Chapter 637
Chapter 637
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 637
Chapter Title: Labyrinth (8)
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1.
Up until now, I've clashed with witches of the 22nd Hierarchy twice.
Dorothy Sahaquiel and Bianca Bellili.
The results: one win, one draw.
Compared to my ignorant days of yore, it's remarkable progress.
However, it's hard to say those outcomes were purely mine.
In Bianca's case, the trap I'd laid to keep her from escaping ended up hobbling me instead. More importantly, it wasn't me who'd driven her to the brink—it was my unconscious, awakening as my heart stopped.
With Dorothy, my goal had been to capture her without injury, so even from a position of advantage, I'd dragged things out. If I'd pressed her relentlessly without giving her time to leisurely draw her magic circle, that desperate reversal probably wouldn't have been possible.
Of course, if I took a fatal wound here and the monster in my unconscious emerged like it did against Bianca, I might just manage to hold my own.
But what gnaws at me is the failed negotiation during that "trial," when my body was surrounded. The unconscious that seized control once doesn't seem likely to resolve the crisis and sweetly hand my body back. It might not even show up and just spectate—or it could already be gone.
In other words, this is the first time I'm facing a 22nd Hierarchy witch on completely equal footing.
"......"
She gazes at this place with cold eyes, not uttering a word. There's no outward flashiness to her.
No dazzling array of artifacts, no sign of wielding overwhelming power that intimidates at a glance.
She simply spreads a hazy mist and watches us with cool precision.
You can't judge a hierarchy by aura alone, but at a glance, her mana feels like it's hovering around Great Witch level.
Yet if you peer deeply into those pitch-black eyes like an abyss, you see what's beyond.
Power condensed without a shred of waste.
Mana poised to shoot out silently, like a blade lurking in the darkness.
The butcher's gaze, endlessly probing for the perfect spot to carve.
-Weeeeng!
Objectively speaking, my combat prowess is at the 21st Hierarchy level.
However, if I enter a half-berserk state through the ring, that realm briefly touches the 22nd.
The angel's ring begins to accelerate.
The spiraling cluster of mana brings perilously potent power surging through every part of my body.
The first to move was Rinne.
Her form, sword at the ready, dissolves into a blur as if melting away.
Despite the explosive leap, not a sound emerges.
Proof that every ounce of power that might disperse is funneled entirely into propulsion, without waste.
"Sueup!"
I track the faintly visible black trajectory and prepare my counter.
Even with my dynamic vision, it's too fast to follow properly, but for all that speed, the motion is brutally straightforward. From her sword grip and angle, she's slicing across my waist as she flashes past.
Direction: left.
Slash? Thrust? Batter it away? Or clash weapons first and go for a bind?
I select one from the options flashing through my mind in an instant.
-Crunch!
The moment my left foot gouges the solid ground like soft mud, charging monstrously to intercept—
"......!"
A chill crawls up my spine.
Something's wrong. Dangerously so. Committing to the "left" feels like it'll seal my defeat.
-Pachang!
Just before the clash.
I spin the spear shaft like a windmill, switching my grip in a flash.
At the same time, a heavy sword strike wraps around my right waist, spitting sparks off the blocking spear shaft.
"......"
In a blink, our positions have swapped.
What just happened?
Utter bafflement.
Si-woo and the Sword Witch before him are both firmly in the superhuman ranks.
Visually confirming every attack before reacting is damn near impossible.
Yet fights don't end in one exchange because we predict the next from preparatory motions.
Foot positions, shoulder tension levels—for me, spots of concentrated mana reinforcement.
In that sense, her attack was an impossible strike.
Every preparatory motion screamed "left," yet at the brink of collision, the blade slipped into my opposite flank.
If I'd trusted my eyes over instinct, a chunk of flesh would've been carved away.
A motion as if she controlled inertia at will.
I look at the Sword Witch.
She's more shocked than me, who'd barely blocked on reflex.
Given Rinne's sword's nature of upending the foundations of physics, the first strike packs the most power.
Even knowing that, it doesn't matter. When laws you're inured to from daily life flip completely, reactions lag inevitably.
But he blocked that initial blow spectacularly.
Overturned the deep-seated conventions etched in his mind and trusted instinct over the evidence of his eyes.
And now, he counterattacks.
-Bwoong!
"Hap!"
As Rinne's waist snaps back, the long shaft sweeps through the space her upper body occupied.
Is this the Red Branch that enemy knight wielded?
Amid a few severed strands of hair, a bizarre helical ripple trails in its wake.
I'd felt it when her sword grazed earlier—it's an incredibly potent force field.
But even battle-hardened Rinne has no leisure to admire it up close.
-Kwajijijik! Kwajik!
Savage spear strikes, as if ripping space itself, pursue her relentlessly.
Full-power, frenzied swings that somehow never throw him off-balance.
Perfect form throughout—worthy of applause.
Each time she parries, the distortion field seeps into her vitals, spawning excruciating agony.
A storm of spearwork hounds her through her eerie angles and postures.
Finally, a thrust too relentless to evade alone hurtles toward her heart.
-Kwaang!
Rinne raises her sword mid-air to block, her body rocketing like a cannonball toward the outer wall.
Not a solid hit.
She halted in mid-air en route.
"Damn it..."
I bite my lip.
Truly unheard-of movements.
Dressed and armed like she'd strike a textbook sword stance, yet she tilts her upper body to floor-level or feints a left dodge only to casually step right.
Feels like fighting a specter, not a human. Her motions defy adaptation.
Physics manipulation again?
Halting mid-air is one thing, but like Dorothy's absolute force, she wields some special control over phenomena. Judging from her movements, it's probably inertia.
I dial back the ring's output to catch my breath and readjust my stance.
A few seconds of movement, and my mana is already scraping bottom.
Repeated amplification refills it, but my muscles and bones scream in protest.
A cost even Si-woo, with his vast mana reserves, struggles to bear—instant power over sustained output.
My body will obey my will for another five seconds at most.
"......"
And Rinne sees it crystal clear.
He's drawing power blatantly beyond his limits.
Even Rinne, who can cross blades evenly with the Tiferet Duke, finds that destructive force hard to withstand.
Si-woo re-accelerates the ring.
-Kieeeeng!
Mana sucked in like water into a bottomless jar.
In tandem, power surges through his body, while his spirit screams as greater force gathers in his grip.
He maxes out the distortion field dead ahead.
Twists and wrings the waves pushed to their limit—
They converge at the spear tip like a morning glory bud on the verge of bloom.
A brutal application he'd never attempt normally.
Once he crushes the Red Branch's rebellious frenzy—now raging to defy its master—with overamplified mana,
this single thrust rivals a full-power javelin hurl.
The key is how he delivers it.
A hasty lunge dodged would leave him wide open.
Thus, Si-woo grips the spear like a harpoon and hoists it high.
An overt counter setup, declaring he'll wait.
The moment she breaches his interval to attack, the Red Branch will judge the intruder.
How will she come?
Setup complete, Si-woo eyes Rinne.
A change ripples across Rinne's steadfast face.
"Arrogant."
It's a ferocious grin, as if ripping the war face of a yasha straight off.
Yes.
The hollow laugh of the provoked fool—the exact reaction Si-woo craved.
Truth be told, halting in place to blatantly declare a counter might be suicidal in itself.
If Rinne had even a simple ranged poke,
or just stalled until Si-woo burned out on his own, it would be trivially dismantled.
A wise witch wouldn't leap into the open maw of a viper.
She'd subdue efficiently by other means.
But for a swordswoman, it carries entirely different implications.
Waiting in a stance that broadcasts your attack path precisely?
It's "come at me if you're confident"—and simultaneously, "no matter what you try, I'll smash you down."
And Rinne, witch and warrior brimming with battle lust, gladly takes the bait.
You don't always need to be stronger overall.
Just perch atop your foe's head for that one decisive instant.
Flip a 7:3 fight to 5.1:4.9, even for a blink—it's enough.
"Sever."
With the incantation, Rinne crouches low, mana unfurling behind her.
Black haze billows like spilled ink.
The haze repaints the touching world in black and white.
Bright tones to white.
Dark tones to black.
As the black-and-white landscape spreads, the fierce mana tremors fade.
A profound silence fills the void.
Si-woo can't fully grasp the effect with his eyes.
But he can confirm...
The creeping black and white have transformed the surroundings into an ink-wash painting.
Everything but the faintly glowing Red Branch has lost its true colors.
And.
"Black White World."
⟨ Black White World ⟩
A voice slips through her lips in the world stripped of noise and color.
She's cleaved thousands of lives and thousands of deaths.
The sole philosophy unbroken in the spiral of kill or be killed: obsession toward strength.
The black sword stance rings out silently.
Color returns.
Si-woo's nape as he drops the spear and crumples to his knees.
The blood fountaining from cracks in his shattered armor regains its vivid crimson.