“Let’s go et the real Lord of the Clock Castle.”
Comfortably nestled in Lydia’s arms, we headed towards the tank placed on the giant steel hand.
Clink. Clink.
The tallic clinking sound matched Lydia’s steps. Simultaneously, the distance to the tank gradually decreased.
Thanks to this, I could examine it more closely.
It’s clearly black, yet the strange tal exhibits a golden sheen. The giant hand made of this tal had an uncanny pressure.
The sensation is similar to when I was facing the illusion of the World Tree or when I was standing before the heart of the God of Earth.
An illusion, not the main body. Even though only a single hand was projected, it must still be part of a god.
But no matter how great it is, it’s already a dead god. That’s not what’s important right now.
A giant cylindrical tank, seemingly placed on a hand that shouldn’t exist, levitating in the air.
A tank filled with an unknown green liquid. Inside, a naked woman was floating, her body curled up.
From afar, it wasn’t noticeable, but up close, she possessed quite an extraordinary appearance.
Blonde hair that didn’t lose its shine even in the green liquid, and a beauty that seed almost impossible to capture in a painting.
However, perhaps it was because of the strangely artificial feeling.
Despite being naked, with an excellent figure and face… No matter how much I looked, I felt almost no sexual desire.
If I had to describe it, it was like looking at a beautiful sculpture or architectural masterpiece.
In fact, it’s natural. I know because I set it up, and even if I didn’t, it’s such a famous story that it’s recorded in the Guild’s records.
The Lord of the Clock Castle, Germaine, is actually a homunculus.
The final stages of the War of the Fallen Gods. Chiras, born by the hands of alchemists to replace the dying in the fierce battles.
Among them, a miraculous being born from layers of coincidences was the perfect homunculus, Germaine.
As one of the three great pinnacles of alchemy, the homunculus was indeed remarkable.
Intelligence that surpassed the limits of mortals. Golden eyes that could penetrate one’s essence with just a glance. And the ability to transmute all things based on this.
Even if all the great alchemists of the ti were gathered, they couldn’t reach the heels of Germaine.
However, the War of the Fallen Gods could not be ended by a homunculus.
No matter how much Germaine transmuted all things, the War of the Fallen Gods was a war that had nearly brought the world to physical destruction.
Germaine began calculating with her brilliant mind. Whether the end of this war exists. If it does, when on earth will it arrive.
And shockingly, the result pointed to the end of intelligent beings.
Soday the war will end. But, it ans that both humans and gods will die and disappear to end it.
Shocked by this, Germaine hurriedly gathered her fellow alchemists.
And she gathered the mages and blacksmiths who were also thinking of ending this war, and devised a plan.
“Project Apocalypse.”
“Huh? Why that all of a sudden?”
“I was just wondering what if it had succeeded.”
I shrugged and slowly descended from Lydia’s arms to stand on my feet.
Project Apocalypse. As grand as its na, the plan’s content is equally grand.
Creating an enormous weapon capable of bringing about the end of the world, using it to threaten all gods and mortals to forcibly end the war.
It sounds absurd now, but the War of the Fallen Gods was such a brutal conflict, and there seed to be no proper way to end it.
Thus, many people joined in on this ridiculous plan.
Mages who had lost their gods, the God of Blacksmiths and his followers who were sick of their weapons being used solely for war. And the alchemists, led by Germaine, who sohow managed to survive through the war.
The three factions began to openly share their hidden secrets, focusing on creating even stronger weapons.
Technology had already developed abnormally due to the prolonged war, so it wouldn’t have been too difficult.
Countless weapons were manufactured and discarded, and people began to disappear, engulfed in the flas of war, one by one.
Yet, they did not give up. They pushed forward bit by bit and eventually achieved it. The weapon capable of killing even gods.
A massive mass of power created by consuming countless grand magic and materials infinitely close to omnipotence.
Only one thing remained. For the God of Blacksmiths to strike with his hamr and give form to the formless power.
Though a bit rough due it to being production-based, the gentle God of Blacksmiths imbued his hamr with all his divine power.
Created through the hands of many, they hoped the result would also take the form of a giant hand.
…But a problem arose here.
The mont the God of Blacksmiths struck with all his might. As the red-hot iron spewed sparks in all directions, a torrent of imnse power swept the surroundings.
The only survivors were the immortal God of Blacksmiths and Germaine, who did not possess a typical biological body.
Amidst the countless deaths of intellects, a tallic hand never before seen in the world erged.
Crushing the heart of the God of Blacksmiths from the inside.
Thus, having grown by consuming the blood of countless beings, the newest god ford its body from the corpse of the God of Blacksmiths.
It was the God of Machinery.
“What kind of thoughts went through Germainee’s head as she stood before the God of Machinery. What was on the mind of the newly born God of Machinery as it looked up at Germainee, all alone in the blood-soaked workshop. …And with what feelings did it place the maddened Germainee, cursed by the God of Madness, into the tank? Aren’t you curious?”
“Jonah.”
“Yes?”
“You sound like a psycho killer.”
“That’s too much, Miss Lydia! It’s natural to be curious about things like this, isn’t it?”
Slapping Lydia’s exposed belly repeatedly, I then raised my greatsword toward the tank.
Unlike the previous golems, there was no defense, and it couldn’t resist on its own, so this would be the end of the 3rd Floor.
“Farewell. To the mundane world without …!”
I swung the greatsword, babbling nonsense.
Whoosh… Clang!
The greatsword shattered the water tank with a loud crash. Its thick blade pierced through the slender chest of Germaine.
Squelch!
Green liquid flowed from the broken tank. Above it, brilliant golden blood dripped down.
It’s unfortunate, but the Labyrinth is a tomb. Germainee was a person from a ti once passed, engulfed in madness, eting death.
There’s no other way.
Germaine’s body, which had been convulsively twitching, stopped completely and went limp.
I closed my eyes and prayed once for her repose.
“Jonah!”
Lydia’s urgent voice. I opened my eyes as if drawn by it.
There were the shards of the tank, Germaine’s corpse, and the semi-transparent tal hand that had even been pierced through by my greatsword.
The left hand of the God of Machinery, that was born and had pierced the once God of Blacksmiths’ heart was pointing directly at .
“Huh?”
For a mont, I couldn’t understand what was happening.
Why is Pangrave called Pangrave? Because the Labyrinth is the tomb of the gods. And a tomb is where the dead are buried.
The gods chose death for themselves, and the place where they rest eternally is the deepest part of the Labyrinth. A conceptual place unreachable by walking.
The image of the gods reflected in the Labyrinth is an illusion created by the lighting of the real corpse sleeping in the deepest part.
The traces of the anchor ford by the Goddess of Love arbitrarily fixing ti and space so that the Labyrinth becos a place for mortals to secure resources and grow.
So, even if the presence of a god can be felt from that hand, things like the god’s power or will cannot remain.
Even the Goddess of Earth had left her mories and will like a ssage, not doing anything directly with her heart.
Yes. It’s impossible, and it shouldn’t happen.
…Then, what exactly is that gigantic tallic finger pointing directly at before my eyes?
As I froze in confusion, Lydia grabbed and pulled behind her.
The divine hand of the chanical device that was pointing at shot out swiftly.
It passed through not only the hurriedly swung sword of Lydia but even Lydia herself, aiming precisely at my forehead. And then.
Splat!
My vision turned completely white, and an indescribable ringing began to echo in my ears.
Creak. Creak. Sizzle!
Cogs turned, steam billowed out, and all of this continued semi-permanently through the power of precise magic and specially crafted tal.
A peculiar world where only parts and other parts made from those parts exist.
A voice, rough as if rusted, echoed in a world where, more than anyone, it longed to reach perfection but could never attain it.
-Has the ti co?
I want to say sothing, but my mouth won’t move. No, even if I could move it, I doubt I’d be able to speak.
This is not my space. It belongs to another, and it has not permitted to speak.
I could instinctively understand this fact.
-I have failed. What about you?
-I leave this hand for the future.
-A tool is ant to help. May there be blessings in your future.
The voice grew fainter as it receded. The content was incomprehensible.
Just one thing. My blurred senses gradually sharpened, and the image of the Labyrinth appeared behind the vanishing white landscape.
And the mont I fully regained my senses.
“My hand…?”
My hand was dyed silver.
What’s this? Please give back my hand.
Reviews
All reviews (0)