Side Story Chapter 5

Side Story Chapter 5


A dry wind blows.

His black robe fluttered in the breeze, and his long, graying beard.

Vikir walked across the white salt desert.

Hongmen(Great Door).

Once a vast expanse of greenery.

Now a wasteland of rock and salt.

Vikir turned his head and looked out over the desert horizon.


Desolate and lonely.

Age weathered many things.

Emotions, desires.

…… But there was one emotion that still pulsed as strongly as it had in his youth.

A sense of victory.

Who is stronger.

It is greed and a delusion that a mere mortal who lives on swordsmanship would not let go of until death.

So Vikir moved on.

Throwing off all restraints and shackles, he surrendered himself to the instincts he had held in check for so long, so many years.


A salty breeze blows in.

His sword sliced through the edge of the storm like a curtain, opening a path into the center of it.

Vikir found what he was looking for.

‘The Grave of Swords.’

An awl-like tower jutting out of the ground, it bathed in the blackness of the night sky and the red of blood.

It still stood there, unchanged from the last time he had seen it.

Vikir brushed the salt grains from his long beard and muttered to himself.

“……A true Baskerville is born in the ‘Cradle of Swords’.”

It’s a famous phrase passed down within the Baskerville family.

But. there’s a sentence behind it that’s actually hidden.

“……A true Baskerville dies in the ‘Grave of Swords’.”

At this point, he’s probably the only Baskerville who knows this phrase exists.

With that, Vikir entered the Grave of Swords.

The steps, each one pointed like an awl, rose high and steep.

This, too, was the same landscape.

A terribly desolate, suffocating, lonely place.

With each step he took, his whole body shuddered, and he felt like his stomach was being ripped open.

Countless swords are embedded in the floor, walls, and ceiling.

The water dripping from them was red and fishy.

jeobeog- jeobeog- jeobeog- jeobeog-

Vikir continued climbing the stairs.

One step at a time.

In this way, it was sliced, chipped, cut out, and worn away, climbing towards the top.

And then he came face to face with it.

The iron throne at the top of the tower.

Then he heard a heavy, clanging voice, like the clash of steel against steel.

[This is the Grave of Swords, the final resting place of those who pursue the extreme will of the sword.]

And there stood a man in thick iron armor, his long white beard hanging down.

Beneath his white eyebrows, where the whites should have been, there was a hollow darkness, and in the center of it, eyes as red as the sun burned coldly.

His nose was sharp as a knife, his lips tightly pursed, and the dead, blue skin seemed to be so dry that it barely covered the skull.

His dark heavy armor and massive greatsword made the stronghold he was building seem even more imposing.

Vikir already knew his face.

CaneCorso Le Baskerville.

A former Seven Counts who had seen the turbulence of the Warring States, and the strongest man in the world that even the Age of Destruction had not been able to stop.

He stroked his snow-white beard and smiled wryly.

[It’s definitely a familiar face even though it’s my first time seeing it. Does the intuition of a superhuman who has reached the realm of the supreme transcend even space and time?]

Vikir didn’t bother to answer his question.

‘It reminds me of old times. When I first met him, I had a hard time even receiving a single sword slash.’

I wonder how it is now.

He hadn’t really had a chance to test his strength since the war with the demons ended, and this was a good opportunity.


Vikir drew his favorite sword, Baalzebub, which had been with him all his life.

The two swords clashed.

CaneCorso swings his large serrated greatsword, and Vikir plunges the long, awl-like shaft of Beelzebub through the swirling maelstrom of strikes.

Baskerville’s 9th Form and Baskerville’s 9th Form.

It was only a matter of moments before they clashed.

Nine teeth against nine teeth.


Vikir stopped moving as if struck by lightning.

A moment too late.

His mind raced with the many truths he had seen in the Magic Abyss.

Meanwhile, something that had been blocked for a long time was opened up.


Space and time began to distort.

A tiny speck of light flickered amidst the fierce clash of the nine teeth.

A tooth protruded from the space where dust, gas, clouds, and star clusters floated.

It was the tenth tooth.

It was so small it was barely visible, but it was clearly attached to the other nine teeth.


The moment it pierced his body, CaneCorso thought.

[…… Is it the last one?]

As if in response to this thought.


The sword hilt of his trusty companion, ‘Fragarach’, snapped in half.

CaneCorso gazed warmly at the broken serrated sword with warm eyes and muttered.

[I see, now you’re going to get your Godhood, congratulations.]

The black energy within Fragarach rose into the sky.

CaneCorso’s body also turned to red dust and began to fade away.

[I may not have become a Sword God, but I was able to become a Sword Immortal. I’ll be content to serve as a milestone for future generations.]

He let himself be carried away by the storm of slashes created by the clash of swords.

It was the end of a man who had spent his life obsessed with the sword.


……And then.

The storm subsided.

Only one man remained. Vikir alone.

[Your birth will be like the birth of the sword, and your death will be like the death of the sword.]

The voice of CainCorso, now fading away, drifted away.

Just then.

“Ouch, you burn!”

There is a loud voice behind him.

Vikir turned around in surprise to see familiar faces standing there.

“I knew you’d come this way.”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on this place ever since I heard you mutter something once.”

“Everyone is so paranoid…….”

“We have a former prison guard who is a master of tracking.”

“Uh, you mean me? I’m a former prison guard, but I’m not very good at tracking unless you count arrests.”

Camus, Aiyen, Dolores, Sinclair, Kirko.

All of his friends from the other world were there.

“I, I was going to come alone, but how…….”

On rare occasions, Vikir even stuttered.

It was Camus who stepped forward.

“You should have brought me, if not the others. You don’t even know how to open the gate to the Magic Abyss.”


Vikir shut his mouth.

Camus stepped into the Grave of Swords of his own accord and stared at the giant sigil carved into the bottom of the spiral staircase.

“……The traces of ten mana wheels.”

Camus looked at the magic circle engraved on the floor and the marks of the mana injection.

“It’s similar to a Full Revival Magic, but far more noble, greater, and powerful. …… I can’t believe this kind of magic exists in the world. What was its purpose?”

“It’s almost as if it symbolizes the truth itself, though it’s not for me to know what sister Camus doesn’t know…….”

Even Sinclair, who was no stranger to magic, was breaking out in a cold sweat.

Aiyen, Dolores, and Kirko put their heads together.

“I can tell by the trail. There must have been a huge explosion.”

“From what I’ve heard, this area used to be densely forested. Maybe the explosion turned it into a salt desert…….”

“Maybe there was a meteorite or something, and that would explain the two gaps in human history.”

And it was Camus who summarized all these opinions into one.

“We’ll find out when we go there again.”

A second expedition into the Magic Abyss.

This opinion was the only one that matched Vikir’s.

* * *

Vikir and Camus reached the Magic Abyss once again.

After passing through the ‘Five Fingers of the Creator’ area, they saw a familiar phrase.

-All things are born in the Magic Abyss and return to the Magic Abyss.

-One day, when the stars move, a door will open to a new level and all things will come to their inevitable end.

These two phrases stand like gatekeepers of timeless nothingness.

Camus stretched out the roots of the ghost tree and twisted the locks on the pillars and between the pillars.

Eight doors opened, and only then did Vikir come face to face with something.

It was a spirit being in the form of a human, a female form.

Vikir knew the moment he saw it.

‘Motherhood (Maternal).’

The being that was now radiating a bright light in front of him was his distant ancestor, the ‘First Mother’.

And the mother said to Vikir, and to her son.

[I missed you].


Vikir couldn’t say anything.

And the mother opened her mouth once more.

[I was so worried about you that I couldn’t leave. I don’t know how many generations have passed, but you are still my daughters and sons.]

The mother hugged her son tightly.

Then she spoke in a warm, moist voice.

[Now I can finally leave in peace, to where he has gone.]

“Where are you going?”

Vikir asked, and the mother replied.

[To grab him by the hair].


At Vikir’s puzzled expression, she reached out and stroked his head.



[Live. Live to the fullest. Live to your heart’s content. Live this world cheerfully.]

The mother seemed to know and understand what Vikir had come here for.

But Vikir still didn’t know what to do.

“Can’t I go with you?”

The mother shook her head at the question.

[When the last moment of your life comes, a long time later, a very long time later, come to this place.]


[Until then, enjoy common flirtation and ordinary self-satisfaction, for that is the highest cheerfulness, awareness, and love.]

That was his last word with his mother.

* * *

Vikir returned from the Magic Abyss.

He spent a very long time in this world.

His beautiful wives, his cheerful children, and his happy times with them passed like a dream of the Nine Clouds.

How much time had passed?

When all the crimson dust of this world was covered by the sands of time and could no longer decay.

For the third time in his life, Vikir traveled to the Magic Abyss.


On his first visit, he learned the Full Revival Magic and the truths of the 10 Form.

On his second visit, he met his first mother.

What will he do on his third visit?

“……. ……. …….”

Without a word, Vikir walked up the stairs of dust, clouds, and stars that appeared before him, one by one.

And at the end of the staircase, at the edge of the Magic Abyss, he came face to face with someone sitting on the edge.

‘The Five Fingers of the Creator.’

Beyond the five giant fingers glowed the endless jade throne, or rather, the constellation.

An old man sat there.

He fiddled with a handful of personalized glass beads.

“……. ……. …….”

With a look on his face that Vikir wasn’t sure what to make of.