Chapter 668: The Darkest Moment (2)
What…? What is this strange, yet strangely refreshing feeling?
Was the world always this dark?
Was the world always this small?
Light… was it always this faint?
Was it always this insignificant…?
It wasn’t always like this...
No… Light…
The light was...
The light…
Ah…
...
...
...
Snow-white hair that had completely faded.
Eyes that had darkened even further.
Beneath a torn leather mask was the face of a youthful child.
In the face of an indescribable sight, everyone fell silent.
Soldiers, wizards, holy knights, priests, and even the king. Not even a single tree in the forest, a single leaf, or a single grain of sand dared to disturb this moment.
All that could be heard was a hollow laugh.
And so, that laughter echoed, sounding more chilling than any silence or curse.
When the laughter stopped, a murmur could be heard.
“So, that’s how it is. From the very beginning, I was…”
In truth, few could comprehend his words.
For all eyes were fixed on Oliver.
Oliver, wearing the torn leather mask, turned his head toward where the laughter had come from.
As he turned, he raised his burned right arm.
With that hand, he extended his index finger.
At the tip of his finger stood the Pied Piper.
[Negation (否定)]
Oliver spoke to the Pied Piper, who was saying something.
Upon hearing him, the Piper closed his eyes and tightly grasped the flute in his hand, as a faint breeze swept over him.
Forward. Forward. Forward...
In that moment, everyone surrounding Oliver, soldiers, wizards, holy knights, the king, priests, even the departed, all froze in place, unable to show any expression or utter a sound, as they were gripped by quiet, controlled terror.
The Piper, like dust... no, not even dust remained, dissolved and vanished.
“...”
“...”
“...”
Like ashes scattered in the air, like letters erased with an eraser, the Piper disappeared.
Even after seeing it firsthand, the sight was so surreal it was hard to believe.
But one thing was certain. Instinctively, everyone knew.
This was not an ordinary attack.
This was not merely an attack, but a judgment.
And this was not a murder either.
This was, quite literally, a negation of existence.
It was the negation (否定) of the Piper, the very essence of his being.
For reasons unknown, everyone present, regardless of their status, individual achievements, strength, or even the divide between the living and the dead, instinctively understood.
The figure standing before them had negated the very existence of the Piper.
This concept, both unbelievable and incomprehensible, had been realized.
Yet, this notion of negation did not only affect the Piper.
Unfortunately, everyone in the line of sight where Oliver had pointed, behind the Piper, in the direction of the faint breeze, began to disappear, leaving no dust behind, just like the Piper.
Simply because they had been there, they too were swept into the negation of their very existence, erased along with the Piper.
A somewhat... no, an absolutely unreasonable and unilateral act.
However, none of those who witnessed this scene, neither the living nor the dead, felt anger or resentment.
For they had not been granted that permission.
They could not even tremble in fear, nor cry out.
For even that had not been permitted.
All they had been granted was the permission to be in this place, and so the countless people and departed souls around Oliver stood silently, as if they had always been there.
Like ornaments. Like statues. Like trees.
It felt as though a thousand years had passed, as if time itself had slowed. Oliver, who had been staring at the spot where the Piper had stood, reached up and grasped his torn leather mask.
Rip.
Oliver tore off the mask and cast it aside on the ground, slowly, very slowly, turning his head to look around.
In that moment, as though captivated by something, all the people and departed souls who had stood still without a twitch now lowered their heads in a bow.
“Ah, ahh... Ahhh…”
The first to kneel were the tortured spirits who had roamed the forest in agony for centuries.
Neither fully dead nor alive, they bowed with utmost reverence, moving their twisted bodies, part animal, part tree, to honor Oliver.
With all their strength, they pressed their knees, foreheads, faces, and hands to the ground.
The living were no different.
“Ohhhhh…”
The soldiers, deafened and blinded by the tunes of the musicians summoned by the Piper, who had even lost the power of speech, felt Oliver’s presence, and bowed with desperation beyond all others.
Some pressed both knees and hands to the earth, burying their foreheads against the ground,
and others lay completely flat on the ground, raising their hands toward the sky in a posture of reverence.
Their gestures seemed to embody just how great the figure before them was, and just how lowly they were in comparison.
Even the wizards trembled like aspen leaves and followed suit.
“...Ahh.”
The holy knights did the same.
“...”
Sworn to kneel only before their God, the holy knights, as they had vowed when they first became knights, placed their sacred armor upon the ground, knelt on one knee, and began reciting an unfamiliar prayer.
It was not their minds that directed them, but their bodies.
And that prayer spread through the others like an infection, filling the forest with low murmurs.
It was at once sacred and blasphemous, reverent and sacrilegious.
In the midst of this sacred yet blasphemous, reverent yet sacrilegious display, Oliver continued surveying his surroundings.
As though searching for something. As though inspecting. As though appreciating. As though evaluating.
When his gaze had slowly swept around, an unmistakable expression appeared on the mask-like face.
It was a look of doubt.
Like an adult looking at an old, battered toy they had cherished as a child, wondering why it had been so precious.
Without any visible change in his expression, everyone understood that this sentiment had surfaced.
And that doubt led to action. Oliver, who had been standing still, took a step forward.
...
Just one step, yet the air grew as heavy as lead.
Not figuratively, but literally, as if someone was pressing down on them.
Each time Oliver took a step.
“Uh...!”
As proof, blood flowed from people’s mouths, eyes, noses, and ears.
As if they were balloons about to burst.
Yet Oliver took no notice and continued stepping forward.
...
...
...
...
Entrails were crushed, blood was coughed up, eyes burst, and bodies collapsed under the pressure, yet Oliver continued moving, one step at a time.
And then he stopped.
At the end of his path stood the kings of the Central Continent and the Archpriest Roderick.
The difference was that the kings had frozen in place, unable to kneel, while the Archpriest had refused to kneel.
Because he was the Archpriest.
Though he had encountered apocalyptic visions, lost his faith, witnessed the corruption of the world, and adopted blasphemous thoughts of manipulating the apocalypse, Roderick, as the Archpriest who protected the order beneath the Holy One, refused to kneel.
It was his final act of conscience and pride.
Thus, though Roderick longed to kneel and beg for mercy, he did not.
However, unlike Roderick, who retained his own will, the kings, paralyzed by boundless fear, abandoned all pretense, dignity, and pride, as their eyes, noses, and mouths ran with fluids, bowing at Oliver’s feet.
“G-G-God…”
“Aaaaaah…”
“God, God, God, God, God…”
They worshiped him, their heads pressed to the ground, as if he were a deity, just like the deceased, the common soldiers, and the battle-hardened military mages, and the holy knights who had trained all their lives.
And Oliver showed them no special regard, not even glancing at them.
To him, they were mere stones and ants by the roadside.
Indeed, they were as insignificant as stones and ants.
So his gaze turned instead to a light that was relatively less faint.
Toward a massive man who refused to kneel despite bleeding from his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth.
Oliver lifted his foot…
Crunch.
And stepped forward.
The soldier kneeling beneath him turned red.
His name was Jonas.
A son to an elderly mother, a husband to a woman, and father to three children.
Crunch.
Oliver lifted his foot and stepped again.
A military mage turned red.
His name was Max.
He was the head of an old mage family in the Central Continent, with dreams of reviving magic in the land.
Once more, Oliver lifted his foot and stepped forward.
A holy knight turned red.
His name was David.
A young man from a small village who had become a holy knight after witnessing the kindness of nuns in his village. He was the pride and hope of his hometown.
Oliver lifted his foot again…
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Each step transformed Werner, Armin, Billy, Bertolo, and countless others into a red carpet beneath him.
“Uhhh…”
Someone groaned, their voice laced with terror and sorrow.
But this wasn’t something to fear or mourn; it was simply that their time had come a little sooner.
Like an early lunch, it was no more than a minor matter.
“Ahh…”
Not even the kings were spared.
For in Oliver’s eyes, they were all the same.
Crunch.
And so, Oliver stepped over a king, adding to the red carpet, until he stood before Archpriest Roderick.
Roderick stood, trembling, his body shedding blood so dark it appeared black.
From the way his legs shook, it seemed he would not hold out much longer, but this was of little consequence to Oliver.
Whatever effort or resolve Roderick had was irrelevant to Oliver.
What mattered was the action itself.
With eyes chillingly empty, Oliver looked at the Archpriest.
Swoosh...
As he looked, Oliver slowly raised his hand.
As his hand approached Roderick…
“Oliver!!”
Someone called out to Oliver.
It was the holy knight, Joanna.
...
“Oliver!!”
Joanna shouted.
Not from thought or intent, but from instinct.
An instinct that told her she had to stop Oliver.
The moment Joanna called his name, she felt the pressure of all the world’s attention upon her.
Just standing there made her nauseous, her breath thick and stifling.
But it was nothing compared to Oliver’s gaze.
When he turned his head and looked at her, a sensation like time freezing and all sound dying overcame her.
She felt an overwhelming urge to kneel, to press her head to the earth.
But Joanna gritted her teeth, struggling to deny that urge.
Because… because the Oliver she knew would not want that.
This couldn’t be his true form. The Oliver she knew, the real Oliver, was...
“-Ah.”
As Joanna steeled herself, praying to God for strength and courage, she suddenly realized Oliver had come right in front of her.
With just a slight lift of his foot, he closed the distance between them silently, as if physical space meant nothing.
With empty eyes, Oliver stared at Joanna.
“Oh, God…”
His gaze was similar to how he had looked in the past, yet profoundly different.
In the past, his eyes had also seemed empty, yet they held a spark of curiosity, a hope for the beauty of humanity. Now, all they contained was a sense of detachment, as though he was regarding something trivial, with a lingering question about why he had once cared for such things.
And then...
Oliver’s eyes, which had been piercing Joanna’s very soul, shifted slightly.
Joanna could see what he was looking at.
Her younger brother, who stood beside her.
A faint movement in the corner of Oliver’s mouth.
And at the same time, his hand moved.
Joanna and her brother, unable to move a single finger, were frozen as Oliver extended his hand…
Flash.
A blinding white light flared between Oliver and Joanna, as someone stepped in front of him.
"...So it comes to this."
It was Merlin, covered in dust.