Chapter 722: Is That All?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 722: Is That All?
If I can feel Will and move it, can I not also change it?
'It is possible.'
He had already experienced it with his own body and brought the concept to life. The milky radiance coating his blade was a phenomenon born from transferring condensed Will into the steel.
If it could be done to a sword, it could be done to his own body. Gather the remaining Will, condense it, and let it explode.
With that, Ragna swung Penna four times.
* * *
The spot where Ragna unleashed his sword was just ahead and to the left of Encrid.
Since Demuil was also separated from his two companions, it almost looked as if Encrid and Demuil were one group, while Ragna and the other two were another.
Even before Ragna had stepped forward, Encrid had been furiously racking his brain, weighing his options.
The Luagarne-style of tactical thinking did not dictate relying solely on intuition. Relying on pure intuition was Encrid's own unique style; the foundation of the tactical sword was the cold calculation of probabilities.
'What is the path to survival?'
Or.
'What choice leads to victory?'
Though his outward expression remained calm, his mind was a tempest of continuous calculations. Countless variables existed on this battlefield.
And then, one of those massive variables caught Encrid's eye.
Encrid was sitting on the wet, muddy ground to conserve even the slightest bit of strength in his legs, but from his seated position, the danger closing in on Ragna was painfully clear.
The Three-Eyed Old Man waved his hands, unleashing a shower of lightning.
Right in front of Ragna, a horned Scaler variant reached out, wielding telekinetic force.
The falling raindrops caught in the telekinetic field, weaving together to take shape. Two massive hands made of rainwater closed in on Ragna from both sides. It was a telekinetic display so precise it could trap the very rain pouring from the sky—an ability far superior to any Scaler Encrid had ever seen.
Simultaneously, while maintaining its telekinetic grip, the Scaler variant raised its left hand and lunged toward Ragna, slashing down. The explosive speed with which it closed the distance was easily comparable to a knight's Strong Legs.
To Encrid's eyes, the descent of that hand seemed to unfold in slow motion.
The surrounding air warped around the edge of the creature's hand. Just as it seemed to drag, the strike accelerated violently.
Encrid could no longer spare any focus for his calculations. His gaze had been utterly stolen, and his battered body was in no condition to run parallel lines of thought.
But the greatest reason of all was his intuition. It was a silent, inexplicable command from deep within his soul: You must witness this moment.
Just before the blinding flash of the lightning strike could pierce Ragna's body, Encrid's entire focus locked onto Ragna's sword.
A brilliant light gathered on Ragna's blade. Even the falling raindrops seemed to split in two the moment they touched that radiant glow.
His condensed Will had manifested as visible light. Without hesitation, Ragna swung.
His first slash swept to the left. Following Penna's arc, the lightning was dragged off course, hurtling sideways to strike the ground.
In the blink of an eye, the sweeping blade thrust straight forward, just as the Scaler variant brought its hand down. Ragna's thrusting blade tore through the descending hand and pierced straight into the creature's horned head.
Boom!
The deafening roar of the lightning striking the earth drowned out all other sounds. Everything had unfolded in a single, overlapping instant.
That was how incredibly fast Ragna's swordsmanship was. One strike to the left, one to the front. There was no perceptible gap between the two slashes, making it seem as though two Ragnas had swung their swords simultaneously.
But Ragna was not finished.
Retracting his blade, he lunged toward the Three-Eyed Old Man and unleashed another strike.
Instantly, formless barriers, protective spells, and a myriad of other defensive artifacts flared to life to shield the old man. At the very last second, the third eye embedded in his forehead flared a brilliant crimson.
Yet, none of those desperate measures could halt the descending blade. The old man couldn't even utter a sound before Ragna's sword drew a clean, fine line across his throat.
After those three rapid strikes, Ragna propelled his body forward once more.
His body pushed far past its physical limits, just as Encrid's had earlier. To an untrained eye, it would have looked as though he had cast a teleportation spell. Closing the distance without leaving even a trace of an afterimage, Ragna's final strike came crashing down toward Demuil's head.
Unfortunately, his blade failed to claim its final target.
Clang! Craaaack!
A barrier.
Was it bad luck? No, it was only to be expected.
'Mages are insidious.'
Encrid recalled Esther's teachings.
Cracks rippled through the air around Demuil. In the empty space, something with the texture of shattered glass splintered, crumbled, and fell away. The defensive spell that had shielded Demuil's body for forty years had finally shattered.
"Impressive," Demuil said, thrusting his hand forward. A wave of telekinetic force slammed into Ragna's torso.
Thud!
Having exhausted every ounce of his strength on those four strikes, Ragna was thrown helplessly to the side. This time, unable to even steady himself in midair, he tumbled violently across the ground.
Thump, crash.
In his current state, he looked as though he couldn't even fend off a passing ghoul. Yet, his fingers remained white-knuckled around Penna.
Ragna coughed up a mouthful of blood where he lay. He tried to push himself up, planting Penna into the mud to support his weight, but his body swayed precariously. Having rolled through the rain-soaked mud, his face was a complete mess, his hair matted and plastered to his skin.
"I have planted a Seed of Plague in your body," Demuil said. "You may as well stay down. Even if you wish to die, you will find yourself unable to."
Ragna couldn't speak. Blood streamed steadily from his nose and mouth. Looking at his unfocused, dilated pupils, it was a miracle he was even conscious—unless he had somehow passed out while still standing, anchored by his sword.
Yet, he still forced himself to stand, leaning on his sword, determined to fight.
Watching Ragna, Encrid could no longer hold his tongue.
"Did you see that? A mere swordsman just pulled off something like that."
Two of the people you brought are dead. How does it feel? You're the only one left.
It was a blatant provocation.
"You are all madmen, without exception," Demuil replied. Though he sounded displeased, there was no hint of panic in his voice.
Why would he be? The two companions he had brought along were of little consequence to him. All that mattered was divinity—and himself, who had descended upon this land.
"Right. So come on," Encrid said. "I still have some fight left in me, too."
Seeing Ragna fight and endure like that kindled a fierce, burning heat deep within Encrid's chest.
We're going to cut down that rotten corpse in front of us, right? Yes. Let's do exactly that.
As he placed his hand on Samcheol, Ragna's raspy voice cut through the air.
"Come on... Come at me... I will..."
There was no point in trying to guess what he meant to say next. The sheer, unyielding will behind those broken words was more than enough. Even on the verge of losing consciousness, his resolve remained razor-sharp.
Encrid grit his teeth. Perhaps because his body was in such ruins, he hadn't even sensed anyone approaching.
"That is enough, my son."
A massive figure stepped over Ragna, shielding him from the falling rain. The man who had arrived was Tempest Zaun.
Ragna's father.
He stepped forward and placed a heavy hand on Ragna's shoulder.
"You can rest now."
There was no overt emotion in the Clan Head's voice. There was only simple truth and absolute sincerity.
Beside the Clan Head, Rynox let out a weary groan, complaining about his aching back as he stood. Encrid wanted to ask why they had arrived so quickly—hadn't they planned to arrive tomorrow morning?—but he held his tongue.
The variable he had factored into his calculations had arrived terribly late. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to utter a word of complaint.
Neither of them was in any decent shape. Especially Rynox.
He had lost his left arm.
Meeting Encrid's gaze, the old swordsman who had long defended House Zaun offered a wry smile.
"I suppose I'll have to make do with only three swords now."
He used to wield six swords with two arms. Now, he had only one arm left. It was a wonder he could still crack jokes in such a state.
"I... I will..."
Ragna kept repeating the same words, entirely unaware of whose hand rested on his shoulder. But everyone had seen what he had accomplished.
The Three-Eyed Old Man had been decapitated, and the horned, transformed chimera now had a fist-sized hole in its head. Because Ragna had thrust Penna deep and twisted his wrist to gouge it out, the edges of the hole in the creature's skull were incredibly jagged, looking as though it had been crudely bored open with a blunt tool.
In short, they were dead.
He had slain two of them and tried to kill Demuil as well, failing only at the very end.
Demuil had sensed the arrival of the newcomers, but he had let them approach because, to him, they did not matter.
"You managed to survive. How remarkable. Did that fool Hescal fail to do his job properly? Or did you simply exceed my expectations?"
Rather than being flustered, Demuil was genuinely impressed. To display such resilience—just look at what they had achieved. Everything he had prepared now lay dead upon the earth. Though he had prepared coffins for them, he had never expected things to turn out like this. It was truly beyond his calculations.
And because of that, he found it rather amusing. After all, this would likely be the final amusement he would enjoy before ascending to divinity.
Demuil spoke, looking down at them. His grotesque body had begun to swell, his head now towering two full heads above Encrid's. Blackened bones protruded from his decaying flesh like structural pillars, bracing his massive frame. Bulging, vein-riddled flesh packed the spaces between those bones, reinforcing his monstrous skeletal frame.
"You shall all be reborn. I will infuse you with divinity and allow you to behold a new world."
One would think they had begged him for such a favor.
"So, it's you."
Ignoring the creature's words entirely, the Clan Head strode forward toward Demuil. The sight of the giant growing even larger was bizarre, but the Clan Head didn't seem to care in the slightest.
His own body was covered in numerous cuts and gashes. Though no blood flowed, the wounds were stained a deep, ominous black—clear signs of severe poisoning.
With heavy, deliberate steps, the Clan Head came to a halt. He was within ten paces—a distance he could close in an instant to sever the monster's head with his greatsword.
By now, Demuil's neck had elongated into a smooth, serpentine column. He tilted his chin up, peering down at them from on high.
The Clan Head spoke flatly.
"You're even uglier than I imagined."
Behind him, Rynox nodded in agreement.
"Indeed he is."
Demuil stared at the survivors before him. More accurately, he looked down upon them.
"You allowed that child to endure. I truly should have disposed of him long ago."
No one present could comprehend Demuil's words or actions. Nor did he seek their understanding. For a god does not seek understanding from his creations.
He continued.
"Why must mere creations, floundering in their pathetic, trapped existence, rebel so fiercely?"
Even if he did not seek their understanding, surely he had to tell them of his greatness, his grandeur, and the arduous path he had trodden? For this was not a plea for comprehension; it was the proclamation of a new dogma.
"There was a time when the Envoy approached and whispered to me. Yes, a very, very long time ago. Back then, I concocted a highly unique medicine. A medicine that allowed me to experience time differently from others. Tell me, what do you think it is like when your single day becomes twice as long as anyone else's?"
Demuil had always possessed extraordinary talent, but he had yearned for heights far beyond. He had delved deep into alchemy, eventually grasping the Spell World itself. In his pursuit, he had ventured into the Demon Realm and traveled to the Empire, catching glimpses of the continent's deepest secrets.
Only then did he realize what he truly desired. To become a god. That was his ultimate desire.
"That medicine was merely a minor byproduct of my research into immortality and eternal life."
The corner of his decaying mouth curled upward, causing a wet chunk of flesh to slough off and plop onto the ground. The sight alone was enough to induce nausea. Yet, his skin was already beginning to turn glossy and hard, like polished gemstone. It was far from pristine, however; it resembled a gem choked with filth.
"Listen closely. For this is the first testament to my greatness as I ascend to godhood."
Demuil's voice echoed with a strange, overlapping resonance. Looking at him, Encrid felt a sensation similar to when he had faced a demon. It was a profound, jarring sense of alienness—a realization that this creature's purpose and perspective on existence were fundamentally detached from humanity.
A dizzying pressure weighed heavily upon the air, so intense it seemed to freeze the falling rain. It was an absolute dominion, as if he held the entire surrounding space in the palm of his hand.
Having utterly dominated the space, Demuil used his rotting tongue to utter the first verse of his new scripture.
"A single day for others was ten days to me. And I have lived through more than a hundred of those days! This is how the ordinary surpasses the extraordinary! This is the genesis of one born human, who rose above demons, and ascended as a god!"
The layered, booming voice reverberated through their chests. Even the very air seemed to bow in submission to his words.
In that quiet, heavy moment, Encrid spoke his honest thoughts aloud.
"Is that all?"
His murmur was quiet, yet it reached everyone's ears.