Chapter 27— Laydell.
Iris wished Diantha a good night and returned to her room. It had been cleaned. Her sword was not in this room. She had left it in Diantha's. Due to the nature of her blade, if someone other than her touched it, the consequences would be less than desirable. No one was allowed in Diantha's room, so leaving it there was better.
Why did she not put it in her item box? The cursed blade was alive, according to her system, and she couldn't put anything alive in it.
Ianthe had also been brought to Lancaster's mansion. She was still sleeping. According to the healer, she was simply exhausted. Iris could understand that.
Iris placed Winny on the bed and went to war with her clothes again. Much easier than last night but still more bothersome than she would like to admit.
After slipping out of them, she jumped on the bed and clutched Winny to her chest, a warm and pleasant feeling wrapping around her as she drifted into sleep. Perhaps today was the day she would not see nightmares...
…
Iris jolted upright, naturally alarmed. Her hand instinctively tried to find the sword. It was there. She pushed herself up and looked around.
It was an empty slate-grey hall which led-to endless darkness on either side. Everything around here was covered in a thick layer of ashen red dust. The hall was filled with statues, broken statues. Their base was intact, and on it, a slab of white marble was engraved. The names of the blessed after whom these statues were made were carved on the marble. A total of 153 broken statues with bases that would forever remember the names of the fallen.
The statues were the way that the Nameless Lord honoured the worthy. The worthy were the people who fulfilled every task placed in front of them and challenged the Nameless Lord to a duel. A Duel of Death. The Nameless Lord personally sculpted these statues, carving their name, rank, and Level, and adding another word to their Title—Worthy.
When the Worthy lost the Duel, the Nameless Lord would break their statue, but the base would remain in the Royal hall of StormLord's Castle. It was his way of preserving and immortalizing the Worthy.
There were two more statues in the hall. One of Iris—that was completely intact, standing at the very centre of the hall. And the other of the Nameless Lord, whose statue was seated on the throne, looking down at the castle. It was made of Lightning Element. Iris had sculpted this statue after slaying the Nameless Lord. It was rather crude, but she was no master at creating sculptures like the Nameless Lord.
As Iris gazed at the throne, her breath stuck in her throat.
On the throne sat the Nameless Lord himself, instead of his statue. His sickly skin covered a bony hand, with overgrown and twisted nails, holding the broken head of a dragon that was crumbling after millennia due to lack of maintenance. What should have been clothing suiting a King of a Mythical Kingdom was now just dirty rags.
His eyes were empty, a blankness that housed the grief of a man who held nothing. His once-grey hair had become thick like sea moss soaked in mud, stopping at his shoulder. It resembled a lion's mane made of dirt and steel wire.
The skin on his body was sickly white and loose. Wrinkles on his face folded twice over, as if it had been chewed by a mutt.
“Laydell?” Iris addressed the Nameless Lord. Tension left her being. There was one thing she could be sure of in the presence of Laydell—he would die sitting on the crumbling throne rather than attack her without giving her appropriate time to prepare. The Honourable One—Laydell, the ruler of Storm.
“Call us the Nameless Lord,” the Nameless Lord's voice came out as if he had taken his last breath. It was slithery, gruff, and grating to the ears. Iris tried not to recoil from his voice. She still could not get past his voice.
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“No, I won the duel; you gave me your name. Now, I have all the rights to call you Laydell.”
“If it is what you wish, we have no right to bar you from this privilege.” He stared at her.
“What is this place?” Iris asked. It was not a nightmare, or else she would be fighting Laydell. She was grateful that it was not; she did not want to fight him. He was the scariest opponent she had ever faced, and that was with the honourable fight they had. He used no trickery, no delay, allowed her to prepare a minute-long Co-equal spell, and gave her three days to rest in an Elemental Fountain. That was the fairest battle she ever had, and yet, she was not sure she would win against him, even now. The only reason she won was that they agreed in the end to use their strongest spells, and whoever died was the loser. It was a conditional win.
“A dream space? I am as much aware as you are. The reason for this occurrence is simple – You've devoured my soul.”
“Does that mean you will come to my sleep to haunt me with your voice?”
Laydell let out a silky chuckle, making Iris take a step back. “No, I doubt there is such power that can hold the dead from decaying like that. This is the last meeting, I guess.”
“I see, then, is there a secret knowledge you want to impart?”
“None, You’re a Worthy, a Lord, the only Worthy to ever win a duel against me. There is nothing I have to impart. But. I am pleased... to have another conversation with someone so pure like me. There is no blessing greater for a sinner like me.”
“I’m glad to hear that... I, too, am pleased to see your face one last time.”
They both awkwardly stared at each other, not knowing what to say. One had sat in an empty hall for millennia waiting for the Worthy. The other had held conversations with fewer people than statues in this room. Even that was a bar too big for her to cross.
“Your condition... it has grown far worse than what I had expected. How much time has passed? A year?”
“Less than two months,” Iris replied. She knew her condition was growing worse rapidly. Even the repulsion last night happened weeks before she had anticipated.
“Why? Does the mana of the outside world reject your filth?”
“Perhaps, I am not too sure. But, I believe I can still live for another year.”
“A very painful year,” Laydell corrected, “And the blade, I would have advised you to stay away from it, but I know you will not heed my words.”
Iris looked down at the blade; she would not throw it away. She would hold onto it for the rest of the life she had left. She promised Mayumi that she would hold onto it. The sword was a memory of her. She loved Mayumi more than the worthless life she had. She would fulfil the promise.
“You’re a fool. The blade wishes to take hold of you; it is a Lich worm—nothing more.”
“I am aware, I don’t care. I will find a way to free this blade of the curse.”
“You will die before that.”
“So I will and take this blade with me.”
“At least for the Familiar you hold so dear, you should try to prolong your life.” Laydell was almost pleading. He cared about the little girl; she was the only source of human connection he had left in his decayed memory.
“She will be fit and back to herself in three months. That is all the time I need. If a little is left to spend with her, that’s a blessing.”
“And then? Will you leave this Familiar of yours to the cruel world to fend for itself on its own?”
“Winny will not be weak to worry about fending herself alone. I have a way to make her as strong as to live a peaceful life wandering the world as she had always wished to.”
“And what of her grief? Should you not find a way to save yourself first? The cat is not dying; it will live ten human lives easily.”
“I do not wish to save myself!” Iris screamed, “I want to sleep and be done with this miserable life.” Her breath hitched, throat became heavy, if she could, she would have shed tears, but the bandage on her eyes prevented that. “I want to rest. Even something as simple as breathing hurts; I have not slept a day in my life without feeling pain and cold. I don’t want to live! As long as I fulfil my promise, as long as I bring back Winny. I can sleep. That is all I want.”
The Nameless Lord was quiet. He might have shed tears if he was capable of such a thing. All he could do was sit on his throne and look at the little girl, crying in pain. He was no lord.
The world slowly began to crumble; only the endless darkness was left. Iris looked up at the Nameless Lord, who was still on his throne.
“Slay me. The dream will end,” he whispered.
Iris hesitantly clenched the sword, pulled it out of her sheath, and swung it down. The endless darkness was cleaved in half, as a purple divide slowly rend the darkness asunder.