Chapter 82
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 82
Chapter Title: Ten Seconds
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Blood, fire, flesh, bone.
Things that should not have been falling from the sky began to do so. The sky, which had been a clear blue just moments ago, turned crimson in an instant, then was stained by a murky darkness.
A quantity of flames and corpses too vast to be described as merely immense mingled together, plunging the battlefield into chaos.
“Arrrggghhhh!”
A dwarf warrior, drenched in adrenaline, charged a mutant with a hammer the size of his own body clutched in both hands.
The elves forced their trembling breaths to steady as they drew their bowstrings, and the orcs swung their weapons without a care for whether their bodies were scorched by fire or melted by poison.
“Damn it all! Help me! My leg, my leeeeg!”
Someone’s limbs were torn off by the masses of flesh.
“Next! Next, where’s the next one! My axe calls for blood! Astella has granted me her power! I was born with the duty to cleave these flesh-things!”
Someone else was consumed by madness, descending into insanity.
“Hoo…”
Bel Artois watched it all from a step away, a pipe in his mouth.
“I’m ready.”
The saintess, Grisha, who stood beside him, spoke as she placed a hand on his back.
The moment her calloused hand touched his back, a sacred energy filled Bel’s body.
“It’s been a shitty two months.”
The smell of flesh and bone was deeply ingrained in the depths of Bel’s lungs. The word ‘death’ had become all too familiar, while in contrast, he could no longer even remember what the word ‘fragrance’ meant.
Every single day was a struggle for survival.
Ironically, this survival required him to send other soldiers to their deaths.
…His left arm was starting to ache again.
A scream, its owner unknown, erupted from among the soldiers tangled with the flesh. Even with arms torn off and shoulders rotting away, the soldiers swung their weapons.
Blood.
There was blood everywhere.
“Let’s end this now.”
Bel Artois was sick and tired of it all.
“Right.”
*CRASH!*
A massive impact resounded across the chaotic battlefield.
The hard-packed ground cracked, and mud surged up through the fissures.
The soldiers, who had been letting out screams that were closer to roars, drenched in madness and adrenaline, fell silent in an instant.
Their arms, which had continued to grip their weapons and attack through any shock, froze.
It wasn't just the allied forces.
Every Mazoku, including the Overlords, and even the mutants, who lacked basic intelligence… no, even the most rudimentary cognitive ability, were forced to stop in their tracks.
Every element that constituted the battlefield.
Fell silent for one man.
“The torn-off hour hand. The line that divides the world. The frozen beast.”
The one who broke that silence was none other than Bel Artois.
He had known in advance that the man now slowly rising to his feet from within the shattered mud would appear.
He had even deliberately positioned himself far from the center of the battlefield to ensure his mind wouldn't momentarily freeze, overwhelmed by the killing intent that man would unleash.
“The policy of separation. The girl's death. The slave in the cauldron.”
Thanks to that, he could act a step faster than the others.
“Severance.”
He had perfectly chanted the spell and its name.
*Whoosh—*
The sharp wind that had been blowing across the battlefield died in an instant.
A translucent wall shot up in a flash, covering the allied camp and the no-man's-land between them, sealing off all sides.
“…We’ve been had.”
Maltiel, belatedly coming to his senses, realized his palms were slick with cold sweat.
“Dammit.”
Mikael, standing beside Maltiel, stared at the wall enclosing them with a look of utter bewilderment.
“…What are you doing here?”
Raguel couldn't hide his horror upon seeing the man standing in the middle of the battlefield.
“Mi-Mikael, Maltiel! Inform the Demon King at once! Tell him this crazy bastard abandoned the north and showed up here!”
A slender blade slid from its sheath.
Raguel backed away, shouting at the top of his lungs.
Faced with such an unexpected variable, he didn't even think to use his greatest weapon, his wings, nor did he consider reporting to the Demon King himself.
“It doesn't reach. No, it’s not that it doesn't reach… it feels as if the Demon King has vanished from his position.”
Mikael closed his eyes and focused his mind, but his consciousness never reached the northern front.
“…Is it the effect of this barrier? I, too, cannot get a single word to His Majesty.”
Maltiel gave a bitter smile as he looked at the transparent wall enveloping the battlefield.
“The Grand General will now give the allied forces ten seconds.”
Not long after the Overlords regained their composure, a voice echoed from the center of the battlefield.
“Soldiers with injuries severe enough to impede combat will withdraw from the line.”
There was no one on this battlefield who did not know this man’s voice.
“In addition, those lacking the skill to avoid being a hindrance in my fight will also withdraw.”
A long, slender blade, a thick leather coat, and immaculate white clothes without a single wrinkle. Auburn hair.
“That is an order. Reorganize the ranks within ten seconds.”
The man who had descended upon the battlefield with a thunderous roar was…
The Grand General of the allied forces, a man for whom the title ‘Hope of the Continent’ was no exaggeration.
The Sword Saint.
“All non-essential personnel, fall back through the trenches! The wounded, and all privates and below with insufficient experience, are to withdraw! Anyone else who feels they lack the skill, follow my voice and move!”
The officers, who had been swinging their swords like madmen, consumed by the heat of battle and adrenaline, belatedly shouted orders to direct their soldiers.
Wounded soldiers who had been holding on somehow were supported by the younger, less experienced troops and moved to the rear of the formation.
“…”
Not just the common mutants, but even the Overlords could do nothing to stop the soldiers who were calmly exiting the battlefield.
Because the Sword Saint stood with his blade drawn, his eyes fixed upon them.
“…Ten seconds have passed. I will take it that all who still stand with me are prepared to die.”
Even though the killing intent wasn't directed at the allied forces, the less experienced among them felt their legs tremble and their breath quicken.
But every single one of those who remained on the battlefield with him felt an immense honor just to be standing on the same ground as this man.
“So this is… the Sword Saint on the battlefield.”
The white-haired boy could do nothing but let out a gasp of admiration at the cataclysm that had appeared before his eyes.
The arrival of a single man had instantly turned the tide of the battle.
“All forces.”
He didn't need to swing his sword or shout loudly.
The one who could silence a battlefield merely by standing there was the Sword Saint.
“Advance.”
The one who could change history with a single word was the Sword Saint.
“Uwaaaaargh!”
“All troops! Charge that monster! Don’t worry about the others, just hold back that monster at all costs!”
Raguel, who had been backing away, ordered all the mutants and Mazoku under his command to charge at once.
The grotesque masses of flesh scattered across the battlefield coalesced into one, then surged towards the Sword Saint like a great wave.
Atop that wave were low-ranking Mazoku, charging with their shabby wings spread, and behind them were high-ranking Mazoku preparing their dark magic.
“Bel, is there anything I should be particularly aware of that I don’t already know?”
The Sword Saint asked calmly, even as the grotesque and massive wave bore down on him. His blade was chillingly sharp, as if freshly honed, and the veins on the back of his hand bulged with rage.
“Leave none of them alive.”
Bel Artois, focusing his mind on maintaining the barrier, answered without a moment's hesitation.
Hearing Bel's reply, the Sword Saint slowly angled his blade forward.
The wave of flesh created by Raguel was approaching with enough force to sweep away everything in its path.
Without a trace of agitation, the Sword Saint simply spread his legs, one in front of the other, and bent his knees.
The next moment, mud splattered where the Sword Saint had been standing.
A sudden heat haze shimmered into existence on the battlefield. As if space itself were distorting, the instantaneous compression and expansion of air refracted the light.
A deafening roar assaulted the soldiers' eardrums, and a tremendous wind, mixed with clumps of mud, whipped around them. The soldiers, one and all, couldn't help but clamp their hands over their ears and shut their eyes.
The sonic boom was so powerful that even the physically robust orcs felt a throbbing headache. The white-haired boy nearly lost consciousness for a moment.
The soldiers, belatedly regaining their senses, slowly opened their eyes to see what had happened.
There, they saw only a lake made of green blood, and a single man holding a thin sword.
His shirt and coat were still as clean as if he had just changed into them.