The Siege of Erebos (Conclusion)
Sophia Aquilova stood blocking the Yaksha’s path, her sword raised high.
“Master, are you alright?”
“I’m fine. The maids from Ophelia Hall handled things well.”
Helena shot me a disapproving glare, but I ignored it. Whatever the case, with Sophia stepping in as our savior, everything would work out.
“Sword aura at that age? Quite impressive for a girl.”
The Yaksha licked the wound on his fist, his interest piqued by Sophia’s sudden appearance.
“Sophia, be careful. He’s a formidable opponent.”
“Yes. I can see that.”
Sophia raised her sword without lowering her guard. The Yaksha had been one of the trickier bosses even in Erebos Academy’s Divine Throne. His patterns weren’t particularly complex; his raw power was simply overwhelming.
As evidenced by the fact that he hadn’t taken a single scratch from the maids’ combined assault, ordinary attacks couldn’t harm him. His magic resistance was also absurdly high, making him an enemy that casters like Elise or Isolde could never defeat.
“…I’m glad Sophia came.”
In other words, now that she was here, the situation had changed.
I set Void down and stood a few steps away from Sophia.
“Master, it’s dangerous. Please stay back.”
“No. It’s fine. I need to be here so you’ll listen to me.”
“Listen?”
“From now on, do exactly as I say.”
No matter how strong the Yaksha was, he was still an enemy that had appeared in the game. That meant I had room to counter him. The maids had been fighting multiple opponents at once, making advice difficult, but now that it was one-on-one, it was no different from the game battles I knew.
Yes. The same setup as when I faced the Archangel at the cathedral.
“I’ll explain quickly, so listen carefully.”
“Yes.”
“First, strike at his right flank. He favors his right hand, so he won’t respond well to attacks from his blind spot.”
I took a deep breath and continued.
“Don’t let your guard down. When that giant pulls his left fist back, lower your stance immediately. There will also be a moment when he turns halfway and lifts his right foot—that’s when you jump. It’s the wind-up for his true footwork.”
“Lastly, when he brings both hands together and gathers energy, get away at once. Right after he detonates his fist aura, he’ll be completely defenseless.”
After I recited every pattern I knew, Sophia nodded.
“Sophia, I trust you.”
“Yes.”
Those words seemed to give her strength. She adjusted her grip on the black sword and lowered her stance. The Yaksha spread his legs with a satisfied expression.
Boom!
A thunderous crash that couldn’t possibly come from sword meeting fist shook the entire Ophelia Hall. The exchange was too fast for my eyes to follow. But one thing was certain.
Thud.
Sophia Aquilova’s sword grazed the Yaksha’s fist and drove straight into his chest in an instant.
*
A hybrid mixed with giant blood—that was the epithet that followed the Yaksha. It couldn’t be helped. Born with a hideous appearance and monstrous strength, he had even been abandoned by his own mother. When begging in the village, he was called a monster and pelted with stones.
— ‘You have quite a fine body.’
Yet his body had been excellent, at least as a vessel. In the end, he was sold to a mage’s laboratory, pumped full of drugs, and forced to live like a beast. It was a life on the brink of death—until that person pulled him from the depths of hell.
— ‘If you want to live, then fight. You have the power to break any leash.’
Someone had come and given him advice. After hearing it, he beat the mage experimenting on him to death. His first kill. A rush of exhilaration. From that day on, strength became justice and faith to the Yaksha.
He joined the kingdom’s secret society, the Shadows, on that person’s recommendation, seeking even greater power. The moment he entered, the nameless hybrid became Yaksha.
He had been happy. The way people screamed in terror with every swing of his fist thrilled him. Watching eyes that once looked at him like an insect turn to awe and fear was intoxicating. Strength was proof of existence.
‘But…’
What was this sensation before his eyes now?
“Hmm…”
Suddenly, the Yaksha felt a heavy foreign sensation in his chest—an aura more tyrannical and ferocious than any fist aura he had cultivated in his lifetime. Only then did he remember he had been fighting.
“…Kh.”
A fishy lump of blood surged up from his mouth. When his blurred vision focused, a red-haired swordsman stood before him. Sophia Aquilova. The black sword in her hands had precisely pierced his heart.
Then what had he been seeing until now?
“Ah.”
This was his life flashing before his eyes.
*
The White Mask was a puppet. He had split the main body’s soul into fragments to operate as puppets. Therefore, ordinary attacks should have caused him no real harm. Yes—ordinary attacks.
“…Kuhk.”
The White Mask rolled across the ground. He had already taken several hits. His once-pristine robe was scorched and tattered, his mask half-shattered.
“It’s not over yet. Get up.”
But Elise mercilessly ignited golden flames at her fingertips. Holy Fire. Flames that burned all things impure. Here, the impure thing was naturally the White Mask’s soul.
‘…Dangerous.’
The White Mask felt a genuine threat to his life. Those flames burned the soul itself. Not only the puppet but the main body’s soul would suffer severe damage. Though not as potent as the flames used by the priest from the Libel region, this saint candidate’s fire was still lethal.
For the first time in a long while, the White Mask felt fear.
“…Damn it.”
This was never supposed to happen. The plan had been perfect: destroy the clock tower and seize the Wedge amid the chaos. But the Wedge had been stolen, the shadow monsters suppressed by Eichendorf, and even he himself was struggling against the saint candidate. He hadn’t calculated that Erebos’s students would be this overwhelmingly powerful.
Boom!
The White Mask’s left wrist, struck directly by the holy fire, burned and crumbled away. It was a one-sided trampling so complete it was hard to tell who was the evil spirit and who was the saint.
‘At this rate… I’ll die.’
In the end, the White Mask had no choice but to admit defeat. His pride stung, but survival came first.
“From now on… it’s Plan B.”
He reached into his robes with his remaining right hand. A measure he had never intended to use. But now there was no choice.
Crack.
The White Mask pulled out a black crystal and shattered it without hesitation. A sinister, enormous energy wriggled forth from the fragments and began to engulf the space. Elise frowned.
“What exactly have you done?”
“…Watch closely with your own eyes.”
The White Mask wiped the blood from his mouth and smiled wryly.
“The ultimate form of the Shadows.”
*
On the forest path near the chapel, Isolde held an ice blade to Youngrang’s throat.
“This is the end.”
“Ahahaha… I really didn’t think I’d lose…”
Youngrang shook his head in disbelief. As he said, the numerical advantage had been his. Isolde should have died buried beneath the endless shades. But she hadn’t—thanks to timely support from the dolls. Ottilie had saved her life.
“So, are you going to kill me? I have no intention of begging pathetically for my life.”
“No. I won’t kill you.”
Isolde bound Youngrang’s limbs with magic.
“You must live and pay for your sins. I’ll leave it to the kingdom’s law. The result will be execution, I imagine.”
“Haha. So you don’t want to dirty your own hands? What a damnably sincere young lady.”
Youngrang muttered with a bitter smile. Just as Isolde moved to gag him, a deep rumble shook the ground—stronger than when the clock tower had collapsed.
By the time she turned her head, a massive figure was already rising from the direction of the main building. The sky had turned black. The air itself screamed. An overwhelming wave of power. What stood before them was a colossal mass of flesh that reached toward the heavens.
“…Th-that is…”
While Isolde stood frozen, Youngrang looked at the monster and chuckled.
“Seeing that thing appear, it seems the others failed just like me.”
“You know about that monster. Speak honestly. Otherwise—”
“It’s the ultimate form.”
Before Isolde could finish her threat, Youngrang spoke, his eyes sparkling with ecstasy.
“The Shadows’—our greatest masterpiece.”
“Ultimate… form?”
“In other words… yes. It’s also called Nemesis.”
At those four letters, Isolde felt a deep sense of dread.