Chapter 833: Protect Me Too
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 833: Protect Me Too
Ars Pugnae, the combat style of explosive energy, was specialized for duels. Because of this, utilizing it perfectly in the current chaos was difficult.
Still, it was possible to integrate elements of it.
Before the flame constructs birthed by the Salamander could even reach Sinar, they were intercepted by the wall of the Mad Knights—cut down, detonated, and scattered into nothingness. Meanwhile, Esther neutralized every single flame-shaping spell that came their way.
It was a truly impressive display. Every feat they accomplished was significant in Sinar's eyes.
They are all so relentless.
They had progressed so far that she could no longer keep pace using swordsmanship that relied solely on essence. Every member of the Mad Knights was the same.
It wasn't jealousy she felt. She had simply realized that she, too, had to contribute.
Sinar raised her blade. In an instant, the sword shifted into the form of an awl—the Needle.
Winter.
Rather than rushing headlong into the fray, she infused her weapon with a biting chill. While beastmen fought with raw vitality, the essence of elves commanded the power of the four seasons.
With her Needle imbued with the frost of winter, she rejected the rain of fire. She traced a defensive arc with her sword, starting from above her head to shield her body.
As the barrier of frost met the downpour of fire, steam erupted with a sharp hiss.
She had bought herself a brief moment. The defensive frost barrier would hold for roughly three breaths.
A full circle—from her head, past her right ankle, to above the left side of her head. The moment she finished the arc, she tossed the sword into the air and snatched it in a reverse grip.
With a sharp clack, she caught the blade, stamped her left foot, and twisted her waist, using her ankle as an axis.
Force flowed from her ankle to her waist, then to her elbow and wrist. It was a perfect transmission of power. Next, she poured essence into the Needle that held the chill of winter. To be precise, she gathered essence at her fingertips and fired it forward.
I shall not simply stand by and be pushed back.
She felt no jealousy, only resolve.
Sinar looked at her position, lagging behind the rest of the Mad Knights, and instead of giving up, she chose to move forward.
She infused the techniques of Ars Pugnae into her sword and utilized the projectile method she had learned by watching Rem. With that, she launched her blade.
Her blonde hair whipped wildly. As her body spun, she executed a dynamic movement uncharacteristic of an elf, channeling her body's full elasticity and throwing herself into the motion as if she might collapse. The Needle, Winter, left her hand in a reverse grip and became a single, piercing line.
Crack!
The air detonated behind the flying sword, pushing back the oppressive heat. If there were eyes capable of perceiving temperature, they would have seen a single blue line carved through a world of yellow heat.
Boom!
Her sword pierced and detonated a section of the flame clouds. The Dragonkin looked back, realizing what the elf was aiming for.
"Indeed," the Dragonkin muttered. He had identified the thing he had missed.
It was the intent left behind by the Heat Parasite—a mass of negative emotions and concentrated malice.
Between the flame clouds, a dull-colored pillar of fire rose, soared, and then sank back into the vapor.
There was no sound. However, everyone present possessed incredibly sharp senses.
Encrid and Sachsen aside, Audin had already used his divinity to gauge the malice within the Salamander, and Rem was prepared to strike the moment an opening appeared.
Sinar had simply beaten them to the punch. Black soot drifted from the spot where the dull pillar of fire had erupted.
It looked like a foul, foreign substance trapped within the flames. In Dunbakel's terms, it was soot that looked like it would smell putrid.
* * *
Was an intent different from the main body?
Yes. It could not project the overwhelming military force of the original. It could not summon the legions stationed in the Demon Realm, nor could it manifest an exceptional host.
The intent, the Parasite, thought:
So they think I am powerless? Is that why they dared strike my intent with such a pathetic skewer?
The blade of cold had pierced his body, but that was all. The damage was negligible. At most, it was an unpleasant irritation.
Even as a mere fraction of the main body’s consciousness, it shared the same ideology. This meant its pride was wounded just the same.
How dare they?
The pathetic creatures of this continent called him a demon. The Heat Parasite knew the name the mortals gave him. He also knew they called him that because he could perform deeds beyond their wildest imaginations.
With a mere skewer?
This was a provocation.
The Parasite decided to turn his displeasure into wrath. However, he did not fly into a rage like a human; that would be unbefitting of a demon. Instead, he decided to present them with a much harsher reality.
In truth, none of this had been to his liking from the start. Therefore, deciding to slaughter everything scurrying below was a simple matter.
A mere human killed a Balrog?
It must have been luck. If not, it was the suicide of that idiot who obsessed over "struggle."
That was why the host wielding the greatsword, influenced by the intent's ideology, had looked down on his opponent from the beginning. Furthermore, the Parasite was displeased by the lack of respect shown by everyone here—starting with the bastard who had jumped out and swung a blazing greatsword.
The Parasite parsed his emotions. He knew the hatred that filled the Salamander. To use a metaphor, the Phantom Beast felt pain here simply by breathing. This was not where it belonged.
Hatred born of pain.
He drew out that hatred, mixing it with his own intent. It was a malice blended with pitch-black soot.
Deep within the Salamander's memories, an existence shrouded in a dull shadow whispered:
"Your will does not matter. Your intentions do not matter. Your wishes do not matter. You are simply a ball of fire. A ball of fire that burns everything."
Those were the words of the one who had summoned the Phantom Beast here through a false contract. The spirit of flame, dragged from its home in its primal innocence, lost all reason.
Hatred toward the false contract.
The Heat Parasite was an existence that corroded the human mind. While he could not do the exact same thing to a Phantom Beast, he could stimulate and awaken its darkest impulses.
Gather, O hatred.
He condensed the negative emotions and the desire for destruction. The Phantom Beast, writhing in pain, could not stop him. Even if he could not claim it as a host, he could turn it into an aberration forged of hate.
The Parasite did exactly that, using the authority he possessed.
Previously, the Salamander had only cast a mirage to keep others away. It did not desire conflict. But if they overcame the illusion and approached, the Salamander would have no choice but to fight, consumed by hatred.
A part of the Parasite stimulated the Phantom Beast's emotions.
Surrender your body to hatred.
The Phantom Beast's mind split: one side watched and suffered, while the other surrendered to the agony and the need to destroy.
That was the best rebellion the Parasite could muster. He intended to show the bugs below a mystery that could only be seen within the Demon Realm. It wouldn't be free; the price, of course, was their lives.
Depending on the outcome, if he could claim one of them as a host, he might even profit from this venture. He had lost the host with the greatsword, but if he could seize the body of the bastard who had luckily killed the Balrog, it would be a massive victory.
You are the ones who gave me the title of demon. Now, I shall teach you its meaning.
The Needle Sinar threw had struck the intent, but it did not destroy it. Furthermore, the Winter she threw did not affect only the intent. This led to an unexpected situation.
The Parasite detected another presence in the place where he should have been alone.
"What are you?" the Parasite asked within the mindscape.
A faint green light coalesced, taking form. A waterfall of gold cascaded through the emerald hue. The figure with golden hair and green eyes spoke.
"You."
Somehow, a spiritual projection of Sinar confronted him inside the Salamander. The projection continued:
"You are truly ugly."
Since only mortals cared for the trivialities of appearance, the Parasite was unaffected. However, because elves spoke only the truth, the absolute sincerity behind her words reached him, causing a flicker of displeasure.
The color of her emotions toward him was vivid: disgust and loathing.
Since they faced each other as spiritual bodies, long conversations were unnecessary. Here, they shared emotions in real-time and gauged each other through their wills.
"A fearless elf. Shall I tear you to pieces? Or shall I throw you to my soldiers as a plaything?"
A demon's threat was no idle bluff; it was a declaration of the inevitable.
Some of the Parasite's words were based on fact. And Sinar was indeed an elf who had lost her fear after experiencing the demon One-Killer.
"I refuse. Besides, I did not come here by your invitation."
She saw the stream of fire standing between the demon's intent and herself. Immediately after throwing Winter, she had heard a plea for help.
It was a voice that only an elf on this land—specifically, one with the sensitivity of a city's leader—could hear and respond to. Sinar did not ignore it.
That was the reason she had come here.
* * *
Black soot drifted through the flame clouds, followed by a fresh surge of fire.
The surrounding temperature spiked. The air felt as if it were sizzling. It was a heat so intense that sweat evaporated before it could even form. It was a temperature that even a knight would find unbearable.
"Tongue."
The Dragonkin spoke just as the heat surged. Encrid moved before the word had even fully left the man's mouth, tucking Sinar—who had lost consciousness after throwing Winter—under his arm.
A heat ray resembling a whip lashed out, splitting in three directions to strike at Rem, Ragna, Audin, and Encrid.
It was an attack that could not be blocked head-on, even with Holy Light Armor. The heat ray was like a legendary blade that severed everything it touched. In fact, the ground where the Salamander's tongue passed didn't even catch fire; it was simply reduced to pitch-black ash.
Missing the four of them, the tongue scraped the earth, grazed a burning log, and retracted into the sky.
The log grazed by the ray tilted precariously before crashing with a thud, the forest floor erupting into a roaring blaze upon impact.
Snap.
Watching this, Esther snapped her fingers to extinguish the fire. It was an incredible feat, but against a Phantom Beast capable of altering the climate, it seemed like a mere parlor trick.
"This is bad."
Esther caught up to Encrid's side and glanced at Sinar. She, at least, could guess Sinar's current state.
"Why did she pass out?" Encrid asked.
Esther explained briefly. "A part of her mind has connected to what's above."
"Above?"
"With the Phantom Beast, the Salamander."
Encrid frowned. What kind of sudden nonsense was this? They could have handled everything if she had just stayed still. Was there any reason for this?
No. It was a coincidence. But then, the world was full of coincidences. If a coincidence favored them, it was luck. If it was the opposite...
"Has the Goddess of Fortune grown petulant?" Encrid muttered.
Based on his intuition, he knew Sinar wouldn't have done this on purpose. However, it was likely that not all of this had occurred solely by her own will.
Following the tongue of heat, the rain of fire grew thicker and heavier.
"Is that bastard throwing every tantrum he’s saved up his entire life today? Huh?" Rem grumbled.
Whether it was a monster that had once terrified the continent or not, to Rem, it was merely a beast. His complaints were understandable. Even though he had prepared his sling strap with elixirs and woven it from demonic beast hide, the extreme heat caused the material to snap repeatedly.
Ragna nonchalantly raised his sword, Sunrise, above his head and tilted it. The streams of fire flowed along the blade as if drawn to one side and vanished. His gestures were calm, but that very composure made him look all the more terrifying.
They talked about saving the Salamander, but if things went south, he was prepared to cut down the Dragonkin and everyone else. He would do what was necessary. His resolve was glaringly obvious.
Audin dimmed his Holy Light and dodged the fire. For him, evading streams of this level was not difficult, though to an outsider, he might look like a performing bear.
Sachsen casually deflected the flames with a single dagger as he walked. Before long, the ground around them was burning fiercely. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to call this hellfire. Flames that consumed even smoke and soot surrounded them.
Was this a crisis? Not in the slightest.
At least, that was what Sachsen thought. They had come to stop the Salamander, but they could escape whenever they pleased. Did that Phantom Beast even have the ability to track his presence? Even if it did, it couldn't catch him while he was actively evading.
And that didn't apply only to him. Everyone here likely had a way to escape.
It would be much easier to just kill it.
Above all, Sachsen still had several means left to deal with such monsters. He had collected relics from across the continent after the Balrog incident, even if it meant squeezing gold out of Krais. Those relics filled the basement of his guild—which was also his lover's house.
His only worry was the massive pain of putting out the forest fire once this was over.
A roof of black velvet materialized over Esther's head, blocking the rain of fire. The pattering streams were deflected by the velvet and scattered. Looking closely, each drop of the fire rain resembled an elongated, abnormal creature—like a lizard with four legs and a distorted torso.
Everyone had realized this with their kinetic vision, but knowing it changed nothing.
"If we kill that thing now, Sinar dies too," Esther said. She cast her gaze into the Spell World, observing the hidden side of reality.
A thin green light extending from Sinar's body stretched toward the sky. It was thin, but it wouldn't snap on its own. But if they killed the Salamander?
Now, they truly had a reason to keep it alive.
Meanwhile, flames began to coil tightly around the black soot above, stretching downward in a long line.
Encrid watched and thought: It looks like molten glass being stretched.
The flames descended. Yellow and blue light shimmered over the crimson fire before transforming into a white blaze.
Seeing this, the Dragonkin's eyes began to glow bright yellow.
"Protect me as well."
He spoke completely out of nowhere and closed his eyes.
Rem stared at him, his voice filled with absurdity. "...We literally just met?"
Had the Dragonkin been awake, he would have used his innocence as a weapon to reply, "We just met now," but since he had passed out standing up immediately after speaking, Rem was left muttering to himself.