Everything Will Dissolve into Madness

"My lord?"

Isidore waved his Soul-Calling Banner to disperse the gathering spirits. He walked up to Kas, who was drenched in blood and covered in wounds, his eyes behind the cold mask trembling with shock.

He could not understand why Kas and Xipel, locked in a life-or-death struggle, would chant the same war song. There was no hatred or killing intent in their voices; the fervent, impassioned tones were filled with nothing but blessings.

They seemed to be blessing each other's deaths, driven by an incomprehensible conviction to honor themselves and the gods through battle.

What kind of belief could drive one to vent such intense emotions in the most extreme way possible—death?

Was it the gods? No, if it were divine will dictating the struggle for honor, they would surely harbor the deepest hatred for one another to vie for divine favor.

The only possibility he could conceive of was honor.

Kas released his grip on Xipel's throat. As he stood up, his wounds healed rapidly. The sensation of his soul returning to his body told him this was a dream; the dream of fighting Xipel Blackheart had ended.

But was it truly just a dream?

The Barbarian turned to stare at Isidore, who wore the Mask of the Departed. He was likely going to die...

"Isidore, as a Soul Caller, you have witnessed a warrior depart for the Vagha Hall and beheld the honor of Xipel Blackheart."

"How could I allow this battle, witnessed by the gods, to be stained? You are free."

Isidore did not appear excited. He knew Kas's gesture was an expression of respect, a way to provide a reason for him to maintain the will to survive.

To survive in the Sorrow Mountains, freedom promised nothing.

He quickly shifted his posture, observing Kas as his soul returned to its normal state:

"Are you alright, Kas?"

"To be precise, I was affected a little..." Kas silently looked around at the dissipating spirits. He began to understand the intense self-destructive impulse rooted deep within the Rishiman People.

To die in accordance with one's inner conviction was a form of honor, even if that conviction felt utterly absurd.

"Let's go. We still have a long way to go."

The two continued along the ridge. The Soul-Calling Banner and the Mask of the Departed ignited without flame, the tools used to communicate with spirits turning to dust and vanishing into the wind and sand permeating Iron Peak Mountain.

This cruel mountain, fought over for a thousand years, had witnessed yet another warrior ascend to the ranks of the ancestors, entering the Vagha Hall to drink strong spirits from curved horns.

Back on level ground, the first thing Isidore did was carefully check if his face had been burned. He clearly remembered the mask being engulfed in flames, and the searing, intense pain had swept across his entire body from his cheeks.

To be burned to death by fire must be the most terrifying thing, yet he had survived, his body without a single injury...

He glanced back at Iron Peak Mountain, that terrifying peak piercing the clouds with its countless spikes. It was once again shrouded in a veil of ordinariness, the dead spirits lurking in the soil and gullies, restored to calm.

Iron Bone Morse stared at Isidore in astonishment. He had not expected this Southerner to actually receive the mercy of the Lady of Death; the Mask of the Departed had been removed.

Isidore bowed to Iron Bone: "My lord, I have brought Kas back. He has granted me my freedom."

Light flickered in Morse's eyes; he understood Isidore's implication: "I will keep my promise and tell you how to bypass the spirits guarding the Sacred Forest to touch the Ancient Oak."

"Yes."

Kas swayed as he woke, his vision entirely filled by a massive wolf's head.

He smiled. The excessive blood loss left his body weak, but he braced himself against the ground and stood up.

The first thing he did upon waking was to embrace Seneya, feeling the furry werewolf, so different from the delicate body in his dream. He whispered into her ear: "I'm back."

The red light in Seneya's eyes faded, and her clear, cherry-like eyes welled with tears as she let out a low, whimpering howl.

"Woo~"

"It's okay. I just had a dream. I saw you, and Luna."

"Woo~"

He gently patted the big girl's back. Even if he knew it was a dream, or some other nonsensical garbage, Kas had chosen to abandon rational analysis.

I reckon what I saw in the dream is the scene ten years from now. I have a beautiful, gentle wife and a sensible, cute daughter!

Kas released his arms and turned to climb the cliff where the envoy of the Lady of Death resided once more.

He had to retrieve Luna and hold fast to his initial resolve.

Climbing step by step, he found the crow whose eyes shone like jewels in the dark night.

He forcibly pried open its beak and hung the "bunch of grapes" used for the sacrifice onto its pitch-black bill. As for whether the Lady of Death would accept the offering, Kas figured she should...

No, she must!

He let go. The crow cawed twice, not shaking off the offering in its mouth, and spread its wings to fly onto Blackheart's head.

The two spears embedded in the eye sockets fell mysteriously, but the envoy of the Lady of Death did not eat the offering. This meant it had accepted the prayer, yet not entirely—acting with the reserve of a coy young girl.

Drawing his battle-axe Luna, he saw Blackheart's head fall to the ground. Kas knew his sins had been forgiven due to the courage shown by the Blackheart of the past and the resolve of his two daughters.

Climbing back down step by step, Morse hurried over, staring at Kas's cheek in surprise, his eye sockets a shocking, uneasy shade of red-purple.

"The mark of the Lady of Death? Damn it... How am I supposed to answer to the ancestors? The clan is going to be ruined in my hands!"

"The Lady of Death just gave me a kiss." Kas touched his cheek, which still held the sensation. The kiss had been soft, yet as profound as death itself.

"Cut the crap! There is only one reason to be branded with the mark of the Lady of Death—she is summoning you."

"Death is calling to you, Kas!" Iron Bone scurried about anxiously, drifting to and fro like a headless fly.

"No, that would make me too ashamed to return to the arena. Right..." He suddenly hopped in front of Seneya.

"Little one, hurry up and bear Kas a son. It doesn't matter if he dies; he's just a disobedient brat anyway..."

Seneya bit down on the nagging Ancestor, letting out a fierce, threatening growl to make him shut his mouth at once.

"I'm dying, I'm dying... wait, I'm already dead."

Morse wouldn't stop chattering, incessantly repeating the horrors of the Lady of Death's mark, urging Kas to apologize to the envoy immediately and beg for Lagrey's forgiveness.

Kas stuffed a thick piece of cloth into the Ancestor's mouth and walked straight toward Ferode Canyon, hoping this journey home would go more smoothly.

He looked back and suddenly said to Isidore, who was gazing at Iron Peak Mountain:

"Come to think of it, Isidore, I once heard a saying: to understand a place, you must know how the people there live, love, and die. How do you view death?"

"It is quite different from the Rishiman People..." Isidore shouldered his pack and strolled forward to follow Kas:

"We believe that after death, one must pass through prayer to find rest. The merciful and just God of Death, Bazel, will have his divine envoys guide the soul to the Underworld..."

Plan: Honor, Dreams, and Oracles

Status: Completed

Inspiration: For the Rishiman People, there is no such thing as hallucinations, dreams, or oracles; they are fundamentally rooted in the deep-seated mindset of the Rishiman People—what is seen is believed, and what is believed is seen.

All mental derangement, ravings, and hallucinations are caused by spirits. Once this belief is accepted, the Rishiman People use self-suggestion to create new evidence to support their convictions.

The prophetic madness induced by oracles exists to protect against suffocating ignorance and anxiety.

Fear of fate, fear of corruption, fear of all spirits—the omniscient and omnipotent gods provide mortals with a guarantee: everything you do, though it may seem chaotic, actually possesses a sacred purpose and meaning.

The honor killings announced in advance, the death matches where the past, present, and future of Iron Peak Mountain intertwine—all stupidity, stubbornness, and paranoia will be dissolved in madness.

Xipel Blackheart, Tina, Delin—they attributed all of this to honor, dreams, and oracles, executing without hesitation the madness bestowed upon them by the self, the spirits, and the gods—death!