Chapter 169
Chapter 169
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Wraith of the Murder Demon
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"...What a pity."
The old knight shut his mouth completely after those words.
You could see thick tendons bulging on his jaw from how hard he was grinding his teeth.
He wasn't even looking at you anymore.
Stubbornly!
Did he lack the confidence to keep his reason while facing you directly?
To make matters worse, you could feel the gazes of those around you turning icy.
You were once again reminded, in the most unwelcome way, just how much prestige this veteran held among the older swordsmen.
From now on, you'd have to be even more wary of anyone with a sword at their waist.
You began to ponder.
Was there any way to repair your relationship with this prestigious veteran?
You gazed at the open chest.
You looked at its shattered contents inside.
Perhaps your relationship with the old man was the same.
Yes. Exactly.
There was no path to recovery.
But don't grieve too much.
Perhaps.
You and he might have saved each other without even knowing it.
The contents of that chest the old man desired might have led him to ruin, after all.
Unhappiness and happiness take different forms, don't they?
So, for now, you decide to smile.
The weather is splendid.
Though the future is pitch black.
"Torben!!!"
Frozen Breath Pallag.
For one who had mastered the ultimate cold to lose his composure was exceedingly rare.
Right now.
He had utterly lost his calm.
It wasn't because of his friend's injury.
That was certainly shocking, but—
A veteran archmage like him had seen far too much to react to every such thing.
The moment battle began, personal emotions had to be thoroughly set aside.
That was the path to the best outcome.
The archmage knew this better than anyone.
The reason even such an archmage was shocked.
'Torben getting utterly overwhelmed by a sword!?')
It was a sight that stunned even this veteran archmage of vast experience.
A man once called the Tyrant Sword.
Even if time had dulled that blade, its domineering might never faded.
Pallag, who had known Torben since his youth, knew exactly how that name "Tyrant Sword" was forged.
No tricks worked against that stubborn, unyielding sword.
A blade that never lost momentum against any foe.
That was the Gray Wolf, Torben, as Pallag knew him.
And now, Torben was coordinating perfectly with his disciple, who had inherited his style.
Across the entire continent.
How many could withstand that joint assault?
Let alone counter it in such a manner?
"Torben, you alright!?"
The archmage immediately grasped the gravity and showed fitting dismay.
"Huff...! Huff...! What in the world—...!"
Gorein, with deeper sword insight, felt even greater shock.
Even as he stanched the blood gushing from his throat wound, he was still confused, not fully grasping the situation.
'A bit deeper, and it would've been irreversible...!'
For a swordsman, fear of death was familiar.
But this inscrutability of not understanding the opponent's sword.
That was more alien and terrifying than death itself.
The face of the seasoned swordsman began to crumble under immature emotions.
A realm of mastery looking back at its rear.
Over the face of Gorein, lauded as Tyrant Sword's heir, overlaid the expression of a novice swordsman in their first real battle.
"Get a grip, Gorein!!!"
"...!"
His master's shout woke the disciple.
Before he knew it, the skeleton soldier was staring at Gorein.
Clack.
It moved, producing an eerie sound.
Torben hurriedly reset his stance.
And then.
A beat faster, frigid air welled up.
With a cracking sound, numerous ice spears formed in an instant.
They floated around Pallag and surged toward the skeleton soldier.
The skeleton's gaze remained fixed on Gorein.
Just as the cold spears flew toward the seemingly defenseless skeleton's flank—
Snap.
As if the spears had come at the skeleton's call.
The skeleton casually extended a hand forward.
The cold spear settled naturally into its grasp.
The skeleton lightly flicked its wrist.
Its ice spear spiraled, shaking off the others.
No.
It entangled the other spears.
"...!"
In the split-second clash, Pallag blinked in disbelief.
Doubting his own eyes.
The ice spears he'd launched at the skeleton were now gathered at its side.
The extreme cold was freezing the bones moment by moment, yet the skeleton paid it no mind.
How.
From that posture, immediately?
With bizarre movement evoking such questions, the skeleton had assumed a javelin stance.
Crack—
The ice spear froze the skeleton's hand in turn, gripping it reverse.
Shatter!
The skeleton merely tightened its grip, casually dispelling it.
"This—"
Humiliation joined the shock on Pallag's face.
Those ice spears seemed simple but embodied the essence of Frozen Breath magic.
Each held mana and power to freeze their massive eyeball entirely.
Yet the skeleton wielded them as its own weapon.
More precise than finger movements, more unyielding than leg thrusts.
Any object in that hand became its armament.
Even if infused with another's will and intent.
"Master..."
Torben murmured the title unconsciously while watching the skeleton's motions.
Swordmaster.
The name for those at martial arts' pinnacle.
Here and now, none fit it better than the skeleton soldier.
Whooosh!
The area's air converged on one spot.
A feeble flow, like legs grabbed and dragged.
The hand gripping the ice spear seemed to clutch the entire space.
Immense power focused in the skeleton's hand.
Pallag tried to dispel his ice spear, but it no longer heeded him.
From the moment the skeleton grasped it, it was fully its weapon.
Instead of crying out in shock and frustration, Pallag exhaled a sharp "Hah!"
The dragged air halted, forming a massive ice wall dividing the space.
It isolated Drei, his attendant Mayci, Goose, Rona, and Fienne from the skeleton.
Boom!
The roar as the wall formed praised Pallag's judgment.
The skeleton's ice spear had embedded in the ice wall blocking Drei.
"..."
Drei swallowed dryly at the spear that nearly pierced the thick wall but stopped before him.
Then.
The skeleton kicked the pile of ice spears with flashy footwork.
They scattered into the air.
Skeleton soldier.
Dancer.
The ill-fitting word briefly associated.
The skeleton's graceful movements brushed the spears.
Elbow.
Knee.
Fist.
Insteps.
They became hammers, spears the nails.
Elegant like a dancer's routine, but the sounds were crude.
Boom! The spears launched ferociously.
Clang!
Torben swung to barely deflect one.
The impact made his blade tremble violently.
The vibration drilled into his hand, spreading through his body.
Clang!
True to master and disciple.
Gorein mirrored Torben to deflect.
But due to deeper wound? Or shallow insight?
"Urk—"
The spear gouged his left shoulder deeply.
Gorein's two-handed grip faltered.
He felt no strength left in his left hand.
"Hoo...!"
Pallag gasped heavily.
His dilated pupils still held ice spear afterimages.
Pallag had barely reclaimed ownership.
What if the skeleton targeted him?
What if he were alone?
Pallag decided not to dwell.
The skeleton's offensive had just begun.
Pallag. Torben. Gorein.
They opposed the skeleton soldier as one.
Not mere numerical superiority.
They were friends and mentor-disciples.
Their coordination was impossibly tight for first-timers.
It clearly put the skeleton on the defensive.
The joint attack grew more refined.
Each exchange deepened their mutual understanding.
Yet why.
Still, they were gradually losing momentum.
While they understood each other.
The skeleton grasped them at an even faster rate.
At some point, the skeleton began using attacks for evasion.
In that flow, the three superhumans started losing their way.
"This is...!"
Unreasonable.
Torben kept repeating it inwardly.
The powerful swordsmanship he knew always had form and method.
But the skeleton swordsman's did not.
Impulsive, instinctual movements relying on sense.
Even mana control was the same.
This nature created extreme unreasonableness.
While the skeleton analyzed their forms and methods.
They could barely keep up.
The situation tilted clearly.
They united against the skeleton swordsman.
Thus.
Almost simultaneously, they reached one conclusion.
Despair.
As the skeleton dissected their gaps.
They couldn't even find its gaps, let alone a counter rule.
The scales tipped obviously.
Toward the skeleton swordsman.
"..."
Then.
The skeleton swordsman slowly bowed its head.
Moments later.
Raising it, it wore a woman's face.
A navy bob-cut woman with aloof aura.
She spoke.
"Yes. This power."
Her euphoric expression seemed intoxicated by her own strength.
She addressed Pallag.
"Mage. What do you think of this power?"
"What are you getting at."
"I too was once a mage like you."
"...What?"
"I too once believed magic's mystery the world's mightiest force. Until I beheld this wondrous being."
The woman looked down at her hands.
The gaunt bones were now covered in flawless white skin.
"Finally..."
She murmured in rapture.
Then, she raised her head, staring at them.
The skeleton soldier's deviant hunter's smile turned on them.
"...!"
Torben was momentarily awed by that smile.
That was the problem.
The instant lapse missed the woman's movement.
It forced Torben's next action.
His only permitted:应对.
Torben executed it.
Sensing his end.
"...!"
That moment.
The skeleton spun swiftly, swinging its sword.
Clang!
Rishir, now at her side, clashed blades with her.
Power collision. Two swords trembling in fierce resistance.
"No...!"
Torben shouted.
Throb! Agony flared from his left hand, ring and pinky severed.
That pain was insight.
Torben realized how dangerous clashing with that skeleton swordsman was.
Movements like a wolf lunging to bite the nape.
No form or method, yet more perilous than any formal technique—it was obvious it'd repeat.
And sure enough.
The woman's sword traced a bizarre line, entangling Rishir's.
Even that ended at lost fingers only because it was him.
Could that young swordsman protect his nape from the wolf?
Dizzy with dread, Torben's face twisted already.
That instant.
"...!?"
The woman's freely drawn—
Formless, methodless line—abruptly broke unnaturally.
Countered by a formal line—
A proper sword technique with form and method.
The woman urgently kicked off, widening distance from Rishir.
A clear line slashed her left arm.
As she stared intently at the wound—
Rishir spoke.
"Everyone, I've figured out how to counter that thing!"
"...!"
Hope bloomed on their faces.
Briefly.
Counter to a formless, methodless sword?
In that short time?
Impossible.
Likely luck exploiting a gap.
Mistake of inexperienced swordsmen, deeming coincidence truth.
"Evidence...!"
Given the situation, Torben demanded skeptically.
Stubborn tone like a master scolding a disciple.
Rishir replied.
"While you bought time, I learned from the source itself!"
"Learned from it—... Wait."
What?
The source?
Their gazes turned to the woman.
"...?"
The woman tilted her head with a crooked expression.
Me?