Chapter 784: Death and Rebirth

Pale white fire drifted across the sky, floating farther and farther away, dotting the distant canopy with countless newborn stars. The chaotic spatial turbulence that had sealed off the Abyss vanished completely along with the destruction of the Myriad-Age Cycle—so for the first time, this entire Abyss saw a night sky this clear and pristine.

"Am I dreaming?"

Lorne couldn’t help but lose himself in the lofty, quiet beauty of the starlight. Ever since he became the Duke of Campbell, the place he’d stayed the most—other than the royal capital—was this Dolonsray Fortress. And not just in the past dozen years he’d been here; it felt as if this fortress, since the day it was born, had never once been bathed in starlight.

And not just starlight, either. It went without saying that in the much longer years to come, moonlight, sunlight—all the radiance in this world, of every kind—would shine fairly on every brick of the castle, and on every inch of the Abyss’s soil.

"What the hell happened?"

Lorne lowered his head and, like countless curious soldiers, leaned out over the wall in a daze.

In his field of view, those sky-covering chains were gone entirely. He could see countless soul-flames rising.

What the ordinary soldiers saw was countless corpses falling.

Those bodies dropped down and, at a pace visible to the naked eye, rapidly broke apart—until they all returned to this land.

"Duke! Duke!"

Donick came charging up onto the wall in a panic. "I’ve gathered all the supplies! I— Huh?"

He froze halfway up. His bald head turned as he looked at the soldiers staring at him with strange expressions, then at the Duke’s dark face...

"Wh-what’s going on? Why is everyone so relaxed? Aren’t we fighting anymore?"

"Fighting my ass!"

Lorne smacked Donick on the forehead. "Try using your brain more on a normal day. The second something happens, all you know how to do is embarrass yourself!"

"Huh?"

"The war is over."

"Huh????"

Donick scratched his head, even more lost. From his perspective, the Duke had just ordered him to pull together every last supply, like he was about to fight to the death with the enemy... and in the blink of an eye, he was telling him the war was over?

Who was the one not being smart here?

"What are you ‘huh’-ing for? It’s fine that you gathered the supplies—hurry up and distribute food, treat the wounded, clean up the battlefield. The soldiers are exhausted. Now they can finally get some real rest."

"Oh—oh!"

Donick finally snapped out of it and hurried back down again.

But after two steps, he turned around, confused all over again.

"Wait, Duke—don’t these chores usually get handled by Funal? Where’s Funal?"

Donick looked left and right. That guy was usually so weird, but he always showed up at the crucial moment. This time, though, no one knew where he’d gone.

"Funal..."

Lorne paused, then looked at the empty stone of the wall’s floor. There was only a silhouette there, faintly outlining the trace of a person.

"The war is over. That guy... it’s time for him to start a new journey of his own, too, I guess."

...

...

"Stars..."

Grand Duke Shatter let out a long sigh as he looked up at the sky. "I’d long since forgotten what the real starry sky looked like. The only information I had left about it was what those broken old books recorded... It’s beautiful."

"It is. But this isn’t the most beautiful." King Yintuo said softly, hands clasped together. "The stars you see in the desert are the most beautiful—clear as a mirror, distant like a dream."

"When I was training in the desert, I couldn’t help looking up at the stars, either."

"Is that so? It sounds beautiful. What a pity—I can’t see it anymore."

"...Even a Crowned One can’t defy death at a time like this?"

King Yintuo looked at Grand Duke Shatter, whose body was gradually scattering like grit—whose soul would rise into the sky, while his flesh returned to the earth—and couldn’t help speaking up.

After days of fighting, he’d actually developed a sense of kinship. So now he couldn’t help regretting it.

"Of course."

Grand Duke Shatter smiled faintly. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were deep as knife cuts.

"In this whole Abyss, whether you’re a lofty demonfolk Grand Duke or a low-ranking demonman who’s suffered endless humiliation—no matter how unfair things are between them—only in the face of death is it absolutely fair. No one escapes."

"So that’s how it is..."

King Yintuo nodded lightly. "Life and death, reincarnation—it can’t be defied. You’ve been cut off from this world for too long. It’s time to return."

"Yeah... it’s been far too long."

Grand Duke Shatter closed his eyes, waiting for that moment to come.

But at the final threshold, he still couldn’t help hesitating, and he asked King Yintuo:

"For you humans... what is true rebirth like?"

"True rebirth?"

King Yintuo paused again, then thought of a certain young, adorable figure. A smile traced his lips, and even that face weathered by hardship softened.

"To me, true rebirth is a very beautiful thing."

"Is that so..."

Grand Duke Shatter smiled as well.

"Then I’m not afraid anymore."

...

...

"Haha, I’m going to die!"

In an empty, ruined market, an old ratman suddenly burst into a fierce cheer.

After nearly all demonman souls had been taken away by the Myriad-Age Cycle’s chains earlier, no one knew what method he’d used—but he had actually managed to remain on the ground a little longer.

The surroundings were empty. The few demonmen who hadn’t been taken were gradually turning to ash. But at this moment, he was more excited—more exhilarated—than at any time in the past few hundred years.

"I’m going to die! I’m finally going to die!! I’m really going to die!!!"

Limping and hobbling, he jogged all the way back to his hidden hideout.

He shoved aside the wooden shelves where he stored his collection. Those precious items—things he’d obtained over the years through trading goods—clattered down to the ground as he moved. He didn’t feel the slightest bit of pain over it.

After the shelves were pushed aside, the thing hidden in the hole in the ground was finally revealed...

It was a coffin.

The ratman panted hard. After such intense movement, his aged, decaying body was already on the verge of collapse, but it still couldn’t slow his hands in the slightest.

"I waited so long... and finally... finally, there’s a day I get to use you."

Tears filled the corners of his eyes as he gently stroked the smooth, pitch-black coffin lid.

As a remnant of the ratman tribe, as a wanted criminal with an execution order personally issued by Shenyi, he’d spent all these years hiding and fleeing—yet still risking his life to peddle goods everywhere, trading for supplies. All for...

This coffin.

Because he vaguely remembered... even after several cycles of reincarnation, he still vaguely remembered—back when humans died a thousand years ago, they were buried in coffins.

That’s right. Buried in coffins.

Reincarnation with blurred memories—this twisted kind of immortality—ultimately made dying casual and meaningless, so the demonfolk naturally no longer had that tradition.

"But I haven’t forgotten. I still haven’t forgotten..."

The old ratman struggled to push the lid open, climbed into the coffin, then slowly sat up and closed the lid again.

His last bit of strength finally ran dry. Lying in the coffin, smiling, he stared into endless darkness.

"I’m human, not demonfolk... I always have been."

...

...

The Empire. Campbell Territory. A manor somewhere.

The night sky was thick with darkness, but inside the manor, every lamp was burning bright.

Dozens of maids hurried through the manor, faces tense, steps brisk, carrying towels or hot water—each of them unable to hide their anxiety.

Outside the deepest room in the manor, it was even noisier and busier. The best female physicians were on standby at all times. Elderly women skilled in delivering babies stood in a full line. Even priests and nuns from the Church of Life had been invited—they were praying outside the door.

But the priest’s complexion wasn’t looking too good right now. He kept wiping sweat from his forehead, glancing at the door, then at the maids in front of him, his eyes full of bitterness and helplessness.

"Father, is there really no better way?"

The former head maid—silver hair combed immaculately—asked again.

As the most senior maid who had cared for the Duke of Campbell since he was young, she had resigned out of guilt after what happened at the ducal estate, handing the position of head maid to An and returning to her hometown to retire. But with the Duchess of Campbell in labor and the Duke absent, she had still stepped forward. So although the scene looked chaotic, under her direction everything remained orderly.

Even so, this maid—who had once accompanied the Duke of Campbell to meet no small number of important figures, and had even brewed black tea for the Empire’s previous emperor—now faced the priest with a rare plea in her voice.

"Please. You’re the finest priest in Campbell Territory. In a situation like this, there has to be some other way."

"I... I want there to be, too, but this isn’t a question of whether there’s a way!"

The priest looked like he was about to cry.

"Blessings, prayers, Holy Light healing—I can do all of that, and I can do it extremely well. But I can’t guarantee the Duchess will make it through with the child, because... because who in this world is pregnant for a full year and six months?!"

The priest finally understood why, after learning that the Duchess of Campbell was finally going to give birth, the bishop in charge of this region had immediately announced that he would go to the Holy City as fast as possible for pilgrimage and study.

If the Duchess of Campbell encountered a problem in childbirth that doctors and midwives couldn’t resolve, they would naturally seek the Church of Life’s help. The bishop had predicted this long ago.

But even if the bishop came in person, what would it change?

In truth, it wasn’t that the Church of Life refused to help. They were more than willing—whether for the favor of helping a duchess, or because of the relationship between the Duke of Campbell’s son and the Church, they had no reason not to.

But everyone knew the Campbell family was bound by some kind of "single heir" curse. Each generation produced a Crowned One—but only that one. Every Duke of Campbell had a single line of descent.

So when news of the Duchess of Campbell’s pregnancy reached the Church, the Church came to a conclusion internally: if, before she gave birth, Muen Campbell didn’t get hacked to death for juggling too many partners, then this pregnancy... was most likely a stillborn born from some kind of accident.

A full year and six months of pregnancy only confirmed that suspicion.

So...

"Th-there really isn’t a way. My advice is still to give up the stillborn in exchange for the Duchess’s safety. She’s been in obstructed labor for so long—if this drags on—"

"Shut up!!"

A furious shout suddenly rang out, cutting off the priest’s sincere persuasion.

Inside the room, Noias gripped the bedsheets tightly with both hands, drenched in cold sweat, but her eyes still held an unshakable stubbornness.

"It isn’t even born yet—who the hell are you to say it’s a stillborn? I felt the baby move in my stomach myself! You bastard—what do you know? You’re not the one who’s been pregnant, so what are you running your mouth for?"

At a moment like this, she finally threw away the Duchess’s elegance and returned to the fierce dominance she’d had when she was younger.

"I’m not running my mouth. I’m doing this for your safety—"

"This is nothing..."

Noias gritted her teeth. "It’s just having a baby. It’s way easier than back when I beat the hell out of those slutty bitches. I’m giving birth today, and I’m doing it right in front of you!"

"..."

Outside the room, the priest let out a long sigh.

Worthy of being the Duchess of Campbell—this courage and resolve really was admirable. But many things couldn’t be solved by courage, resolve, or fists.

What couldn’t be helped... couldn’t be helped.

"Father."

At that moment, the nun beside him tugged at his sleeve.

"Look. Shooting stars."

"Shooting stars?"

The priest instinctively turned his head. Sure enough, °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° several shooting stars silently streaked across the sky—vanishing in an instant, yet so beautiful it made people sigh.

"Strange. The Starwatch Sanctum didn’t issue any notice about a meteor shower lately. This is clearly a perfect time for preaching... No! That’s not what matters right now!"

The priest snapped back to himself. The urgent matter came first. He kept hold of the head maid, continuing his earnest persuasion.

"Really, Head Maid, you should still try to persuade the Duchess of Campbell. Forcing it like this—if anything happens to her, how are all of us supposed to answer to the Duke of Campbell, who’s far away at the border defending the Empire’s territory? Stubbornness can be a good thing, but sometimes—"

"Waaah—"

But right then, an abrupt, childish wail interrupted the priest again. That cry was as forceful as the shout earlier, but even louder—echoing through the entire manor under the night sky.

The priest froze.

The nun froze.

Even the head maid froze.

But the head maid reacted first. She spun around and rushed into the room.

The crowd erupted into chaos, but they were all held outside the door, left with nothing but waiting.

A moment later, in an atmosphere so suffocating it felt like everyone might stop breathing, the head maid’s solemn—yet barely contained—announcement finally reached every ear, along with that healthy, powerful crying.

"It’s a girl. Mother and daughter are safe!"

"Woo!"

Everyone shouted in excitement. Some maids, too tense for too long, burst into tears of joy and hugged each other.

The priest stood there blankly, watching it all, feeling like it wasn’t real.

It had been something that couldn’t be helped—something that had been decided from the start. So why had it suddenly turned around?

Was it coincidence, or was it fate?

Thinking that, he suddenly turned, clasped his hands toward the sky.

"Father, what are you doing?"

"Praying."

"Praying?" the nun asked in confusion. "But there isn’t a statue of the Goddess here."

"I’m not praying to the Goddess."

The priest’s expression was solemn as he spoke seriously.

"I’m praying to... this miraculous new life."