Chapter 122
Translator: penny
Chapter: 122
Chapter Title: Savage Domain: Priella Atria (4)
The world is gray.
For Priella Atria, a mercenary of the Eight Sword Council, the world she faced had always been gray from the start.
She could not distinguish 'colors'.
Seeing or perceiving the vibrant hues filling the world was a realm forbidden to her.
Priella had lived her entire life in a gray world.
She had always swung her sword alone in a drab, dark world.
Everything visible to her eyes was gray.
The rainbow draping across the sky, the red sunset settling in the evening, even the lake under the cover of night.
To a certain mercenary wrapped in a black muffler, they were all merely uniform parts of the landscape.
—"Did you see the path of the sword I swung?"
Yet, in her life, there had been one single time—.
Priella Atria had once beheld true 'color' with her own eyes.
The perfect trajectory of a sword swung by a great swordsman.
A single stroke, beautiful and vivid, that no swordsman in the world could deny.
At the end of that trajectory, she had seen rippling colors.
'I want to grasp that color with my own hands.'
She couldn't precisely know what color it was.
Perhaps it was merely Priella's own illusion.
However, the glittering sword path that day was the sole light in Priella's life.
Thus, Priella learned the sword.
To draw that radiant light with her own hands—.
She swung her sword every day without fail.
Swordsmanship alone was the only light in Priella's life.
Struggling while wielding the sword was the sole driving force in Priella Atria's existence.
To reach that radiant light.
With that as her only goal, Priella prepared to swing her sword once more today.
"Keep chasing them. Don't let them escape."
—Caw—!
In the back alleys of a city blanketed in pure white snow.
Priella's blue eyes pursued the distant figures of the barbarians.
Eyes that held colors unknown to her began gauging the distance between her enemies and herself.
Tadadadak—.
Priella's form, kicking off the ground and charging forward, accelerated even more.
The fierce wind brushed her cheek, tousling her hair.
'No matter how tricky the opponents, they should be easier than Isaac Leoblant.'
Click—.
As her legs gained maximum speed, Priella's hand reached for the demon sword at her waist.
A preparatory stance to draw the sword.
At the same moment, memories of the Great Forest flashed through Priella's mind.
—The leader of the Brotherhood, Isaac Leoblant.
The seven-cornered demon swordsman she had faced in the elves' forest.
The battle with Isaac in the Great Forest had been her most painful defeat.
She could never suffer such a powerless loss again.
Thus, she had never neglected honing her sword for even a single day.
"That crow from earlier, Korkia!"
"A spirit appeared...? So it was pursuing us after all!"
Rough accents echoed from beyond the corner.
The two had noticed the pursuit by the crow spirit.
Hoo—.
Priella, inhaling deeply, prepared to draw her sword.
Countless pieces of information swirled around her as she gripped the hilt.
The flow of the crowd.
The overflowing killing intent.
Analyzing it all, her legs accelerated further, chasing the enemies she would soon face.
—"[Demon Sword] activation."
Wuuuuung—.
A faint vibration spread from her fingertips gripping Regulus outward.
No matter how many times she experienced it, it was an incredibly pleasant sensation.
Was this the scenery only swordsmen who had reached the pinnacle could behold?
Kwaang—!
Priella's silver form, kicking off the ground and accelerating, drew her sword and glared at the enemies beyond the corner.
"Korkia! We just need to beat that spirit to death, right?!"
"You think that crap works on a spirit, you idiot—!"
"Then what do we do?! You wanna keep getting chased like this?!"
"Contractor! We have to kill that spirit's contractor! There's probably an elf around here—!"
Amid the shifting scenery, Priella's eyes locked onto her foes.
The enemies reflected in her vision numbered two.
One was an old woman holding a bizarre staff.
The other was a hulking youth with a massive axe slung over his shoulder.
In her shaking field of view, Priella's sword judged priorities.
'That old woman is more dangerous.'
The instincts of a mercenary who had roamed battlefields for years told her so.
More than the warrior overflowing with uncontainable power, the old woman beside him posed the greater threat.
Ever since obtaining the demon sword Regulus, raw strength was no longer an issue.
Thus, the staff-wielding old woman needed to be eliminated first.
"Hoo...!"
The deeply inhaled breath infused oxygen throughout her body.
Her bloodstream accelerated, her heart pounding fiercely.
Sring—.
The emerging blade traced a sharp trajectory, aiming at the enemy who had yet to notice her.
One step forward.
Her leg, descending toward the ground, soon kicked off, propelling her straight ahead.
Kwaaaaang—!
Priella's sword, shattering the pavement as she advanced, swung toward the old woman's neck before her eyes.
"This...!"
"......"
In the slowing time, the flustered old woman's face turned toward Priella.
Swoosh—.
The sleek black blade was drawn inexorably toward its mark.
It was already too late for the old woman to respond.
Unless she had some pre-prepared defense, blocking Priella's sword was impossible.
Just as Priella's sword was about to swiftly cleave the enemy before her.
"Korkia—!"
With a sudden shout, the barbarian warrior beside the old woman shoved her aside.
Puk—!
Immense power erupted from his hand, barely pushing the old woman outward.
The old woman's face twisted in pain from the impact, one shoulder crumpling under the force.
"Kugh...!"
The barbarian warrior, having shoved the old woman out of harm's way, now eyed Priella warily.
However, it was too late to retract his extended arm.
Seruk—.
A sharp flash gleamed, and the warrior's hand was severed, blood spraying.
The enemy's eyes, brimming with dense killing intent, glared at Priella as he desperately swung his severed arm at her.
"You damn bitch...!"
"......"
Whoooong—!
Priella swiftly retreated, dodging the arm swung with ferocious force despite the severed wrist.
Thud, clack—.
Backing away three steps in an instant, Priella looked at the barbarian warrior before her and voiced her dissatisfaction.
"I was planning to take one out first... This is a bit tricky now."
Her plan to eliminate the old woman with the first strike and proceed had gone awry.
All because of the barbarian right in front of her.
Yet the opponent standing before Priella showed no sign of flinching, even with one hand gone.
Swiik—.
The barbarian warrior aimed his massive axe at Priella with his remaining hand and shouted.
"Korkia! If you're not dead, staunch my arm right now!"
"Kuh, ugh... You should've pushed with a bit more restraint...!"
"If I hadn't pushed, you'd be dead, you old hag!"
The old woman, Korkia, embedded in the wall, grumbled in discontent, but he paid her no mind.
One might think their bond was close since he saved her life, but apparently not.
Click—.
As Priella, having failed to kill Korkia, reset her stance.
The old woman pinned to the wall extended her hand toward the barbarian warrior and shouted.
—"Boil! Ignite!"
"Kuhhhuugh...!"
Sizzle—.
A acrid smell spread as the barbarian warrior grimaced briefly.
Soon after, the man, exhaling heavily, lifted his head with a demonic expression.
"Haa, ha...!"
Had the cauterization ended through that crude process?
No more blood flowed from his blackened, glowing forearm.
Hwik—.
Having treated his arm through such an extreme method, the barbarian warrior glared at Priella with murderous eyes and spoke.
"A warrior of Barkat, one of the Federation's Five Tusks—."
"......"
"—Woki of the Baltur Tribe asks the Empire's warrior."
With the crudely forged axe between them, their gazes met.
"Tell me your name—."
A question demanding her name.
In response, Priella pointed her sword and replied.
"Priella Atria."
"Right, Priella—."
Whooong—.
The sound of an axe swung with one hand echoed.
"From now on, I'll crush you with my axe."
Amid the sharp whoosh, the two charged at each other, eyes locked.
With introductions done, only one thing followed.
The time for combat.
* * * * * *
Woki of the Baltur Tribe, one of the Erbar Federation's Five Tusks, was renowned even within the Federation for his exceptional might.
His robust strength could lift house-sized boulders, and even deeply rooted trees could not withstand Woki's power.
He was a warrior deemed unbeatable in strength by all upon Mother Earth, save the Great Chieftain.
Such was Woki.
Throughout his life, he had overwhelmed countless foes with his terrifying power.
Pure strength.
Overwhelming, domineering power.
Woki's enemies fell before his valor and brute force without any resistance.
Moreover, he did not stop there; he had tattoos etched on his back to amplify his strength.
Each time Woki felled an enemy and bathed in their blood, these tattoos converted the feat into greater power through sorcery.
'No one but the Great Chieftain can match my strength—.'
Woki's power, forged through countless battlefields, had long surpassed human limits.
No valiant warrior could oppose him in raw strength, nor could any superior technique withstand it.
Thus, if he swung his axe with full force, no one from the Empire should have been able to block it.
Surely, that should have been the case.
'And yet—it should have been, but—.'
However, this time, a different outcome unfolded before him.
Woki himself was being utterly dominated in pure strength.
Kaang, kang—!
Sparks flew from the axe with each clash, pushing Woki's body back bit by bit.
It was bizarre.
He, who allowed no one to follow in strength, was being outmatched in brute force.
Especially since his opponent was not some massive man, but a girl who looked several heads shorter than him—it was utterly incomprehensible.
"Why...!"
—Priella Atria.
The sword of the girl who called herself a mercenary blocked Woki's axe head-on.
Kikikikik—.
The blade radiating red waves pushed back Woki's axe with absurd force.
"Why am I... being pushed back in strength...!"
It was incomprehensible.
An unacceptable scene.
An unknown power bursting from her petite frame mockingly parried Woki's axe blows.
An impossible strength flowed from Priella's body.
Kung—!
With a heavy impact, she shoved Woki back several steps.
"Th-this can't be...!"
"......"
"This can't happen! It can't...!"
Thud, clack—.
Stumbling but barely regaining balance, Woki groaned.
He denied the reality before his eyes.
He was Woki, called one of the Five Tusks in the Federation—no one else.
Woki, the mightiest warrior, right-hand man to Great Chieftain Partlinger, the Great Warrior of Mother Earth.
Yet he couldn't overpower this girl whose size differed by several folds.
If other warriors knew, they would mock him.
They might even try to oust him from the Five Tusks.
"How... am I being outmatched in strength...!"
"......"
"What trickery is this, wench...!"
Wuuuuung—.
Priella gripped her red-glowing sword, her impassive expression fixed on Woki.
As if this situation were only natural, she spoke to him with an unchanging face.
"Weak."
"Ugh...!"
"With such reliance on brute force, you'll never improve further."
Swish—.
Priella spun her sword and assumed her stance.
As if intending to finish Woki with the next strike.
Watching this, Woki ground his teeth.
Kaddduk—.
Gnashing so hard his teeth might shatter, Woki glared at Priella with a face steeped in humiliation.
'Weak? Me? One of the Five Tusks is weak...!'
Everything Woki had built over his lifetime was denied.
His strength denied.
His history of combat denied.
Had he ever felt such humiliating emotion?
Kwaaaak—.
Gripping his axe tightly, Woki turned to Korkia nearby and shouted.
"Curse... Curse that woman, Korkia!"
Korkia, the Federation's great sorceress.
He ordered her to curse Priella.
However, Korkia's expression upon hearing Woki was far from pleased.
Instead, she fumbled in her pouch with a troubled look, preparing something.
"What are you doing, Korkia—!"
"I've tried several times already! I've hurled curses at her...!"
"What? Then why...!"
Swiik—.
Frowning, Korkia pointed at the crow floating in the sky.
"Spirit... It's a spirit!"
"......"
"The spirit's blocking the curses heading for that woman! She's the spirit user—!"
Korkia's resounding voice carried a shocking truth.
Priella's true identity.
That she was actually a spirit user.
"Korkiaaa—! You said only those pointy-eared bastards can handle spirits...!"
"How should I know if that woman has even a drop of elven blood?!"
So the woman was a spirit user, a swordsman, doing it all solo.
The two's panicked voices echoed.
Sring—.
Yet even amid this, Priella's sharp sword remained steadily aimed at Woki.
"You're talentless—."
"You... you damned bitch...!"
Woki raised his axe with trembling hands.
Haa, ha—.
His ragged breaths spread as steam.
He was afraid.
Woki, who had chased combat his whole life, now feared the defeat approaching him.
"But I'm merciful. I'll send you off cleanly."
"Shut up—!"
Amid the fierce shout, their bodies moved.
Legs kicking off the ground.
Echoing whooshes.
Clashing gazes.
Diverging paths.
In the brief crossing moment, they lunged at each other.
"Ah...!"
"Secret Sword, Form 3—."
Sring—.
A single instant sword strike.
Afterward, Woki's vision tilted.
Thud—.
The barbarian warrior's eyes beheld the scene on the ground.
"......"
For the first time in his life, he tasted defeat.
It was his final defeat.