Grimgal of Ashes and Illusion - Volume 17 - Chapter SS

#1 Thanks to You, I...

He stood before a white stone on a hill in the middle of a rainstorm that was heavy, but not too unbearable.

He wasn’t alone. There was a line of men and women wearing white capes behind him.

“It’s like the sky is crying...” one of them said. He turned to look for whoever it was, but soon gave up. It could have been any of them. He didn’t care. But then why had he turned around?

The white stone bore a crescent moon and a name.

Kimura.

His clan, Orion, had lost five people taking Mt. Grief. The priest Kimura and the warrior Matsuyagi had fallen in the battle against the Lich King. The thief Tsuguta had fought to open the gate, but died there. Then the hunter Uragawa and the mage Tomida had been caught in the crossfire when Sir Unchain sent in Dark to support the detached force.

As he looked at the five stones in front of him, he wondered what the hell he was doing.

The battle was over. Their detachment had only lost five people, all members of Orion. The main force had lost seventy members of the Frontier Army. But the thirty members of Orion under Hayashi were all safe, and between the Wild Angels, Iron Knuckle, and the Berserkers, only three volunteer soldiers had died.

The operation had been a success. They hadn’t been able to wipe out the remnants of the Southern Expedition, who had been holed up in the old castle, but they had managed to dislodge them. Zan Dogran and the orcs had retreated to the north, while the kobolds were fleeing back to the Cyrene Mines. It wasn’t clear what the undead were doing, but the speculation was that the majority had gone with Zan Dogran.

Five people dead. It was a painful loss, but not outside the realm of expectation. He hadn’t believed for a second that they would take the castle without losing anyone. Someone in Orion might die. Or someone in another clan. The only death that had to be avoided at all costs was his own. So long as he didn’t die, there was no problem.

His wish had been granted.

What was he doing in front of these dead people’s graves?

Intellectually, he understood it. This was a necessary ceremony. His comrades had died. Five of them. The dead needed to be mourned. He needed to make a show of grieving their loss, so he’d brought his comrades who had not died, buried the dead, and given something of a eulogy for them. What had he said? He didn’t really remember now. Some of the members were still weeping or putting arms around one another’s shoulders, so whatever it was must have been appropriate.

I’m done. I’ve had enough of this. To be honest, if there’s one thing I hate about losing comrades, it’s the need to mourn them afterward. It’s depressing. Once they’re dead, they’re gone. What reason is there to think about someone who doesn’t even exist? Sadness. Grief. What could be more pointless?

“I’m sorry,” he said without turning to face his comrades. “Could you give me some time alone?”

He couldn’t say, You’re depressing, so beat it already.

His comrades left. Their one saving grace was that they did whatever he told them to. Of course, that was how he’d taught them to be. What good were comrades if he couldn’t make them move as he would his own hands and feet anyway? They’d only be a liability.

He waited until his comrades were totally out of sight.

A quick scan of the hill around him. No sign of anyone. He ran his fingers through his rain-drenched hair, sighing.

“You really went and did it this time...” Why did he even say that?

He looked at the grave marker.

“Kimura. I never thought you’d die protecting me. That was stupid.”

Kimura must have known he was only being used. They were using each other, though when you boil it down, isn’t that what friendship is? It was easy to picture Kimura saying that. In that fake polite tone of his. With that creepy laugh. Kimura had kept others at a distance with feigned eccentricity, all while carefully monitoring them. He’d been uniquely perceptive. When handled properly, Kimura had been useful.

“I had planned to get a lot more work out of you still. Fool that you were, you were genuinely concerned for me. I’m sure you would have done things I didn’t plan on. Gained access to information I never could. But if I asked, you would always tell me. You were still useful. It’s utterly stupid that you died. Died protecting me. Did you think I was in need of your protection? I know, hindsight is always twenty-twenty. But I could have blocked it. Because I have relics. The shield of protection, Guardian. And the decapitating blade, Beheader. It’s always relics that are the key.”

He looked toward the Forbidden Tower.

“Sir Unchain. Ainrand Leslie. The...person, if you can call him that, who possesses more relics than anyone in Grimgar. One of the five princes, confidants of the No-Life King, who was said to be undying yet is supposed to have been killed. He even had that huge, flying kite-like relic. Relics. Relics. Relics. He gathers relics, and manipulates his comrades with them. Well, I have no intention of being that demon’s thrall. The monster will try to use me, and I will use the monster too. In a way, we’re equals. But not really. In the end, as far as that abomination is concerned, both relics and humans are only tools to be used. It’s the relics that are important. Kimura. Foolish Kimura. This is all thanks to you. If only I could say that. But you died in vain. Even if you hadn’t died, I would have gotten my hands on it.”

He opened his right hand which he’d been clenching all this time.

A ring sat in his palm.

The band and prongs were made of a slightly reddish metal. It might have been an alloy of gold and something else. The stone in the prongs looked almost like a pearl, but at the same time it was clear. Only the very center was clouded, shimmering endlessly. When he looked into that impurity, he felt drawn in and wanted to turn away. But he couldn’t take his eyes off it.

“You know, the whole time, I thought it was the gauntlet too. Who would have imagined otherwise, right?”

The Lich King had turned to dust, leaving behind the clothes he was wearing, his shoes, crown, scepter, and golden gauntlet.

He’d had his eyes on the gauntlet, drawn to a certain special quality it seemed to have. This was something he’d heard from Ainrand Leslie: Every relic had its own signature energy. No matter what effect or power it manifested, that energy would always be present.

Ainrand Leslie called that energy “Elixir.” There was even apparently a relic that could measure Elixir.

Did Elixir power relics? Or did their creation cause it to gather around them? Whatever the case, in the broadest of terms, the more powerful the relic, the greater its Elixir. Disposable relics would lose their Elixir after being used. If the Elixir was removed somehow, a relic would be turned into just another object with no power at all.

Once a person had been in contact with a number of relics, they started to be able to tell when something was one. Humans probably had the ability to sense Elixir. He only got a vague sense that something was off about them, but other people saw them emitting light or smelled them giving off a particular scent.

“I was so sure it was the gauntlet...”

He’d lifted up the gauntlet, trying to get a sense of its weight. He’d brought it to his face, scrutinizing it closely. He’d even sniffed it. And yet, he hadn’t detected what he was looking for. It had to be the gauntlet. But something was wrong. Something was different. As he tried to determine what was so off, he’d slowly turned the gauntlet around, shaking it, and there was a sound. Something moving inside the gauntlet. Was that it?

Oh, I see. It wasn’t the golden gauntlet. It was inside it.

Just as he’d been about to fish it out, Renji had asked, “What are you planning to do with that?”

Renji also thought the gauntlet was the relic. But that wasn’t all. Renji saw through him. Saw he was trying to take the relic for himself. With this limitless power, the king who did not sleep, even in death, had formed soldiers from sand and bone, reigning over the Graveyard for a time too long to contemplate. Or rather, it was this power that had kept the king from sleeping even in death. It was as if Renji saw that his goal all along had been to acquire that relic.

He’s too dangerous, he decided. How much does Renji know? I’m not sure. But I can’t push things forward too forcefully while a man like Renji is suspicious of me. He’s experienced and will soon be on the same level as Souma or Akira. I’d rather not end up in a situation where I need him eliminated.

“I put on a little act. I was always good at that. I’m pretty much always acting, after all.”

He’d destroyed the gauntlet as Renji watched. There’d been a risk he would destroy the relic inside it too. But he knew it wasn’t that large, probably a ring that the Lich King had been wearing under the gauntlet. Based on where the sound had come from, it had most likely been on his middle or ring finger. That was what gave him the idea. He was confident he could pull it off. And he did.

“That’s right... Your death wasn’t in vain, Kimura. Because you died, I was able to do that in a fit of anger. Thanks to you, I was able to put on a convincing act. One full of passion. Under the guise of sorrow, I was able to acquire this ring.”

He gripped the ring tightly in his hand and smiled.

“Rejoice, Kimura. This is all thanks to you.”