novelraw Chapter 248 : Ophelia: How Could This Possibly Be Won
Chapter 248 : Ophelia: How Could This Possibly Be Won
Chapter 248: Ophelia: How Could This Possibly Be Won
“Today, the Granwell Empire might appear strong and prosperous, but this very prosperity has also made it the target of all.”
“The peace seen on the surface is nothing but an illusion… In truth, whether it be the Gravekeepers or the other great powers on the Western Continent, all are waiting for an opportunity to plunge this lofty empire into irretrievable ruin.”
“This, whether it is I or Elder Sister, we both understand clearly.”
Ophelia spoke with a faint smile.
“Or perhaps it should be said that from the very beginning—ever since Elder Sister declared to the outside world that she would protect the one who killed the Gravekeeper Angel, in other words, Brother Rast—you—”
“She had already resolved herself to stand against the entire world.”
Between the Gravekeepers and the Shoreguards, there lay a blood feud spanning countless eras—an enmity that could never be reconciled, an endless struggle of life and death.
For Shiltina to choose to protect Rast meant declaring war upon that ancient and hidden organization lurking behind the veil of history, whose lowest members were at the level of Legendary beings.
This was only natural. Shiltina had known it from the very beginning… She had already been prepared, willing to pay the corresponding price and bear all consequences.
“To declare war against the entire world…”
Seeing the faint smile curl upon the boy’s lips, Ophelia continued, “That truly is… very much in Shiltina’s style.”
“There is no helping it. After all, Elder Sister is the ‘War Chariot.’”
Ophelia’s voice softened. “The so-called ‘War Chariot’ is one who can ignore all obstacles and carve a path forward with her own hands.”
“Even if a mountain stood before her, Elder Sister would not choose to go around it—she would simply draw her sword and cleave the mountain apart.”
Her gaze fell upon the distant, shadowed firmament within Rast’s Mental Image World.
“If it were Father, or if I myself stood in Elder Sister’s place… I would likely feign courtesy with the Gravekeepers, presenting myself as harmless and weak.”
“Then, when the time was ripe, I would strike from the shadows. After all, although those old relics are powerful, at the very least all of them Legendary, perhaps from sleeping too long, they seem to have dulled minds one and all.”
“But I simply cannot imagine Elder Sister engaging in such false courtesy, wearing a mask of deceit to bargain with the enemy—”
“If she truly were to act that way, then Elder Sister would no longer be Elder Sister.”
Ophelia recalled once again the day two years ago, when the Holy Sword acknowledged a master again after a millennium. She had witnessed it with her very own eyes.
That was Shiltina’s declaration of rebellion to her father—an oath of the highest grandeur.
It was also the insatiably greedy demand: “The one I wish to protect, the ideals of the Foresters, and the mission of the royal family—I want them all.”
To ordinary people, even bearing a single one of those burdens would be enough to crush them beyond endurance.
But Shiltina carried all of them upon her shoulders, marching unrelentingly along her path, like the divine War Chariot itself, grinding to dust everything that dared to block her way.
“Yes, if she were the sort to stop walking forward… then she would no longer be Shiltina.”
“But precisely because of that, your Elder Sister shines with such strength, such brilliance, does she not?”
“She makes it so that even I, living now in a Present World where the Shoreguards no longer exist, do not feel alone.”
Before Ophelia, the black-haired boy nodded in agreement.
“So, for the sake of meeting her again one day—”
“Ophelia, please keep my resurrection a secret from the world.”
“A chess piece hidden in the shadows, beyond the enemy’s expectations… can play a role far greater than one placed openly on the board.”
“Still… I truly do miss her.”
From the wind sweeping across the Crimson Wasteland came the boy’s quiet sigh. “Before, I never thought two years could feel so long.”
At this, Ophelia was momentarily taken aback.
As one who knew the hidden truth of Rast’s past, she understood well the kind of time he had once endured before leaving the Nightworld and becoming part of the Present World.
That was three hundred years trapped within the Historical Echoes of Deep Blue Port, in the body and mind of a powerless ordinary person… a looping hell of time that could drive anyone to madness.
For mortals with lifespans of only a few decades, two years was an unbearably long period—one-tenth of a lifetime.
But for Rast, compared to the three centuries he had endured in Deep Blue Port, these two years should have been nothing. By now, he should have long grown used to it.
Perhaps because they were within his Mental Image World, Rast sensed the ripple of her emotions, guessed at her thoughts—
The next moment, Ophelia heard the boy standing upon the wasteland speak again:
“If it were the old me, these two years would truly be nothing… Compared to the years I once lived through, they would be but a drop in the vast ocean.”
“Only—”
His voice paused for a moment.
“Though my body withered and perished, that ruined vessel unable to match the weight of my soul and thus casting me into a long slumber—”
“Even then, I still maintained perception of the outside world. Though I could not move, and though my sight was lost, even as a vegetable, I could still hear the sounds beyond, and smell the sharp scent of disinfectant in the ward.”
Ophelia noticed that his voice had softened slightly.
It was such a subtle change, yet in her ears, it was impossibly clear.
“And in that darkness of my Spiritual World, in those lonely times when I could only sleep alone…”
“There was always a voice, filled with guilt and longing, that would appear together with the fragrance of violets.”
“Each afternoon, when the temperature rose just a little, she would sit at my bedside, hold my hand, and confide her heart to me—”
“Her endless yearning for me day and night, the memories we once shared, the countless trifles, worries, and burdens she faced while fulfilling her duties as a princess… And the small, ordinary bits of daily life, plain yet enough to make one smile.”
Rast turned his head back, gazing at the desolate Crimson Wasteland beneath the gear-filled heavens.
Ophelia followed his gaze—and her eyes froze.
On that crimson wasteland, small emerald seeds were quietly sprouting, dotting the desolation with traces of life.
At this moment, those green points of light were still so faint that one would never notice them without careful attention.
Yet one day, those once-insignificant seeds would sprout anew in the morning dew, and on a wasteland once burned barren by wildfire, they would grow into a new spring.
Together, Rast and Ophelia watched those scattered emerald lights across the wasteland, their gazes soft.
“In my hometown, there is such a saying—when a lie is repeated a thousand times, people will believe it, so long as the picture it paints is beautiful enough. For instance, when an old noblewoman hears a young man praising her beauty, even though she knows it to be false, she still feels delighted.”
“And all the more so, the words repeated thousands of times by that girl at my bedside, who held my hand… they were no lies, but truly the voice of her heart.”
“And as early as the last cycle in Deep Blue Port, that knight shining like a War Chariot had already claimed a place in my heart.”
Rast smiled. “So gradually, I discovered that within the depths of my heart, there too grew a longing for her—”
“This feeling, born from Shiltina’s ceaseless calls and confessions, also filled the hollow void within my Mental Image World, completing the emotions I had as a human, making them whole.”
“If not for these emotions borrowed from others, filling the incomplete gaps in my Mental Image World, my soul might still be asleep, unable to undergo transformation in such a short time.”
He looked toward the tender green sprouting upon the Crimson Wasteland. “Perhaps at first these were borrowed feelings, but as you can see now, they have already become part of my soul.”
“Today, when false becomes true, the true itself is false.”
At those words, Ophelia’s crimson eyes flickered with an indescribable expression.
“So… Brother Rast also harbors such feelings toward Elder Sister?”
She revealed a bright and lively smile. “In that case, I am relieved.”
“At least, Elder Sister’s longing over these two years was not merely a one-sided affection… but a fortunate love returned.”
“By the way, Brother Rast… judging from your current Mental Image World—”
“The you now, have you not already surpassed the Legendary tier?”
Ophelia’s gaze shifted from Rast back to the crimson wasteland, subtly changing the subject.
“That final step you mentioned earlier—”
“Could it be… to advance even further beyond Legendary?”
To go beyond Legendary would mean to draw extremely close to the domain of Angels.
“Something like that.”
Rast seemed to sense Ophelia’s intent in shifting the subject, but merely smiled. “In that battle, I collapsed the ‘Fool’s Library,’ and lost the protection of that powerful Nightblade—”
“But for me, this too was a rare opportunity… to tear everything down, and rebuild from scratch, raising a brand-new tower.”
“If I can take this step, then the new ‘Fool’s Library’ will no longer be a cheat-like external force borrowed from others, but a power truly my own.”
“In addition, before taking that step, I still have something even more important to do.”
His words paused for a moment.
Though the black-haired boy was right before her, Ophelia suddenly felt his gaze drift far, as if looking past her to somewhere distant.
“In the Nightworld, there is still someone… waiting for me to bring her back.”
…
Hearing the depth of feeling contained within his words, Ophelia’s expression froze for an instant.
But she quickly composed herself again, smiling as she lifted her skirt and performed a flawless courtly bow to Rast.
“Then, Brother Rast… please allow me to take my leave.”
Saying so, as if fleeing something, Ophelia willed her thoughts, swiftly pulling her consciousness from the Nightworld back to reality.
The heartscape of the crimson wasteland filled with gears faded, replaced by the pure white, silent corridor of the hospital.
Ophelia stepped back two paces, finally finding support against the wall.
The soundproofing of the hospital ward was excellent; the entire world was silent.
And Ophelia simply leaned against the wall in silence, feeling the sour emotion fermenting and thickening in her heart.
That searing ripple of emotion—if delayed even for a moment—would have become impossible to conceal. That was why she had so urgently cut herself off from the Nightworld.
Ophelia von Fresberg.
The Second Imperial Princess, bearing such a name, was in truth one who lived like a mirror.
That mirror seemed colorful, splendid, and refined… but could not shine by itself, only reflecting the light of others.
If stripped of those brilliant people, of their radiant beliefs and emotions, her heart would be empty, non-existent.
Thus, from her heart, she revered, depended upon, admired, and even cherished those whose souls blazed bright, whose spirits shone like gold—noble and dazzling figures.
It was for this reason that she admired her Elder Sister so deeply, to the point that Dean Silver once called her sister complex nearly pathological—
In the eyes of Ophelia, who lived only to meet the expectations of others, Shiltina’s figure—heedless of worldly opinion, pressing forward without hesitation—was so dazzling, so radiant, one could not help but yearn for her.
But.
Two years ago, at dusk, above the Imperial Capital, she had witnessed with her own eyes a light no less than Elder Sister’s, perhaps even more brilliant.
That day.
Among the witnesses, the boy’s figure—like the Demon King Sataniel—was carved deep into her soul, unforgettable for all eternity.
And among those witnesses, was there not also Ophelia herself?
But—
Here and now.
Looking at the isolation window of the ward at the end of the corridor, seeing her Elder Sister holding that boy’s hand, confiding her heart.
Recalling the crimson wasteland heartscape, and Rast’s candid words about his yearning for Shiltina.
Ophelia felt a sharp pain stabbing her heart.
A surge of indescribable bitterness flooded her chest, a pain she had never felt before, suffocating her breath.
Her body slid down against the cold wall, collapsing weakly onto the icy floor.
“How could this possibly…”
“…be won.”