Chapter 40: Sealing

Chapter 40: Sealing

The black figure froze in place and released the hand holding Bernadette’s neck. It seemed to be gazing at the Queen of Mysteries with nonexistent eyes.

A dry, hoarse voice then echoed within the concealed space:

“Hometown…”

There was a trace of hesitation in that voice, a trace of confusion, and a sense of seeking confirmation, as if it had come from another world.

The corrosion Bernadette had suffered vanished. Her connection with her own Sealed Artifacts was instantly restored.

Pale Death once again began making her die little by little. This helped her resist the gradual chaos of her thoughts, keeping her basically clear-headed and rational.

Just as she opened her mouth, wanting to say more, the black figure suddenly extended its hand forward again.

But this time, it was not trying to seize Bernadette’s neck. Instead, it shoved her heavily.

Accompanying that shove was the collapse of the concealed space and a voice carrying obvious pain, as though resisting something:

“Leave!”

As the voice echoed, the black figure vanished from where it stood.

The next instant, it appeared atop the central platform and sat in the enormous iron-black high-backed chair.

Two slits immediately opened on its face, as if two asymmetrical eyes had grown there.

Yet those “eyes” had no pupils. They were entirely blood-red.

Immediately afterward, a third slit opened beneath those two “eyes.” Inside it likewise filled with pure crimson light.

This finally gave the black figure a “mouth.”

Facing Bernadette, while obvious pain and resistance filled its voice, it shouted again through the surrounding air:

“Leave this place!”

After being pushed more than ten meters back, Bernadette stood firm with ease. Yet she did not follow that voice’s command and leave the Black Emperor’s mausoleum. She remained standing there, staring blankly at the central platform, at the black figure, with sorrow she could not hide and did not wish to hide showing on her face.

She could sense it. She could already confirm it. That black figure was her father—the man who called himself Caesar, Roselle Gustav.

In the next second, even more slits opened across the black figure. They stretched from its head all the way downward, blooming into blood-red flowers at different parts of its body.

This made Roselle seem as though only a layer of shadow remained, wrapping around a mass of pure radiance and blood-red substance within.

Above the gray fog, when Klein saw this scene, he naturally thought of the red moon high in the sky.

Roselle at this moment seemed to be transforming into a shadow, trying to cover that red moon. Yet one opening after another was being torn through him, letting more and more moonlight shine into reality.

Once these openings connected, the black shadow would completely split open and give birth to an entirely new red moon.

At that time, an extremely terrifying event would inevitably occur.

Just then, Roselle’s black figure became much more illusory, as though it had turned into some kind of phantom.

This made him look as though he had been isolated in another world, with an invisible barrier between him and reality.

Then Roselle laboriously raised his shadow-like right arm and pinched his forehead.

The frequency at which blood-red slits appeared across his body instantly dropped to the lowest possible point. But the “eyes” that had already existed began blinking, again and again.

However, this did not bring any negative influence upon the surroundings. It seemed only to be a pure change in order—the tendency for blood-red slits to constantly be “newborn” had been distorted into the gradual activation of the ones that already existed.

After completing this, Roselle raised his head, looked toward Bernadette dozens of meters away, and laughed in a dry, hoarse voice.

“You really have become a major figure in the mysterious world, able to come here by yourself.

“Come over. Let me see clearly what my little princess looks like now.”

Bernadette’s eyes abruptly reddened, and she stepped forward.

Roselle laughed again.

“When I made picture books for you, compiled textbooks, and invented all kinds of little games, you were only this small. Now you can actually come rescue your poor old father.

“I remember that when you were little, you loved all the clothes I designed for you. Unfortunately, after growing up, you couldn’t wear cake dresses anymore…”

The Emperor began rambling, as though he had reached the twilight of life and always loved recalling the beautiful scenes of the past.

Bernadette walked faster and faster. Above the gray fog, Klein’s brows furrowed almost imperceptibly.

Suddenly, Emperor Roselle lowered his head slightly and said with great force:

“Stop!”

His voice carried indescribable pain.

Bernadette froze, then quickly slowed her steps until she stopped.

As she looked at the black shadow, indescribable sorrow gradually appeared in her eyes.

Roselle raised his head again, coughed lightly, and said,

“Do you really want to ask why a Black Emperor’s mausoleum must have the order he established and the customs he guided engraved outside? Actually, that isn’t necessary. I simply wanted anyone who saw it to remember my greatness…”

Before he finished, the Emperor tightly gripped the armrest beside him, lowered his voice, and said in extreme pain,

“Do not come near!

“I am corrupted…”

The sorrow in Bernadette’s eyes grew even deeper.

Her earlier guess had finally been confirmed.

At this moment, the blood-red slits on Roselle’s face fell into chaos, sometimes “closing” and sometimes “opening,” no longer governed by a unified will.

Seizing the opportunity, the Emperor straightened his body slightly, looked at Bernadette, and shouted with considerable difficulty:

“Seal me!”

Seal… The Queen of Mysteries Bernadette silently repeated that word. Her blue eyes quickly grew moist, covered by a faint mist.

Even though she had already lived for many, many years, even though she was no longer the little girl she had once been, at this moment she still could not restrain the changes in her emotions.

However, she did not ask why, nor did she waver in hesitation. After only a brief struggle, she resolutely, without the slightest wavering, raised her right hand and pressed it to the pale metallic mask.

Just as she had in the many major events faced by the Element Dawn over the years, she made her decision with extraordinary calm.

On the surface of Pale Death, the metal instantly softened and reconstructed itself into a new face, now with a pair of black eyes.

Within those deep-black eyes, pale lines emerged one after another, outlining an extremely complex and mysterious three-dimensional symbol. It resembled either a bird with abnormally long feathers or a feathered serpent coiled upon itself.

That symbol absorbed the surrounding light, rapidly gaining substance. Then it detached from Bernadette’s eyes, stretched out its “body,” and flew toward Roselle Gustav on the iron-black chair.

Along the way, the strange symbol made its surroundings darker and darker. The floor tiles and stone walls once again weathered and decayed, as if the deity who governed death had issued a final verdict.

Falling stones and rising dust followed the materialized symbol to Roselle’s side, then coiled around him, wrapping layer after layer around the rather illusory black figure that seemed to exist in another world.

During this process, Roselle lost control several times and tried to leave the iron-black chair. Yet each time, he sat back down again and did not resist the seal Bernadette imposed.

As the symbol merged into his figure, he immediately formed a connection with Pale Death. He saw an illusory deity high above countless undead, saw swollen bodies like drowned ghosts wandering within a dark river.

Roselle’s aura then vanished, and the opened crimson slits closed one after another.

What awaited the Emperor was a peaceful sleep like the night.

And that symbol would solidify inside Roselle’s figure, continuously exerting its influence until Pale Death no longer responded to this place.

In the blink of an eye, however, several more blood-red slits grew on Roselle’s body. After his aura had decayed to the limit, it gradually gained new life again and fiercely resisted the materialized symbol.

Seeing this above the gray fog, Klein sighed, clenched his hand into a fist, and pressed it against his lower mouth.

The “curtain” draped over his body suddenly lifted, and the entirety of Sefirah Castle clearly began “boiling.”

Silently, the aura of new life Roselle had just obtained began vanishing once more.

After it vanished to a certain degree, it gained new life again, only to be affected by Pale Death and continue vanishing.

Using that Attendant of Mysteries Beyonder characteristic and Sefirah Castle’s power, Klein directly grafted “rebirth” and “death” together, omitting the intermediate process.

In this way, Roselle’s corruption could not recover to a level where it could break through the pale seal.

Next, Klein extended his right hand, drawing upon Sefirah Castle’s power to outline the mysterious symbol behind The Fool’s high-back chair—the one composed of half a Pupil-less Eye and half a Twisted Line.

The symbol absorbed Sefirah Castle’s aura and rapidly became substantial. With a flick of Klein’s wrist, it fell into the prayer light representing Bernadette, landed on Roselle’s black figure, and merged into his body.

Whenever that grafting was about to disappear, the symbol directly connected to The Fool and Sefirah Castle would draw down new power and complete the grafting once again.

Within the state of constantly passing away and then gaining new life, the face of Roselle, pure shadow, gained the outline of features. Then he raised his head and glanced toward the top of the mausoleum, as if gazing into the infinite height above.

He immediately withdrew his gaze, looked toward Bernadette, and laughed in an extraordinarily weak voice.

“This seal is good. I can sleep peacefully for a while…”

At this point, he frowned slightly. His tone changed as he asked,

“Why are you dressed like that? Who taught you?”

Bernadette listened in a daze, as though she had returned to her youth.

Back then, whenever she dressed grandly to attend another noble’s ball, Roselle would use a similar expression and tone to ask a string of questions.

The mist in her eyes instantly became obvious. She could no longer control herself and cried out softly, suppressing her voice:

“Papa…”

The face with only the outline of features instantly softened, then stiffened again. Roselle sternly said,

“Leave.

“You are never allowed to return!”

Bernadette opened her mouth, still wanting to say something, but her vision darkened as though she had seen the shadow of order.

In the next second, she discovered that she had returned to the edge of the primitive island.

Bernadette stared blankly at the mountain peak in the middle of the primitive island for several seconds, then slowly turned and walked toward the sea.

This time, she no longer stubbornly refused to look back. Every few steps, she would pause, turn around, and look again.

Before long, she returned to the Dawn, walked into the captain’s cabin, and opened the room specially used for her collection.

With one sweep of her eyes, Bernadette saw volumes of picture books, stacks of textbooks, piece after piece of clothing, dress after dress. She saw the chess that only a few people in this world knew how to play, and she saw building-block toys neatly piled together.

She leaned against the wooden door and slowly slid downward, sitting on the floor.

She raised her head and looked toward the gloomy sky outside the captain’s cabin window. Pinching her lower lip between her right thumb and index finger, she whistled a melodious, gentle tune—one carrying faint sorrow and the power to calm the heart.

As the melody echoed, drop after drop of water slid down Bernadette’s face and fell onto the floor.

After an unknown length of time, a voice sounded inside the captain’s cabin, pressed deep in the throat:

“Papa…”