The Sword Emperor Transmigrates-Chapter 286

Talos sprinted forward with all its might, both arms colliding with Hydra’s massive body, sending it skidding back hundreds of meters. No, it wasn’t just skidding—it was still being pushed back, further and further.

The ground was torn apart beneath them, rocks and hills crumbling in their path as Talos relentlessly drove Hydra away. It was as if the sole goal was to push the beast so far that it would never be able to return to the battlefield. Hydra, watching this seemingly futile effort, narrowed its eyes in amusement.

This was its nature. To mock those who challenged it. To ridicule those who struggled against fate. It had been the same when it let its severed heads regenerate, reveling in the despair of its enemies. It was a monster that only the great hero Heracles had ever truly vanquished. And once again, it sought to indulge in its cruel pastime.

Perhaps that was why it hadn’t realized the truth earlier. If it still had more than one head remaining, it might have taken a moment to observe its surroundings instead of indulging in the pleasure of toying with its prey.

And so, Hydra failed to notice the trap. It wasn’t until the very last moment that it realized where Talos was pushing it—downward toward the abyss that cut through the very heart of the Underworld.

According to Olympian myths, the deepest part of the Underworld was known as Tartarus, a place so inescapable that even the gods could not freely leave once they set foot inside. Poseidon himself had once sealed a portion of this abyss, constructing impenetrable walls and gates around it.

Of course, Hades had yet to fully recover his divinity, so this was not the Underworld’s true Tartarus or the prison of the gods. But that didn’t matter, because this abyss still existed.

Talos drove Hydra straight into it. Hydra, eager to mock its opponent’s final struggle, suddenly felt the ground vanish beneath it. It realized too late that it was no longer simply being pushed back—it was falling.

It wasn’t just gravity affecting it. Some force of law was pulling Hydra down as if it had grabbed Hydra’s ankles.

—■■?! ■■■!!? ■■■■■...!?! freēnovelkiss.com

As both Hydra and Talos plummeted together, Drake recalled an old text he had once read in the archives of the Order of the White Dragon.

In the mythological era, when the God of Heroes Heracles hunted down Hydra, Heracles had faced the same dilemma. The final, immortal head could not be killed, so he had done the only thing he could: bury the beast alive, pinning it beneath an entire mountain.

From the very beginning, Drake had planned to end things the same way. He couldn’t rip a mountain from the ground like Heracles had, but Hydra was incomplete. It had not been summoned in its full form.

If he could bury it here, in this bottomless abyss where Tartarus did not exist, then maybe, just maybe, it would never rise again.

If I remember correctly... Tartarus’s depths... if you drop something heavy inside... it falls for... nine days... and nine nights...?

Hydra struggled desperately, but it could not resist the pull of the abyss. Watching its futile resistance, Drake placed his trembling hand on Talos’s now-ice-cold control lever.

He wasn’t going to last nine days.

“...Thank you... for accompanying me... on my final journey, Talos.”

As if answering his words, the flickering cockpit lights blinked one last time before going out for good. The engine died. The last traces of heat vanished from Talos’s body. The war machine, built for a single use, had finally come to its end.

Feeling the silence settle around him, Drake let out a small chuckle, even as his paralyzed body refused to move. To think he would die alongside the very monster that had sought to mock his final stand...

For a sailor who had once believed the southern seas were the whole world, this was a fitting end.

“...A sip of rum... would’ve been nice.”

As the taste of blood filled his mouth, the era’s greatest adventurer closed his eyes for the last time.

Thus ended the legend of Drake, leader of Wild Hunt. A man who never asked for the blessings that kept him from setting foot on land. A sailor whose final voyage had reached its last port.

It was the final moment of Captain Drake.

* * *

Meanwhile, as the infamous Hydra of Olympus vanished into the abyss, the battle between Monegarm and Kampe had taken an entirely different turn.

Summoning Kampe had initially gone as planned—three Grand Magi had paid a steep price to call her forth, using Tartarus itself as a conduit. Given that Kampe’s divine authority was superior and her sheer power overwhelming, a straightforward fight should have resulted in an easy victory.

But things had not gone according to plan. Monegarm might have seemed like a mindless brute, but no lesser god would have been classified as an Outer God if they couldn’t even manage to protect themself.

■■, ■■■!!

The monstrous giant stretched out its grotesque hand, grabbing hold of Alastair’s legs. No, not just grabbing—it was crushing Alastair’s legs.

The single grip was so powerful that the very fabric of space seemed to compress. The physical strength of the jotun was well-known to rival that of the gods themselves. No matter how strong one’s magical defenses were, a single mistake—such as being a fraction of a second too slow—could mean instant death.

“Aaaaaaghhh!!”

Alastair reacted, even through the pain. With desperate precision, he activated both flight and healing magic, halting his bleeding and escaping before the monster could smash him into the ground like an insect. He summoned a wyvern in midair, climbed onto its back, and then shot upward.

Meanwhile, Kampe lunged at Monegarm, engulfing it in searing flames and slicing through one of its arms. But that wasn’t enough. The corpse-giant used its regenerative abilities to full effect and simply ignored its injuries and kept moving.

“Alastair! Are you alright?!”

“...I’ll live. Though I’ll need to attach prosthetic legs if I want to walk again.”

Under normal circumstances, a missing limb would have been nothing—a bit of regeneration magic and the flesh would knit itself back together. But this was no ordinary injury.

The problem wasn’t that his legs had been destroyed but that it was Monegarm who’d done it. Entities that existed on a higher dimensional scale could inflict wounds that harmed not just the body but also the soul. To recover from such an injury would take years of intensive healing—or the power of a being of equal or greater status.

“I thought it was an idiot... but it’s smarter than it looks...! To think it realized that we need to remain here to maintain Kampe’s summoning!” Nicholas lamented.

Monegarm had understood something crucial—Kampe’s weakness.

Unlike itself, which had simply crossed over from the dimensional rift, Kampe was bound by strict rules. Her existence in this world was conditional, having once served as Tartarus’s warden.

If Tartarus itself collapsed, she would be forced back. If her summoners were eliminated, the spell that maintained her form would break. Accomplishing either would cause Kampe to be sent back.

The moment Monegarm realized this, it ignored everything else and went after Alastair and Antonius. And it had nearly succeeded.

“Damn it...! It’s completely ignoring Nicolas and focusing on just the two of us. Kampe is strong, but she lacks the power to land a decisive finishing blow. This fight has become a battle of attrition—will we be the first to fall, or will Monegarm’s regeneration first run out?”

Even as Monegarm burned and its limbs were torn apart, its gaze never wavered from the two summoners. The seals they had placed to restrict its movement snapped apart like brittle twigs.

Immediately, a voice filled with rage echoed through the battlefield.

—You filthy, lowly pile of flesh...! You dare ignore me and focus on mere humans?!

A pair of bat-like wings carried Kampe aloft as flames erupted from her claws, bringing forth a storm in her wake.

As the warden of Tartarus, it was only natural that she possessed the means to restrain its prisoners. Among them was this very fire—a purgatorial flame that burned away the souls of those deemed guilty.

Monegarm’s grotesque flesh seared and peeled, exposing boiling muscles, bones, and organs. And yet, the creature did not stop. There existed a kind of strength that belonged solely to those who were brutish and mindless.

Even Kampe found herself clicking her tongue at the monster’s sheer persistence.

—Damn it! Run, you pathetic mages! If my reputation suffers because of you, I will never forgive you!

It wasn’t as if her attacks were ineffective. Deep, grievous wounds marred the beast’s body. Dozens of them were pouring out Monegarm’s very essence, causing its divinity to steadily diminish in real time.

And yet, Monegarm’s relentless pursuit did not waver, nor did it seem as though it would cease until it had killed them all.

“—We need to close the gates of Tartarus.” Antonius made his decision.

The Tartarus they had temporarily manifested to summon Kampe was not the real deal, but it was still a functional construct. That meant it could be sealed shut, trapping everything inside. Unlike the Tartarus of ancient times, this one was not linked to the depths of the Underworld, meaning that closing it was tantamount to its destruction.

A true and complete entrapment. The goddess Kampe was the first to understand his intent, even before Nicholas and Alastair could.

—You do realize that if you do this, you will be trapped as well?

“It doesn’t matter. As long as I can send Monegarm into the abyss and get the other two out, that’s enough.”

Alastair and Nicholas, who had been watching in shock, finally grasped his meaning a beat late.

“What?! There’s no reason for you to sacrifice yourself, senior!”

“It was my mistake that got me injured! I’ll endure until we defeat it—just trust me!”

Antonius simply let out a quiet chuckle and shook his head. “No need. I have less than a month left to live anyway. Rather than spend my last days as a burden to my juniors and the world, I’d rather be remembered as the mage who brought down an Outer God.”

“Sir!”

“It is the role of a senior to protect those who come after him. The research and papers I’ve left in my personal quarters—I’ll leave them in your hands. But I’ll be taking the glory of this moment for myself. You’ll have to work hard if you want to live up to my name.”

With those words, Antonius waved his hand once. In an instant, Nicholas and Alastair vanished. Since this Tartarus was his own creation, controlling the entry and exit of its inhabitants was a trivial task. Outside, the two desperately tried to find a way to undo his magic, but the replica of the abyss from ages past was not something that could be undone so easily.

And then, a deep tremor shook the interior of the barrier.

Rumbleee...!

Kampe, who had severed Monegarm’s ankle and sent it crashing down, sent a thought Antonius’s way.

—Your resolve is commendable! I will hold it down—begin your spell!

“I am grateful for your cooperation, o’ Kampe.”

—Do not mistake this as a favor to you! I act only to fulfill the command given to me by my master, the King of the Underworld! Hurry!

Antonius let out a bitter chuckle at her words but nonetheless raised his hands and began forming hand seals. Due to the nature of barrier magic, which required a three-dimensional understanding of space, hand seals were more effective than incantations.

His fingers moved with practiced precision, executing five to six intricate gestures within the span of a second. The constructed Tartarus began to shrink, drawing tighter around its remaining occupants.

Both Antonius and Kampe were prepared for this. Monegarm, however, was not.

■■!! ■■■■■—!?!

With a guttural roar, the beast threw itself forward, having somehow escaped the storm and flames Kampe had conjured. It clawed at the ground in blind desperation, fueled by a singular desire—to kill Antonius.

“Hah, what a terrifying sight.”

Rather than waste time regenerating its severed leg, it used its powerful arms to drag itself across the earth, closing the distance between them at a horrifying speed.

To think that the final sight of his life would be the murderous eyes and outstretched claws of this corpse-giant. Antonius clicked his tongue at the absurdity of it all as he completed the last hand seal. It was a forbidden self-destruct magic, one that collapsed the barrier inward with the caster at its center.

Monegarm’s fingertips grazed Antonius’s scalp, just shy of crushing his skull—when the gates of Tartarus slammed shut.

—————.

The sound ceased. The very concept of movement vanished. Monegarm’s outstretched fingers stopped mid-air, its hateful expression frozen in time. Light faded. The world came to a halt, and even Antonius’s thoughts began to slow.

In that fleeting instant, he reflected upon his life.

...It was joyful, regretful, exhilarating, sorrowful, and, in the end, fulfilling.

He had been blessed with extraordinary talent and had walked the path of magic. There had been failures and moments of despair, but he had never once stopped moving forward. He could not claim to be without regrets, but never had he wished to turn back time.

He could still remember the embarrassment he felt when he was first hailed as the prospective leader of the Arcane Society. Yet now, save for the Society President, all his colleagues had become his juniors, addressing him with the utmost respect.

Two hundred years of memories flickered through his mind like lightning. He saw the face of Empress Laila, who had expressed sorrow at his farewell. He saw the faces of his juniors, who had desperately tried to stop him from making this choice.

...A shame that I won’t see them again once I die.

Perhaps if it were the Hades of the old era, such a thing might have been possible. But with Hades becoming a Void Deity, he could not revive a Demigod’s soul.

Had such a thing been possible, all Demigods would have used self-sacrificial techniques without hesitation. As his consciousness drifted into an unfathomable abyss, Antonius felt an odd sense of peace with dying within the depths of Tartarus.

...I leave the rest to you all.

Strangely, the darkness that embraced him was neither cruel nor cold. It was warm—comforting, like a mother’s embrace. According to an old hypothesis proposed by a theologian of the past, Tartarus was akin to Gaia’s womb.

To be imprisoned here was to return to the time before one’s birth. Whether that was true or not, Antonius would never know. But one thing was certain—he had laid down his burdens and returned to eternal rest.