Rebirth-Transcending All Beings-Chapter 52: Burden Carrier [3]
Elvira moved far away, to a small town named Vaelmont, teaching small tricks to children
Although she laughed, it was never the same.
She never remarried
Never forgot.
She had loved once.
And that was enough.
Vergil stood watching as she sat in her chair, she was older — fragile.
She sipped her tea and whispered, "Maybe I’ll see you both soon."
The memory shimmered, shifting once again.
To their first encounter.
Not the Vergil of know, but the one who stepped nervously towards her on the cobbled pavement as she sat on a bench.
He looked lost.
And Elvira couldn’t understand a word he said.
His voice carried a strange cadence, before taking her a moment to realise: he wasn’t speaking their language.
Her first instinct had been caution. Either he was from a secluded tribe or a fallen world.
And after he vomited.
Just like that, he understood her.
"...Do you know where the blacksmith is?" He asked politely, with a sheepish expression.
She gave directions and he thanked her — he smiled, a brief flicker of joy for someone who looked out of place.
"Elvira," she said when he asked her name.
"...Vergil," he replied.
She thought that would be the end of it.
But he came back, not long after — asking where to buy food and potions.
And once more. He said he never remembered anything, except his name. He wanted to know about the world.
Elvira’s heart sank, before bringing him home. "Come inside. I’ll tell you what I know."
She explained as much as he needed to know. The conflict in Aurelia, the distant threat from the Demonic Continent, and the academy in Vaeloria.
And for the first time in years, as she spoke...
She felt something beginning to rekindle.
Purpose.
The loneliness that had nested in her chest for decades slowly began to recede.
He listened to every minute detail, the way he asked questions when he was confused — clever ones as if planning for the unknown future.
As if he were preparing instead of learning.
’It felt good to teach again.’
One night, he came again.
"I... don’t have anywhere else to go since the inn was closed when I got back. And you’re the only person I know."
She looked at him, a boy so young yet so uncertain. Despite the warning bells, she opened the door for him, letting him enter.
"You’ll stay here. Just don’t snore."
He smiled. "No promises."
A few days passed.
And once again, Vergil returned.
But this time... he wasn’t alone.
He brought a woman named Eleanor. Poised, elegant
She knew she was a noble, but Vergil trusted her. And that was enough for her.
"I want to learn magic," Vergil said. "We both do."
Elvira hesitated. She hadn’t taught in years.
"What makes you think I know magic.," she said.
He mentioned everything he found with a lopsided grin.
"...Fine. Don’t expect miracles."
The days that followed felt... strange.
Happy, even.
Eleanor was sharp but ambitious — she was talented in magic. But Vergil was the opposite.
He was average, his understanding of spells took time. The only thing going on was his one-hundred per cent efficiency.
But he never gave up, he strived desperately to reach greater heights.
He was relentless. Even mad, in some way.
But Elvira saw something else in him.
Not madness but will.
He didn’t chase power for glory, but for another goal
He reminded her of a grandson.
Something she would never have.
-------
The sky became crimson. Ash drifted like snow, carrying the scent of blood and burning wood.
Screams echoed in the distance. And from above they descended.
Not angels but demons.
She stood outside her cottage in Vaelmont, villagers moving towards the bunker. Children cried, mothers whimpered — the wounded dragged themselves
She didn’t flinch. Her old hand, calloused from decades of spellcraft, reached out, steady as ever, casting a protective barrier over the trapdoor.
"Hurry inside! Everyone—go!"
She could feel it.
The mana surging through her veins like fire. Her mana heart pulsed with steady strength, her mana circle still intact—still whole. After all these years, they hadn’t failed her.
But her body was dying.
The broken channels carrying her mana through her flesh began to tear even further — tiny fissures spreaded through her muscles and bones.
"I still have work to do." She whispered.
Outside the barrier, clawed beasts and winged monstrosities approached.
But she wouldn’t let them take her. Over her dead body.
The demons poured in after the barrier broke, her mana surged — clean and controlled after decades of mastery.
She launched spell after spell — ice crashed in spears, fire roared in sweeping waves.
Each cast was perfect.
Each incantation was sharp.
Her control was unshakable.
Her arms trembled with every motion. Her knees buckled from the force of her own magic. Her organs cried out with every channelling.
Her mana heart was strong.
But her vessel was old. And her mana pathways were ruined.
Every demon she killed was a step closer to saving her people.
She gritted her teeth, drawing mana from her heart, and a massive sigil formed in the air. A layered spell, destructive and absolute.
She cast it—
—and screamed.
Blood spurted from her mouth. Her right leg collapsed beneath her. Her spine jolted with fire. The spell incinerated an entire wave of demons, but the price was her flesh.
She was burning herself alive from the inside out.
But she refused to stop.
"For the people," she muttered through cracked lips.
Her thoughts drifted—just for a moment.
Vergil.
That strange boy with black, messy hair and tired eyes.
She’d grown fond of him.
Her grandson, not by blood, but by fate.
The child she never got to raise.
Elvira staggered back as another explosion erupted, her breath ragged.
Her mana was still flowing.
But her body was nearing its end.
The pain was unbearable now. Her arms hung limp. Her vision blurred. Her blood was thin, leaking from her nose, her ears, her mouth. Her knees shook.
But she stood.
And stood.
And stood.
Because she had to.
And then, she fell. And demons poured in.
"That is my story." The voice that narrated everything had finally disappeared.
And all that remained for Vergil was the guilt that came afterwards.
------
A heavy, suffocating guilt that clawed at his chest and squeezed around his lungs like an iron grip. He couldn’t look away. No matter how much he wanted to, he watched it all unfold.
Every scream.
Every spell.
Every life she tried to protect from the demons.
He didn’t care for the villagers. He didn’t care about their fate. Not truly.
But her?
Her.
She was the only person who gave him a place to rest when he had none.
She taught him about the world when he was a blank slate.
She gave him warmth in a world that had only offered cold blood and silence.
And he left her to die alone.
"It’s my fault," he whispered in the void.
His knees buckled hard to the floor.
"It’s my fault... It’s my fault... It’s my fault..."
The words repeated like a broken incantation.
He was the one who opened the portal.
It was his greed — his hunger for strength.
His endless craving for power allowed the demons to cause havoc.
Everything was his fault.
And she paid the price.
Not him. Her.
His nails dug into his scalp as he trembled.
"It hurts," he muttered. "It hurts. It hurts. It hurts..."
He felt her final emotions — the desperate determination, the fading breath, the sorrow... but most of all, the joy. The joy that he had existed in her final days. That he made her feel like a grandmother.
Even for a moment.
And that joy stabbed deeper than any guilt.
She was happy.
And he ruined everything.
[Sanity meter has increased by 5%]
Vergil clutched his head. The village around him haunted him. The memory burned, echoing again and again, replaying like a cruel curse.
"I shouldn’t have let her die,"
"I shouldn’t have let her die..."
But deep down, he knew.
He didn’t deserve to mourn her.
Not after this.
Then suddenly.
Everything turned black.
The memory, the screams, the blood. All of it vanished into a void along with him — where silence reigned.
Suffocating, cold and timeless. Perfect for a being like him.
Vergil stood still in the nothingness, suspended between thought and reality.
He didn’t know where he was.
He didn’t know what he was anymore.
His mind twisted under the weight of guilt.
It hurts.
He clenched his fists.
It hurts.
He screamed, but no sound came.
It hurts.
His breath turned ragged as something inside him cracked.
Then—
A flicker.
A light.
A figure began to form ahead of him, slowly shaping through the veil of black.
Vergil’s eyes widened, breath catching in his throat as the image cleared.
A familiar robe.
Long silver hair.
Eyes that once looked at him with gentle pride.
Vergil’s lips parted. "E... Elvira?"
