Goddess Descent (8): Odin's Eye
In the otherworld, the amount of mana a warrior possessed could decide victory or defeat. Just as soldiers in the 21st century could lower their mortality rate the more shells and bombs they expended like water, having abundant mana meant an unconditional advantage over your opponent.
Of course, that alone didn’t determine the outcome of a battle. A true master of martial arts could snap a giant’s neck with nothing but a handful of mana. It was fucking ridiculous, but Diabolo was a master who surpassed me in both technique and mana reserves. By any normal standard, there was no way a mediocre fighter like me—upper-middle tier at best—could possibly beat him just because my mana pool had grown a bit.
By normal standards, that is.
The explosion of power upon impact sent shockwaves rippling outward.
The instant our spear and sword crossed, mana detonated violently. Both I and that red-headed son of a bitch were knocked back by the same force, but his expression was far uglier. It was already infuriating for him to be locked in an even fight against an opponent who was clearly his inferior. It was exactly like a top-ranked player being forced into a soul-match against some noob from the bottom of the ranked abyss.
“How long do you think you can last with such crude, unrefined magic?!”
Diabolo roared as he swung his blade. His eyes, burning with murderous intent, glared as if they would tear through the mana coating of my Beast Regression. The veins in them stood out like bloody threads. What, was he falling for my muscular physique? Was this bastard a homosexual?
I gave a short, mocking laugh and shot back, “Your swordplay’s dogshit, but your mouth sure runs like a champion.”
“……Kwaaaaaaaaah!!”
My taunt made Diabolo’s sword even fiercer. Yet he left no openings. A true master really was on another level. Mastery in martial arts was a realm that could only be reached with unshakable self-confidence and talent. And when confidence was backed by skill and accomplishment, it inevitably swelled into monstrous pride.
I had thrown out the provocation specifically to disturb his mind, but although he was clearly pissed, Diabolo refused to show any gaps. It couldn’t be helped. This opponent had terrible synergy with my sub-passive K-Padrip.
I fired off orders through telepathy like a machine gun. “Franc! Scatter your golems behind that bastard! Dana, slap him with weakening magic! Veronica, stop him from escaping with spatial interference! Larilura, tank so the son of a bitch can’t target our people!”
At the same time, I thrust my spear forward, forcing Diabolo onto the defensive. Spatial movement wasn’t an easy emergency escape button, but judging from his earlier surprise attack, he could cross dozens of meters in an instant.
Diabolo countered with superior technique and speed, but the frequency was low. There were two reasons. First, he had already expended stamina fighting Signatio. Second, the environment was now completely different. When he and Signatio had dueled, the under-leveled raid members couldn’t interfere. This time, it wasn’t a pure one-on-one.
“Seen up close, it’s clearer than I expected,” Tirsi’s calm voice rang out.
The pillar exactly intercepted the sword he had swung toward my left side. I immediately drove my spear into his now-exposed left flank.
—Fwoosh!!
My spearmanship—fused with divine-age martial arts and ancient sorcery—worked even on a first-rate master. Diabolo grit his teeth as blood sprayed. The more his face twisted in agony, the better I felt.
‘The wound is shallow, but once he’s taken damage he can’t afford to ignore defense!’
I pressed the attack with extreme focus. Whenever I struck and Tirsi restricted his movement, even Diabolo’s feet would falter. It was inevitable. Two enemies were matching his speed. Even the greatest warrior in the world would reveal the limits of their reaction when gang-beaten. And in a many-versus-one fight, that was fatal.
As the bastard’s movements dulled, the rest of our escorts stopped standing by idly.
“You idiots!! How long are you going to remain spectators?! Show them the pride of the Pangas Magic Knight Order!!”
“Waaaaaaaah——!!”
The mages began chanting spells as they watched me fight. Their magic either harassed Diabolo without interfering with my attacks or applied weak but helpful reinforcement buffs on me, narrowing the gap between us.
“Insignificant worms who have never even glimpsed the truth of magic dare—!”
Diabolo attacked me while spitting out the embers clinging to his body. But no matter how weak the attacks were, the difference between doing them and not doing them was like heaven and earth. After all, even ants can topple a giant if they gather in numbers—that famous stock market saying exists for a reason.
“You pathetic fucker, swinging a sword but acting like a magic genius! You can’t even chant spells properly while fighting because your head’s so fucked, right?”
“Hah! A bastard inferior to me both as a warrior and a mage has nothing but a lively mouth!”
“Is that so? You’re so unbelievably trash that my arms and legs are still perfectly fine. Why is someone as great as you getting beaten like this? Or maybe you’re the only one who doesn’t realize how much of a noob you are?”
Diabolo’s face had gone white from pure rage, but the pointless provocations ended there. I shut my mouth and poured every ounce of remaining concentration into the battle.
Fortunately, even if K-Padrip didn’t work, everything else had good synergy.
The thick layer of mana from the Ulster beast transformation wrapped around my spear, clashing violently with Diabolo’s aura-covered blade.
Sparks flew as I blocked his sword with the heavily coated shaft. The distorted reflection of his face flickered in the embers. Ever since acquiring aura, this son of a bitch probably had never struggled this much against someone he considered beneath him. A single swing of his blade could slice through armor like paper—what meaning did tricks or techniques have against that? It was like playing chess when every piece on the opponent’s side was a queen. In a standard fight, neither offense nor defense could be properly established.
‘Luckily, I’m also far from a standard warrior.’
I slid my blade along his and rolled my eyes, searching. Even after using Gerthur with the Earth Hero’s power to root ancient divine mana throughout my body, our physical abilities were only even. Yet the mana coating I had thickened with runes refused to be pierced even by aura. In other words, I could overcome a gap that would normally end a regular warrior in a single second!
“Hup!!”
Diabolo cleverly rode my spear shaft and aimed for my hand. Since direct confrontation wasn’t working, the swordsmanship trash was resorting to cheap tricks. I didn’t play along. I brutally knocked his sword away. If he really had superior technique, I had to prevent him from using his strengths.
Diabolo’s face twisted like he had bitten into a bug, as if he had read my thoughts.
‘You don’t play games to win. You play them to piss off the opponent.’
From the practical tactics I had learned in real combat since childhood, I unleashed Gerthur’s forms in rapid succession. Since provocation no longer worked, there was no reason to keep running my mouth. I abandoned verbal communication and activated Odin’s Eye.
Honestly, I hadn’t expected much from it. After all, although he was a black mage, he didn’t seem to be the type who used magic in direct combat. That wasn’t particularly surprising. In this world, magic was a scholarly discipline. Being an outstanding mage didn’t automatically make you a combat professional.
……But the Odin’s Eye I had activated on a whim showed an effect far beyond my expectations. And that surprise instantly transformed into joy.
With a savage grin, I stamped the ground with full power.
—THUD!
Diabolo’s eyes flashed as he sensed the precursor to a powerful attack. He must have thought I had grown impatient and exposed an opening. He unleashed an ultra-fast sword draw that most people couldn’t even react to after seeing it. At the same time, mana stirred inside his body.
‘……I see it!’
The divine eye of the one-eyed German god had read the enemy’s movements.
A master’s technique was itself a kind of magic. Highly developed muscle memory could no longer be distinguished from sorcery. The techniques of masters contained fixed forms, just like the formulas of magic spells. They possessed “laws” reminiscent of recorded Go games or divine moves.
Diabolo was a first-rate master. Even if the origin of his swordsmanship was as cruel and wicked as the Japanese soldiers who had honed their skills by beheading Koreans, the mystery he had obtained was real. That was why I could see it—the precise, magic-like flow of mana. The enlightenment and essence dwelling in each technique, the currents of their formulas, were all visible to Odin’s Eye!
—Clang!!
Diabolo’s blade stabbed precisely toward my throat—only to stop dead as if he had seen a ghost. The mana of my Beast Regression had thickened to an insane degree and received his attack perfectly.
Do you know how to block an attack that cannot be stopped even after seeing it? The answer is to block it without looking.
“What the hell is this—”
Diabolo opened his mouth, but I had no interest in listening to the complaints of an idiot who had misjudged the killing angle. Because I had devoted my defense entirely to the mana coating, I could drive a lethal thrust straight into this son-of-a-bitch death knight’s opening.
The explosive forward step of my charge transformed into a piercing strike at the spear’s tip.
—FWOOSH!!
My spearhead drove deep into the left side of Diabolo’s chest.