Mahar.
The na belonged to a monster, yet it was not bestowed by anyone else. Monsters, by nature, had no nas.
After sealing itself away, the creature had to create a god-like figure, a proxy that would wield divine authority without inciting resistance. Through sorcery, it fashioned such a figure. At that ti, "Mahar" was a term deeply rooted in the people's consciousness, synonymous with the world itself. By adopting that na, the monster elevated itself as the great and sole deity—a concept the people readily embraced.
And so, it claid the na Mahar.
But no one ever addressed it as such. To the world, it was known only by its fabricated guise: Sang-je, the representative of God.
Now, with the pretense of Sang-je cast aside, the monster writhed in desperation, its existence buried deep beneath the earth. It strained against the seal binding it, pouring every ounce of its power into the effort. But no matter how fiercely it struggled, its restraints held firm. Thɪs chapter is updated by novel~fire~net
"Alber," it growled, its voice reverberating within its confinent. "I will repay this debt—no matter what."
Grinding its teeth, it clawed at the sorcery that imprisoned it. The effort claid the lives of dozens of knights in an instant. Their vitality, bound to the monster through the magical seeds they had consud, failed under the strain. It was undoubtedly the king's doing. Yet, despite their deaths, the spell remained unbroken.
Frustration swelled within the creature. The inability to perceive what was happening above ground was maddening. Was its domain overrun by larks? Was the king nearby, orchestrating yet another sche? The darkness that engulfed it pressed closer, suffocating in its uncertainty.
Then, it froze.
This scent… Ramita?
A potent fragrance flooded its senses, intoxicating and disorienting. The sheer presence of Ramita scattered its thoughts, montarily paralyzing its rage. Slowly, its petrified body began to stir.
Yet, even as the bonds of the sorcery loosened, it felt no relief. If the spell was undone by an external force rather than its own will, it would lose a critical advantage—the ability to control its transformative powers. Without them, its physical prowess would falter.
Before it could retreat further underground, the kings might also strike. Its plans teetered on the edge of ruin, and the thought alone was unbearable.
The scent of Ramita ignited sothing deep within the creature. Its awakening body surged uncontrollably, a raw force running rampant. The ground trembled as though in fear, buildings crumbled under the strain, and chaos erupted in every direction.
Riner, entranced by the strange, tactile illusion of water enveloping him, abruptly snapped out of his daze. His senses flared, sharp and focused. There it was—an unmistakable aura.
"This one…" he muttered, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "It's a monster."
The stench hit him like a hamr, sharp and oppressive, nearly overwhelming his senses. He gagged, instinctively shielding his nose with his arm. Never before had he encountered a lark with such a foul, suffocating presence. The earth beneath his feet shook violently, threatening to give way. Could sothing this colossal have been hidden beneath the sacred city all this ti?
"As expected," he said with a toothy grin, his eyes glinting a predatory crimson. "The strongest lark in existence."
Scarlet Praz shimred over his body, flickering like a mirage in the desert heat. He adjusted his stance as the ground cracked and began to collapse around him. With precision and agility, he leaped from fragnt to fragnt, descending steadily as the chaos intensified. The deeper he went, the stronger the lark’s stench beca, suffusing the air like a choking miasma.
"Co on," Riner growled, his grin widening. "Reveal yourself."
The tremors reached a deafening crescendo, shaking the Holy City to its foundations. Buildings shattered, collapsing into heaps of rubble. Then, with a thunderous roar, a section of the terrain caved in completely, sinking into a shadowy abyss.
From within the darkness, sothing massive stirred.
"The core!" Riner’s eyes glead, locking onto the faint shimr buried in the gloom. Without hesitation, he hurled himself into the depths, the fractured earth rushing past him.
He couldn’t tell how far down the pit extended, but it didn’t matter. Gripping his sword, he poured every ounce of Praz into it. The blade burned crimson, its fiery glow illuminating the encroaching darkness.
In one decisive motion, he struck.
The blade pierced through the monster’s formidable scales and buried itself in its core, the impact reverberating through Riner’s body.
"Got it!" he shouted, confidence surging through him.
But the victory was short-lived.
The creature’s tail lashed out with brutal force, a blur of motion too fast to avoid.
"Ugh!" Riner grunted as it struck him squarely. The impact sent him hurtling through the air, slamming him into the remains of a partially collapsed building. Dust and rubble rained down around him as he hit the ground, his breath knocked from his lungs.
***
“Elders,” Aldrit began, his voice steady but laced with curiosity, “there’s sothing I’ve been aning to ask but never had the chance until now. How did you co to et Mara and strike a deal with him?”
Aldrit still rembered the day he first learned the truth—it had felt as though the sky itself had collapsed. He’d grown up believing that, while their ancestors had committed grave sins long ago, their descendants bore those burdens with pride, striving to atone and live without sha. Even as he resented the hardships of their nomadic life, forced upon them by a cruel fate, he found solace in its purpose, its dignity.
But that conviction had shattered when he uncovered Mara’s deeds.
Mara had posed as the leader of a cult, deceiving countless people, exploiting them like tools before discarding them. The knowledge filled Aldrit with a storm of anger and sorrow. Yet what cut deepest was the realization that the elders—those he had revered—had either aided Mara or turned a blind eye, justifying it all as a ans to protect their descendants.
Had they truly atoned for their ancestors’ sins, or rely added new ones to the ledger? Could forgiveness ever be theirs?
For a long ti, the questions had tornted him. But as the years passed, Aldrit’s perspective began to evolve. The relationship between the elders and Mara grew increasingly complex in his eyes. Though their exchanges often seed sharp, there was an undeniable undercurrent of warmth, almost familial. It no longer felt like a re transactional arrangent. If the elders had tolerated, or even condoned, Mara’s actions, Aldrit believed there must have been more to it than he first understood.
“To be honest,” Aldrit admitted, his voice softer now, “I resented the elders at first. I couldn’t reconcile the truth with the respect I had for you. But then… I realized how ungrateful that was. After all, I grew up peacefully in the safe haven you provided. And while the decision to maintain the sorcery began with you, it was ultimately our choice to uphold it.”
The quiet darkness stretched between them, carrying his words. Then, from sowhere deep within the shadows, a low chuckle echoed, gentle and filled with an indescribable weight.
“Aldrit.”
He straightened instinctively. “Yes?”
“We regret nothing,” ca the asured reply. “If only because soone as upright as you is among our descendants. Stay true to that heart, Aldrit. Lead the prosperity of the clan.”
Aldrit flushed at the elders' excessive praise, his face warm and his mind scrambling for a suitable response. Before he could speak, another elder’s voice broke the mont.
“Prosperity, huh? That’s all well and good, but I don’t care much for that,” the elder said with a dismissive wave. “I just want all of you to be happy. That’s enough for .”
“Indeed,” another elder chid in, their tone gentler, almost wistful. “I hope that one day, when you’ve finished your final journey, your soul will find completion. Then, you will no longer be re guests in this world but truly beco one with it.”
“…Pardon?” Aldrit tilted his head, confusion knitting his brow. The final journey he understood referred to the end of a long, arduous life, attaining rest at last. “Isn’t that what it ans?” he asked hesitantly.
The elders exchanged glances before clicking their tongues in unison, a sound of mild disappointnt.
“How did it co to an that?” one elder muttered. “That’s not it at all. Listen carefully, Aldrit.”
The elder leaned forward, their expression intent as they began to explain. “The final journey is not about surrender or despair. It is a story Eugene once heard from Alber—a truth passed down. We co to this world as guests, experiencing countless journeys. Through those journeys, we grow, mature, and shape our souls. Only then, when the soul is fully complete, can it beco one with the world.”
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