Chapter 271
“Astraea?” Erebus’s voice was a low rumble, laced with a disbelieving awe.
He stood utterly transfixed, his lean frame momentarily rigid, as if he’d been struck by a silent, invisible force.
Astraea offered a serene, almost ethereal smile.
“Yes, Erebus. It is I.”
Her voice, clear and resonant, seemed to cut through the distant clamor of battle.
“It truly is good to see you again… though I suppose our last encounter was but a handful of days ago.”
Her hair, the deep, lustrous shade of polished walnut, cascaded down her shoulders, flowing with an effortless grace reminiscent of a tranquil river.
Her eyes, a deep indigo, held the shimmering depth of a starlit nebula, twinkling with an inner light that seemed to defy the somber surroundings.
Erebus recovered, a twisted, almost grotesque smile stretching his lips, utterly failing to conceal the shock that still flickered in his gaze.
“Wait,” he drawled, pushing a hand through his dark hair.
“You actually came here? Alone? By the gods, girl, I knew you had a wild streak in you, but this… this I didn’t anticipate at all! Ha-ha-ha!”
His laughter, a dry, rasping sound, echoed briefly in the cavernous space.
“Well played, Astraea. Truly, well played.”
He did not waste breath inquiring how she’d breached the blockades.
Erebus’s mind, ever calculating, swiftly concluded that Zald must have been the one to grant her passage.
The neurotic Alfia was one thing, but Zald was precisely the kind of man to do it, too.
He was keen-witted, honourable, and closely in tune with Erebus’s own wishes.
Astraea met the dark god’s speculative, almost predatory gaze with a firm bearing, a subtle challenge in her indigo depths.
“Of course I did, Erebus,” she stated, her voice calm and clear.
“After all, it’s only proper to repay the favor of your… looking after my children.”
“Oho!” Erebus’s smile deepened, a spark of amusement lighting his eyes.
“Well, I’m truly honored by your gratitude.”
He let out another soft chuckle, then his expression shifted, a darker glint entering his gaze.
“But tell me, goddess, did it not cross your mind that I might simply leap upon you, and plunge my blade between those ravishing breasts of yours?”
His eyes narrowed, transforming into upturned crescents, reflecting a chilling blend of menace and theatricality.
With a fluid, almost lazy flick of his wrist, a knife materialized in his hand as if born from the oppressive shadows themselves.
It was a blade of obsidian blackness, its edge glinting with a cold, unforgiving light.
This was no ordinary weapon; it was the very instrument that had dispatched several deities to the heavens at the bloody climax of the great conflict.
“There was never any true reason to keep you alive,” Erebus mused, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.
“You could just as easily have met your end that day, instead of one of the many who did.”
His eyes, initially veiled in amusement, now burned with a raw, pure, and bitter bloodlust, mirroring the chilling intensity they held on the night he had carried out his devastating mass execution.
“Is that your evil, then?” Astraea asked, her voice still remarkably level, though a faint tremor of defiance underscored her words.
“To defend yourself with a blade against mere words?”
“…No, it isn’t,” Erebus conceded, a hint of genuine surprise on his face.
Then, with a theatrical, almost bored shrug, he added, “Or at the very least, it isn’t my style. Alright then, let’s talk.”
He gestured with the obsidian knife before it vanished into thin air as swiftly as it had appeared. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, as well.”
“About justice?” Astraea anticipated, her gaze narrowing.
“Precisely.”
His smile deepened.
“I wondered what a goddess of justice herself makes of all this.”
The deities of good and evil stood in stark opposition, framed by the faint, dust-mooted beams of light filtering into the desolate church.
Beyond the grimy windows, the chaotic symphony of battle continued unabated, its harsh, guttural sounds serving as a macabre backdrop to their conversation.
“Let’s talk, god to goddess,” Erebus proposed, his voice almost jovial, “while our children play at war outside.”
Raised yells and the distant clashes of metal on metal intensified, shaking the ancient, groaning rafters above like a relentless, far-off thunder.
Erebus listened, his head cocked slightly, as if to a sublime orchestral performance, savoring the cacophony before launching into his burning question.
“So, Astraea,” he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “answer me. What is it that mortals truly call justice?”
Astraea’s reply was disarmingly simple, almost poetic.
“The stars,” she said, her indigo eyes gazing past him, as if seeing beyond the confines of the decaying structure.
“Huh?” Erebus arched a single, inquisitive eyebrow, his expression a mixture of confusion and mild irritation.
“The stars?”
“It doesn’t have to be stars, either,” Astraea went on, her serene smile returning.
“You see, there are many justices here in the mortal world. As numerous and varied as the individual souls who inhabit it.”
“Very poetic,” Erebus replied, a hint of dismissiveness in his tone, clearly unconvinced by her abstract answer.
“But I’m not here to listen to you deflect the question, goddess. I don’t care what these mortals mistakenly believe. Which is the real justice? Absolute justice, if you will? The singular, undeniable truth?”
But Astraea only smiled, a faint, knowing curve of her lips, and slowly shook her head.
“Listen well, Erebus,” she admonished softly.
“There is no such thing as absolute justice.”
They stood, face-to-face, silhouetted against the grand stained-glass window that once depicted scenes of celestial glory.
As if in response to the epic conflict raging beyond, the ambient magic of the battlefield caused the window to flicker and glow in a vibrant kaleidoscope of shifting colors, casting kaleidoscopic patterns across the floor between them.
“If one justice ever reigns supreme,” Astraea continued, her voice gaining a quiet power, “then the mortal world has failed. Our children will be forgotten, their struggles rendered meaningless. There will be no freedom; only tyranny, only oppression, and ultimate control.”
“Isn’t that precisely what you want?” Erebus countered, a slight, mocking smile playing on his lips.
He spread his arms wide, encompassing the chaos outside.
“Just think: perfect order, no more endless wars. Everyone living in peace and harmony, just the way you like it. An end to the struggle that defines their wretched lives.”
Astraea, however, flatly rejected his cynical suggestion, her expression firm.
“There can be no true peace through oppression,” she stated unequivocally.
“All it accomplishes is the establishment of a new, even more insidious power structure: one that justifies the violence and dominance of the oppressors. Eventually, submission becomes stagnation, and stagnation inevitably turns into regression. The entire world would slowly rot away into nothingness.”
“But mortals don’t need that to hurt each other—just take one look outside,” Erebus retorted, gesturing vaguely towards the tumultuous sounds.
“Why does it make a difference whether there’s one justice or many?”
“Because different ideologies can coexist,” Astraea said, a genuine, hopeful smile gracing her features at last.
“All those seemingly incompatible justices can join hands and work together… like they do now. Like my girls do, fighting for their own truths while protecting each other. That, Erebus, is the radiant light that we call hope.”
For the first time since their encounter began, it seemed that Erebus had no immediate comeback.
He stood there, genuinely pondering Astraea’s words, a rare thoughtful expression softening his features.
He rested his elbow on his hand, cradling his chin like a child deep in contemplation.
“I see…” he murmured, his gaze distant.
“Stars, you say. Hope. A myriad of justices, working together, perfectly suited for the imperfect mortals who call this place home.”
He considered Astraea’s words, turning them over in his head, a low murmur escaping his lips as he nodded slowly, his understanding dawning.
There was a certain warmth to his manner in that moment, a flicker of something not unlike his alter-ego, Eren.
It was not at all how one would expect an emissary of evil to act.
However, Astraea remained silent, her indigo eyes fixed upon him, for she already knew what he was going to say next.
“…But a patchwork justice, no matter how poetic, can’t possibly give me the answer I seek,” he finally articulated, the warmth in his demeanor fading, replaced by a familiar, dismissive cool. “What a shame.”
He turned back to her, flashing her a goading, almost triumphant grin.
“Erebus,” the goddess said, her voice now edged with a serious solemnity, leveling a piercing glare at him.
“Why is it you want to know about justice? Why do you want to understand the future of this world, if your ultimate aim is to end it?” This was the first time Astraea had ever openly questioned Erebus about his deepest motivations.
“Is that why you came here?” Erebus replied, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.
“To ask me that?”
“Yes. I would like to know your divine will.”
“I see. Well, apologies,” Erebus answered, a measure of exasperation creeping into his tone, “but I’ve already answered that question for your girls. Ask them if you truly wish to know, but I can’t promise you’ll like the answer.”
Astraea simply stared at him in silence, her expression unreadable.
Erebus gave a cynical grin back, a challenge in his eyes.
For a long while, neither of them spoke, the only sound the persistent, diminishing roar of the battle outside.
Then, the sounds of the conflict began to subtly change.
The furious cacophony of clashing weapons and desperate shouts seemed to lessen, replaced by a more scattered, almost triumphant din.
“Not hearing so many striking weapons,” Erebus observed, casting a casual glance through the window, as if assessing a play’s final act.
“Justice must be nearing its well-deserved victory. I suppose we’ve been talking for far too long, haven’t we?”
He then turned his back to her, dismissing her with the shift of his shoulders.
“Very well,” he said, his voice imbued with a newfound lightness.
“Since you were so brave as to come here all by yourself, there will be no slaughter today. Come, Vito.” Erebus casually began walking away, his movements unhurried, as his unremarkable lieutenant slipped from the shadows, a presence that had stood guard the whole time, even when Alfia had been present.
As Vito silently rejoined his master, he offered the fickle god a subtle sigh and a knowing smile.
“Will that be all?” Vito asked, his voice low and deferential.
“Yes, I think so,” Erebus replied, a faint smile playing on his lips.
“It’s been an exceedingly worthwhile trip, and I got to meet someone I didn’t expect. Let’s head back. Tell Alfia and our troops to stand down, and someone check on Mors—hopefully he is still alive.”
Abandoning his pact with Ryuu as easily as a discarded thought, Erebus jovially walked towards the shattered doorway of the church.
Just before stepping out into the fading light, he paused, turned, and looked back at Astraea, his dark eyes sparkling.
“Farewell for now, Astraea,” he called out, his voice echoing eerily in the vast, emptying space. “The next time I show my face, it will be to usher in this land’s demise.”
With that chilling pronouncement, the evil god and his silent follower departed, leaving Astraea utterly alone within the ruined church.
With no one left to answer her, she whispered a single question into the echoing silence.
“Erebus,” she muttered, her voice barely audible, swallowed by the settling dust.
“What is it you truly want?”
…………………………………………………………………………
A guttural war cry, “Hraaaaagh!”, erupted from Ryuu’s lips, a surge of raw power behind her descending blade.
Her sword met Olivas’s enchanted weapon with a deafening crack, shattering it into a thousand sparkling fragments and carving a deep, ragged wound across his chest.
The force of the impact ripped through tendons and bone, sending a horrific spray of blood into the air as the man was launched off his feet, tumbling into a jagged mound of rubble.
“Grh!” Olivas choked, struggling to breathe.
“Lord Olivas!” a frantic voice cried.
One of his loyal subordinates scrambled towards him, their face etched with fear.
“Lord Olivas, we simply must retreat!” they pleaded, urgently helping their commander to his trembling legs.
“Our lines are collapsing! We cannot endure this onslaught any longer!”
Olivas wiped a smear of his own blood from his mouth, his eyes, bloodshot and burning with a mix of fury and disbelief, fixated on Ryuu.
“I-impossible,” he growled, his voice a ragged whisper.
“Our forces… they were undeniably superior. How could this…?”
It was Ryuu herself, who offered the terse reply.
“Because of our unyielding resolve. That is the reason for our victory.”
Olivas’s face contorted, twisting into a mask of demonic rage.
“You insufferable whelp! May you be cursed to the deepest pits!”
His jaw clenched so violently it seemed his teeth might splinter, then, with a final, desperate roar, he bellowed into the chaos, “RETREAT!”
A wave of humiliated, angry shouts rippled through the enemy ranks as the evilus horde, broken and defeated, turned and melted away into the distance.
“Hmph, perhaps it’s for the best if we let them go,” Kaguya remarked, allowing her sword arm, heavy with exhaustion, to fall loosely by her side.
“Yeah,” Lyra agreed, forcing a brave smile despite the undeniable tremor in her knees.
“Our side is hardly in a state to pursue, least of all you and I.”
“But we did it,” Alise declared, a luminous smile beaming on her face as she sheathed her sword. “We managed to save everyone.”
At that very instant, a thunderous, jubilant roar erupted from the civilian populace. “Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!”
Alise turned, witnessing the overwhelming joy—many were openly weeping tears of relief, while others simply offered wide, unfettered smiles.
The surviving adventurers raised their arms in a gesture of respect and shared achievement, acknowledging the hard-won triumph these young women had secured.
Alise embraced the warmth of the moment, her smile gentle and genuine, before slowly making her way towards Ryuu.
“Ryuu.”
“Alise…”
Though only five days had passed since their last encounter, the changes each had undergone made it feel like years.
Both had walked separate, arduous paths, grappling with questions of righteousness and the elusive nature of justice.
“You once asked me what kind of justice we all follow,” Alise began, the other girls listening intently.
“After you left, I pondered your question endlessly… but the truth is, I still haven’t found a complete answer.”
Despite her confession, a bright smile graced the flame-haired girl’s face.
And Ryuu, in turn, mirrored that smile.
“Neither have I,” she confessed.
"Even now that I grasp the true essence of justice, I am still at a loss for how to define our own specific path.”
“Then we’re exactly alike!” Alise’s face lit up with renewed determination.
“Let us continue this search, together!”
“For what we can truly call our justice!”
A/N: Feel free to read ahead on pat3on and donate.