Surviving without God

[At last.]

Unlike Gunther, who could not hide his bewilderment at the striking resemblance—so strong they could have been mistaken for blood relatives—Ellen Beyra looked astonishingly calm.

And yet, on closer inspection, it was clear: beneath that face, smooth as a wax mask, a vortex of emotions long suppressed was raging. Like someone who had finally lived to see an event they had yearned for over an eternity, she spoke in a barely trembling voice.

[At last, you have arrived in your homeland.]

For Gunther, those words were meaningless.

“...Homeland? My home isn’t here.”

Gunther’s home—Nereus. Lee Jonghyeon’s home—Earth.

A premise devoid of truth from the very beginning. Yet instead of answering, Ellen slowly began to look around. She did not even glance at her own grave. Her gaze passed over Gunther’s companions and came to rest on Rietta and Yuria.

“...Oooh.”

As the two girls cautiously stepped back, a faint smile touched Ellen’s lips.

[You have done wonderfully. You have already managed to create many fractures. Waiting and believing in you was worth it.]

Feeling the conversation drifting somewhere completely wrong, Gunther immediately got to the point.

“Ellen, I summoned your soul with the Soul Summoning Sphere because I have several questions.”

[Then ask.]

“...Ellen Beyra. You are not a single individual, are you?”

Ellen answered without the slightest hesitation.

[Correct. The name “Ellen Beyra” is shared by many.]

She slowly moved forward. It was hard to say whether the word “walked” even applied. She took a couple of steps through the air and, in the blink of an eye, hovered directly before him. The others instinctively stepped back, and only Gunther remained where he stood.

[We inherit the name. Since time immemorial... since the very moment the Primordial Contract was forged. All of us priestesses, from generation to generation, accepted the name “Ellen Beyra.”]

“Priestesses... the ones who formed a contract with the god of time?”

[Yes, exactly.]

Ellen smiled faintly.

[Simply put, my daughter is also Ellen Beyra. Do you know anything about her?]

Perplexed, Gunther asked in return:

“Didn’t you possess the Tablet while you were alive? You should know the future to some extent.”

[The Tablet is only a record of the past. Ever since you appeared... its meaning has almost completely faded.]

At those words, Gunther involuntarily remembered something ◇ had once said.

“The Tablet is the chronicle of a history that repeated itself countless times.”

A chronicle of endlessly repeating history. And at the same time—a record of the past.

Two phrases that should never have fit together brushed against each other in the back of his mind, leaving behind an unpleasant aftertaste.

Bzzzt...

At that moment, Gunther noticed the Soul Summoning Sphere at the edge of his vision beginning to emit ominous interference.

“Next question.”

At his hurried words, Ellen answered calmly.

[I am listening.]

“Do you know who ◇ and ◆ are?”

[I do. They are fragments scattered against their will... remaining particles.]

“Fragments of whom? Particles of what?”

It was then that Ellen’s calm face shifted ever so slightly. As if a crack had appeared in an ancient statue, and through that tiny fissure seeped immeasurable sorrow.

Grief. Loss. Mourning.

The feelings did not spill out violently. Rather, they felt like frozen sorrow that had lasted so long it had turned to stone.

[...They are particles of the god we served.]

Her voice was quiet and muted.

[The being that created this world, wove the flow of time, and until the very end tried to protect this universe from the hands of the Seven Evil Gods.]

Her pupils trembled for a moment.

[The god who loved this world and its creations more than anyone else... the greatest god.]

At those words, everyone exchanged confused glances. A god of time. No one had ever heard such a name.

Not a single historical chronicle mentioned it. Even Night Raven, which denied Luthien’s official history and pieced together legends, myths, and forbidden books fragment by fragment, knew nothing of its existence. Gunther knew nothing either. The only place where the god of time had ever been mentioned was the Society of Forgotten Books. In the game itself, such a setting had simply never existed.

But there was no time left to uncover the truth. The Soul Summoning Sphere began to vibrate violently.

Bzzzt!

The microcracks spreading across its surface had grown so deep they were clearly visible to the naked eye. Gunther instinctively understood: there was only one question and one answer left.

What should he ask? Unsolved mysteries were piled mountain-high. The god of time, the Tablet, ◇ and ◆, cyclical history, his own essence... and yet...

“Why...”

The words that left his lips were the simplest question, and at the same time the strongest.

“Why do you... look so much like me?”

Ellen Beyra looked at Gunther for a moment. In her gaze there was no longer the detachment of a prophetess, nor the distant contemplation of a being beyond time. All that remained was a bottomless, ancient tenderness. ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) She smiled faintly and said:

[Because I am your grandmother.]

And in that same instant...

Crack!

Ellen Beyra’s form quietly crumbled away like a handful of fine sand. The Soul Summoning Sphere, its strength finally exhausted, went still with a soft click. Fortunately, it had at least not shattered to pieces.

“...My head’s spinning.”

Gunther let out a heavy sigh and straightened up. Only the cold breath of the air remained... and the lingering aftertaste of the truth that had just been revealed. Ryan, who had watched the whole thing in silence, stammered:

“So if we sum this up... does that mean your mother is imprisoned in Pendrox?”

All eyes turned north.

“...Looks that way.”

His companions, carefully watching Gunther’s reaction, started throwing in their own comments on the situation...

“So your granny was a beauty...”

“......”

“You told me you were an orphan! An orphan! I thought we were kindred spirits, and you lied to me!”

“I am an orphan.”

“Oh, Gunther. Your mother sitting in prison would be offended to hear that.”

While Parco and Ryan tried to lighten the mood with jokes, the other members of the platoon were already busy constructing theories of their own.

“Blood of prophetesses. Now everything finally makes sense.”

“Exactly. Honestly, there were a lot of suspicious moments before this.”

“I actually feel calmer now.”

“Hehe, there’s something I wanted to ask, Guntheeer...”

The other soldiers had apparently explained everything to themselves already. In the end, what Gunther demonstrated thanks to Return After Death really did look from the outside like he simply knew the future in advance. Blanc was already enthusiastically digging her hidden stash out of her pocket.

Meanwhile, Rietta and Yuria were chewing over Ellen Beyra’s final words.

“She just called us fractures. What does that mean?”

“Judging by the context, it means people who stepped off the path of fate.”

“If it’s about fate, then it’s the path of Audrey House... the path of becoming one of the ‘Magnificences.’ It probably means we escaped that.”

“But that was all thanks to Teacher Raymond and Dominic.”

Tilting her head, Rietta continued:

“But that beautiful older sister... I mean grandmother, made it sound like it was all because of Gunther.”

“Oooh, my head hurts...”

At that moment, Cheonmae, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke.

“So am I ever going to get married? If yes, at what age?”

“...What?”

“......”

“Didn’t you say you weren’t interested in the future?”

“Oh, come on. Just out of curiosity. For fun.”

Narrowing his eyes and pretending to concentrate, Gunther muttered:

“A wolf mask... red hair...”

“Shut it.”

Cheonmae smirked, shook her head, and clapped her hands twice to call everyone back to order.

“Anyway, we’re done with the Royen lands, so we move out. All that’s left is to reach the royal capital. We got a message yesterday that the support group is ready—we’ll meet them there.”

“Who’s coming from the support group?”

“Several people. Grand Crow selected them personally, since they’ll be escorting us all the way to the assault on Pendrox.”

Gunther nodded and turned back to the platoon.

“All right, then in the capital we have two objectives. First, participate in the Festival of the Holy Sword and see if we can obtain the blade. Second, strengthen our relationship with the Kingdom of Valloren so we can secure every bit of support possible for the assault on Pendrox.”

“That all sounds great, Gunther.”

It was Levain. Adjusting his glasses, he looked at his commander with doubt.

“But no one has been able to pull out that Holy Sword for more than a hundred years. Do you have a plan? According to legend, whoever draws the sword will be chosen as Valloren’s leader... Even setting aside the question of the throne, do you really think the people of Valloren will simply hand over their national treasure to an outsider?”

The objection was perfectly reasonable. However, Gunther did not answer immediately and instead looked upward.

[The King of Ninety-Nine Defeats nods, believing the attempt is worth making.]

The Holy Sword. A myth-rank item whose acquisition method had never been discovered in the game. A century-old symbol inseparably tied to Valloren’s founding, a “sword with a soul” that, according to legend, chose the king in times of greatest need. By participating in the annual festival, one could at least see its description: the stats were dizzying, and in terms of spiritual purification effects, nothing could compare.

“To be honest... there’s no way this sword isn’t connected to the King of Knights.”

This year, the Festival of the Holy Sword would be held as well. Very soon. Even though the country was in the midst of war, the festival was one of the traditions the Kingdom of Valloren never skipped. Gunther looked away and continued.

“It’s hard for me to explain right now. But there is a way, so I’d appreciate it if you would just trust me and follow.”

Frankly, it was a rather irresponsible statement. With Levain’s meticulous personality, he could easily have continued arguing. But after thinking for a moment, he unexpectedly nodded.

“A prophetic gift passed down through blood... yes, that explains a lot. Fine, I understand.”

“That’s convenient.” Gunther smiled faintly and swung himself back onto his horse.

“Good. Then let’s move.”

The soldiers began preparing for departure one by one. Meanwhile, Gunther’s gaze lingered for a moment on “Grandmother’s” grave. A small question rose in his mind.

“If she’s my grandmother, why did she speak to me so respectfully? As if she already knew I wasn’t entirely Gunther.”

There was no way to get an answer to that now. Today several mysteries had been clarified, but several new ones had appeared in their place. The next key to solving them was surely waiting in Pendrox.

“...Rest in peace.”

Tap.

Along the way, he noticed a flower timidly peeking out from beneath the frozen snow. A lone adonis. Its yellow petals remained on the icy grave like a tiny flame.

Ellen Beyra. She too had been someone who, in her own way, stood against an evil god. Wishing her eternal rest, Gunther turned his horse around.

“Hyah!”

And without looking back again, he spurred the steed onward.

***

【 Announcement of the Holy Sword Festival — Short Version for Public Boards 】

The tradition of the kingdom and the symbol of chivalry—we hereby announce the holding of the Holy Sword Festival in honor of the legendary blade.

This festival recognizes no differences of class or origin. Anyone who possesses loyalty, courage, and above all carries the spirit of chivalry in their heart is worthy to stand in this square.

Those chosen will be granted the chance to challenge the Holy Sword, which in itself is an honor for any knight recognized by Valloren.

The one who is only a spectator today may become a legend tomorrow.

All participants are required to obey the established rules. Please be advised that any choice made during the festival, and all consequences arising from it, lie solely with the participant.

First Family of the Round Table — Arder.