Chapter 146: Ereshkigal's Shadow Sits Deep in the Land of Shadows
The Burning Shrine, Meslamtaea, was the Noble Phantasm Ereshkigal obtained after Rowe dispersed the gods of the Mesopotamian plain.
Back then, the Mistress of the Underworld was no longer alone. She could truly set foot upon the earth, feel the sun on her skin, and in that moment she finally remembered something simple.
Even the Underworld could have a sun.
That sun was herself.
Ereshkigal, Goddess of the Underworld.
To treat every departed soul gently, to let them forget fear and worry before their spirits faded, was that not the same as being light? Was it not, in its own way, a sun that never burned?
It was Rowe's existence that had pushed her into that awakening, into that philosophy. What followed was the Noble Phantasm called the Burning Shrine.
Its initial form was a spear woven from brilliant light. Its essence was the vast heat accumulated from the flames of souls that had flowed through Kur over countless ages. And when the Burning Shrine was fully manifested, it became a massive and majestic palace woven from earth, fire, and souls.
That image was far too close to the power Scathach had just revealed.
Rowe found it difficult not to freeze for an instant. He had never forgotten his purpose, the reason he kept searching for Ereshkigal's trace.
Scathach, meanwhile, spoke as if she were proudly unveiling a secret.
"Although this move was not created by me, it is a replica of my friend's power, a manifestation of my martial arts."
The dark purple radiance above the Queen of the Land of Shadows illuminated her delicate face, turning it stern and sharp. Her raised arm and upright posture made her look like a spear planted into the world itself.
Spear after spear converged, connected, then solidified into a tangible form above her head.
"Can you take this, King of the Wild Hunt, Rowe?"
Rowe steadied his breathing. He gently twisted the Storm Spear in his hand. Behind the mask, a smile rose on its own.
Scathach's talent was genuine.
The Burning Shrine she reproduced already carried roughly eighty percent of Ereshkigal's authority.
And that was no small thing.
Ereshkigal was a seasoned chief goddess level manifestation, a true ruler of the Underworld who had long since stabilized her domain and her Mystery. She was not comparable to the Scathach of today, who had only just stepped into the threshold of chief gods.
"A friend, you say?" Rowe's grin widened. "Then perhaps only by receiving this move of yours can many things finally be answered."
He raised his spear slightly. The storm spearhead began to spiral, tight and controlled.
Invisible currents spread outward, rippling through the deep darkness of the Land of Shadows.
At the same time, Rowe calculated his output.
Not to push himself to the limit.
But to avoid severely injuring Scathach.
As a transcendent existence, Scathach could not be killed directly unless Rowe used the power of the Sword of Rupture and destroyed the world that served as the foundation of her existence. A being who had only transcended life and death would still perish if the world itself was erased.
She could not be killed, but she could be wounded.
Rowe had no intention of doing that.
He still had questions. Questions that required answers.
He needed to ask about Ereshkigal's whereabouts, about the goddess he had been chasing.
So, in that instant, he restrained himself.
"Lord Rowe, are you looking down on me?"
Scathach felt it immediately. Her face, lit by that dark purple glow, showed no anger.
Because she also felt it.
The disparity between them was enormous.
She had not lived long enough yet.
She did not want to die.
"This is not looking down," Rowe said, shaking his head. "This is looking up."
He turned the spear in his grip, as if adjusting the weight of the world.
"I will control my output to match yours. I will keep my manifestation at the same specifications as yours. Would it not be better to test skill purely?"
It would.
"In a way, you truly are gentle," Scathach sighed. "But why not say it plainly? You are avoiding killing me outright."
Rowe's lips twitched.
The Magic Mirror's wisdom was, as always, intolerably sharp.
"Do not worry about angering me," Scathach continued, smiling faintly. "Inferior strength is a fact."
"I will not be angry, nor will I be moved."
Her red lips curved upward. Her body shifted with fluid certainty, and the spear in her hand dropped.
Strike.
The massive shrine seemed to fall from the sky.
At the same time, the shadows that existed everywhere in the Land of Shadows surged toward it, gathering into the descending hall as if the entire realm had decided to become her weapon.
In the past, Ereshkigal had been able to transform the land into the Underworld's territory, binding even Mesopotamia's strongest divine beast, the Bull of Heaven. Her Burning Shrine carried that same binding effect.
Scathach's replica did as well.
The converging shadows were the power of the Land of Shadows itself. Anything covered by that domain would be restricted, pressed down by endless shadow.
Every patch of darkness was a desolate mountain of the Land of Shadows.
Heavy.
Deep.
Oppressive enough to suppress and bind an enemy.
That was why it resembled the Burning Shrine so closely, and why Rowe recognized it instantly.
But shadows could not imprison storms.
Much less bind the souls of the dead.
Rowe lifted the Storm Spear.
Vast airflow expanded in an instant, as if a corner of a curtain had been pulled back.
The surrounding shadows collapsed layer by layer.
It was not a full release, yet it carried the weight of a power that had once fought Thor to a draw.
A partial manifestation of Rhongomyniad, the spear that shines at the end.
The curtain of the Age of Gods could be unveiled.
The shadows of the Land of Shadows could be shattered.
Clash?
Collision?
No.
This was simply dismantling. Decomposition. One sided.
The temple that had been swung down vanished without leaving a trace.
It was evaporated.
Scathach stared.
Dust rose. Storm gathered at the spear tip, then faded from sight.
She twitched her lips, a breathless laugh escaping her.
"Ah… indeed. It was still too much."
"This is the second time in my life I have been defeated in martial arts."
She admitted defeat frankly, without excuse.
"The gap is too large," Rowe said just as bluntly. "Give yourself another two thousand years and it might be possible."
"Two thousand years…" Scathach blinked. "Perhaps by then I will be tired of living."
Rowe smiled.
"If that day comes, I will end your life. Of course, I also hope that one day someone will end mine."
A moment ago they had traded words like comrades.
The next they had moved like enemies who meant to kill.
And now, they spoke again like long lost friends.
In a way, they were similar.
The tremors from the battle gradually subsided. The Land of Shadows returned to its earlier silence, and only their voices remained, echoing faintly.
Rowe spoke again.
"You said second. So before this, you had already lost once?"
"That is right."
Even though it was a shameful history for a warrior, Scathach did not look troubled. If anything, she looked delighted to revisit it.
Scathach, who shared an origin with the Snow Mountain Goddess Skaði, had begun from something almost ordinary. She was mortal. She had no divine blood, no lineage of heroic kings, no inherited Mystery from some ancient clan.
And yet she was a god slayer who stepped into the realm of gods with a mortal body.
She honed herself in deep valleys, and when she finally stepped onto the stage, she slew the gods that resided in the heavens.
From a very young age, Scathach had already been a symbol of strength.
If she existed in other worlds, she would be called a heavenly prodigy, a lone wanderer on the path of invincibility. Even here, she surpassed ordinary gods through skill and sheer effort.
But even such a talented warrior had once lost in pure skill before meeting Rowe.
"Of course, I was not as skilled then as I am now," Scathach said, smiling lightly as if discussing the weather. Her figure swayed with the faint settling of the realm.
"I had not yet seen through the boundary of life and death, and naturally I had not grasped the Magic Mirror's wisdom that transcends life and death."
She looked forward, eyes narrowing slightly.
"But it was precisely because of that defeat that I saw the limit of mortals in her."
In that battle, she crossed the boundary. She mastered the Magic Mirror's wisdom. She stepped over the line between gods and chief gods, a height no ordinary mortal could reach.
From then on, she could become stronger without end.
From then on, her life and death were tied to the world.
"Even this Land of Shadows was given to me by her," Scathach said, and the crimson spear in her hand was put away. "Come."
"Since you are here, we should take a proper look around. I can also fulfill my duties as host."
"And take the opportunity to steal martial arts from me?" Rowe asked.
"That is not stealing." Scathach answered with perfect shamelessness. "For a martial artist, learning is skill."
It was the same excuse Skaði had used when she first met Rowe, when she "accidentally" lost and then followed him anyway.
The difference was that Scathach was honest about it.
Rowe did not refuse.
He still wanted information about the person Scathach had mentioned. He could already guess who it was. Ereshkigal, who had entered Nordic territory.
In the dim Land of Shadows, light and shadow continued to flow.
Scathach walked ahead. Her hips swayed, and the purple bodysuit outlined her with a queen's beauty. She never cared.
Once a strong person earned her recognition, she did not even mind intimacy. As of today, only Rowe and her friend had that qualification.
Anyone else, human or god, would have died beneath that god slaying spear.
They climbed jagged rock.
Scathach's clear voice drifted back.
"That friend of mine is a Goddess of the Underworld from another land. A thousand years ago, she was already a genuine chief goddess of the Underworld."
"After she fought me and helped me complete my transformation, she created this place. A corner of the world transformed by her own authority."
"She fell asleep here. I also came here to train."
"It has been… over a thousand years, yes?" Scathach calculated her age quietly.
Rowe replied casually.
"Then you are quite old."
"Mr. Rowe," a voice cut in immediately, sweet as a dagger with a ribbon.
Skaði smiled.
"Has no one ever told you not to mention a lady's age?"
"You brought it up yourself. And when it comes to age, you are still a bit younger than me."
Rowe laughed softly.
"Little girl."
Silence.
A transcendent being who had lived for a thousand years did not want her age mentioned. Yet being called little did not make her happy either.
She felt belittled.
And the worst part was that she could not even refute it.
This man always found a way to win in places no one was defending.
"I finally understand why Skaði was so thoroughly outmaneuvered by you," Scathach grinned, lips like fire. "All in all, if you are interested in my friend, you will likely be disappointed."
"Because she will not easily wake…"
She stopped.
Her words died in her throat.
Ahead, above the jagged rocks, stood a palace built from heavy stone.
Inside were two thrones, one in front and one behind.
The front was empty. That was Scathach's seat.
The one behind was the seat of the true founder of the Land of Shadows. It should have been empty.
But it was not.
A figure sat there.
A breathtaking beauty with brilliant golden hair beneath a black crown. Her hair fell loose, revealing a delicate face. A dark red robe covered her slender shoulders, leaving her chest slightly exposed in pale curves. Her legs were crossed, traced by smooth winding lines. Her bare feet glowed with a milky white light in the dimness.
Her eyes were closed.
Yet her presence was unmistakably alive.
"Goddess Ereshkigal?" Scathach murmured, surprised.
The figure was, without doubt, the friend she had spoken of.
Rowe froze.
Ereshkigal.
It really was her.
"Long time no see."
The goddess on the throne opened her eyes. Ruby like, shimmering.
"Hm? It has been a long time indeed," Scathach said, tossing her hair as she stepped forward, ready to welcome her guide's return.
Ereshkigal rose at the same moment, opening her arms.
Scathach hesitated.
"So enthusiastic after so long? What a troublesome affection…"
Even so, she opened her arms too.
How could she not respond to the enthusiasm of her only friend?
Then she paused.
She stared at the empty space in front of her.
In the corner of her vision, the Goddess of the Underworld brushed past her without hesitation.
Rowe opened his arms.
Ereshkigal rushed into them, and he caught her.
She clung to him tightly, burying her face against his chest.
"Long time no see," Ereshkigal whispered.
Rowe smiled and ruffled her hair gently.
"It has indeed been a long time."
From the Uruk era, when he had been taken away by the Mother Goddess Tiamat, to now, nearly two millennia must have passed for Ereshkigal.
And yet, even now, her gaze still held him.
Or rather, only him.
"So that means you two know each other." Scathach stood to the side and fell into deep thought.
The Queen of the Land of Shadows felt there was a very large problem here.
How did she become the outsider?
Should she not be the one reuniting with her friend?
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