restless one. Does digging into this really matter?"

"I'm just curious," Stephen said with a faint smile.

"After your trip to the Far East, it seems your head is filled with some strange ideas."

Stephen only kept smiling, saying nothing more.

"Soon, you won't have to be curious anymore. That boy should have already reached Moriel. What is meant to happen will happen—we just need to watch in silence."

"Hmm… perhaps." Stephen nodded, his gaze fixed on the sword standing within the swirling black mist. He said no more. After a long moment, he turned and walked back the way he came.

The countless obsidian steps stretched like a thin, winding thread along the mountain's massive body, extending from the summit all the way down to the foot of the mountain. Stephen's strides were long, and before long, he had become nothing more than a tiny, insignificant dot upon that thin line.

"The acting guild leader of the Necromancer's Guild broke the hilt of the Black Star? And he even guided you to hand the hilt over to me? What's wrong with Akibard's little protégés? Five hundred years isn't that long, is it? The Necromancer's Guild, which only the most brilliant and talented could enter… The necromancers he claimed would always remain clear-minded and detached… What happened to them? Even the sword's hilt has ended up in someone else's hands? What an embarrassment."

Moriel looked at Asa, laughing as if she were an adult watching a child do something ridiculously foolish.

Her laughter boomed like the trumpeting of a hundred elephants, so loud that Asa almost couldn't resist covering his ears.

He felt dizzy—not just from the sheer volume of her laughter. Moriel's reaction, the reason she laughed, her words… everything only made his already confused mind spiral further into uncertainty.

"The nature of dragons… and the grudge sealed away by Akibard… That's why they all assume I will accept the Black Star? Do they really understand that thing better than I do? And how much do they actually know about what happened between Akibard and me? They revere him like some untouchable god, but why do they never consider that he, too, could play tricks?"

A mocking tone crept into Moriel's laughter. Her ancient, awe-inspiring yet bizarre face loomed closer to Asa, and she enunciated every word slowly.

"And you? How much do you know? You, the noble young man who wants to save the world and end all conflicts."

Asa didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. He didn't even know what to think. His mind felt like a muddled mess, no better than a lump of paste.

Grandma Ail hadn't lied to him. But she had been wrong. Though he still didn't understand everything, he now knew that Moriel was far from the solution he had hoped for.

All his efforts, all his hopes—nothing but illusions. Even the rage he had felt when Lancelot took the hilt from him now seemed laughable, like a puppet show staged for fools.

"How amusing… Humans are just too amusing. Arrogant little insects…"

Moriel was still laughing. Her thunderous voice burst from her petite body like tidal waves, crashing into Asa's ears, hammering into his heart, and pounding against the fragile walls of his already strained psyche.

"Shut the hell up!" Asa suddenly roared. His eyes were bloodshot, locked onto the red-haired woman before him. Overwhelming disappointment, confusion, and the feeling of being mocked and toyed with poured onto his suppressed fury like bucket after bucket of oil—until it finally erupted.

Moriel did indeed stop laughing at once. Her voice ceased as she looked at Asa, her gaze sharp, and she enunciated each word slowly:

"And what if I don't?"

Asa fell silent. There was nothing he could do.

"Getting this far proves you're not completely stupid. You should understand that when I say killing you is pointless, it doesn't mean I can't kill you." Moriel's tone remained calm, devoid of any killing intent, just as it had been when she slaughtered those minotaurs.

Asa took a deep breath, forcing down the rage that had momentarily flared up. Then he spoke, his voice steady:

"All I know is that if I hadn't come, or if I had stood by and done nothing, you'd already be dead."

"You mean I should be grateful?" Moriel chuckled again, her smile regaining that cold, utterly unkind edge. "Forcing human morals and values onto other creatures—that is the most self-righteous trait of your kind."

"Didn't you say you would thank me?" Asa replied stiffly.