Aurora Chronicle: Despair's Aftermath Left by a Fallen Ruler
My name is Ash. I was once the right hand of the world's most feared ruler, the Demon Lord Aurora Chronicle.
Three years have passed since that final battle. People celebrate Aurora's death and laugh together in a peaceful world. But every time I see those smiles, my heart is torn by a sharp pain. They don't understand anything. What Lord Aurora was protecting. What she was fighting against.
Three years ago, the world faced two threats. One was the horde of monsters visible to human eyes. The
Aurora Chronicle: Despair's Aftermath Left by a Fallen Ruler - The Awakening of the One-Armed and the Encirclement
The air in the underground laboratory was dominated by the smell of blood and something else — scorched metal.
In the culture tanks lining the walls, a murky black liquid bubbled quietly. Floating in each container were samples of the Quiet Decay that Thoma had extracted from Ash's left eye.
And in the center of the room.
Ash sat in a crude iron chair.
The cross-section of his right hand, freed from its bandages, lay exposed. The traces of his lost ring and little fingers still bore raised, fresh flesh, with black sutures sealing countless wounds.
"Now then, let us begin. I will now directly transplant the Quiet Decay sample extracted from your left eye into the cross-section of your right hand."
Thoma's voice trembled with excitement.
Behind his thick round glasses, his yellowish-brown eyes glinted like those of a starving beast. He lifted a silver tray. On it lay a fine injection needle and a glass vial discolored black.
The contents of the vial were a thick, black liquid.
It faintly self-illuminated, writhing as if pulsing against the inside of the glass.
"So. What will my right hand connect to."
Ash's voice was low, devoid of inflection.
He looked down at his own severed surface as if discussing someone else's body.
"An excellent question!"
Thoma's facial skin twitched minutely as he launched into a rapid-fire barrage.
"Your right hand is no longer a mere physical loss. It will become an interface — a means to directly access the Chronicle Code, that great torrent of records. Theoretically, that is."
"To inscribe code directly onto space itself. In other words—"
Thoma continued as he inserted the needle into the vial.
The black liquid crawled up through the needle.
"—you will rewrite the laws of the world, using your own flesh as the price!"
Simultaneously with those words, Thoma stabbed the needle into Ash's right wrist.
The Quiet Decay sample was injected directly into the nerves of the severed surface.
In that instant—
"...Ngh."
Ash's entire body went rigid.
From his right wrist forward, it began to discolor black at a visible speed. The flesh crystallized, and countless geometric patterns surfaced and vanished, vanished and surfaced across his skin. It was as if—the torrent of code itself had taken root as physical matter.
The pain was like his bone marrow being seared.
But Ash clenched his teeth and stifled his voice.
With an expressionless face like a Noh mask, he watched his right hand transform into something grotesque with cold, detached eyes.
(This is fine.)
A voice echoed coldly deep within his heart.
(If it means carrying on Lady Auror's will.)
(A price like this—)
"Magnificent! Absolutely no rejection reaction! Your body is perfectly compatible with the Chronicle Code!"
Thoma raised his voice in ecstatic delight.
With the black fingertips of his own right hand, he stroked Ash's crystallized cross-section.
"Now, try it. In place of your right hand, inscribe the code onto space. Rewrite the world through your own will."
Ash slowly raised his right hand.
From the crystallized cross-section, a faint black phosphorescence rose.
He faced the open space—and gently swung down his fingerless right hand.
*Giiin.*
The air trembled.
Along the trajectory of the severed surface, space itself cracked. The crack became a torrent of code, instantly drawing a complex pattern. A penetration formula. A formula inscribed directly onto the world, without the intermediary of lost fingers.
"...Success."
The twitching of Thoma's face reached its peak.
But—
The crystallization of Ash's right wrist had begun to encroach further, toward his elbow. The black geometric patterns crawled up his skin, consuming the new flesh.
"However, the price is beyond expectation. Each time you activate a formula, the crystallization advances. At this rate—soon, your entire right arm will be replaced by code crystal."
Thoma's voice was filled with pure academic curiosity.
Despite a man's death being near, his interest lay solely in—observing the changes in his subject.
"I don't care."
Ash answered curtly.
The melted, collapsing face of the old man he had seen in the abandoned village by the Elda River flickered through his mind.
That was the truth of the Quiet Decay.
The world, rotting from the inside out.
(What Lady Auror tried to protect—)
(I will protect it.)
"I'll try the next formula. I'll inscribe something larger."
So saying, he raised his right hand once more—
That was when it happened.
From the adjacent room, a loud crash of something falling echoed.
Then, a hoarse voice, charged with anger.
"...You bastards... where is... this..."
Grue had regained consciousness.
Ash lowered his right hand and moved to head to the next room. But Thoma raised a hand with a composed demeanor.
"Ah, that's of no consequence. I'll explain things to him. You should continue analyzing the formulas here. Now that you've achieved compatibility, we mustn't waste time."
So saying, Thoma disappeared into the adjacent room with quick steps.
Ash stared in that direction for a brief moment, but soon returned his gaze to his crystallized right hand.
(Grue—)
(has the right to know.)
Silently, he continued his inscriptions upon space.
The adjacent room was a simple recovery room.
On a bed against the wall, Grue had raised his upper body. Thick bandages were wrapped around his side, blood slowly seeping through them. His sharp, one-eyed gaze pierced Thoma as he entered the room.
"Who... the hell are you."
"I am Thoma Vexla. Former instructor at the Parvahn Academy, and now—well, a humble used bookstore owner."
Thoma stood beside the bed, his distorted smile still in place.
"More importantly, I have something to tell you. What Ash is doing in the next room right now. Why he carried you all the way here and saved you. And—"
Thoma paused for a beat, fixing his gleaming eyes on Grue.
"—who Auror Chronicle, the one you so despise, truly was."
"...Huh? What the hell are you talking about."
Grue's voice was a low growl.
But Thoma, seemingly unbothered, continued his words.
"Auror Chronicle was no tyrant who ruled the world. Rather—she was a sacrifice who made herself a human pillar to protect the world."
"...What?"
"The Quiet Decay—an invisible erosion phenomenon that consumes this world from within. Have you heard of it?"
Grue did not answer.
He simply glared at Thoma's face.
"Auror Chronicle sealed that Quiet Decay within her own body. Her invasions—no, those were journeys of sealing—were military campaigns to seal the erosion sources scattered across the continent, one by one. But humanity saw only the surface terror and condemned her as evil."
Thoma continued, his face twitching with excitement.
"Three years ago, the Hero's Party vanquished her. But in that instant, the seal on the Quiet Decay was broken. And now, this world is being devoured from within by an erosion that has been accelerating exponentially for three years. That is why the people of your beloved Ashlands are melting and collapsing, one after another."
"...No... that can't be..."
Grue's voice trembled.
What flashed through his mind were the successive melting incidents in the Ashlands. People suddenly screaming as they melted and collapsed—that nightmarish sight.
"And Ash, in Auror's final moments, was entrusted with this truth, and the method to stop the Quiet Decay—the inheritance of the Chronicle Code, and the release of the Seven Seals. He offered his own right hand to save you, and now, to save the world, he fights alone, making enemies of every power across the land."
Thoma's words pierced Grue's heart.
What Ash had been entrusted with by Auror.
Why he had shielded him.
Why he was—sacrificing himself, to this extent.
"...Your hatred was the flip side of your wish to protect the people of the Ashlands. That is noble. But Ash—"
Thoma let his distorted smile vanish for a moment and spoke in a quiet voice.
"—is already carrying a burden ten times heavier than yours."
"...Aaaaaaaargh!!"
Grue's scream echoed through the underground laboratory.
He slammed his fist against the wall.
Once, twice, three times—the skin of his knuckles split, blood scattering. Yet he did not stop pounding.
"...Damn it... damn it..."
A sob escaped him.
His hatred—all of it had been a misunderstanding.
Ash had never been a traitor.
He had simply—been fighting alone, in a place none of them knew.
"...Ash... you bastard..."
Grue's voice was drenched and broken with tears.
Within him, his desire for vengeance shattered completely.
And then—a new resolve began to sprout.
"What... should I do."
"An excellent question! First, you must heal your wounds. And then, if you can find it in yourself—you should become his strength. But before that—"
Suddenly, Thoma's expression changed.
The twitching of his face stopped, and the eyes behind his thick glasses held a serious light for the first time.
"...This is bad. The alert formulas have all reacted simultaneously. This laboratory is completely surrounded."
Immediately after.
A violent tremor shook the entire underground laboratory.
Dust fell from the ceiling, and the glass of the culture tanks resonated, producing an eerie sound.
An attack from outside—a large-scale destructive formula.
"This is—they reverse-traced the resonance of the Seal! The Hero's Party, Dawn's Blade! All five members, led by Selen Halveth, have completely surrounded this laboratory!"
The ceiling shook even more violently.
Ash entered briskly from the adjacent room.
His right arm, down to just below the elbow, was completely encased in black crystal. The price of continuously unleashing purification formulas.
"Thoma. The escape route."
A low, inflectionless voice.
"There is one! A hidden passage from this underground laboratory leading to the Nova underground waterways. I made it just in case, back when I was expelled from the academy."
"Take Grue and go."
"What are you—you're coming with us, damn it!"
Grue tried to leap from the bed. But the wound in his side opened, and his body lost its balance.
"It's pointless."
Ash dismissed it curtly.
"You'll only be a hindrance if you stay here. I'll buy time on the surface."
"But! Your right hand is already—the code's erosion is spreading throughout your entire body! If you continue to use your power like this, not just your right hand, your whole body could collapse!"
Thoma's voice trembled with urgency for the first time.
Ash—answered without turning around.
"Even so, I don't care."
That was all he said.
He held his right hand—the cross-section turned to black crystal—aloft toward the space before him.
The ground floor of the laboratory.
The thick iron door was blown to pieces from the outside.
From within the swirling dust, five figures emerged.
At their head stood—a woman with platinum blonde hair extending to her waist, woven into an intricate braid.
Selen Halveth.
Her azure eyes narrowed coldly. An aura of saintly purity and the dignified killing intent unique to a hero enveloped her entire being.
Behind her were the other four members of the Hero's Party, "Dawn's Blade."
A heavy warrior bearing a greatshield. A spirit archer drawing a longbow. An assassin holding dual daggers. A high mage already preparing an incantation.
All of them were the continent's mightiest warriors—the ones who had vanquished Auror Chronicle.
"Ash. Relying on the resonance of the Seal, we have pinpointed your location. Resign yourself."
Her clear, dignified voice rang through the debris-strewn room.
At that moment—
From the darkness of the stairs leading underground, a figure slowly ascended.
It was Ash.
His right arm, down to just below the shoulder, was completely encased in black crystal. The burn scar running from his neck to his left cheek, and his dull silver hair, emerged under the dim light.
And—his left eye emitted a deep crimson glow.
The ra
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