I Became a Raid Boss-Chapter 137: Final Farewell (4)

"Hoo..."

As I steadied my slightly ragged breathing, the crimson sword in my hand dissolved into tiny particles of mana and disappeared.

That’s the beauty of a sword made from mana—it doesn’t break, no matter how much force you put into it.

Of course, it’s not without its downsides. It consumes an absurd amount of resources and requires an insanely high level of skill, making it far from a practical technique to use often.

There’s a reason swordsmen dedicate themselves to seeking out legendary blades. It’s much easier to find a sturdy, well-made sword to wield than to precisely weave highly concentrated mana, maintain its stability, and fight with it.

I brushed off the lingering mana from Gracid that clung to my hand and began to move.

The brilliance that had once lit the world had faded, leaving behind only one figure—an old man.

"I suppose this is what you call a Master Mage... I didn’t expect you to survive that."

There’s a saying, ‘Even for a parent’s enemy, that’s too cruel.’

It’s often used to describe acts so heinous that they defy reason, or when someone desperately tries to dissuade another’s choice.

Conversely, it also implies that the grudge against a parent’s enemy is that deeply rooted.

To me, that old man was such a figure—the one who had taken my father’s life, my greatest nemesis.

And yet, even for an enemy I could never coexist with, I had no choice but to acknowledge his abilities.

My voice, brimming with unhidden admiration, caused the old man to slowly open his tightly closed eyes.

In the fading light, his gaze was calmer than ever before.

"Survived? Is that what this looks like to you?"

"Yes."

I mean, I struck with the intent to cut him clean in half.

"The fact that you’re not in two pieces and still alive is impressive enough."

"Haha... Should I take that as an honor?"

"By the way, don’t you think it’s time to fix that way of speaking? It’s unsettling hearing such casual speech coming from a face so old."

"It’s too late. I’ve been speaking like this for so long it’s stuck."

"Tch."

That cheerful tone, coming from such a deep, aged voice, was jarring, but what could I do? He wasn’t wrong; it was far too late to change it.

A crimson line stretched across the center of his chest.

It hadn’t reached all the way through, but it was still a fatal wound.

If it had been an ordinary attack and a skilled healer were nearby, he might have survived.

But the mana seeping into the wound was devouring, burning, and rotting his body—a fate my father had once endured.

As if sensing my gaze, the old man traced the crimson line on his chest and spoke nonchalantly.

"How much time do you have left?"

"Hmm, probably a lot more than you."

"Well, I’d hope so, given your age."

"There’s no guarantee."

"Still, you should outlive an old man over a hundred, shouldn’t you?"

"...Over a hundred, huh."

"Haha, to be honest, I don’t know my exact age anymore. I gave up counting after a hundred."

"..."

The way he said it made me feel like I was some despicable brute who went around attacking elderly people.

Not that age matters in a life-or-death battle.

The miasma spreading from his wounds had climbed up his neck and was now reaching his face.

With his darkened, decaying face, he spoke again.

"I have a favor to ask. Won’t you hear it?"

"I don’t think we’re close enough for that."

"Oh, come on. It’s not hard to grant a dying man’s last request. Do you know how hard I worked to protect your father’s grave? So many scavengers..."

"Fine, let’s hear it first."

"Oh, thank you."

He extended his staff—a fragile, splintered thing barely holding together.

His gaze wandered to other broken remnants scattered nearby. My eyes followed his.

A longsword reduced to powder.

A bow shattered into fragments.

A greatsword that, while intact, had its edge dulled beyond repair.

"I understand your anger. But don’t you think three Imperial swords and the life of one Sage are enough to sate your vengeance?"

"Well..."

I realized what he was trying to say.

"...This is novel."

The once-proud Sage of the Empire was begging for mercy.

At my remark, he stroked his bloodstained beard.

"Is it so strange for a defeated dog to beg for the victor’s mercy?"

"You’re not wrong... But I thought you’d hold out until the bitter end, swearing, ‘Not a finger shall touch the Empire as long as I draw breath!’ or something like that."

"Haha, amusing."

Though he laughed, he didn’t deny it.

Then again, there wasn’t much point in making grand declarations when death was at your doorstep.

‘Mercy, huh...’

The decision didn’t take long.

I nodded.

"Fine."

In truth, he didn’t even need to ask. He was in no condition to pose a threat anymore.

With the Sage—my greatest source of hatred—dead by my own hand, I no longer felt much animosity toward the Empire.

If my father hadn’t died by the Sage’s hands, I wouldn’t have held a grudge against the Empire at all.

"Thank you."

A faint smile appeared on the old man’s face.

The light faded from his eyes as his eyelids fell shut.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.

Thus ended the life of the man once known as the Sage.

"Even in the end, it didn’t suit him."

They say revenge leaves you feeling empty.

I don’t know.

I couldn’t quite put my feelings into words, but if I had to, it felt closer to relief or liberation than emptiness.

Perhaps this is how the demons felt.

"Hoo."

My eyelids felt heavy.

I wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep, but there was still work to do.

I drew all the miasma from my body and scattered it into the air.

Some lingered nearby, some dissipated into the atmosphere, and some drifted into the lofty skies above.

Eradicating all the miasma in Sillia was impossible.

Since mana was the foundation of this world, its contamination was inevitable.

If it couldn’t be stopped, then adaptation was the only option.

That’s why I’d changed the system, spreading the miasma across Sillia instead of concentrating it in Laxia.

"...And when the miasma accumulates beyond a certain threshold, it gets sent to Edel for purification."

‘...Is that the right thing to do?’

‘It’s better than letting it build up until it explodes and becomes irreversible. And my children... they’ll overcome this much.’

The system had been adjusted accordingly, leaving only the miasma within me. But now, even that was gone.

As the two forces sustaining my dying body drained away, an overwhelming exhaustion washed over me.

‘Do you regret it?’

...Maybe a little.

Only after achieving my goal did the things I’d left behind begin to surface in my mind.

Small things, like a meal I’d once had, or places imbued with memories... and the connections I’d made with others.

Though honestly, I didn’t really miss Ashea.

"...Now that I think about it, I wanted to bring a flower."

Getting to the Holy Kingdom had been part of the plan, but I hadn’t anticipated things turning out this way afterward.

As one regret bubbled to the surface, others began to follow.

But what could I do?

"...I suppose now, I can rest a little."

I’d lived a life that could hardly be called idle. That much, at least, I could admit.

Sinking into the wreckage of the battlefield, I gazed up at the clear blue sky.

On a day like this, it should have been overcast to suit the mood.

As always, Edel had no sense of atmosphere.

Staring at the sky, I let out a sigh, murmuring quietly to myself.

"Next time, I hope..."

"Kana!"

"...!"

A familiar voice snapped my head around so quickly it felt like it might break.

I wanted to get up, but the overwhelming fatigue gripping my body refused to let go.

Behind the familiar face were others, many others.

Daeun rushed toward me, her eyes trembling with panic as she reached my side.

Lifting my still-functional hand, I gave a weak wave.

"Hey."

"Kana, your body—"

"This?"

Placing my hand on my chest, it came away sticky with blood.

"...Ah! Does it hurt?"

"Not really."

It had hurt before, but not so much now. There was only a hollow sensation left.

"...That’s even worse! Oh no, this isn’t the time! A healer! No, a priest! We need to get you to a priest! If only Selin were here...!"

Tap.

"...Huh?"

I lightly pushed away Daeun’s frantic hands as she tried to pull me up. Her confused voice echoed in response.

"It’s no use."

Even if the Pope himself came, it wouldn’t matter.

My heart had been pierced and shattered completely—there was no saving me.

If not for the strength forcibly sustained by the miasma, I wouldn’t have lasted this long.

Blink.

"Ah."

I closed my eyes briefly, the exhaustion overtaking me for a moment. When I opened them again, I found my gaze fixed on the sky.

Something about this scene felt familiar, like I’d been here before.

"Cough..."

A weak cough escaped my lips, and a stream of dark, lifeless blood dripped from my mouth.

The next thing I saw was Daeun’s face, contorted in grief.

She must have realized the end was near.

"Kana..."

Her warm hands enveloped my cold, lifeless ones.

Daeun had once shared her past with me—about her parents, her childhood, and her life.

Through those moments, we had shared the deepest parts of ourselves, and I’d come to understand the weight of her emotions.

But one lingering question still remained, unanswered.

"Daeun, can I ask you one thing?"

"...Yes, anything."

Her face, tear-streaked and on the verge of breaking, was an image of sorrow.

As I looked at her messy, tear-soaked face, I tried to shake my head, though it barely moved.

"Never mind, it’s nothing."

"...What? That’s just cruel!"

That cheeky brat.

Her face twisted into an expression that was hard to distinguish—smiling or crying, I couldn’t tell.

It wasn’t an unpleasant sight, though.

Suddenly, as if she’d remembered something important, Daeun pulled out an item.

It was a longsword with a familiar shape, a slightly antique-looking design.

"Justina wanted me to give this to you as thanks."

"I doubt she phrased it like that..."

What’s the point of giving a gift to someone who’s dying?

Even if I wanted it, I couldn’t use it.

"Take it."

"Huh?"

"You keep it, Daeun. As you can see, I’m not in any condition to use it."

Hearing that, Daeun’s face crumpled with sadness again.

If she was going to cry every time I spoke, what was the point of saying anything?

"Just don’t go using it recklessly."

"...I’m going to use it however I want. I won’t even take care of it. I’ll smash it into rocks, I’ll... I’ll use it to chop up all the vegetables you hate!"

"...What?"

"So don’t—"

Grip.

Her hands tightened around mine.

I couldn’t feel anything anymore, but I was sure of it.

"...Don’t leave. You said you wouldn’t abandon me, so why are you leaving first?"

"Even if I wanted to stay..."

There was nothing I could do.

If wanting to live were enough to keep someone alive, my father wouldn’t have left me.

And neither would the old man lying over there.

So, I simply smiled quietly.

"It’s okay—"

We’ll meet again someday, I’m sure.

Before I could finish my sentence, the last remnants of strength left my body.

And the familiar darkness came—