Chapter 67
Chapter 67
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 67
Chapter Title: Grimudo Climax (3)
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Countless civilizations had risen and fallen through the cycles over the ages.
The ways they harnessed mana differed each time, but methods born in one era never passed to the next. Even if they did, the cycles' repetition ensured they were lost to time.
With each new era's dawn, talents sprang forth like fountains, and geniuses gathered like stars to forge their age's spirit.
Only a single successor inherited all those eras, and that was the ultimate source of power that elevated the great scholar Gelriel to the Primordial Demon King.
Flash!
Her cheek sliced open as if by some blade, a line of blood welling up. Yet she lacked even the energy or spirit to feel the pain. Yurinelle leaned on her holy sword and took a single step toward it.
"Grk...!"
Clang!
Yurinelle and the holy sword cried out in unison. Why not charge in and cleave the Demon King in one go?
The moment she took that step toward Grimudo, an immense pressure shoved them back. It felt like being crushed under the ocean's weight on the seabed. Mana transformed into pure pressure, exerting unimaginable compression.
Would walking alone through a typhoon feel like this? No foothold anywhere, and the slightest mistake would fling her beyond the mountains. Approaching the foe was a gauntlet, let alone fighting.
'This... what... kind of technique is this?'
Her lips clamped shut, feet pushing forward. She lowered her stance to mitigate the pressure, advancing step by step. This was the Foot Technique, a method of striking foes with mana. It had been a popular mana usage from an era far before this one.
Channel it into the palm for ranged blasts, the fist for punches. In a sword, it became sword pressure, a razor edge slicing all it touched.
Even wrapped in mana aura to resist, fending off Grimudo's blasts proved grueling. No need to mention her flesh-and-blood body—the holy sword, a pure crystallization of divinity, screeched in protest. The pressure, like a mountain crushing down, was pure torment.
"Mana aura is a brilliant concept. But do you think no comparable technique existed before it?"
Grimudo withdrew the palm aimed at Yurinelle and pointed his sword tip instead.
A razor-sharp sword pressure slammed into her with a sound like tearing eardrums. She swung her holy sword to cleave it, but blood trickled from her ears, soaking her sleeve. Her arm throbbed. Tendons seemingly sliced, her grip on the sword slackened.
"The potential of mana is infinite. So are the things it can do. If all it amounts to is mana aura, it's no wonder you're being overwhelmed like this."
Mending her tendons with the holy sword's divinity, she finally neared the Demon King—or so she thought—when he stomped. Her head spun, blood spraying from her mouth.
It felt like a mountain-heavy mace had battered her airborne. No chance to resist or counter, Yurinelle hurtled far away, crashing into the ground. Smoke wafted from the holy sword. Only then did she grasp what struck her.
That shockwave from earlier, the one that erased Pannel's spell from the earth. This shockwave was another mana usage, distinct from foot technique or mana aura.
A lost art from a prior era. Less versatile than mana aura, but its destructive power was unparalleled.
Thus, Grimudo seemed alone, yet wasn't. The civilizations of past ages stood behind him, bolstering the Demon King.
How many talents had been born and died? How many feats invented and discovered?
If one steadily amassed that power, honing it across endless years—what strength would result? Grimudo was the answer. He wasn't strong from the start.
In raw talent, in mana handling alone, he couldn't touch Yurinelle's toe. He overwhelmed it with sheer, brutish eons of effort.
No matter how potent prior-era techniques, without training, they couldn't be wielded. All this power Grimudo built through his own toil, not granted from the heavens.
The hero couldn't bridge this vast gulf of time. She couldn't surmount the wall of knowledge.
"Once, quiet Rayman and hermit Geheran challenged me."
Grimudo clasped his hands, consoling the fallen hero from above. It wasn't just her who'd lost.
Countless challengers faced him, all defeated. Survivors who fled numbered on one hand. The Demon King still remembered those rare names. Yurinelle's joined that glorious list.
"Even those who dubbed themselves Grand Masters fled without beating me. So don't take it to heart. You didn't lose because you're inferior."
Mana took form. Not mana aura shaping up.
More realistic, more specialized. Less versatile than mana aura, but far superior at constructing forms.
Sages of old eras claimed the world's mana as their own arcane force, crafting diverse shapes for battle.
The sword Grimudo wielded was forged from such arcane force. To Yurinelle, all these means were inscrutable—mana aura an entirely different discipline.
How did he manipulate mana like that? No foundational knowledge meant no insight, no matter her talent. Without shared axioms, all was mystery.
The arcane force coalesced like a mountain, deepened like the sea, birthing a placid black pond in midair. From that dark pool emerged a furred beast eyeless and noseless, its lone maw gaping wide to menace Yurinelle. Needle teeth packed its jaws.
Clang!
It bit the holy sword and clenched— a crack formed, light bursting forth. The beast shattered against the desperate glow, vanishing, but the sword's fracture lingered.
"Th-the holy sword... it's cracked?!"
Pannel, mana-drained and gasping, flopped onto his rear.
Yurinelle herself wasn't shocked. She gazed at the holy sword with somber eyes, stroking its blade. She barely held back tears.
'You couldn't hold out any longer either, huh.'
From that earlier sword pressure farce, she'd felt the sword hit its limit. The moment Saintess Araidel underperformed compared to Kyle, Yurinelle realized and accepted the Triune Gods' champion wasn't as grand as thought.
Her foe was the Primordial Demon King. A being beyond specs, snapping the famed Western family whip, Demon Killer, in one go. The holy sword enduring this long was a boon.
"If we go, we go together. I can stay till the end, right?"
The light in the holy sword flickered. They'd shared a decade now.
Time enough for humans to wed. Yurinelle read its intent from the blinks alone.
Riches. Honor. Glory.
All hollow dreams now, but
dying after landing one hit on Grimudo as a hero— that wouldn't be so bad. Desperate, sure. But surrender lightened her heart.
"Fine then. Come on."
Grimudo grinned, pleased at Yurinelle's resolved eyes. He dropped the blasts, dispersed the arcane force, halted the shockwaves. His final display: the most recent technique he'd mastered. Mana aura, still current in this era.
Behind Grimudo, black mana writhed, condensing. His mana was pure black, devoid of stray hues. Black meant all colors extinguished. No shade touches black without tarnishing.
Only those with exceptional obsession and will could forge black mana aura. That pure-black mana aura took shape behind Grimudo.
Not sun, not moon. No dragon guise like Ardaine or Harmael. Why borrow another's form at ultimate heights?
"Gr-Grimudo..."
Black mana formed Grimudo—himself—standing tall behind the Demon King. Mana aura brimming with unfathomable obsession and near-mad will glared at Yurinelle, eyes aglow.
Color, form, intent. All three pillars of mana aura complete, this second Grimudo roared skyward, blackening the world. The Pure Black Aura at last revealed.
"Can't win..."
Lucia Western's eyes, from her prone spot, drowned in despair.
"That's... unwinnable."
Even the demon hunter's pride utterly crushed and overwhelmed. Truth was, against Grimudo, that pride was arrogance from the start.
A human facing a typhoon barehanded isn't courage or confidence. It's madness too foolish for "reckless."
"Kehok! Koff!"
Then, coughing rose amid swirling dust. Piercing the deathly line etched in air, Araidel and Leunheim finally escaped the dark realm.
Hair disheveled, pristine robes in tatters. Divinity near spent, they emerged to the second Grimudo looming behind the first. That black "Grimudo" gazed down as if appraising the world.
"Good heavens..."
"My God..."
Both uttered sharp gasps in near unison.
In that brief span, the battle had plunged past rock bottom into utter doom.
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