Royal Capital Gallia (13)
"Tch."
Ashtain was struggling. His opponent was no easy foe. Any damage he inflicted came rebounding straight back at him. He had healed the wounds using the Holy Sword, but it was only a temporary measure. It did nothing to solve the root problem.
Is it a curse? The activation condition seems to require inflicting an injury first.
That raised a question. What would happen if he landed a fatal blow? Would it still rebound? Or would it stop? If it was the former, they might end up as coffin mates. He knew nothing about this boy. He was an opponent too dangerous to prod recklessly—like a pufferfish that looked harmless but carried deadly poison.
In the past, he might have staked his life on the gamble. He would have thrown everything into the fight and carved out a path somehow. That was how he had always lived, and he had believed it was only natural. After all, he had devoted his entire existence to slaughtering monsters.
But the Ashtain of now was different. He had things to protect. He had someone he loved. That alone was enough to make his body grow cautious. Because he knew that if he died, she would grieve.
Have I grown weak?
As if in agreement with the thought, a mocking voice flew at him.
The boy had pointed out Ashtain’s hesitation and seized the initiative. Shadows writhed around him, transforming into long blades that shot forward. When Ashtain struck them down with the Holy Sword, more blades surged in as if the boy had anticipated it. Long-range harassment. For Ashtain, who needed to close the distance, this kind of tactic was incredibly annoying.
It frustrated him. Attacking up close was no good. Keeping his distance was no good either. The height of unfairness.
…He had deliberately planted that very thought in the boy. Letting one’s guard down was always the herald that invited a decisive blow.
It was easy to overlook because Ashtain held a sword in his hand, but he could use magic to a certain degree. He was skilled enough to apply it in real combat and create variables. When Azazel had taught him magic, she had always stressed practicality.
‘What kind of idiot mage dies while chanting a spell?’
It was a statement he could relate to. So he had asked her what he should do. She had answered with absolute confidence.
‘Either pre-cast or work yourself half to death until you can chant it instantly.’
Ashtain had trained until he met Azazel’s standards. The spells he could use were few, but in terms of activation speed alone, he surpassed most mages by a wide margin.
Kaaang!
A heavy impact reverberated through his entire body. His muscles screamed. A tingling numbness spread across his skin. But it wasn’t enough to kill him. If he could endure it, it was worth pushing through.
Kang! He knocked away another shadow blade. His forearm trembled.
Kang! He deflected yet another. Ashtain gripped the Holy Sword tightly so he wouldn’t lose hold of it. The moment would come. The instant a gap appeared. When it did, he intended to pour every ounce of power into a devastating strike.
Perhaps displeased by how calmly Ashtain was blocking, the boy launched a relentless barrage even if it meant overextending. Shadow blades flew from the side and from the front. The angles were excellent. Ashtain twisted the Holy Sword, deflecting the side blade into the frontal one and canceling them both out.
Kwaaaang!
The acrobatic feat bordering on artistry bought him precious time. The boy would try to create and launch more shadow blades now. And indeed, that was exactly what happened. Which meant there was an inevitable delay.
Ashtain didn’t miss it. Running in to swing his sword would be too slow. But a long-range attack was another story. The premise that the Hero could not use ranged attacks? He would shatter it.
“Explosion.”
Kwaaaaaaaaaang!
An explosion erupted from beneath the boy’s feet. It wasn’t on Azazel’s scale, but it was still massive. A direct hit would make it difficult to keep one’s body intact. On top of that, it was a counterattack executed while under constant harassment. It would be no exaggeration to call it a perfect strike at his blind spot. The boy must have taken considerable damage.
Parting the black smoke, the boy emerged. His tailcoat was in tatters, the fabric scorched from the recent blast.
Ashtain clicked his tongue and leveled the Holy Sword at the boy. He had thought the opponent was troublesome, but despite that delicate appearance, the creature was excessively tough.
“You don’t look all that surprised.”
When Ashtain sneered, the boy brushed the dust from his clothes.
“Or is it just that your reflexes have slowed with old age?”
Ashtain glanced at the boy’s burning skin, then checked his own body.
I thought the burns would transfer too.
He hadn’t received the injury like before. So magic-based attacks were safe? In that case, this wasn’t an opponent for him. Azazel would be the right person for the job. Unlike earlier, Ashtain began to cautiously widen the distance.
Seeing this, the boy let out a mocking laugh.
It really was a kind of curse, then. Ashtain answered while knocking away the shadows that crept cleverly from the darkness.
“Like the old man you are, you only use cowardly tricks.”
As if everything until now had been mere play, the boy’s shadow surged and swallowed the space. The pressure was overwhelming. It was clearly different from anything he had faced before. If he had to compare it, the difficulty was similar to the previous Hero’s replica.
At this level, even Ashtain couldn’t help feeling curious. The Hero raised the Holy Sword high and asked.
“What exactly are you?”
“I see.”
He swallowed dryly. Direct strikes with the sword were useless. He didn’t know the exact reason, but only magic-based attacks could inflict damage without triggering the rebound. Then what about wrapping the sword in mana and launching a strike? He had never tried it before. Given the power behind it, if that damage rebounded, the backlash would be severe.
Do I have the luxury to hesitate?
No. Weighing options back and forth had never been his style. If you don’t kill, you die. That was what he had thought when hunting any monster. It was no different now.
“If there’s a chance, I’ll take it.”
At that moment, shadows stretched toward him from every direction. A sinister technique befitting a demon. Ashtain organized his thoughts. Whether he was hit this way or that, the result was the same. In that case, he might as well land at least one solid blow to ease his frustration.
He poured mana into the Holy Sword. Unlike ordinary blades, its mana conductivity was excellent, absorbing the power without any loss. The sword shone pure white and began to vibrate. The instant he moved to swing it—
A deluge of ice spears rained down through the shattered ceiling.
Kwagagagagagagak!
The massive volley of ice spears pierced the oncoming shadows. The shadows seemed closer to organic matter than inorganic; their speed visibly slowed under the cold aura of the ice.
“Having a rough time?”
A detestable voice rang out.
“It’s a conceptual curse that shares all sword-based attacks. I’ll dispel it for you.”
The most beloved voice in the world followed. With their arrival, Ashtain realized he had unconsciously relaxed. He didn’t entirely dislike the part of himself that relied on them.
A grumbling complaint slipped out.
“What took you so long?”
“The sly bastard I know wouldn’t be whining over something this minor.”
“Who’s whining? I was just worried about you.”
“…Hmph. Have you learned how to speak sweetly after spending time with Sister Aria? That’s quite the improvement.”
The incarnation of magic. The prodigy of talent. Azazel.
“Azazel, focus on the enemy, please.”
The one who eradicated curses and all forms of evil. The devout being acknowledged by the Sex Cult. Aria.
His trustworthy comrades had arrived on the battlefield.
Leon let out a sigh of admiration at the sheer intensity of the battle unfolding before his eyes. The attacks were so dense that he doubted he could last even a few seconds if caught in the middle.
Ashtain handled defense entirely. Aria took charge of healing and support. The primary damage dealer was the mage named Azazel. The spells she wove from her fingertips and the ultra-high speed of their activation were breathtaking.
“It’s a shame to watch this alone.”
Even the being that had created Leon was struggling to disrupt their coordination. Cracks had begun to show on the face that had once looked so composed.
When the boy stomped his foot, a massive, majestic wave seemed to strike the surroundings. But Azazel stomped her own foot, completely neutralizing the wave.
“Same here. Who throws self-destructing pawns around so arrogantly?”
Wasn’t that exactly why he had caused Aria so much worry? This bastard had no idea how much effort it had taken to soothe her as she clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably.
Azazel shot back in a scathing tone.
“I’ll return those exact words. Who’s the bat bastard that doesn’t know his place? If you’re going to barge in without permission, you should at least come prepared, don’t you think?”
It wasn’t just empty words. Extreme cold surged toward the boy—the core of frost. It was cold so intense that even the magic-resistant shadows shied away from it. A direct hit would be dangerous. Judging as much, the boy layered multiple shadows into overlapping spheres. They stacked and stacked. Only after sacrificing a great number of shadows was he able to block the blue orb.
The moment he tried to catch his breath, the Hero charged.
“You look less composed than before.”
While he dodged the Hero’s sword strike again, the mage’s next spell was already complete. The vicious cycle repeated. The boy possessed infinite vitality and would not tire physically, but mentally it was a different story. He was beginning to feel the strain.
At the same moment, Ashtain pressed in.
Slaaash!
He swung with enough force to bisect the boy at the waist. The boy tried to return the wound, but—
“Disperse.”
Thanks to the damn Saintess who so easily reversed the curse, even that failed. This was exactly why facing a well-coordinated Hero party was so troublesome. Individually they were manageable, but once they united, they became annoyingly painful to deal with.
The boy realized it was time to withdraw.
“Who said we’d let you leave?”
Just as the insolent mage said, they intended to annihilate him here. But every move had its preparations.
The fact that he had no intention of an all-out war yet meant that day would eventually come. Dealing with him here would bring many advantages.
Ashtain concentrated mana into his sword to erase the demon from existence.
“I’m going to kill you.”
Black radiance shimmered elegantly from Ashtain’s sword. Realistically, black light could not exist. Because it could not, it was beautiful, rare, and captivating. Before that black light could erode him, the boy activated his shadow. The shadow pulsed. Just before Ashtain’s strike could land, the shadow—swollen enormously like yeast—burst with a violent bang.
The black-light strike and the exploding shadow fused, creating a new detonation.
For an instant, the exploding light caused the world to flicker.
Kukwaaaaaaaaaaang!
A heaven-shaking roar reverberated through the inn. They must have fought with terrifying ferocity; the building itself trembled violently.
“Did we finish him?”
To Aria’s question, Ashtain shook his head. There had been no impact. He had let the boy escape.
“Let’s get out of here first.”
The inn was beginning to collapse.