Chapter 635
Chapter 635
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 635
Chapter Title: Labyrinth (6)
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1.
A pristine white blade hummed coldly.
The contract sword, swung countless times at the enemy's vital points, had repeatedly failed to fulfill its role, scattering sparks into the air.
-Boom! Kwang! Kwaaang!
“Hup!”
As Eloa drew in a sharp breath, her petite frame curled inward even tighter, spinning at extreme speed.
At the peak of her rotation, she used centrifugal force to fling her sword, clashing once more with the greatsword.
If the many witches witnessed this scene, they would be unable to hide their shock.
The Tiferet Duke, a witch who had remodeled all her magic for close-quarters combat.
For the 23rd Hierarchy, a figure who poured her full power into sword strikes, to be met head-on with a mere 'sword'.
However, upon realizing who her opponent was, they would nod in understanding.
The 'Sword Witch', Rinne Samakiel.
The 22nd Hierarchy, an enforcer who—like Tiferet—adopted a highly unorthodox combat style,
a witch who had cleaved through countless powerhouses with her single-edged straight sword as her weapon of choice.
If Tiferet's sword, devoted to the stability of witch society, was an object of awe,
then Rinne Samakiel's blade, swung for her own obsessions, was an object of terror.
At times against enforcers, at times against Gehenna nobles, at times against homunculi—her sword lashed out indiscriminately, its sole purpose the pursuit of 'strength'.
How many witches' necks had rolled at her feet in service to that goal? Only she knew.
One thing was certain: the swordsmanship forged atop mountains of corpses posed a threat even to Eloa.
———!
A blade slithered in like a snake along the path of Eloa's failed strike.
Murderous intent radiating fiercely, yet the thrust slipped in utterly silent, aiming to bisect her throat and heart.
If she hastily blocked one, it would pivot seamlessly to exploit the gap.
Unlike sharp, rational sword paths, this was a sticky, mud-like technique that clung relentlessly.
Eloa pulled back, attempting to nullify the stance itself.
As if anticipating it, the greatsword fully reversed direction, thrusting even deeper.
Despite the inevitable counter-motion inherent to human anatomy, there was no deceleration, no strain on the body.
Inertia control that defied the laws of physics.
Rinne's self-attribute magic—and the reason her swordplay was so vexing.
Its range was narrow, limited to freely manipulating the inertial forces generated by her own body.
But when this seemingly minor ability fused with master-level swordsmanship, the result was truly ferocious.
It birthed sword techniques impossible in reality.
A blade vanishing to the left would surge from below upward; a repelled sword would fly at her nape without slowing.
Rinne could expose openings freely, safe in the knowledge she could recover instantly. Eloa, however, faced lethal counters for any gap she showed, restricting her movements.
It naturally forced an unpleasant fight.
-Clang!
Eloa and Rinne's forms crossed.
“......”
A burning pain arrived belatedly, a thin red line etching across Eloa's cheek.
In return, Eloa had grazed Rinne's waist as she passed.
If this duel were just between them, Rinne would have spilled her guts onto the floor and collapsed.
At minimum, it would have been a debilitating wound.
But the sensation transmitted through her hand was not flesh parting.
It was something hard shattering.
This was why Eloa struggled for over 15 minutes against the Sword Witch, whom she had defeated multiple times before.
The culprits were her two witch allies.
The identity of this sensation was likely the 'Corpse Witch's' 'Bone Shield'.
True to her title as the 'Corpse Witch'—the kind of figure the term necromancer evoked—she sacrificed a corpse to summon a sturdy shield.
Eloa qualified her guess with 'likely' because she couldn't visually confirm Rinne at a distance.
Left alone in the darkness once more, Eloa steadied her breath, calmly awaiting attacks from any direction.
Flames ignited in her pink eyes, brimming with stoic killing intent.
“Hurry up and do something!”
“Why hasn't she died yet?”
Eloa was enduring her own ordeal, but the Corpse Witch and Silence Witch watching her were far from calm.
Was that really the same witch?
She had already consumed three corpses.
Meaning those bone shields, optimized solely for defense, had shattered three times.
And the Corpse Witch wasn't the only one intervening.
“Is the curse properly applied?”
“It is! She's half-blind at this point. What about you—got anything more useful?”
“Shut your mouth! You know I'm preparing something.”
Eloa was already under the 'Sinking Butterfly' curse from the Silence Witch, specialist in curses and chains.
A curse-type magic that completely sealed the target's senses.
Eloa ranked higher in hierarchy and possessed the 'Eye of Truth,' but with another battle ongoing, she couldn't focus fully on countermeasures.
Thus, Sinking Butterfly reliably shrank her visual, auditory, and mana detection range to within 1 meter.
She could barely sense foes unless they were close enough to cross blades.
Yet she showed no signs of yielding, radiating undiminished spirit.
This inevitably birthed the same doubt.
“Can we really win this...?”
“Samakiel! Stop dawdling! Get in there and fight! The curse won't hold forever!”
Rinne, silently readjusting her stance, shot a chilling glare backward.
Though taciturn and emotionally flat, her feelings in this moment burned with passion.
Envy, jealousy, rage.
Fighting from such an overwhelming advantage, yet failing to breach Tiferet's defenses.
“...She's pulling ahead again.”
No.
That wasn't it.
The Tiferet that Rinne knew would have been on the defensive by now.
No matter how defensively she fought, she should have taken deep wounds.
Yet the Tiferet, thought to have peaked 20 years ago, had grown even stronger.
As if she had endlessly dueled swordsmen of comparable skill.
She's slipping further away again.
Unlike her base jealousy and fury, Rinne judged coldly.
Time for Plan B.
“Corpse, prepare.”
“Just do it already! You only tossed in the sacrifice!”
Eloa, left in the darkness, seized the lull to focus on countermeasures.
Her darkened vision slowly cleared, severed cognition gradually returning.
“Perfect, now!”
Before her stood the Corpse Witch, smugly unleashing her trump card against Tiferet.
The first thing to catch Eloa's eye was a painfully familiar figure.
A witch wielding a practice sword.
Flowing hair and pink eyes gleaming just like Eloa's.
No—too lifeless to truly gleam.
As if a corpse had been revived.
A face she had never forgotten, not for a single instant.
Once lost through tragic mistake.
Rafi Tiferet.
“How's this? Think you can swing at your old disciple?”
This was Plan B.
A method to induce Tiferet's agitation and create an opening.
Extract the image from Ea Sadalmelik's memories and recreate it atop a 'Death Knight'.
Investigations revealed Tiferet was psychologically fragile, haunted by severe trauma over her disciple's death.
What chaos would grip her seeing that disciple revived, sword raised against her?
She probably wouldn't even parry.
Though a summoned familiar, the Death Knight was the Corpse Witch's finest creation.
In this delicately balanced fight, such psychological disruption would make it far tougher—even for Tiferet.
The Corpse Witch, holding that conviction, realized her judgment was gravely mistaken.
“————!!!”
Tiferet roared like a beast bereft of its young.
The Corpse Witch, who had smirked at the initial wail of grief, froze as a chill scraped down her spine.
Her eyes rolled back.
She never imagined witnessing that idiom literally.
With bloodshot eyes, Tiferet instantly pinpointed the perpetrator of this atrocity.
Meeting that gaze, thick with killing intent, drained the strength from her legs as if facing a wild beast barehanded.
“Y-You bitch...”
No need to fear.
This tunnel-vision rage was clear agitation too.
If the Silence Witch and Sword Witch capitalized on this gap...
“What are you two doing?!”
Glancing around desperately for salvation, the Corpse Witch reassessed her situation.
The other two were gone.
She was alone.
The implication was obvious.
They had fled while she was preoccupied casting, using her as bait for their escape.
Plan B was always sacrificing her for the others' retreat.
-Crackkk
Eloa's hand gripped the hilt hard enough to shatter bone.
Thoughts of the escapees had evaporated.
Her vision held only one thing: slaughtering the vile enforcer mocking her beloved disciple even in death.
The twelve runes etched on the blade lit up at once.
“B-Block her!”
The Corpse Witch desperately tried to halt Tiferet.
Regrettably, the Death Knight couldn't even graze her hem.
Eloa leaped at incomprehensible speed, swinging her sword.
“Ah...”
The Corpse Witch stared blankly at her severed arm.
The blade's keenness offered no chance even for pain.
Pruning an overgrown rose branch—it was too effortless to believe a body part had been lost.
Beneath the palpable murderous aura, as she gazed at the Tiferet Duke, the Corpse Witch realized.
Even against all three, she hadn't gone all-out.
She had merely conserved strength for a sure victory.
Provoking trauma to distract her? Absurd.
She never should have been touched in the first place.
No method could challenge such a monster.
Regret always comes too late, no matter how swift.
The Corpse Witch's final sight was a spectacle of hundreds of pristine white sword strikes filling her vision.