The Terminally Ill Young Master is the Mad Dog of the Underworld

[Translator - Pot]

[Proofreader - Kawaii]

Chapter 115: Ereshkigal Exists

I suppressed the urge to laugh at Rudgarda's question.

Was I truly capable of shouldering the weight of the loyalty she was willing to offer—the blood-soaked revenge she sought?

‘What an absurd question.’

Revenge, revenge, revenge.

My path of vengeance was already intertwined with Karzan's, Allenvert's, and my mother, Lusatia's. What reason was there to exclude the ‘daughter of the enemy’?

"Rudgarda." I said, but I wouldn’t answer her question directly. "I’m curious. Is this ‘your’ way?"

"My way? What’s so wrong with struggling to survive? My father slaughtered your maternal Clan. And then he abandoned me. So, I struggle too."

Her voice began to rise with emotion.

"If my father resents me for it, that’s just shameless."

I nodded in agreement. "You’re right. That would be shameless."

"But do you intend to criticize my desire for revenge? Will you condemn me as a barbarian who defies morality, a child who dares to kill their own parent?"

I shook my head at her outburst.

"No."

Rudgarda paused, caught off guard.

"I only wish to tell you to look at the bigger picture, to see beyond the confines of human emotion."

"What do you mean by that?" She asked.

"My father chose to join hands with your father, the usurper, instead of avenging my mother and me. That act tore our hearts to shreds, leaving us irreparably broken. You know this well."

"......"

"Yet, even as I resent him, I understand him now. He was a man who saw the world through the eyes of a king, beyond the concerns of the human heart."

Rudgarda looked at me incredulously.

"Do you truly mean that?"

"Morality is a virtue of the individual, not of kings or nations. But I’ve glimpsed the struggle of a man torn between those two opposing forces."

"......"

After a long silence, Rudgarda spoke frankly.

"I’m sorry, but I can’t share your perspective. My father was no king. He was a man as ruthless as a beast."

"That’s fine. I’m not denying your right to revenge. I only hope you’ll imagine and prepare for what comes after."

"After revenge…"

Rudgarda murmured, as if mulling over my words.

"Otherwise, the flame kindled by vengeance will eventually consume itself and turn to ash."

"...I’ll gladly take your advice."

I pointed at her.

"But there’s one thing I want to ask. Do you intend to become the leader of Angantyr, or do you aim to rule the mountain tribes? "

"If you seek revenge for Eisenach, and if that revenge leads you to claim the throne of the mountain tribes. I would gladly become your vassal."

"Even knowing my time is limited?"@@novelbin@@

“A foolish question. If you had truly despaired over that fact, you wouldn’t have taken this path, nor would you have earned Ulbhild’s support.”

Rudgarda shrugged her shoulders.

“You will only grow stronger, and as you do, your lifespan—though gradually—will surely increase. And above all—”

“Above all?”

Rudgarda lowered her voice.

“In exchange for pledging my loyalty to you and entrusting the fate of my vassals to you, I have prepared a gift.”

“What kind of gift?”

What followed was something even I hadn’t anticipated.

“Perhaps I can help you find Ereshkigal.”

I nearly spilled my cup of water.

* * *

After intense debate and persistent questioning, Balthazar and Knut finally decided to acknowledge Zizek as a guest.

“I still don’t fully trust you. But it’s true that, from your position, there’s no reason to take such risks and lie.”

Thus, they made their decision.

“We will acknowledge you as a guest under our laws. You said you could contact Allenvert through a man named Karzan, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“Then, today, I will share with you a story that you must relay to him.”

Balthazar spoke solemnly.

“Allenvert has the right to know the ‘truth of the tragedy.’”

And so, Balthazar began to tell Zizek the story of the downfall of the Eisenach.

* * *

“You say you can help me find Ereshkigal?”

“Yes, my lord.”

I took a long sip of water before I could speak again.

“Why are you so certain?”

Rudgarda met my gaze with unwavering eyes.

“Because it exists.”

“I thought it might be an exaggerated rumor or a story someone made up.”

“...This is a tale passed down among us mountain folk.”

Rudgarda spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully.

“Ereshkigal is said to be a legendary elixir created long ago by hundreds of ancient mages and alchemists.”

“That’s absurd.”

I replied immediately.

“Who could have had the power to gather so many people?”

“Isn’t it obvious? The Emperor.”

Rudgarda countered.

“You know of the empire that once ruled most of this continent, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“This was during the empire’s golden age, before the northern tribes descended and attacked. The emperor of that time had a beloved crown prince—intelligent, beautiful, and deeply filial.”

“......”

I crossed my arms and listened in silence.

“The tragedy began when the crown prince fell ill with an incurable disease. The emperor could not bear to see his beloved son, the future of the empire, die so meaninglessly. So, he opened the imperial treasury, spending vast sums to summon the greatest mages and alchemists from across the continent.”

“...An unimaginable display of power.”

But the emperor’s name carried that much authority.

Ironically, I was hearing a secret history—one not recorded in any historical texts nor mentioned by any renowned scholar—from a member of a rugged mountain tribe.

“Even with the empire’s full might, it took three years to create Ereshkigal. Too many people died to gather the necessary ingredients.”

Rudgarda recited the tale as if it were an ancient poem.

“An expedition was sent into the heart of a demonic realm, where monsters lurked, to pluck the Flower of the Abyss. To obtain the ice of a thousand-year frost, they had to scale the highest peak of the northern mountains.”

I could almost see the tears and suffering of those ancient people.

“To pluck the feathers of a phoenix, they sent explorers into the desert to find its nest. And to collect the sap of the World Tree, they had to wage war against the elven tribes who lived deep within the forest.”

Rudgarda paused, then asked.

“Was that all?”

I shook my head.

“It couldn’t have been.”

“Indeed, it wasn’t. Countless mages and alchemists died—some from side effects, some driven mad by despair, and others executed for their lack of progress.”

“So, the true ingredients of Ereshkigal were gold and blood.”

Rudgarda nodded.

“In the end, to save the life of one noble-born man, hundreds, if not thousands, of lives were sacrificed.”

Her words were chilling, like a lament for an ancient tragedy.

“Finally, Ereshkigal was completed, and it saved the crown prince.”

But.

“In a cruel twist of fate, the crown prince, overjoyed by his restored health, went hunting and was bitten by a mere snake. He died on the spot.”

“What a laughably absurd ending.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“This isn’t a tragedy—it’s closer to a farce.”

“But to the people of that time, it was a tragedy.”

Rudgarda countered.

“The emperor, driven mad by despair, began to rage. But the people of the empire, who had endured his tyranny for ten years, could take no more. In the end, the emperor’s younger brother overthrew him, and the recipe for the elixir was buried forever.”

For a moment, I thought it was a fitting end to the emperor’s tyranny.

“...But the method of its concealment was equally brutal. The new emperor sought to erase all traces of the elixir by killing everyone involved in its creation.”

Unable to hold back, I cursed.

“Both brothers were madmen.”

“I agree. People of the past were far more brutal than we can imagine.”

Rudgarda nodded.

“Though the nature of power and human cruelty transcends time.”

It was a truth we both knew all too well.

“Now, my lord, the story isn’t over yet.”

“What?”

“Amidst the carnage of that cover-up, one man survived. Even as he lay dying, he used his last strength to record the secret formula.”

“...!”

“Rumors about the whereabouts of that formula abound. Some say it ended up in the hands of a royal family, others that a wealthy merchant kept it as a treasure. There’s even a rumor that an elf who witnessed the man’s death threw it into the depths of a lake. But its true location remains unknown, and over time, it faded into obscurity, becoming little more than a joke.”

Rudgarda looked straight at me and asked.

“My lord, have you heard of a hero named Oswin?”

I tilted my head, lost in thought for a long moment. I felt like I had heard the name before—perhaps during my tutor’s lessons. If I remembered correctly…

"He was a hero of the northern nomadic kingdom, wasn’t he?"

"Correct. He is the ancestor of those warriors who have now become nothing more than fattened swine. Oswin was a brilliant general who won numerous victories against the Empire, the Emperor’s greatest adversary, and the finest swordsman of his time. But a single human life is far too fleeting to see a hero’s legacy to its end."

"Ah… Don’t tell me—"

Somehow, I could already guess what came next.

"As he watched his body grow weaker with age, the hero Oswin fell into despair. In the end, with the help of the very elves he had once saved, he gathered all the materials needed to create Ereshkigal. Leaving behind all his power, he set off with his comrades on a journey that lasted ten long years."

"Ten years, huh."

If it had taken the full might of the Empire three years to complete the task, then accomplishing it in just a decade with only a handful of companions was nothing short of extraordinary.

"But over those ten years, his legendary journey—and the treasure he sought—became far too well known."

Anticipating the tragedy to come, I asked.

"So, what happened?"

"The day Ereshkigal was finally completed, his old comrades turned on him, nobles who had bought them out at their side. And among them was the young king—the very son of the late ruler Oswin had once served."

"……."

I let out a heavy sigh. They were no different from tyrants like the Dark King or Verdzig.

"It was a desperate battle, but from the start, he was hopelessly outnumbered. As his comrades fell one by one in defense of the elixir, consumed by fury and despair, Oswin cast Ereshkigal into the river and chose to perish alongside them."

I muttered, envisioning the darkly ironic and somber conclusion.

"A story straight out of a fairytale."

"How much of it is true, no one can say. But my grandfather used to tell me that the discarded Ereshkigal still drifts somewhere on this continent."

I tilted my head skeptically.

"And how could he be so sure?"

"My grandfather once told me that in the songs of bards, there is a line that says ‘Ereshkigal was cast into the river, yet the river did not accept it.’"

"And?"

"I believe that line holds a hidden truth—that someone retrieved the elixir and hid it away."

"That sounds like quite the stretch."

"My lord, think about it. Who would have left behind such a line in the first place?"

"!"

"The one who recorded those words—that person is the one who stole Ereshkigal away."

"…I see. A sharp insight."

"My grandfather also said that when he was young, an old man once told him this story."

"Don’t tell me—"

I narrowed my eyes.

"That old man?"

"Yes. If we can find out who he was and where he lived, we might uncover a lead."

"So this is the help you were talking about."

"The key is—"

For the first time, Rudgarda gave a faint smile.

"My grandfather is still alive. And if we can find him again, perhaps even this impossible puzzle can be solved."

"…Do you not resent him?"

"It wasn’t his doing. My father seized his position by force long ago, casting him aside as nothing more than an old relic."

"Ah, I see."

"He was always ruthless."

Rudgarda pulled out a small pendant from her robes.

"This carries the blessing of the mountain spirits. My late grandmother placed it in my hands the day I was sent as a hostage to Grunewald."

"…I see."

Then that man must have been a ruthless figure, incapable of feeling even the slightest trace of human compassion.

"That means your revenge will be all the more difficult."

Rudgarda acknowledged the truth in my words.

"It doesn’t matter. Revenge was never something to be achieved in a single day."

I agreed. Vengeance was a path that required time and patience.

"My lord, during the years I struggled to survive, I endured more than enough suffering. I choose revenge not for the sake of some desperate, endless struggle with no promise of resolution, but to bring that struggle to an end. I refuse to live as nothing more than an insect, fighting to survive one day only to perish the next."

There was an immense weight in Rudgarda’s calm recollection—one that resonated deeply. It was no different from the suffering Karzan had endured.

"I’ve heard your story, Rudgarda."

A lead on an elixir capable of defying a death sentence—

Hearing such a tale from the daughter of my sworn enemy, a story even Grunewald was unaware of, meant that it was only fair for me to share something in return.

"Then I’ll tell you my secret as well."

"My lord’s secret?"

Rudgarda’s expression shifted into one of slight confusion.

"I’ve discovered the whereabouts of the surviving Eisenachs."

"…?!"

Shock flashed across Rudgarda’s face.

"My lord, is that truly the case?"

"It’s Karl’s intelligence—so it should be reliable."

"The Eldest Young Master himself?"

Even amidst her surprise, Rudgarda seemed convinced.

"I intend to unite them under my name. With my kin at my side, I will set forth on the path of vengeance."

"…How?"

"You must have heard of the things I’ve done by now."

"Of course. That’s precisely why I wish to swear my allegiance to you."

"There’s actually one secret that neither you nor my sister know."

If I was to make the daughter of my enemy my ally, then I had to reveal my greatest secret to her.

"I’ve already begun building my own power within the underworld."

Rudgarda’s face filled with pure astonishment.

[Translator - Pot]

[Proofreader - Kawaii]