Don't Do This (4)

Even bound hand and foot, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dragon thrashed with savage fury. The Inquisitor tightened her grip on the mace.

Would a shield have made a difference? The idle thought flickered through her mind and was discarded at once. If she were so frail that the absence of a shield meant defeat, she should never have begun this journey at all.

"O God."

She yearned for more Holy Power. The promised agony answered. Fire raced along her veins; her flesh seared from beneath the skin.

But if this single body could erase the world's evil — if she could make herself a wick and burn every impurity to ash — then she was ready to immolate her flesh as many times as it took.

"Your servant stands here."

An offering.

"Make me Your instrument, and restore the laws of this world."

A sacrifice of the self for the peace and safety of others.

"Deliver the innocent."

The Holy Power that had been circling her since the battle began finally overflowed in every direction.

KRAAAAAAH!

The first to suffer the wave of Holy Power was the dragon, which could not flee its bonds. Its scales melted away in rivulets; its flesh began to char. The unholy stench rising from the wounds was driven back and purified, just as the blood-soaked earth itself was being cleansed.

"Gyaaah!"

Those who had contracted with demons fared no better. The ones who had rushed in to eliminate the intruders collapsed in agony without ever landing a blow. Had their contracts granted them true power, they might at least have resisted — but they had no strength to fight back, only a target painted on their backs.

"Shit, what the hell is going on?!"

"You thieving bastards!"

In that regard, those who had never contracted with demons and still lived as ordinary humans were better off. They could not feel the warmth of the Holy Power, but neither did it hinder them in any special way.

"Whoops — mind dying for me, please?"

Of course, having to face a thief whom the Inquisitor had personally buffed, relying solely on one's own strength, was another matter entirely.

"There's too many of them! Hey, when does that dragon die already?!"

But their side was not necessarily at an advantage either. Thieves thrived on ambushes; in a frontal brawl like this, they could not bring their full power to bear. Without the Inquisitor's buffs supporting them, she would have had to spend her strength killing these ones as well.

"…Endure a little longer."

The pain closing in had wrung every drop of moisture from her voice. She forced the answer from a dry throat, then advanced on the dragon that was staring straight at her.

As if the dragon, too, understood that the time for a final reckoning had come, it lowered the head it had held so high. This was the first chance — and the last.

A colossal torrent of flame began to pour from the dragon's maw.

"Hyaaaaah!"

The Inquisitor ran at the same instant. The terrible heat rushed toward her, but she felt no fear. She had always been someone who cast herself into sacred fire.

The warrior clad in white light hurled her body into the inferno. Flames that pierced the Holy Power licked her skin and cooked her muscle. But Holy Power carried the power of healing as well. Burned skin regenerated in an instant; muscle grew denser and harder still. The ash scattering from her body looked like fragments of light.

"Just judgment upon the impure!"

At last the one who had defied the fire planted her feet firmly upon the earth. Boom! Body raised, mace high, she vaulted over the mass of flame and stood atop the dragon's head.

"A fitting punishment!"

CRASH!

The flanged mace — its head a cluster of iron plates — smashed into the dragon's upper jaw. Scales that had clung scale by scale shattered; the great skull was driven straight into the ground.

A vibration heavy enough to shake heaven and earth followed. Struck by that monstrous force, the dragon did not merely drop its head — it carved out a crater. From atop the crushed and ruptured dragon's skull, the red-haired warrior finally lifted her face.

Rumble…

"……?"

"Th-the castle!"

"Hey, something's going crazy over at the castle!"

In that moment, a tremendous uproar erupted from the direction of the fortress. The Inquisitor's green eyes flickered briefly — could it be the Demon Knight?

"…The real monster was in the castle all along, wasn't it?"

What she saw instead was a mass of tentacles that looked ready to swallow the fortress whole.

"Die— khuhk!"

Crunch!

She smashed the few pirates the thieves had failed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to finish off and searched for her ally. There was only one Cueoty with dark-green feet, so finding him was easy.

"Get ready!"

The original plan had been to take the dragon, then flee into the city and play cat-and-mouse… but plans existed to be broken.

After confirming that a pitch-black Chamgyeok had carved through the monster at the castle, she shouted:

"We're going to the castle!"

As expected — the Demon Knight had not fallen to those things.

Maybe it was because I always fought with nothing but a single sword and no shield to speak of. Holding something while fighting turned out to be an incredible nuisance — something I was learning for the first time.

It wasn't small like a dagger, and the fact that fire burned at its tip only made things worse. Fire, after all, has a natural tendency to reach upward, and its heat makes no distinction between friend and foe. Those two qualities alone made the torch fiendishly difficult to handle.

But if this was the only weapon that could deal damage to the enemy, I had to endure it. What else was I supposed to do?

I ran along the outer wall of the castle, keeping the monster — now even more bloated than before — in my sights. If I meant to stop it from heading for the central courtyard in search of more sacrifices, I had no choice.

The thing had grown this large precisely because I had failed to stop it from devouring the jailers and guards. If it drank the pool of blood that had collected in the central courtyard on top of that, the situation would become even more of a headache.

Well — even now, demon contractors drawn by the commotion were trying to buff the creature or send gargoyles and the like to help it.

Screeeech!

The latter, however, was more of a hindrance than a help. Tentacles were flying in from every direction, and the flying demons actually blocked them from reaching me. They even collided with one another and fouled each other's trajectories, buying me breathing room more than once or twice. The larger Focalor's body grew, the more often it happened.

"Hyaaaah!"

"Why us?!"

As for the former — Focalor was personally snacking on its own supporters, so properly applied buffs were rare. Apparently stuffing them into its mouth and digesting them was more efficient than accepting a buff. Thanks to that, any demon contractor who didn't fancy being discarded the moment they outlived their usefulness was clearing out, buffs be damned.

One way or another, it worked in my favor.

"Gyaaah!"

I swung my sword as a new human was dragged out through a window. The Chamgyeok that shot forth in a brilliant arc severed the tentacle holding the person and left a vivid scar across the castle wall.

"Uwaaaah!"

Thud!

Ah — for the record: keeping a human from going into Focalor's second mouth and saving a captured human from falling to their death were two entirely separate things.

These weren't civilians. Why would I go out of my way to save people who'd been living the good life under a superior who'd shaken hands with demons?

More importantly, catching every falling body and setting them down somewhere safe was beyond even my capacity. Just dodging Focalor's attacks and those of its endless minions, cutting tentacles, and quickly pressing the torch to the severed stumps to sear them shut was already hard enough.

The Madness Gauge climbing higher by the moment was the same story!

Sensing that I could not afford to drag this out any longer, I kicked off the outer wall. A tentacle that had been aiming for me missed by a hair's breadth. A very fortunate thing.

Of course, kicking off a seven-story castle wall only left you with a fall. But who was I? A gamer who had grown another level through aerial naval combat. Footing was everywhere.

"It is your filthy life that ends here."

I stepped on the snout of a gargoyle that had lunged to bite me and loosed a small Chamgyeok at a tentacle coming from another angle — enough to cut it, but not clean through.

And it went exactly as I had hoped. Because it wasn't fully severed, new growth didn't sprout; instead, regenerative tissue began knitting the wound shut. That brief recovery window became time for me to use the thing as an extra foothold. In the instant of regeneration, a tentacle could not hear its master's commands.

Thanks to that, instead of having my ankle seized, I leapt freely through the air. More tentacles came for me, but they were no problem at all. Two of them were simply torn away by the teeth of flying demons. Others, seared by my torch, could no longer regenerate.

Yes, yes. Go right ahead. Whether you can actually pull it off is another question.

Watching someone pour out their ambitions in exhaustive detail without anyone asking made me want to dig a finger in my ear. I didn't have the leisure for it — and doing so would have broken character — so I didn't try.

Funny. That was my line.

The torch had gone out three times already while I was searing flesh. That many tentacles I had burned. And still Focalor's tentacles remained in such numbers — because it carved away the burned portions itself and regenerated them anew.

A truly, thoroughly, infuriatingly tenacious boss.

I felt irritation surge as I faced a boss whose matchup was not just bad but catastrophically bad. Honestly, I wanted to dump the thing into a vat of oil. Fry it, roast it — at least then it wouldn't regenerate.

No, really — couldn't I? Damn it, if I only knew where the kitchen was, I'd strip every drop of oil and dump it on the thing. Then light it up. Wouldn't it go up in a glorious blaze?

Ah — when did the Madness Gauge pass twenty percent?

I clicked my tongue and kept running, dodging the tightly packed attacks flying at me. My body rebounded upward; I spun once and planted my feet on the castle roof.

The sloping ceiling was a little slippery, but better than a ninety-degree wall. At least I wouldn't fall just by standing still.

"Hah."

More than that — this was an opportunity. A chance to attack while enjoying the stable support of solid footing, without relying solely on my own strength. Situations like this didn't come easily against an enemy climbing a wall. Determined not to waste it, I poured mana into my sword. With my mana recovery rate improved, this much was no burden at all.

And when the tentacles, having reoriented themselves, came for me — I hurled the torch into the air and charged straight into Focalor's embrace.

Naturally, Focalor flailed tentacles and arms wildly, as if seizing the perfect chance.

Slash!

But just before the attack could reach me, the mana slash I had thrown ahead of my charge carved diagonally through Focalor's body. The tentacles in its path were no exception.

From the severed cross-section, thread-thin strands shot out and began to stitch the halves together.

Thud!

Before they could finish, my foot slammed down on its chest. Some of the tentacles being used for regeneration frantically wrapped my ankle and waist, or scraped and pierced through parts of me. My HP plummeted.

"Die."

But that much was an expected loss. My arm brought the sword down.

A skill I hadn't used in a while erupted in every direction with a savage explosion of force.

Pitch-black energy split the darkness and raked everything around me. The tentacles coiled about my body, the torso I was trampling, even the demons flying within range — none were spared.

But I hadn't used Ground Crash merely because it was an omnidirectional attack.

Ground Crash carried a knockback effect — it shoved its target backward. Focalor's body finally tore free of the outer wall and began to fall.

Sure, I knew it would somehow latch on again with its tentacles. Hook one tentacle per window frame and dropping it barely meant ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠anything. But delaying its path to the central courtyard, even for a moment, was something.

More importantly, I had used the recoil to land back on the roof. From here, simply leaping down and reusing the skill I'd just employed would be enough to keep the thing blocked.

Of course, I was a tiny bit worried the torch might have been snuffed out by the shockwave.

Tap.

I caught the torch I had thrown upward earlier and adjusted my grip on the sword. Slash! A harpy that had been diving at me split in half and tumbled down the roof.

Then something unexpected caught my eye.

"…The wound isn't healing."

The diagonal gash from earlier had not fully closed — even though I hadn't applied fire to it. Whatever the cause, it meant I could overcome that regenerative power and split the body clean in half.

No — would merely cutting it in half be enough? I needed to tear the limbs to shreds. After how much trouble it had put me through.

At least I was spared the trouble of running around looking for oil.

I casually bisected two approaching demons and stepped forward. The leg that had dared to tread on empty air paid the price. My body began a vertical freefall. The torch left a long trail through the blue-black air.

Kill it.

Even that was intentional.

The sword shredded every tentacle in its path, and the torch seared Focalor's shoulder. Acrid smoke and screams tangled together. And from the midst of it, the skill that shook the earth as if settling all accounts erupted once more.

BOOM!

The shattered torch scattered embers in every direction. At last, Focalor's massive body slammed into the ground. Even then it tried to strike at me, but the regeneration of its tentacles had clearly slowed.

Was there a word for a dying light's last flare? Realizing its regenerative power was spent, Focalor flew into a frenzy and attacked with even greater savagery. Whether its emotions were reflecting onto its flesh or not, exoskeletal plating armored the tentacles, and more than seven — ten of them — came thrashing in a far more violent assault.

The sky was thick with flying demons waiting for any opening.

But assault or no assault — I was faster. That was all that needed saying.

I swept a mana-charged Chamgyeok across it. I had loaded less mana than before, and perhaps because of that, the wound healed cleanly. Attacks with too little mana still seemed not to work.

In that interval, her arm — grown even larger — smashed the place where I had been standing. A section of the castle wall collapsed, punching a gaping hole. Terrifying power. The motion was so large that dodging was easy; to me it looked like free food.

What was that thing even saying? I didn't give Focalor's words so much as half an ear as I prepared my next attack.

If weak doesn't work — cut harder.

The scimitar screamed a metallic cry, and pitch-black darkness flooded its edge. With every layer of black energy that settled over the blade, the sword rattled and shook. A service reserved solely for that monster.

Not a complete fool, then. I broke off gathering power and shifted my footing to dodge the tidal wave of tentacles surging toward me. Behind me the castle, ahead Focalor, below solid ground — there weren't many directions left to flee.

My feet found the outer wall again and began running upward.

And just as gravity seemed about to reclaim my body, I kicked off the wall. I forgot that the demons were targeting me. Things like that could never kill me.

To a single point. Straight and true.

Like a dancer's turn, I twisted my body and reversed what had been facing upward to face down. Directly below me was a sea of tentacles — and at its end, my target.

The demons in the sky howled long and loud.

Cut.

My vision turned red, and a colossal sword-stroke drove forward.

The world was cut in two.

Thud.

I landed on the tentacles that had lost their strength and fallen. My legs, briefly bent to disperse the force on my ankles, straightened — and the hem of my coat snapped stiffly open once more.

I lifted the scimitar, which had finally broken. Clouds parted slightly; faint moonlight touched what remained of the blade. Unlike last time, this one hadn't merely snapped — the entire blade had shattered into pieces. Nothing that could still be called an edge remained attached.

A sword without a blade was useless. I tossed away the hilt that was all that remained.

And I took in what lay before me. Everything that had stood in a straight line was split and sundered. Focalor's body was no different. From her left shoulder down through the lower torso, she had been cleanly severed. Tentacles tried desperately to rejoin the separated flesh, but the regeneration speed was worlds apart from before.

Even so, Focalor did not give up. Her arm rose, intending to smash me down.

She only intended to.

Her arm never reached me. It trembled in midair as if blocked by something, and the sight was thoroughly satisfying.

The scream was rather sweet. I almost wanted to listen a little longer.

No. Better not.

Time to clean up the castle.

There was still plenty left to kill, after all.