A Returner’s Magic Should Be Special - Chapter 74

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 74. At the End of the Nightmare (1)

Section 16. At the End of the Nightmare

Around the year 500 of the Lowelius era.
People called that time the Dark Age.
The emergence of beings called Demons brought despair upon the world. The conflict between Demons and humans continued endlessly, and human civilization crumbled. Entire ages were lost to chaos and ruin.
With scarcely any proper records surviving, only fragments of that ancient tale persisted through oral tradition.
Most people dismissed it merely as mythology, a relic to be mocked, but someone knew the truth—that it was real history, as genuine as the breath in one’s lungs.
Crunch, crunch.
Through the ruins of the collapsed Royal Palace, a man in a Raven Mask picked his way between the scorched debris.
With each step he took, the wreckage before him parted to either side, clearing a path as if drawn by an invisible hand.
Upon reaching the heart of the Royal Palace, he stopped and pressed his palm to the ground. In that instant, Rune Characters materialized and thrust him upward into the air before fading, letting him fall back to the stone below.
At the same moment, a doorway to the depths below opened in the floor.
A passage not even the royal family of Frilecha knew existed.
It had taken him an extraordinarily long time to reach this point, gathering fragments from old tales and traces left behind by history itself.
There was a reason the golden sea that churned endlessly here bore another name: Istakar.
Calamity.
The Great Demon once called Calamity slumbered beneath this land.
The ancients, lacking the power to destroy the Great Demon, had barely managed to force it beneath the waves of the sea.
They had sealed it away.
The very heart of that seal.
To guard the seal’s center, the ancients built a structure there. Later, one of those same ancients who had sealed away the Great Demon established a royal palace on the spot, and from it arose what became known as the Kingdom of Frilecha.
But now the place stood hollow and purposeless, bereft of its original meaning.
The Royal Palace was completely destroyed now, its inhabitants scattered to the winds. There would be no one to interfere.
The Raven Mask descended the stairs into a darkness so complete that even an inch ahead remained invisible.
After a time, he came to a halt before a Magic Circle that blazed with brilliant light.
From within his robes, he drew something forth—a Staff embedded with crimson jewels at intervals along its length.
It was an Artifact that Outer had claimed after conquering a 3rd Grade Shadow World.
It was a medium capable of awakening the Demon sealed away in the Dark Age.
The Raven Mask thrust the Staff into the center of the Magic Circle. Red Mana, like drops of blood, began to fall from it in a steady drip.

* * *

By the time Outer’s assault had been largely contained, evening had fallen.
The sea gleamed brilliantly, as if molten gold had been poured across its surface.
When the elite Avalon Unit of the Western Kingdom Alliance arrived through the Spatial Transfer Gate that had just been restored to function, Outer was suppressed in an instant.
Realizing the futility of their position, the surviving remnants surrendered, and with that, the situation was brought to a close.
The Yellow Ocean Tournament stadium, now serving as a temporary headquarters, was packed with Defense Force soldiers and evacuees.
Though visibly exhausted, the soldiers bore an expression of quiet pride at having repelled the invaders.
“Here, try this.”
“And this too. It turned out wonderfully.”
“Oh, no. I’ve already received plenty.”
“Come now, it’s no trouble.”
The soldiers freely offered their rations to the young reinforcements who had arrived from abroad.
At first they smiled awkwardly and demurred, but unable to overcome the soldiers’ insistent kindness, they began stacking food upon the already towering pile—these were students from Hebrion.
Dezir’s party.
The marks of their prolonged battle were evident upon them as well. Multiple minor wounds covered their bodies, and fatigue hung heavy in their eyes.
Yet like the other soldiers, as they mechanically stuffed food into their mouths, their expressions glowed with contentment.
“I hear they’re quite the famous party in Hebrion.”
“They truly are impressive!”
Dezir’s party was receiving enthusiastic recognition from the soldiers of the Kingdom of Frilecha. The administrator, who had initially bristled at mention of Hebrion, now treated them as honored guests and conducted himself with scrupulous courtesy.
There was hardly a soul who did not know their names. Especially among those soldiers who had witnessed their prowess firsthand when they breached the Spatial Transfer Gate, the enthusiasm was remarkable.
So many gifts had been pressed upon Dezir’s party that the stadium seats where they gathered had become entirely obscured beneath a mountainous heap of miscellaneous offerings.
“Mother would faint if she heard about today.”
Romantica looked immensely happy. She had repelled the threat that descended upon her homeland with her own hands, and with good reason for such joy.
“There you are.”
A deep, measured voice carried across the grounds.
Dezir and his companions, who had been resting in the arena while exchanging brief words, rose from their seats as Jord and Priscilla approached.
“Priscilla.”
“I know. Children, would you gather here for a moment?”
Priscilla moved toward Dezir’s group and drew together Fram and Azest, both of whom bore wounds. As she extended her hands, light began to envelop their injuries.
“Ahhhhh.”
Murmurs of amazement rippled through the soldiers watching nearby.
Healing.
It was precisely this ability that had earned Priscilla the title of Saint.
There were many spells that heightened natural regeneration, but hers operated on an entirely different principle.
A magic that erased wounds as if reversing the injury itself to nothingness—a power that only she possessed in this world.
The bleeding ceased, and new flesh grew rapidly. No matter how grave the wound, the moment her hands touched it, the injury healed completely and without trace.
Before long, every wound on Fram and Azest vanished without a scar.
“They were only minor wounds, so it was finished quickly. Fortunately.”
“Thank you.”
Azest bowed slightly.
Meanwhile, Dezir and Jord were conversing between themselves.
“You’ve accomplished something remarkable. His Majesty is deeply grateful. This may well improve relations with the Hebrion Empire.”
That much, at least, could be called fortunate.
“Should you require anything, call upon me at any time.”
“The kings are still in the Shelter, then?”
“They’ll remain there until the matter is deemed completely resolved. Because…….”
“The Raven Mask hasn’t been found.”
“Precisely.”
Jord nodded.
“At present, I cannot discern Outer’s objective. Having suffered such losses, I cannot imagine they would simply withdraw from this point.”
Jord harbored the same suspicions as Dezir.
“Of course, now that Outer has been entirely subdued, there is little he can accomplish. The Shelter is protected by the Avalon Unit, and I have placed vigilance wards there besides, so we can respond to any situation at a moment’s notice.”
“Such precautions should suffice…….”
“But one must account for contingencies.”
Despite the matter appearing to be settled, Dezir remained uneasy.
The Raven Mask.
Dezir had glimpsed, if only briefly, the magic this figure wielded. It was remarkably precise and intricate—the work of a highly skilled mage.
‘Yet with his ability, he could not best Jord.’
Moreover, the entire force of Outer under his command had been subdued. There could be no additional reinforcements to summon.
Boom.
An oppressive, ominous sound crashed through the air.
Their eyes met with shared unease. Dezir turned to Jord.
“You heard it?”
“……Undoubtedly.”
The sound came from the direction of the Coast.
“Surely not…….”
Dezir stood abruptly. His heart thundered in his chest. Something was about to unfold.
“L-Look, over there!”
Commotion rippled through the arena. People lifted their eyes to the sky.
The golden sun, blazing overhead, was turning black.
“……!”
A nagging sense of dread seized Dezir. He abandoned his seat and rushed from the arena.
The world was inverting into a shade of grey. He began running toward the Coast, in the direction of that sound.
Lampposts and the landscape around him blurred past in succession, then receded into distance. His breath came in gasps, but such concerns had long since ceased to matter to him. One thought consumed him.
‘The Raven Mask has made his move.’
It had to be. It absolutely had to be. But what in the world was he attempting?
Had he deployed 6th Circle Magic?
Dezir wished that were the case. Jord, a 7th Circle mage, was present here, and if circumstances demanded it, Dezir’s Reversal Ability stood ready. Their defense was flawless. There was nothing that could breach it.
But if it were not magic.
If this threat were not magical in nature, but something entirely different.
‘Please.’
Whoosh.
The sea as evening falls. The rolling waters should have shimmered gold in the dying light.
But they did not. The golden expanse darkened at its heart as though black ink had been poured into it.
A blackened sun. This place where all color had drained away.
This landscape.
That sun.
This backdrop.
He knew it.
The memory remained with cursed clarity.
“……This can’t be.”
Instinct precedes reason. His pupils dilated, wide as saucers.
Rationality fought endlessly to deny what lay before him, insisting it must be a dream.
Rumble—
Mountain ranges crumbled. Cliffs shattered under the thrashing waves, and the earth itself uttered a bone-chilling scream.
Something vast was rising from the sea.
It felt like walking through a dream.
Yet the form emerging before his eyes—vivid as a nightmare made flesh—was undeniably real.
“What in the world is that?”
“I—it can’t be. That size…….”
Romantica and Fram, arriving late to the scene, gasped in horror at the sight of the demon.
Azest stood transfixed, words abandoning her, while Jord’s jaw tightened, his fingers tracing the tip of his staff with a grim expression.
“A demon…… Is it?”
Ten meters tall. Rune Characters carved into its fangs. A malevolent reaper with hellfire wreathed about its neck like a mane.
One of the Great Demons that had ravaged mankind in ages long forgotten.
“The Demon of Destruction, Dadenuf…….”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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