Chapter 118
Chapter 118
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 118
Chapter Title: True Demon
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The spectators watching the Colosseum.
Their Creators observing the battle in real time.
"......"
"......"
All of them fell silent.
That overwhelming force had reached a realm even the Incarnations couldn't imitate.
It wasn't just about raw power.
'He doesn't even get tired?'
'Against more than 150 Incarnations?'
'What kind of monster is that guy?'
They couldn't comprehend it.
Incarnations were those who had contracted with Creators, gaining power far beyond ordinary Awakeners.
Thus, the 150 opponents the Champion had faced consecutively were all stronger than average Awakeners—elite powerhouses.
Yet, without even resting.
He had claimed victory over all 150 in a row.
Overwhelmingly, without a single defeat.
The Incarnations who witnessed it firsthand could hardly believe their eyes.
'He's an Incarnation like us, isn't he?'
'That stamina isn't human.'
'No way he's a monster from the Abyss?'
They couldn't see him as human.
He had entered with the same qualifications, so how could the difference be this vast?
50 consecutive wins, 100, 150... As the streak soared higher, their shock turned to awe.
Could the Champion really see it through to the end?
Could he reach Balzac after 169 straight victories?
At first, they thought it impossible.
The Incarnations of the "Balzac Alliance" feared no death.
They threw everything into chipping away at the Champion's stamina, fully expecting to die in the process.
But it was all for naught.
"What the...?"
"Is that... swordsmanship?"
The Champion's movements grew cleaner as time passed.
No wasted motion, reactions speeding up bit by bit.
He started by reacting to opponents' moves, but past 150 wins, he was predicting and sealing off their every action.
Most astonishing was his "swordsmanship."
A blade made of shadows.
The technique, the path of the sword drawing perfect lines—it was breathtakingly beautiful.
Not some wild flailing of skills.
That was true swordsmanship.
A unique skill refined with professional, advanced technique.
It peaked against Balzac.
"He doesn't even stand a chance."
"Is that the kind of talent needed to become a Demon King-level Incarnation?"
"Skills alone can never bridge that gap..."
Balzac unleashed countless tentacles in counterattack, but failed.
Beyond mere speed in batting them away, he precisely read their piercing trajectories, slicing them with mere paper-thin margins.
That was swordsmanship.
Until now, Incarnations hadn't valued learning unique techniques.
Skills manifested everything on their own anyway.
Honing techniques professionally was a waste of time.
That had been the case—until now.
But it wasn't just his swordsmanship that shattered the Incarnations' perceptions.
When the enraged Balzac deployed "Domain Magic."
The Champion countered with another "Domain Magic" of his own.
All the Creators watching through their Incarnations' eyes.
Gasped in unison, as if by prior agreement.
Forgetting even that they were linked to their Incarnations.
The Incarnations startled at the shouts from their formerly arrogant, domineering Creators.
This had never happened before.
Their shock meant the scene unfolding now had reached the Creators' own level.
"C-Cold!"
"Agh! Uuugh!"
"Wasn't the spectator area supposed to be safe from the arena's magic?!"
And it didn't end there.
Centered on Balzac, the entire surrounding area began to freeze.
It was bizarre.
The spectator seats were explicitly protected from the arena's influence.
They were practically in a separate space.
With spatial separation, the arena's magic couldn't reach the seats.
Yet...
...This chill, this magic, undoubtedly emanated from the Champion.
That was the moment.
The Creators spoke.
They grew urgent.
Seeing the magic infiltrate the spectator seats and the "Unique Domain," they were convinced.
The Champion's "Unique Domain" originated from a "God of Magic."
Demon Kings' "Unique Domains" couldn't ignore Abyss rules.
But the terrifying aspect of Gods of Magic was precisely their defiance of those rules.
Gods of Magic were the Abyss's de facto managers and lords.
Beings with the greatest influence over the Abyss.
Their "Unique Domains" were beyond what a mere Creation domain could withstand.
In the end, every Incarnation fled the Colosseum in haste.
All except one—Balzac.
Cold.
This place was freezing to the bone.
Balzac looked around.
Everything was frozen.
As if time itself had frozen solid.
In an instant, his master's voice rang out.
The Creator. The Abyss lord with whom he had formed the "Incarnation Contract."
His command was absolute.
Balzac tried to obey.
'My mouth won't move.'
......He couldn't declare defeat.
His body was already frozen solid.
This was a world of utter cold.
Not frozen?
Impossible.
It was this cold.
But it was cold.
Insanely cold.
Balzac barely rolled his eyes.
Suddenly, the Champion stood before him.
It was a shadow.
No—a man.
That must be the shadow's true form.
He could see clearly.
Yet the Creator apparently couldn't.
Strange.
Balzac's vision was always linked to his Creator.
'The connection... it's weakening.'
Only then did Balzac realize.
The sharing with his Creator had been severed.
For the first time since forming the "Incarnation Contract," he felt true freedom.
'Ah...'
Suddenly, Balzac let out a groan.
Hearing his Creator's words triggered memories he had forgotten.
Like all Incarnations, Balzac had once been an ordinary human.
A family man living to protect his home and loved ones.
If only he hadn't made that "wrong choice" that day—if he'd chosen death instead...
'I was fated to die.'
The day he entered the Abyss.
His death was already certain.
But in the moment before it...
'The Creator offered an Incarnation Contract. In exchange for surrendering all my will to him, he'd let me live...'
Then the nightmare began.
The first act of the surviving Balzac was... "family slaughter."
'I killed my own family with these hands. Ah.'
The Creator stripped Balzac's free will and forced him to massacre his family.
He butchered the children, his wife, mercilessly.
Even the dog and every living thing.
Those eyes of his family haunted him.
They screamed for him to stop, but the Creator didn't.
He even killed everyone Balzac knew.
Friends and acquaintances too.
'My wrong choice. Just a selfish desire to live. Because of that, I... with my own hands...!'
After endless despair, Balzac turned away from reality.
He sealed his memories.
And became "demonic."
Half human, half demon.
...They're open.
You just can't see.
Impatience seeped from the Creator's tone.
He seemed to have judged Balzac's revival impossible.
At least confirm the face of a God of Magic's Incarnation to plan for the future.
Such intel would fetch a high price.
Shruk—!
Balzac moved.
He didn't declare defeat.
He simply gave his all to reach the Champion.
The Creator vaguely sensed Balzac's will.
He was charging toward death.
Furious at this, the Creator raged.
The Creator invoked his authority to amplify Balzac's curse.
Forcing Balzac himself to evolve forcibly.
Such intervention demanded countless "Coins" from the Creator.
It exceeded the contract's bounds.
Even considering that, he refused to grant Balzac true freedom.
How dare a mere Incarnation defy his Creator's will!
Unforgivable.
Unacceptable.
'No...!'
Balzac despaired.
His body began changing again.
Beyond half-human, half-demon—evolving into a far stronger form.
Complete demonization.
Into the realm of the "True Demon," merging with the Creator.
He couldn't die even if he wanted to.
Once a True Demon, even a God of Magic's Incarnation couldn't defeat a half-human, half-demon.
"Please... kill me..."
Free me from this agony.
Balzac pleaded with all his might.
Of course, he knew no answer would come.
That shadow had already "integrated."
It had become something else—a half-human, half-demon.
That being too must have been "corrupted" by a Creator or something similar.
Yet a half-human, half-demon could never beat a True Demon.
Just as ordinary Incarnations couldn't beat half-demons.
And yet.
"I'll let you rest."
...The being that should have lost will and consciousness spoke.
How?
An impossible, inexplicable event occurred.
Then, Park Chan-woo moved.
And with that.
Slash!
He severed Balzac's "ear."
The Creator shouted confidently.
Balzac's "Chain Damage" and "Instant Healing" as he became a True Demon were on the verge of becoming divine powers.
As if cutting off one ear would cause any issue.
On the contrary, this attack would make him give up.
If he persisted, Balzac wouldn't die—the attacker would.
But.
Curse 'Chain Damage' activates.
The same damage is inflicted on the opponent.
Damage is amplified and reflected by the Great Magic 'Reflection'!
The Creator panicked momentarily.
This phenomenon hadn't existed before the "Unique Domain" formed.
And "Great Magic"?
That wasn't all.
The Creator groaned in pain.
An incomprehensible event had occurred.
No matter how strong the link with "Balzac" had grown.
It pierced space, crossed dimensions, striking him directly.
A first since becoming a Creator.
And the pain didn't end there.
Curse 'Chain Damage' activates.
The same damage is inflicted on the opponent.
Damage is amplified and reflected by the Great Magic 'Reflection'!
It repeated.
Infinitely.
Until Balzac—until he—died.
What about the opponent?
Park Chan-woo's ear was severed, then regenerated—over and over.
A far superior great magic compared to Balzac's "Healing."
Not yet perfected as a divine power, it couldn't surpass this great magic.
Moreover, with the "Great Magic" Reflection, Balzac accumulated double the damage.
That damage transferred fully to the Creator.
The Creator had no choice but to panic.
At the cusp of True Demon transformation, when the link between Creator and Balzac was strongest.
As if planned from the start, "Reflection" triggered.
That Reflection magic pierced dimensions, inflicting amplified damage even on the Creator.
It wouldn't end.
Reflection versus Reflection—in endless battle.
But the incompletely formed True Demon Balzac couldn't withstand the amplified returning damage.
Those were his last words.
No more screams from the Creator.
Likewise, Balzac's form stopped "healing."
Thud!
Balzac collapsed.
Whoosh!
Soon, his body burst into flames.
"Tha... nks..."
Whoooosh!
With those words, Balzac's body crumbled to ash and vanished.
Ding!
An unprecedented event unfolded.
A Creator—an Abyss lord—died from direct damage.
Not by the Twelve Races, another Abyss lord, witches, or divine beasts.
...But by the hand of the weakest Earthling.