Chapter 127: The Lord is With Us (48)
Chapter 127: The Lord is With Us (48)
All sorts of rumors existed regarding Fiends.
In fact, it wasn't uncommon for people to doubt their very existence. It had been over a thousand years since the God-Demon War ended, and the influence of the Dark Cult had long since vanished.
However, those of noble birth knew better. They knew these creatures weren't merely legends.
Their exact strength remained a mystery.
Some said a Fiend could take on an entire knight order alone; others claimed it took a whole army to bring one down.
Regardless, everyone agreed on one thing:
They were not enemies one should face alone.
These were beings who had sacrificed something precious in exchange for power bestowed by the Evil God Omeros. They were the vanguards of Delphirem’s invasion of the surface and the masters of the demonic beasts.
Naturally, they possessed power befitting such a status.
And right now, I was realizing that fact more poignantly than anyone.
Blood traced thin lines through the air.
I had looked away for only a fraction of a second. Seizing that opening, the claws swung and left a long gash across my cheek.
If I had been a moment slower, it wouldn't have been blood spraying—my head would have burst open.
But I didn't have the luxury of calmly gauging my opponent's skill. The claws were already swinging again at high speed, aiming for my head.
If this continued, there was no way out. No matter how much I swung my sword, I was being pushed back inch by inch.
I had one sword; my opponent had two hands. That created a fundamental gap in speed.
Furthermore, the demonic beast’s arms were long, and its claws were even longer. The difference in reach was absolute.
My breath was already ragged. Scars were etched all over my body.
I was nearing my limit.
In the end, I had no choice but to throw myself back, cursing under my breath.
"…God dammit!"
It was a shout that bordered on a scream. As my body rolled across the ground, silver lines streaked through the air. A faint bluish afterglow lingered where the claws had passed.
Aura. The shimmer I had seen that night hadn't been an illusion.
Since Guildford was a powerhouse of his caliber, it made sense he could manifest Aura through his claws.
That made things even more difficult.
The Aura of a warrior who has reached the level of Sword Expert manifests their mental imagery.
In other words, it distorts reality. Senior Delphine’s Aura emitting intense heat without a heat source was one example. Guildford’s Aura was the same.
Hallucinations.
At least, that’s how it seemed to me. The positions of the claws, tracing bizarre trajectories, were slightly different from what my eyes perceived.
It seemed like a trivial ability, but battles between masters were decided by the smallest margins. A power that confused sight—the sense that accounts for the vast majority of human perception—was incredibly threatening.
Unless I closed my eyes, I couldn't free myself from the visual deception.
Yet, if I closed my eyes, I would be cutting off more than half of my senses. It was a checkmate.
Thud. The claws pierced the ground. It happened right after I had gritted my teeth and rolled out of the way.
The demonic beast let out a roar.
"Is that all you've got!"
By now, his voice was laced with the growl of a beast. Yet, human emotion still lingered within it.
Anger and regret. How ridiculous. For a mere demonic beast.
I quickly scrambled to my feet and threw a hand axe. A bolt of light shot out, tearing through the air. It happened in the blink of an eye.
Against an inexperienced swordsman, that throw would have ended the fight.
But the demonic beast responded in an unimaginable way.
He didn't respond at all. He didn't even care as the hand axe dug into his flesh.
His hide was so thick that the axe blade couldn't inflict a deep wound. Considering a Fiend's regenerative abilities, a few seconds were enough for a full recovery. Already, his flesh was bubbling as it healed.
Such a fundamental difference existed between humans and Fiends. Fighting a Fiend was a battle against common sense.
Flustered, I recalled the hand axe as originally intended. The hesitation that arose in that moment was my undoing.
While I faltered, the demonic beast lunged, his two arms carving a crooked cross in the air. As soon as claws and blade collided, sparks flew with a harsh metallic screech.
A contest of strength ensued; my arms trembled violently.
Guildford’s physical abilities, now that he had transformed into a monkey-like demonic beast, were on a different dimension. Previously, I had been the one dominating, but now the roles were reversed.
Until now, I had overcome the gap in skill by crushing my opponents with superior physical strength. But now that I had lost my only advantage, I was completely on the defensive.
I could hear the beast's fetid breath. Burning blue pupils stared into mine.
"Did I not teach you? You must watch the blade until the very end!"
The beast growled, his tone like that of a strict master rebuking a disciple.
Dumbfounded, I shouted back.
"…Are a sword and claws the same thing?!"
I say it again: I had one sword, and he had two hands. The disparity was clear.
But the beast had no intention of listening to my excuses.
With a sharp twist of his wrists, my sword became trapped between his claws. I tried to pull my arm back in a panic, but it was impossible.
A kick exploded into my solar plexus.
It was a clean strike that slipped through the gaps in my skeletal structure like an awl.
For a moment, my breath stopped. In that instant, I couldn't even feel the pain. It was a sensation as if time itself had frozen.
When I came to, I was already rolling across the ground. I had even lost my grip on my sword.
I let out a low groan. I had only allowed one hit to a vital spot, but my vision was already blurring.
The beast, who had trapped my sword between his claws, nonchalantly tossed it toward me.
The sword rolled, screeching against the ground. I crawled forward on all fours and gripped the hilt.
The moment I managed to push myself up, bluish lines rained down on my upper body as if they had been waiting.
Claws imbued with Aura. I thought I could dodge them.
I stepped back at the last second, but it was already too late.
Five streaks of blood painted the air.
It was a hallucination. The claws were positioned slightly further forward than the trajectory my eyes had captured.
My body staggered back a step. It wasn't a fatal wound, but it was a deep gash.
The sudden blood loss made my head spin. Even so, I gritted my teeth and tried to swing my sword.
If only the blade hadn't been trapped between those crossing claws again.
The following strike was obvious. Another kick digging into my solar plexus.
The 'Shield of Faith' had long since shattered. My internal organs, unable to withstand the impact, ruptured in a mess.
Blood welled up in my throat. My vision grew even dimmer.
It was a struggle just to catch my breath.
It hurt; it was agonizing. I wanted to close my eyes and find peace.
What jolted my fading consciousness was the sound of metal scraping against the ground once more.
My unfocused eyes turned toward the source. My sword had been tossed toward me again.
The beast looked down at me with those burning blue pupils.
"…Is that it?"
A hollow laugh escaped my lips.
Blood filled my mouth. With jaw muscles that trembled from exhaustion, I spat the blood out.
Then, I crawled again and gripped the sword.
I could barely keep my balance. My leg muscles quivered as if screaming that they had reached their limit.
But I stood up. Using the sword as a cane, I gritted my teeth.
With a precarious motion, I pointed the tip of my sword at the beast. That was my answer.
The beast nodded once, as if he had expected nothing less. Then, a sharp, murderous intent surged toward me.
I forced my eyes wide, watching the trajectory until the end.
The basis of Striking Later but Arriving First lies in seeing the flow. Taking a step forward, you spin along that flow.
Yes, that was how it had to be.
But in the gap where I tried to rotate my body, another kick slammed into me.
This time, it was my side. It wasn't a vital spot, but to me, with my organs already ruptured, it was a death blow.
My body rolled across the ground again. Now, I didn't even have the strength to stand.
The assessment from my master-turned-monster was cold.
"…You were slow. You hesitated at the last moment again."
Life is precious, so isn't that only natural?
I wanted to retort mockingly, but I stopped. To be more precise, I didn't even have the energy for that.
My eyes began to close. Strength slowly drained from my entire body as if a cozy sleep were approaching.
I shouldn't… do this.
I heard the sound of an uproar. Shouts and the clashing of metal—there were people waiting for me.
But my eyelids were too heavy. Drowsiness washed over me.
The moment I closed my eyes.
"…Practice Obedience."
A voice struck my ears like a thunderclap, and I snapped awake.
The world collapsed like dominoes. Memories flooded in, white and overwhelming, overlaying my fading consciousness.
It was a scene featuring a man and a woman.
The man was pinned to the ground, groaning. Judging by his distorted face, he seemed to be in great pain.
With a groan, he muttered in a sulky voice.
"No, really… does getting thrown like this actually help learn martial arts?"
It was a cynical question, but the woman only gave a smug, triumphant smile.
She was dusting off her hands. That alone made it clear who had slammed the man into the dirt.
Looking down at the sprawled man, the woman spoke.
"Is there something the great Crow, who scours all corners of the continent, doesn't know?"
"…If I really knew everything, would I be wandering all over the place?"
At the man's blunt reply, the woman let out a clear laugh, as if she had heard a funny joke.
After wearing a joyful expression for a moment, she soon admonished the man in a low voice.
"The subtleties of martial arts cannot be explained by theory alone. You must understand the ideological roots to truly master the history and intent behind them. Among them, 'Obedience' is the core of the Holy Kingdom's secret martial arts."
"…Doesn't it feel futile?"
It was a sudden question.
The woman blinked, looking a bit surprised, and stared intently at the man.
The man caught his breath and asked again.
"In the end, doesn't it mean you just have to do as God wills? It seems like it would be futile if you ended up dying because of it."
"Hmm," the woman hummed curiously, shifting her gaze slightly.
Then, with an inscrutable smile, she walked slowly toward the man with her hands behind her back.
"What if even that is my own will?"
"Even so…"
A shadow fell over the man's face.
The woman's playful smile filled the man's pupils. The man fell silent.
Whether it was because she was so beautiful, or for some other reason.
He looked away, seemingly embarrassed.
"Shh," the woman whispered, placing her index finger to her nose. "When you feel doubt, remember these words. This, too, is the core of the Holy Kingdom's secret."
"…What words?"
The woman looked down at the man with clear eyes. Their shadows slowly overlapped.
"…Immanuel (God is with us)."
I don't know if you'll be able to understand the meaning, she added, her sweet voice soaking into his ears.
Once again, the world collapsed.
Guildford looked down at Ian in silence.
He was a strong man. Whether in martial prowess or mental imagery, he was formidable.
But even that strong man had been defeated. Such was the power bestowed by the Evil God Omeros.
Blood had already soaked the dirt floor. A trail of blood trickled from the corner of Ian's mouth, as he failed to spit out the remnants of his ruptured organs.
It was over.
Based on long experience and beastly intuition, Guildford made a rational judgment.
No matter how strong a human was, they couldn't survive with that much blood loss and shattered internal organs.
Even if he didn't die immediately, he would stop breathing on his own in a few minutes. There was no need for Guildford to personally take his life.
Guildford disliked killing. Especially taking the life of a young man he had once felt affection for.
Of course, it was a hypocritical thought. Nevertheless, Guildford wanted to maintain at least that shell of humanity.
Just as Guildford turned his back, intending to deal with the rest of the group—
"Haaa… ugh……."
Ian's groan caught the Fiend's footsteps.
He's making a sound?
Guildford's eyes turned back, filled with doubt. A human on the verge of death might groan, but they couldn't show such clear breathing.
Guildford's movements stopped as he reflexively looked back. His eyes widened.
An unidentified liquid was flowing. It wasn't blood. Only then did he notice the glass shards scattered on the ground.
Guildford's brow furrowed.
"…A healing potion?"
That was impossible; potion bottles were carefully crafted so they wouldn't break during combat. They wouldn't shatter from something like this.
However, the sight of the man twitching and convulsing clearly testified that the liquid was indeed a healing potion.
While Guildford hesitated in confusion, the man's hand slapped against the ground.
Staggering, the man pushed himself up. Only then could Guildford look Ian directly in the eyes.
Golden eyes, burning intensely.
It was a gaze a despairing human could never possess. The flickering hostility and determination made a chill run down Guildford's spine.
Even as he stood, he collapsed several times.
His muscles must have felt as heavy as lead, and even if he had performed emergency treatment with a healing potion, it was only enough to keep him clinging to life.
Further combat should have been impossible. That was the common sense Guildford had acquired over decades.
Then why was that man struggling so hard to stand?
Fear of the unknown seized Guildford. His reason told him to stab the man to death immediately, but his instinct held him back.
After several attempts, Ian finally stood.
Ragged breath, eyes so soaked in blood that he couldn't even see properly.
Anyone could see he was at his limit. Nevertheless, he managed a faint smile.
"…Come."
The moment he heard those words, Guildford couldn't suppress the surge of emotion.
He couldn't even identify what it was. But the intuition pounding wildly in his brain was telling him:
He had to kill him. if not now, he would never be able to kill him.
His feet kicked off the ground. In a span of time too short to be divided, Guildford's arm was already fully extended.
Including the claws, the reach was nearly two meters.
An insurmountable difference in reach, and Ian's response was even late.
It was only natural that he should be stabbed to death.
But in the next moment.
Time stopped. Swimming through that stillness was only the man's body.
Like a fish riding a current, Ian's body spun.
It was a close call. If he had spun even a moment earlier, he would have been countered; a moment later, and he would have been pierced.
It was as if Guildford had touched a frictionless sphere. No resistance was transmitted to Guildford's arm.
Guildford realized instinctively what the following linked movement would be.
Ian's sword, cutting through the time lag, swung horizontally.
The subtlety of Striking Later but Arriving First, dividing life and death.
Secret Technique: Turning Cut.
Guildford, whose eyes had widened for an instant, could only wear a satisfied smile.
It was perfect.
More than perfect.