UCPA Chapter 98: Submerged Again

Chapter 98: Submerged Again

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: PlumSauce

 

John fell backward, still wearing a look of surprise. A bloodkin’s heart being pierced wasn’t fatal — it would only render them completely immobile and unable to make a sound.

He lay on the ground, unable to see Coraci, only feeling a burning in his chest. He heard the Nightmare’s hooves approaching, and a pair of iron gauntlets lifted his arms. He was pulled onto a horse’s back, and hard, cold armor pressed against him from behind.

Though he couldn’t turn to look, John recognized who it was — by the Nightmare’s neck. The horse, like its rider, had no head. From the severed neck dangled a backpack, and inside it rested the rider’s head.

Sir Kimplin and his mount were so absurd they were almost unbearable to look at, but John could not bring himself to laugh… Even if his heart hadn’t been pierced, he still wouldn’t have been able to laugh.

“Thank you for helping me, Sir. Farewell. John… Farewell.”

Coraci looked at Sir Kimplin. The knight nodded in acknowledgment.

Only then did John understand — they had planned this long ago. These dark creatures obeyed Coraci more than anyone else, and they were willing to submit to him.

The Nightmare carried Kimplin and John through the territories people had once crossed, had once fought in, and moved toward the exit.

Because the bond’s power still lingered, the command “You must not leave me” remained. Coraci followed slowly behind them. His control over his body grew weaker by the moment; he was less steady on his feet than a small child.

Sir Kimplin would not stop. Coraci had repeatedly instructed him on this beforehand. Satisfied, Coraci thought, This is why I am willing to deal with the knight — once these creatures agree to your request, they never go back on their word.

Gradually, he fell behind the Nightmare’s pace. He looked toward the distance, toward John.

He saw not only a young bloodkin but also the person who had surprised him the most in his life so far.

His “life so far” did not include the days buried deep in darkness, nor the time in the forests of Hungary. Only the years being raised by Mira could truly be called a “life”. The earlier years — better described as a devil’s existence — were nothing more than nightmares.

Now, the nightmare had once again returned, and “life” had already ended.

He knew that life should have continued. He should have remained John’s partner, perhaps facing danger together, experiencing strange adventures, encountering creatures never before seen, and occasionally suffering from the bad temper of gilomorphs. Sometimes, he and John would separate; he would stay in the office handling paperwork while John took Carl out to register new wild bloodkin in the city…

Years would have passed slowly that way. In that time, Smith might have married again, Mariana might have submitted her internship application, and who knows when Carl’s blind passion for Carolyn might fade…

If he had remained human, if his powers and memories had never awakened, “Coraci as a human” would have grown into an eccentric old man, writing one absurd thriller after another. Until his death, some would have believed he killed three spouses; yet colleagues at the Association and the creatures he helped would have called him their closest friend.

What a perfect life that would have been — whether as an ordinary person or a spellcaster.

But after death, things would become imperfect: when life ended and his body decayed completely, he would discover he had not truly died. His body would be aged beyond use, and his soul — just as it had once been imprisoned in stone — would remain bound to that body. After being buried, he would realize he was not human, but he would be unable to speak or move.  He would once again be underground, facing a future of endless terror and loneliness.

Thinking of it that way, the current situation was not so bad. Everything had been brought forward a little — a premature arrival of the inevitable.

 

Because of his sluggish pace, by the time Coraci reached the exit, Sir Kimplin was gone. All the living creatures had probably departed, leaving the broken, empty “grand library” with only Coraci inside.

He could not pass through the gateway, nor break the spell — but he could use his remaining strength to do one final thing: close the exit from the inside, preventing John from returning.

Coraci’s lips moved silently.

I’m sorry… I cannot leave you. I know I cannot leave you. But this is all I have left of my dignity… I won’t let you stay here and watch me become a hollow shell.

The light in his eyes faded, and the power around him dissipated. Perhaps this was the last time he fully controlled his strength and actions. Afterwards, his soul would gradually lose the ability to move his body. He may still be able to wield the power to kill, but he would not be able to perform the simplest actions, speak, or feel. He would remain here, a living corpse.

He couldn’t make a sound. Even if he could, John wouldn’t hear it now.

“You said you would defy my will to grant me freedom. Now, I have done the same for you.”

“John Lockland… It has been an honor to know you.”

The sound of iron gauntlets tapping on a keyboard was reminiscent of an old-fashioned typewriter.

Behind Sir Kimplin stood a crowd of people, nearly filling the small room. He still couldn’t speak, but he could type.

They were in the Association’s new West Bay City office. Kimplin was typing out everything he had experienced.

John lay in a dark room without windows, his parents by his side. The object that had pierced his heart had been removed. However, ever since he came out, he had been in a deep sleep, occasionally waking for a few seconds, unable to convey anything clearly, then slipping back into unconsciousness.

Experienced bloodkin had examined him and concluded that the object had likely contained devil’s power, and the impact had been too great. He would need much more time to fully regain consciousness.

From January into February, the exorcists attempted several times to re-enter the sandbox but failed.

Coraci, the sandbox’s principal spellcaster, wielded far more spiritual power than anyone else. He had sealed the gateways, unwilling to let anyone enter again.

Standing at the gates of the Blackmoon estate, Carolyn and Liz leaned their heads together, staring at the silent ruins. Carolyn had just cried herself hoarse moments before — people had never seen her cry like that.

She repeated the same question over and over, Why did they treat him this way? And why did he just accept it?

“Believe it or not, Coraci is actually quite timid,” Smith said, standing beside them. He gazed at the estate gates as if he could see inside the sandbox. “I only realized it recently. Look — an immature failed marriage, he accepted it. Being falsely suspected of murder, he accepted it. Being punished for using sorcery to save the Lizardman girl, he accepted it without a word of protest. Hai Jiu leaving him over the Atwood family matter, he also accepted it. Thinking back further — he was imprisoned by the Arcane Covenant and didn’t even consider resisting. Only when Zoltán and Mira needed protection did he fight for them. I think he fears confronting anything.”

Rather than turn and face a situation, he seemed to prefer fleeing, diving alone into the Abyss.

“We won’t allow that,” a voice said from behind them.

Liz and Carolyn looked around but saw no one. Finally, Smith noticed a massive yellow-and-white cat crouching in a nearby tree.

The three of them stared at the cat for a few seconds before it spoke first. “I’m spirit beast Joseph. Coraci never mentioned me?”

“Oh! Master Joseph of the Katehaus family!” Smith exclaimed. The cat leapt from the tree, placing a paw on his face before hopping down along his shoulder and chest.

“Coraci, this child, is far too willful,” Joseph said, sitting upright. “I just visited the rest of your kind, and they all agreed with me. We can’t indulge his stubbornness.”

“Wait… What?” Smith understood the reference to “your kind” (meaning something like “colleagues”), but he wasn’t sure what Joseph meant by “not indulging stubbornness.”

The cat twisted and slinked between their feet. “Magic is never absolute. He can close the door from the inside; we can dig a new one from the outside. True, we’re not as powerful as devils…but we have more manpower! Hundreds of spellcasters around the world will participate — I don’t believe it can’t be dug open.”

From February into March, military supply tents began appearing again along the edge of the Blackmoon estate. Much like when the sandbox was originally being constructed, almost all of the staff from that time returned.

John couldn’t do much to help with the magic. He returned to his old life. Every day, when he had spare time, he went to the sandbox entrance, imagining a real door before him, with Coraci on the other side.

He thought there was nothing he could do this time. At best, he could only wait passively for a miracle to happen, hoping Coraci would return to him, just like last time.

Then, one day at the end of March, he was struck in the face by Master Joseph, who had jumped down from above. Joseph demanded that he go to the hotel where Arthur was temporarily staying.

It wasn’t Arthur who wanted to see him — it was Lucian. Liz was there too. Even Russell was present.

John hadn’t seen Russell in a long time. The once-ailing wizard warden now looked thin but in decent health, no longer coughing incessantly.

In the hotel suite, Lucian sat at a desk, which was covered with ancient spellbooks and arcane diagrams.

“My god, Lucian, you’ve adapted so well. You don’t look like a newly turned bloodkin at all,” John said, staring at the researcher in surprise. Lucian had been transformed less than a year ago, yet he could already make his complexion almost human.

Lucian hated that comment — almost every bloodkin who saw him said something similar. Arthur, meanwhile, sat off to the side, propping a newspaper in front of his face with a smug grin.

“John, we need you,” Lucian said, removing his glasses. Wearing them helped him maintain focus, but he felt it looked awkward to talk to someone with them on. “According to Hilton’s calculations, the exorcists will need about three more weeks to dig a new entrance into the sandbox. Then we can gradually expand it. We can only make a new entrance; we can’t reopen the one Coraci sealed. The location of the new entrance might be uncertain, so even if we get inside, we’ll still need time to find him — the sandbox interior is huge.”

John wanted to say, That’s great, and also, What do you need me to do now? Thoughts piled up in his head, tangled and stuck, leaving him only able to shift his expression rapidly without saying a single word.

“I said we need you mainly because of your…uh, relationship with Coraci,” Lucian continued. “Technically, you’re not the only one who can do this. Me, Arthur, Sir Kimplin…or Wu Jiu — we could all do it. But I think you’re the best choice. Coraci trusts you.”

“What is it?”

Lucian exchanged a glance with Liz. “If it succeeds, it will give Coraci freedom — true freedom — returning him to the real world, no longer bound by anything. But if it fails…we’ll lose him. Are you willing to take that risk?”

John nodded. He didn’t need to think about it at all. “Of course I am willing. This isn’t even a risk,” he said, quietly clenching his fists. “Because if I don’t…I’ve already lost him.”

 

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