Chapter 84
Chapter 84
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 84
Chapter Title: This is My World
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*Thud!*
‘Death’ lightly tapped the floor with its skeletal staff. The avatar of the Black Prince's grimoire—the *Scales of the Heart*.
It took the form of what looked like a Victorian English gentleman.
In that it was an avatar of an idea, the concept itself was not much different from the avatars of knights.
But the weight of its presence was incomparable to that of a mere knight, just like the being behind Dale.
It was then.
*Flap! Flap!*
From behind ‘Death’, several crows took flight, surging directly toward Dale. Like something out of Alfred Hitchcock's film, *The Birds*.
The flock of crows, blackening the sky, flew toward Dale in unison.
In response, Dale brought out his ‘Shadow Cloak’. He unfurled the cloak, which mimicked a black surcoat, and stained the area into a lake of darkness.
The thorny tentacles of the <> shot out to block the surging flock of crows.
Generating the maximum amount of mana possible from his three circles, the tentacles, and his two sources of black.
‘Death.’
Even the greatest black mage on the continent, the Black Prince, would be but a mere child before this being.
And then—.
“…!”
The Shadow Lurker's tentacles, meant to block the flock of crows, cut through empty air in vain. Like a sword swung at a mirage.
But it was no mirage.
The surging flock of crows plunged straight into Dale's body.
*Thrust!*
—*Did I not tell you.*
‘Death’ said.
—*That no one can stop death.*
“…!”
Dale lowered his head weakly. The flock of crows had pierced through his stomach and emerged from his back. Dark, black feathers scattered in the air.
‘…!’
But strangely, he felt no pain. He could only see his own body, sprawled on the ground.
An innumerable number of crows surrounded it, pecking at his flesh.
Dale was watching this very scene from mid-air, as if having an out-of-body experience.
*Thud!*
Once again, ‘Death’ struck the ground with the skeletal staff in its hand. The surrounding scenery began to change.
A pale, dark winter night. Dale's world. But it was not a horizon of empty blankness.
*Thrust!*
From behind, a searing pain assaulted him. The cold touch of steel. The blade of the Holy Sword, Durandal.
When he turned his head, he saw a face he could never forget.
The Holy Sword Master, Count Brandenburg. And the grand army of the Empire, led by that man.
—*Hoh.*
Beside Dale, who was groaning in pain, the old gentleman in the suit laughed with interest.
—*What an interesting sight.*
—*What do you think, gramps?*
Shub giggled with delight.
—*It's a rare spectacle, even in the eons where hundreds of millions of stars are born and die.*
—*This is a fitting place to grant the little one's request.*
‘Death’ nodded and smiled.
—*Child who survived my 'visit'.*
*Thud!*
And once more, it struck its skeletal staff.
—*Now, try to 'survive' with all your might.*
*Survive with all your might.* But the blade of Durandal had already torn through Dale's back and protruded from his chest.
‘How am I supposed to survive this…?’
Dale muttered in disbelief. His consciousness faded. Once again, death was approaching him. Or so it should have been.
But after his consciousness sank into darkness.
*Thrust!*
What woke Dale again was the blade of the Holy Sword, Durandal.
‘…!’
As if replaying the events of just a few seconds ago, the blade had pierced through his back.
His consciousness faded.
Two deaths. —But the next time was different.
He swiftly activated the Shadow Cloak's ‘Wraith Form’ ability, simultaneously deflecting the holy sword's strike that came from behind.
He quickly created distance and turned his head.
An unforgettable scene lay before him.
The Holy Sword Master, Count Brandenburg. Aiding him were the Knights of Saint Magdalena, and behind them, the grand army of the Empire, all staring at him without a shred of emotion.
“…!”
The three circles coiled around his heart began to accelerate madly, aimed at the Holy Sword Master who was revealing his malice.
Dale expanded the domain of his Shadow Cloak throughout the area.
A lake of darkness. From within it, the silent <> simultaneously unleashed their thorny tentacles.
*Swishhh!*
Thorny tentacles whipped from all directions, slaughtering the imperial soldiers. A hell of thorny tentacles rising from beneath the lake of darkness, tearing bodies to shreds.
Amidst the one-sided slaughter, that man was different. The Holy Sword Master's body was enveloped in the power of aura.
‘It's here…!’
<>.
A hideous mass of desire with the face of a beast. But it was different from the one he had seen on the Britannia Isles.
Two large tusks, like those of a wild boar, protruded, emitting the incomparably ferocious aura of a berserker.
—A god of combat was there.
Just as it was with high-ranking mages, knights were no different.
The form of an idea is not singular.
In the case of the Holy Sword Master, Count Brandenburg… it was not the eugenic desire to sow his seed in women.
When he focused his consciousness on the struggle of the fittest, a thorough desire to eliminate the 'males' he had to compete with, his true form revealed itself.
The god of struggle.
One of the strongest on the continent, whom Dale had to defeat.
That very powerhouse kicked off the ground.
A single flash.
Dale's severed head was rolling across the winter ground.
***
Once again, the blade of the Holy Sword, Durandal, plunged from behind.
Evading the strike from behind with Wraith Form, slaughtering the surrounding imperial army with the Shadow Lurker—.
He blocked the single strike of the Holy Sword Master who kicked off the ground and surged forward.
Immediately after, a second strike was swung, and Dale's severed head rolled across the floor.
***
He died, died, died, and died again.
But he could not die.
Because what greeted him the moment he regained consciousness was the blade of the Holy Sword, Durandal.
For an ordinary person, it was a living hell where their mind would have shattered without question.
But what filled Dale's heart as he experienced endless death was an incomparable competitive spirit.
This was by no means ‘real’.
It was nothing more than a mirage, superimposed with the image of the Holy Sword Master that existed in Dale's memory.
To be able to experience such a realistic mock battle against an enemy he hated so much.
Had Dale's father been training in this way all this time?
‘Alright, let's see this through to the end.’
What were the chances of the current Dale defeating that god of combat? 0.1%? Even that was an overestimation. 0.01%, or even lower, would not be surprising. But it was not zero. That fact was enough.
Dale kicked off the ground.
The blades of the Shadow Cloak, rotating around Dale, were now parrying the Holy Sword Master's third strike.
He died, died, and died again. How many times had he died?
He couldn't even remember. And using those deaths as fertilizer, he succeeded in deflecting three strikes.
Against one of the strongest in the Empire, known as one of the Seven Swords of the Continent.
‘But it's still not enough.’
He rotated his three circles, which were accelerating as if to burst, combining all sorts of magical formulas, and tested them again and again against that god of combat.
Walls of frost, projectiles of ice, shadow bullets.
And none of them could break through that being.
—*Hoh, your spirit has not yet broken?*
‘Death’ laughed with interest.
—*I told you, gramps.*
Shub smiled, feigning pride.
—*My big brother is a very special person.*
As if she couldn't help but find him adorable.
Watching Dale die and die, yet get back on his feet and desperately think of the ‘next move’.
It wouldn't be strange to call it a reckless and meaningless struggle.
No matter how much he wracked his brain, there was no chance for a mere 3-circle mage to win against a Holy Sword Master.
A hundred, a thousand… even if he were given more chances, nothing would change.
But Dale did not think so. A slim but certain chance of victory was in his grasp.
‘The opponent's movements don't change from what they were before I died.’
In other words, it was no different from a machine moving according to its programming. Amidst hundreds, nearly thousands of possibilities, Dale was calmly reviewing the ‘flow of battle’.
Blocking the first three strikes was manageable.
He parried the first strike with the Shadow Cloak, dodged the second to the left while firing a Shadow Bullet, then immediately erected a wall of ice and detonated it, launching a counterattack from his side.
But that was as far as it went.
Before he knew it, <> was slaughtering his body.
‘Again, from the beginning.’
Furthermore, with each repeated battle, Dale could tell.
—*What a stubborn child.*
That his own swordsmanship was clearly growing.
That the ‘Hero's memories’ sleeping in the deepest part of his consciousness were gradually awakening.
At first, it was difficult to even grasp his movements. But not anymore. Finally, he could faintly perceive his opponent's movements.
This was only possible because Dale possessed the realm of his past life, and he was desperately projecting his former self.
The Hero from Another World.
His past self, for whom the likes of the Holy Sword Master, Count Brandenburg, would not have even been a worthy opponent.
He was tracing the sword and magic of that very Hero, as if feeling for braille.
The circles in his heart accelerated as if they would burst, and the pain was so intense he felt he could vomit blood at any moment. But he didn't care.
None of it mattered. Not even his original goal of achieving the 4th circle.
He would simply defeat that man.
<>.
Becoming an incarnation of obsession for that single purpose, he died again and again to defeat the being before him.
As he repeated the process, he wondered. Just how many deaths had his father, the Black Prince, experienced?
To obtain the realm of an 8-circle mage, the greatest black mage on the continent.
—*Truly a will of steel.*
‘Death’ smiled, satisfied.
—*But you still haven't overcome 'your own world' in the end.*
—…
—*The spirit breaks in an instant.*
At ‘Death's’ cold observation, Shub puffed out her cheeks in a pout.
Looking at Dale, who was on the verge of attaining the 4th circle's enlightenment, yet had become an incarnation of obsession.
As if she couldn't stand seeing Dale insulted.
Before long, Dale was once again evading the Holy Sword Master's first strike. But no matter how many times he tried, he couldn't seem to block the ‘fourth strike’.
—*Before the baptism of time, all things lose their meaning and fade.*
—…
Watching Dale's will steadily break amidst endless deaths, Death spoke.
Once again, Dale kicked off the ground.
He blocked the first strike with his Shadow Cloak, dodged his body to block the second. He erected a wall of ice and scattered its shards to block the third.
The fourth sword was swung.
*Clang!*
The Holy Sword Master's fourth strike was deflected, clashing against steel.
“—Come to think of it.”
After blocking the Holy Sword Master's ‘fourth strike’, Dale spoke. As if he had finally understood.
Feeling the ‘fourth circle’ now rotating around his heart.
“This is my world.”
In Dale's hand, a sword had appeared.
The favored sword of the ‘Hero from Another World’, the blade of a hound that had endlessly slaughtered the strong of the continent.