Chapter 780: Swirling Holy Light
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 780: Swirling Holy Light
Audin halted Roman’s training the moment he sensed a group of fifteen figures closing in.
They were a grotesque sight, devoid of sanity. Pupils spun wildly in their sockets, eyes drifted in discordant directions, and strings of saliva trailed from their slack jaws. Yet, despite their madness, their presence was far from ordinary.
Each one exuded a pressure akin to Will. However, it was raw, chaotic, and unrefined, making their movements appear jarring and contradictory.
Knights?
It was a reasonable doubt, though the thought was fleeting. Knights were defined by their ironclad oaths and unshakable beliefs; their mental fortitude far surpassed that of ordinary men. They did not break easily.
Then what are these things?
They were individuals whose minds had utterly collapsed, regardless of their physical prowess.
The fifteen-odd knights charged simultaneously. Whether they were true knights or not, they posed a lethal threat. Audin reacted instantly.
Audin had been among the least injured during the previous battle at the Thorn Castle wall. Though he had been drained from overusing his divine power, a few days of rest had seen him fully restored. He was in peak condition.
"Lord."
Audin watched the approaching horde and shrouded his entire body in Holy Light. He lunged forward, closing the distance in a blur, and drove a fist directly into the face of the lead attacker—a man swinging a massive axe.
It was a high-speed strike, his footwork a flash of precision. By varying his tempo during the approach, he slipped past the opponent's perception, leaving the man no chance to dodge.
Crash! Crunch.
Swirl the divine power.
The Holy Light Armor, Ragna's blade, the experience gained from unleashing his divinity, and the final words his adoptive father had left him—everything condensed and harmonized into this single moment.
The divine power pooling in Audin's fist began to churn. He was channeling his divinity through the principles of the Vortex. It was a marvelous feat of martial control.
The target's face twisted into a spiral before exploding. Helmet or not, nothing could withstand the sheer torque of that blow.
Having dispatched the first, Audin looked past the mindless horde. Behind them, he spotted a man clutching a flute-like instrument, a sickening smirk plastered across his face. The man held the flute horizontally and blew. No sound emerged, but the creatures in front grew even more frenzied.
A spearhead lunged through the black mist scattering from the shattered head, while two other blades closed in from the flanks. Though they were little more than monsters, they attacked in a coordinated formation, as if they had trained for this for a lifetime.
Or perhaps that man’s flute is directing them.
Such tactical assessments were second nature to Audin. Regardless of the cause, the only option was to overpower them with overwhelming force.
Audin took a step back, flattening his left hand into a blade. The radiance of his Holy Light Armor condensed at the edge of his palm, shaping itself into a shimmering edge.
A figure clad in rusted, browning armor thrust a long spear straight at his heart. Audin’s step was slightly slower than his opponent's, yet he pressed forward regardless. With that single movement, he evaded the blades sweeping in from the left and right. He dodged the spearhead with a minimal twist of his torso, bringing the spearman's face within arm's reach.
The movement was as fluid as a choreographed spar. Audin’s left hand swept across the opponent’s throat.
Slash.
The strike was nearly silent, but the result was devastating. The rusted helmet popped into the air, and a fountain of black mist erupted from the severed neck.
Audin leaped to the side, dodging a flurry of axes, maces, and blades. His movement left a long, trailing afterimage, and the pack of monsters followed the phantom trail.
Audin’s yellow eyes turned cold. The gentle, warm gaze he usually wore was replaced by the chill of a freezing gale.
If you were to ask a priest who they loathed most, who would it be? Cultists? Bandits? Monsters?
No.
The ones they hated above all else were those who raised and controlled the dead—necromancers. They were a rare, grotesque breed who committed atrocities using souls and corpses.
How dare they do this to those who should have returned to the Lord.
This was why the Heresy Purging Priests, who lived solely to eradicate cults, harbored such deep-seated vitriol. Many had lost friends or kin to the dark arts, and some had been forced to strike down corpses raised in the likeness of their loved ones. Having to kill the people they loved all over again was the driving force that compelled them to fight until every last cultist was purged.
Draugr.
Those who should have rested in the heavenly prison had been bound by spells and raised as undead.
Lord.
Offering a silent prayer, Audin shifted his weight back as if to retreat, only to spring forward with a speed completely unexpected from his massive frame. From above, it looked as though a massive bell had defied the laws of physics, swaying back and forth before suddenly hurtling forward like a stone slung by a giant.
He was a launched boulder of divine wrath.
The armor of divine light enveloped his entire body. His hands and feet became maces and blades forged of pure radiance. Audin knew his strengths well, and his time spent with Encrid and the brothers of the mad knight order had brought him a new realization.
There is no reason to use the Holy Light Armor solely for defense.
This simple, clear truth was the source of the violence he unleashed now.
Whirrr—
The Holy Light swirled around his body, transforming into a rotating spiral of pure destruction.
Boom! Crash! Bang!
The light gathered around his swinging fists became heavy maces, proving the power of a combat apostle wherever they struck. When they hit a head, the skull shattered. When they struck a torso, black mist erupted in a radial burst from the point of impact.
He blocked a spiked morning star falling toward his head with his shoulder.
Clang-clang-clang!
The spinning Holy Light Armor deflected the blow effortlessly. Immediately after, Audin brought his hand down vertically like a blade, splitting the wielder in half. The two severed halves of the body flew apart as if pulled by opposing forces—the result of the shockwave generated by his sheer speed and power.
Audin spun and kicked backward. Though the movement was swift, the weight behind it was crushing.
Thud! Whoosh!
Following the kick that pulverized another foe, black mist sprayed backward in a wide arc. The creature's upper body had practically vanished, and the remaining lower half leaked mist before crumbling into nothingness.
Beyond the dispersing Draugr knights, the man with the flute furrowed his brow.
What is this monster?
He was a knight who controlled the dead—a man who had once shaken the continent under the alias of the Necromancer Knight. Raised by a gravedigger, he had associated with evil spirits since childhood, eventually walking the path of a necromancer under a master he met by chance. Later, realizing he had a talent for the blade, he trained relentlessly and rose to the rank of knight. Yet, he eventually encountered a wall he could not overcome.
I may lack talent with the sword, but I have other gifts.
Thus, he began to dream of commanding a one-man knight order composed of stolen souls. His desire was to bring all of humanity to their knees—until he encountered the Balrog and died.
Even in death, his obsession remained.
I will gather an army here and strike down the Balrog.
In the labyrinth created by the Balrog's authority, there was nothing but combat. Those trapped here did nothing but fight, fight, and fight again. In the process, many lost their minds. Normally, those with shattered spirits would wander as wraith knights, but this man had used his talents to bind them to his will.
The man's gaze shifted to a woman nearby, who was holding off two wraith knights with a sword and shield while protecting a man behind her. Her skills were formidable as well. Even while fighting, she glanced in his direction several times. Her eyes—and the eyes of the priest currently obliterating his army—were chillingly calm.
A shiver ran down his spine, despite having no physical body.
"Tch."
The man clicked his tongue. He drew his sword instead of his flute, but he knew he stood no chance against the monster flying toward him, wielding his entire body as a weapon. In truth, he knew he had only survived this long by using false hope as a shield.
How could those who had been killed and subjugated by the Balrog ever hope to rebel against their master? Once again, he gave up.
Audin stood before him, fists clenched. "Release them all."
He was referring to the wraiths the man held captive.
"...Try it if you think you can," the man sneered. After all, this was nothing but a game—a game played by the monster known as the Balrog. Everyone trapped inside was merely a toy for that demon.
If they didn't like it, they could try to kill the God of Battle. Once the Balrog died, everything would end. Of course, that would never happen.
The man knew that if he died now, he would wake up again, having forgotten a portion of his memories. If he managed to preserve his sense of self, he might try again.
But if not...
...he would end up as nothing more than just another mindless wraith.
Damn it.
In that moment, realization struck him. This isn't the first time. I've already died multiple times.
Memories began to resurface. As death approached, the sealed truths returned. To keep from giving up, he had forced himself to remain ignorant. It had been a desperate struggle to turn a blind eye to reality and rebel against the Balrog.
On one day, he had died as the Balrog's sparring partner; on another, he had died fighting other wraiths. Most recently, he had fallen to the blade of a certain female knight.
And now, this.
Boom!
Audin's fist cut his memories short.
"It seems what Brother Captain wanted has come to pass," Audin said, withdrawing his Holy Light. He had guessed the reason behind the shifting terrain and the sudden chaos.
Everything around him stimulated his divinity. It was no different from being inside the Demon Realm.
The reason?
He had been taught long ago that demons wielded authority. Though the nature of that power remained a mystery, he could instinctively tell that this was a manifestation of the Balrog's will.
Where are you, Brother Captain?
In all likelihood, Encrid was currently facing the master of this authority.
As the light faded, darkness crept back in. With the death of the Necromancer Knight, the horde of wraiths went limp, sinking into the ground and dispersing into black mist.
Teresa calmly caught her breath and looked out across the area that had transformed into a massive cave.
"I feel like more of them are coming."
Since becoming a Holy Cantor and a Holy Lancer, her intuition had grown even sharper than Audin's. The situation was incomprehensible, but she knew the entities would appear endlessly.
Until when? Until they were dead.
"Then I suppose I must keep swinging my fists until the end," Audin said, offering a gentle smile. Doing what could be done right now was enough—that was the lesson he had learned from Encrid.
They couldn't search for the others yet. Instead, they would fend off the oncoming hordes and protect the villagers whose skin had turned a sickly purple.
This, too, must be Brother Captain's will.
The Lord would watch over them. With that thought, Audin steeled his resolve.
Behind them, Roman pushed himself up, using his greatsword as a cane. His right leg refused to cooperate, having been slashed in the thigh during the ambush. Seeing this, one of the villagers approached and offered him a bandage made from the hide of a demonic beast.
"Thank you," Roman said, tightly wrapping the wound.
More were coming? And every single one would be at the level of a knight?
Should he despair? Should he kneel and wait for death? Or should he blindly charge forward?
Neither.
He would endure. No matter what lay at the end of this, he would hold his ground. Roman's spirit would not break. He was different now. Even if a parasitic beast tried to dominate his mind, he would shake it off.
He consciously drew upon his Will, feeling its flow. He might not be a knight yet, but he could still swing his sword.
Even if this is the scheme of an entity far beyond my capacity.
He would focus on the present.
The others were equally unshaken. The mad knight order remained perfectly composed.
"We should gather the villagers in the town hall," Ropode suggested.
"I'll make the rounds," Pel answered. It was a familiar task—herding the villagers like sheep.
Boom!
A loud explosion erupted in the distance, drawing everyone's attention.
Rem came into view. A shimmering disc seemed to float above his hand. It wasn't an actual disc, but an optical illusion created by a leather sling being whirled with terrifying, lethal speed.