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ArabicArknights: Soul Knights of Terra — Chapter 32
Chapter 32: The Weight of a Name
Inside the Vitality Hall, the ambient warmth wrapped around the quiet room. Vera sat at the edge of the bed beside the sleeping Ifrit. She rhythmically stroked the young girl’s feverish forehead with one hand. On the index finger of her free hand, a tiny, docile wisp of flame danced, twisting and swaying to her silent commands.
This wasn’t an idle trick. She was carefully tracing the residual sensation of the Necromancer skill she had unleashed in the Dungeon. Resurrecting the Snow Mountain Great Ape King had been a massive toll—nearly half her energy reserves had evaporated in a single breath.
Still, the cost remained manageable. Once revived, the beast moved autonomously, sparing her the constant drain of puppeteering its colossal frame. A dark, chilling hypothesis began to take root in her mind. If mindless Dungeon monsters obeyed her absolute command upon revival… what would happen to a human? Someone with complete self-awareness and a soul?
Her finger twitched. The tiny flame violently flickered, mirroring her internal tremor.
Can the dead truly be brought back?
The mere concept sent a spike of ice through her veins. Toying with the boundary between life and death was the ultimate taboo. If she crossed that line, did she possess the fortitude to pay the inevitable toll?
A faint, strained groan shattered her dark reverie. The small hand resting near hers twitched. Vera snapped her attention downward, locking gazes with a pair of wide, anxious amber eyes. Ifrit was awake, staring up at her with the trembling caution of a cornered animal.
Vera immediately extinguished the flame and forced the softest, most harmless smile she could muster. She lowered her voice to a soothing hush. “You’re awake. How do you feel? Are you hungry? The food will be ready in just a minute.”
Through the mental link, she fired off a rapid, silent ping to the other three guys. She carefully slid an arm behind Ifrit’s shoulders, helping the frail girl sit up against the pillows. Ifrit looked entirely lost, her gaze darting around the unfamiliar surroundings.
During her agonizing tenure at Rhine Lab, warmth was a foreign concept. Aside from Silence, no one had ever approached her without a syringe or a clipboard. Even Silence had maintained the rigid, clinical caution of a researcher during their early interactions.
Noting the rigid tension in the girl’s shoulders, Vera softened her tone even further. “What’s wrong? Does it still hurt anywhere? Tell me if you’re uncomfortable.”
“N-no…” Ifrit stammered. She instinctively ducked her head, letting her messy hair shield her face from that suffocatingly tender gaze.
When surrounded by cold-eyed scientists who viewed her as nothing more than a volatile test subject—a monster—Ifrit knew how to survive. She could bare her fangs, ignite her flames, and use roars and curses as a spiked armor. But against this pure, unadulterated kindness? She was a creature of the dark violently dragged into the midday sun. She was utterly defenseless, bordering on panic.
Watching the little Sarkaz practically curl into a defensive ball, Vera felt a flash of helplessness. Is my voice too forced? It had always worked perfectly fine when she took care of kids back in their original world.
A heavy, awkward quiet settled over the room, freezing the air between them.
Then, the door swung open.
“Hahaha, the broth has arrived!” Vane’s boisterous, energetic voice cut through the room, instantly shattering the suffocating tension.
Ifrit flinched, then peeked toward the doorway. The moment she spotted the towering, familiar silhouette looming behind the Vampire, her amber eyes lit up.
“Big Mon—”
She instinctively started to blurt out the secret nickname she had assigned him, but her teeth clamped shut just in time, swallowing the word.
She hated being called a monster. It was a word that carried the scent of sterile labs and cold restraints. If she hated it so much, calling her savior “Big Monster” would definitely make him sad, too.
Forcing the offensive title down, Ifrit lifted her chin. She smoothed out her expression, trying her absolute hardest to sound polite. “My name is Ifrit. May I ask… what are your names?”
Gusi, having just stepped into the Vitality Hall, opened his mouth to introduce himself with his real name. Before a single syllable could escape, Vera’s frantic voice exploded across their mental link.
[Vera: Vane! Stop! Is there any Originium Art or power on Terra that can curse or kill someone just by knowing their true name?]
[Vane: Seriously? Vera, you’re being way too paranoid!]
[Vera: Shut up and answer the question! Is there or not?!]
[Vane: Uh… I’m not entirely sure. But the Banshees among the Sarkaz specialize in verbal curses and word-based Arts. So… maybe? There really could be something like that.]
[Vera:…If there’s even a fraction of a chance, we don’t risk it. For safety’s sake, we use aliases.]
[Gusi: Do we… really have to lie to the kid?]
[Vera: I—! Look, it’s a necessary security protocol!]
[Gregor: Let’s follow Vera’s judgment. It protects all of us.]
[Vane: Fine, fine. I’ll just use my skin’s name, ‘Vane’. It sounds pretty badass anyway!]
[Vera: Done.]
[Gusi: Done.]
[Gregor: Done.]
From Ifrit’s perspective, the four adults had suddenly frozen, staring blankly into space in absolute silence. She shrank back against the pillows, convinced she had broken some unspoken rule, and lowered her head in shame.
Vane casually set the steaming pot of broth on a nearby table. He darted right up to the edge of the bed, flashing a bright, utterly shadowless grin. “My name is Vane! And as for my race, I’m a Blood Demon!”
Blood Demon?
A series of gruesome, blood-soaked rumors regarding the Sarkaz sub-race flashed through Ifrit’s mind. Her body gave an involuntary flinch.
But she caught herself immediately. Wasn’t she the terrifying “Little Fire Dragon” that everyone else avoided like a plague? These people hadn’t looked at her with disgust or fear. How could she judge them based on mere rumors?
Swallowing her instinctive apprehension, she slowly, carefully extended her small hand. “N-nice to meet you.”
Vane chuckled. He took her tiny hand in his pale grip and gave it a light shake, his movements surprisingly gentle for a creature of the night.
“I am Vera,” the Necromancer added softly from her side, offering a reassuring smile as she reached out. Ifrit offered her other hand, letting Vera squeeze it warmly.
“I am Gusi.” The low, rumbling voice vibrated through the room as the massive Druid stepped forward. Seeing that both of the girl’s hands were currently occupied, the towering figure with the ferocious deer skull simply gave a polite, measured nod.
Ifrit glanced down at her captured hands, looking mildly distressed that she couldn’t shake his. Gusi immediately waved his large, clawed hand in a placating gesture. “It’s fine… I don’t mind…” He sounded utterly dejected.
A beat of dead silence passed over the group.
[Vane: Your tone sounds like you super mind, bro!]
Finally, Ifrit shifted her amber gaze toward the last, and largest, figure in the room.
A low, indistinct roar of molten rock and ancient fury rumbled from the Paladin’s throat.
Ifrit blinked, completely lost.
Vane quickly waved his hands, laughing nervously. “Ahahaha, this is our boss, Gregor! Little Fire Dragon, you can just call him Boss, just like we do!”
Little Fire Dragon?
Ifrit felt a flicker of confusion at the sudden, bizarre nickname, but she obediently nodded. She looked up at the imposing, lava-armored giant and spoke with absolute earnestness. “Um… thank you, Boss.”
She then swept her gaze across the rest of the room, her eyes shining with raw, unfiltered sincerity. “And thank you all… for saving me.”
Vera’s expression softened entirely. She opened her mouth to offer a comforting reply, but the restless Vampire beat her to the punch.
“Oh, no need to be so polite!” Vane leaned in, flashing a roguish grin. “We guys just have a soft spot for cute little girls like you! If you really want to repay us, when you grow up— Ow! Hot, hot, hot, hot!”
A massive, searing-hot hand of molten lava clamped directly over Vane’s face, muffling the rest of his highly inappropriate sentence. Without a single word, Gregor turned and began dragging the thrashing, screaming Vampire by the skull toward the Nursery.
“Wait! Boss, I was wrong! I was just joking! Mercy—!” Vane’s muffled shrieks echoed down the corridor, gradually fading into the distance.
Ifrit sat frozen, utterly bewildered by the sudden chaotic violence. She instinctively craned her neck to look down the hall.
A cool, slender hand gently cupped her cheek, firmly guiding her gaze back to the front.
Ifrit met Vera’s eyes. The Necromancer was still smiling that gentle, warm smile, but for some inexplicable reason, a terrifying chill crawled up Ifrit’s spine.
“Don’t look over there, Ifrit.”
Vera leaned in close, her voice dropping to a silken, dangerous whisper that made the little Sarkaz shrink into her shoulders. “Remember to stay far away from that guy in the future, understood? If you hang around trash for too long… the stench rubs off on you.”
Ifrit swallowed hard and nodded with frantic obedience. “O-okay.”
She’s terrifying… like a combination of Saria’s strictness and Silence’s lectures…
Satisfied with the girl’s sensible response, Vera patted her head and beckoned the silent Druid over.
“Gusi, feed her the soup,” Vera instructed, passing the warm bowl into his massive claws. “I’m going to the Nursery to ‘take care of some business’.”
Gusi accepted the bowl without a word, silently dedicating three seconds of mourning to Vane’s impending demise. He approached the bed and slowly crouched down, trying to minimize his towering, intimidating bulk.
Even crouched, his ferocious, bone-white deer skull occupied Ifrit’s entire field of vision. Under the girl’s highly nervous stare, the giant beast used a level of delicate precision completely at odds with his monstrous physique. He scooped up a small spoonful of broth and blew on it gently to cool it down.
Ifrit stared at the spoon hovering just inches from her lips. She attempted a weak negotiation. “I… I can do it myself…”
Gusi didn’t reply. He simply held his position, unmoving as a statue, and emitted a low, persistent hum from his chest.
Ifrit surrendered, opening her mouth to accept the soup.
Meanwhile, inside the Nursery.
[Gregor: Did you really have to say that in front of the kid? You’re practically begging for death…]
Gregor released his burning grip with a helpless sigh, a few strands of singed hair drifting to the floor. Vane vigorously rubbed his smoking scalp, though his face showed absolutely zero remorse.
“Heh, it just slipped out.” Vane grinned. “Good thing you pulled me out in time, Boss. Otherwise, Vera would have actually skinned me alive.”
The Paladin shook his heavy, armored head.
[Gregor: Just scream a few more times for show, so she doesn’t think I let you off too easy.]
“You got it! I’m a master at putting on a show!”
“Putting on a show for what, exactly?”
Vane’s entire body locked up. His neck cranked backward, turning notch by agonizing notch like a rusted gear.
Vera was standing directly behind him. He hadn’t heard a single footstep. She was smiling, but the sheer malice radiating from that expression could have frozen a raging river.
Pure survival instinct hijacked Vane’s nervous system. A blindingly bright smile plastered itself across his face as he desperately scrambled for an alibi.
“To… to pretend to be a mature and reliable adult in front of the kid, of course!” He nodded vigorously, praying the kinetic energy would add weight to his lie. “I was just asking the Boss for advice on how to be as steady and dependable as he is! I swear I’ll never spout nonsense in front of a child ever again! Right, Boss?!”
He fired off a rapid series of desperate winks at the Paladin.
[Gregor:…]
Vera stared at the cowering Vampire for a long moment before waving her hand dismissively. The terrifying aura evaporated. “Forget it. Your lack of a filter isn’t exactly a new development.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting off an impending headache, before her features settled into a mask of absolute seriousness. “I came looking for you to discuss something important.”
Vane exhaled a massive breath of relief. He snapped to attention, dropping the comedic act entirely. “Shoot. I’ll tell you everything I know.”
“You mentioned earlier that the girl is a test subject.” Vera’s gaze sharpened into twin blades. “What kind of experiment, specifically? What exactly did Rhine Lab do to her?”
Vane’s crimson eyes darkened. “Well… I already told you she’s an Infected, right?”
“Yes,” Vera confirmed.
“On paper, Ifrit is a clinical test subject for Rhine Lab’s ‘Oripathy treatment technology’ division. But in reality…” Vane paused, his voice dropping to a grim murmur. “She is the living vessel for a resurrection project. They are trying to awaken—or rather, artificially cultivate—an ancient Sarkaz entity known as the Flame Demon inside her.”
Vera’s breath hitched. “Are you saying…”
“Yeah,” Vane nodded, confirming the horrific truth. “On top of enduring the daily agony of Oripathy, Rhine Lab forcibly implanted a highly unstable Flame Demon Fragment directly into her body.”
The ambient temperature in the Nursery spiked. Gregor’s molten armor flared, emitting a low, dangerous rumble of tectonic fury.
[Gregor: Can we just rip the fragment out and destroy it?]
“Not easily,” Vane replied, shaking his head. “That thing has achieved a symbiotic state with her nervous system. Forcibly extracting it would almost certainly kill her on the spot.”
“The only silver lining is that Ifrit’s sheer willpower allows her to suppress the Flame Demon Fragment under normal conditions. As long as she doesn’t suffer extreme psychological or physical trauma, the entity’s power won’t easily breach her control.”
The Paladin gave a slow, resolute nod.
[Gregor: It doesn’t matter. I will remain by the child’s side.]
[Gregor: If that parasitic fragment dares to rear its head, I will crush it back down. I will do it a thousand times if I have to, until we find a permanent cure.]
Vera crossed her arms, her mind racing through the tactical variables. “Then that brings us to the second problem.”
A heavy silence descended upon the three of them. They all knew exactly what she meant.
[Gregor: Oripathy…]
The Paladin’s mental voice carried a faint, almost imperceptible thread of hope.
[Gregor: Is there truly no cure?]
Vane let out a long, weary sigh. “Based on the lore I know… no. There is no known method on Terra that can completely eradicate Oripathy. The absolute peak of current medical science can only suppress the spread of the Originium lesions and manage the pain.”
Vera’s brow furrowed in frustration. “What about our health potions? The red ones from the Dungeon. They can instantly knit flesh and bone back together from near-fatal trauma.”
“Highly unlikely,” Vane countered. “The red potions are fundamentally designed for rapid cellular repair and regeneration. They restore vitality and seal physical wounds. But they can’t reverse the fundamental, molecular alterations caused by Originium. Because strictly speaking… Oripathy isn’t a disease.”
He paused, searching for the right words to translate the grimdark lore of Terra into concepts his friends could grasp. “It’s more like a mandatory ‘evolutionary catalyst.’ It’s a deep-rooted assimilation. Originium invades the host and forcibly rewrites their biology.”
“In a twisted sense, it does promote evolution. It’s what allows the Infected to channel Originium Arts with their own bodies. But the process is violently crude. A mortal body simply cannot withstand that level of systemic mutation. Physically superior races can endure the assimilation longer, but weaker ones succumb rapidly. Their organs fail, their blood crystallizes, and their bodies literally turn to stone from the inside out. That’s why the mortality rate is one hundred percent.”
Vera absorbed the horrifying reality of the explanation. “…So that’s why you called it an otherworldly cancer.”
Gregor turned toward the doorway. Vera and Vane followed his gaze. Through the open frame, their eyes settled on the far corner of the Vitality Hall.
Gusi was still crouched by the bed, patiently feeding Ifrit the warm broth, spoonful by careful spoonful. The young girl blew on the liquid, sipping it obediently.
It was a picture of absolute, fragile peace. Yet, beneath that quiet surface, this small child was carrying a ticking time bomb of ancient demonic fire, all while being slowly consumed by an incurable, agonizing plague.
The Paladin’s breathing grew heavy, the molten cracks in his armor flaring with suppressed emotion. His voice echoed through their mental link, ringing with the weight of absolute, unyielding resolve.
[Gregor: On this planet, where is the greatest doctor for Oripathy?]
Vane’s usual levity vanished completely. “That depends entirely on our current point in the timeline. If we’ve landed after the establishment of Rhodes Island, then the answer is undoubtedly Rhodes Island. It’s a mobile landship with no fixed coordinates, but they maintain outposts across the continent. However…”
Vane trailed off, his eyes narrowing. “If we’ve arrived before its founding…”
He shifted his gaze to Vera, his tone laced with heavy solemnity. “Then the greatest medical minds are undoubtedly gathered within Babel.”
Vera raised an eyebrow, catching the implication in his stare. “Judging by that look, this has something to do with me. Where is Babel?”
Vane hesitated for a fraction of a second before uttering a name that carried the weight of a thousand tragedies for the Sarkaz race.
“Kazdel.”
The ancestral homeland of the Sarkaz. A scorched earth torn apart by endless civil war, perpetual division, and the looming shadow of the Lord of Fiends.
And, based on the barren, war-torn wasteland Vera had woken up in, it was highly probable that she was already standing on its soil.
[Gregor: Sigh…]
[Gregor: We need to plan this carefully. First, we should—]
“I’m going.”
[Gregor: What?]
“What?” Vane blurted out.
Both men stared at the Necromancer in shock. Vera met their gazes, her voice quiet, yet ringing with a deafening, obvious finality.
“I’m going.”
[Vera: Next stop, Kazdel.]