Chapter 370: The Story After (2) [Side Story, Part 2]

The fairy chieftain spoke in a calm, patient tone as he faced Ketal. “The spring of Myst was burned away. It evaporated completely. Lady Serena gathered as much of its essence as she could from the air, but even so, it is far from enough to restore the spring. So we will perform a special process. Please, come this way.”

He led Ketal to the place where the spring had once stood. Now there was only a hollow, a cleanly scooped-out pit where water had once shone. The stone at the bottom was bare and scorched. Floating at the center of the emptiness hung a single black sphere, no larger than a human fist.

“May I touch it?” Ketal asked the chieftain as he studied it with interest.

“You may handle it freely, so long as it does not leave the spring’s bounds,” the chieftain said.

“All right.” Ketal reached out. He lifted the sphere with both hands, then let out a quiet breath. “It is heavy.”

“You can lift it with your hands...” the chieftain murmured, unable to hide his astonishment.

The sphere’s size hardly reached that of a clenched fist, yet an extreme concentration of Myst had been compressed within. Its density was absurd, thousands of times greater than a lump of gold of the same volume.

Placed carelessly, its mere weight could have collapsed the stone beneath it and shattered the ground. To see someone pick it up in one hand—once more, the chieftain found himself shocked by Ketal’s strength.

“This is an artifact formed from our tears,” the chieftain said quietly. “We poured all our grief and longing into it. Now we must place the essence Lady Serena gathered into the artifact and compress it again.”

“To what degree?” Ketal asked him.

“It must be reduced to the size of a small seed,” the chieftain answered.

“Is that truly possible?” he asked him, stroking his chin.

“It will be very difficult,” the chieftain said with a bitter smile.

The artifact was already compressed to the edge of what they believed the material world could bear. To compress it again would be to challenge the very limits of density. Even the fairies, who could shape Myst as easily as humans shaped clay, had found no method to make it smaller.

“We consulted the Tower Master,” the chieftain continued. “His reply was that it would not be easy. The difficulty is high, and he has many matters that demand his attention, so he suggested postponing this for later.”

If even the Tower Master could not give a definite solution, then the path ahead was steep. The revival of the spring might take decades. Even so, the chieftain’s expression did not darken.

Time was all that stood in their way. If they kept working and searching, they would succeed someday. Their spring could be restored. That alone was enough to fill him with quiet hope. He bowed deeply to Ketal.

“Thank you, Champion,” he said. “You helped us purely out of goodwill, without asking for anything in return. On the honor of the fairies, we will never forget this grace.”

Ketal did not answer. He was not listening to the words at all. His eyes were fixed on the black sphere in his hands, his expression bright with curiosity. The chieftain faltered.

“C–Champion?” he asked Ketal carefully.

“I have a question,” Ketal said. “All you need is for this sphere to be compressed to the size of a seed. Is that correct? There is no special ritual or technique that must be used?”

“Oh. No,” the chieftain said, blinking. “The artifact itself is complete. We simply have not found a way to compress it further. The method does not matter. As long as it becomes small enough, the spring will be able to grow again.”

“Then that is good news,” Ketal said. A slow grin spread across his face. “I will take care of it for you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Serena,” Ketal called. “If you would.”

“I am here,” Serena answered.

She understood what he intended without further explanation and placed the gathered essence in his hand. Ketal guided the shimmering essence into the heart of the black sphere.

“C–Champion?” the chieftain stammered.

“Please stand back,” Ketal said. “It would be better if you gave me some room.”

He took hold of the sphere with both hands and tightened his grip. A deep hum rolled out. The vibration spread like a shockwave. The chieftain slid backward before he could brace himself, and all of Pisaraphia’s holy ground began to tremble.

“Wh-what?”

“Did you feel that?”

Fairies who had been rejoicing over the restoration work froze in midair, startled. They darted toward the source of the disturbance, wings beating fast, and then every eye went wide.

“Ah...,” someone breathed.

Ketal stood at the center of the empty spring, both hands closed around the black sphere. He was pressing it. He was trying to compress the artifact with nothing but strength.

“It cannot be,” another fairy whispered.

That sphere contained Myst compressed to its extreme limit. It weighed a thousand times more than a golden orb of the same size. Now the goal was to crush it down to something as small as a seed.

Even with magnificent spellwork and profound Myst, that challenge was daunting. It was the sort of task that would demand decades of research before anyone could even glimpse the possibility of success. To attempt to force it down with raw physical strength alone was impossible. No matter how exalted a Champion Ketal might be, this was beyond reason.

And yet, the sphere began, slowly, to grow smaller. Its volume shrank under sheer physical pressure.

“This is not easy,” Ketal said.

His teeth were bared now, more in effort than in anger. He drew in his Aura, flooding both arms with power, and bore down once more. The air thrummed.

“

Ugh!

”

“

Kyaa!

”

The simple act of compressing the sphere made space itself ripple. Fairies cried out as the shock drove them backward. They tried to wrap themselves in Myst to withstand the force, but it did nothing. The pressure did not strike them directly; it pushed at the fabric of the world.

“My goodness...” The chieftain managed to steady himself. His expression froze in disbelief.

What could not be done with the greatest Myst and most intricate sorcery was being achieved through pure strength. At last, the compression ended.

Ketal relaxed his hands and opened them with a cheerful smile. Resting on his palm was a tiny sphere, no larger than a seed and still dark as night.

“There,” he said. “Is this enough?”

The fairies stared, mouths open, unable to answer.

***

High Elf Queen Karin was, of course, extremely busy.

As one of the few remaining beings in the Mortal Realm who still held the full power of a Hero, she was summoned here and there without rest, called to help mend the wounds of war. In all her decades of life, she had never been so constantly occupied. Even so, no shadow touched her face.

In the end, they had won. Through that terrible calamity, they had endured and emerged alive. Thunder rolled above them, a low echo that marked the close of the storm.

Karin flicked her fingers, and the scorched forest responded. The land here had been burned to ash by demonic power, leaving only blackened soil and charred stumps. Now the air stirred under her will, and countless seeds took flight. They scattered across the ruined woods like a shower of stars.

“This should do,” she said. “All that remains is to wait for the seeds to sprout.”

“Yes, Your Majesty Karin! Thank you!”

“We are in your debt!”

Karin smiled and inclined her head.

“Then I will move on to the next place,” she said. “Everyone, keep up the good work.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

They answered her with bright faces.

“Thanks be to Queen Karin!” someone cried.

“And glory to Champion Ketal!” another voice added.

The cheer rippled outward. At that shout, Karin’s smile turned faintly wry. She let out a small breath. When the work in that region was done, she returned home. A glass of wine before sleep was one of the few small comforts she allowed herself these days.

She stepped through her door and grimaced at once. Someone sat in her favorite rocking chair, long bones folded neatly as the chair creaked back and forth. Karin saw who it was and sighed.

“Tower Master,” she said.

“Hello, Karin. It has been some time,” he replied.

“What brings you here without warning?” she asked him. “I thought you were too busy buried under work to leave the Mage Tower.”

“I escaped,” he said. “Even I require rest.”

“Elian must be rampaging by now,” Karin murmured.

She took the seat opposite him and gave a small wave. A bottle of wine and two glasses drifted over, carried on a gentle wind.

“Will you have a drink?” she asked him.

“That would be welcome,” the Tower Master said. “It has been a while since I tasted elven wine.”

He picked up the glass. The liquid slid between his teeth and vanished into a body composed mostly of bone. Karin watched, fascinated despite having seen it before. Seeing wine disappear into a skeletal torso never quite stopped being strange.

“So,” he said. “Is he enjoying himself?”

“It seems that way,” Karin replied. “I heard he recently revived the spring of Myst in the fairy sanctuary, Pisaraphia.”

“They contacted me as well,” the Tower Master said. “The spell structure needed was complex enough that I pushed the matter down the list.”

“I do not know how he did it,” Karin said, raising her glass. “But they say he solved it with pure strength.”

A short laugh escaped the Tower Master.

“What a crude method,” he said.

“Crude or not, it worked,” Karin replied. “The spring of Myst has returned. Everyone is singing his praises.”

Ketal was the one who had struck down the Demon King and driven out the Primarch. After that, he had wandered the world, helping those in trouble without asking for reward. Wherever the continent had suffered, news had spread that the Champion himself had appeared, and the people had been saved.

The continent’s faith in Ketal now almost rivaled their faith in the gods. Many called him a living saint without hesitation. Of course, those few who knew his true nature were an exception.

“He is probably enjoying himself to the fullest,” Karin said.

“He fills his days with interest and pleasure and receives reverence besides,” the Tower Master replied. “He must be having a wonderful time.”

The being named Ketal moved according to his own curiosity. That was his only principle. He did not move for the sake of others. He moved because he found something enjoyable, and the fact that his actions helped others was merely a side effect of the way his enjoyment aligned with the world’s need.

Karin stretched her arms above her head.

“In the end, that is good for us,” she said. “Everyone wins.”

“Hm.” The Tower Master did not agree aloud.

A peculiar look passed over his empty eye sockets, and he fell silent. Karin tilted her head.

“You look uneasy,” she said.

“Well...,” the Tower Master said slowly. He let the words find their shape. “Ketal moves according to his own interest. Everything he does now, he does because it amuses him.”

“That is true,” Karin agreed.

“If he grows tired of this world, what then?” the Tower Master asked her.

The glass in Karin’s hand stilled.

“You are worried he might turn against the world?” she asked him.

“To him, this world must feel like a treasure vault,” the Tower Master said.

He stepped out of the White Snowfield and met an elf. He learned alchemy, crossed paths with a Swordmaster, and fought demons. He drew the Holy Sword and came face to face with gods. It was a story bright enough to blind.

“But enjoyment fades,” the Tower Master continued. “Stimulation grows dull. If he grows bored with the world as it is and decides to seek a new form of amusement, what then?”

For example, if he were ever to find joy in destruction, the meaning of his story would twist into something unrecognizable.

Karin’s face tightened. “That feels excessive. You worry too much.”

“I have a talent for needless worries,” the Tower Master replied. “It is not impossible.”

“In that case, are you thinking of finding a way to control him?” Karin asked him.

“Hardly,” the Tower Master said at once.

He shook his head, the bones clacking softly.

“I am not so devoid of conscience,” he said. “Without him, this world would already have fallen. Besides, even if I wished to, how would I stop him? There is no one in this world who can.”

Karin gave a crooked smile and nodded. She could not deny that much. The Tower Master swirled the wine in his glass.

“So the most I can do,” he said, “is arrange things so that he does not grow bored.”

By that, he meant preparing new sources of enjoyment in advance, scattering them across the world like seeds. Karin made a noncommittal sound.

“Even so,” she said at last, “I do not think the situation you fear will ever come.”

The Ketal she knew pursued pleasure, yet he was not the sort to step too far over the line. He did not strike her as a man who could delight in wanton destruction. However, she held that thought to herself. There was no need to argue.

“Do as you like,” she said.

If the Tower Master chose to take precautions on his own, she had no reason to stop him. With that, she set the matter aside. The Tower Master’s worries only deepened.

A few days later, Ketal met the Tower Master. When Ketal saw him, his face lit with genuine pleasure.

“Oh! Tower Master! It has been a while. Have you been well?” he asked him.

“I have been living a very busy life,” the Tower Master replied. “It has been long since I last stepped outside. Where is Serena?”

“She is away for a time at the church of the Sun God,” Ketal said. “She had business there.”

A grin curved his lips.

“Our work is the restoration of the land, is it not?” Ketal continued. “Then I look forward to working with you.”

The Tower Master watched him in silence for a brief moment, then spoke.

“As do I,” he said. “Ketal.”