Chapter 673: The Tower Without a Ceiling and the Intermingling Humans - 4
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 673: The Tower Without a Ceiling and the Intermingling Humans - 4
A paladin charged, swinging his arm wide. His movements played out in my mind. The cross-sword, with its wide blade, was heavy and slow, and its long guard telegraphed the blade’s path.
Even without my mind-reading ability, I could have easily dodged it. A shame. If I did, everyone would just chalk it up to my powers.
I raised my skewer and blocked the cross-sword. Sparks flew as the skewer scraped violently against the blade, which was wide enough to reflect my face. Power is proportional to weight, and the hefty sword pushed me back. At close range, our eyes met.
‘His movements are impressive, but a mage is still just a mage! I’ll overpower him with sheer force!’
He slammed his body into me, shoulder-first. It was a simple but powerful move. Such a reckless charge was backed by his faith in his combat precognition and the healing powers of the priests.
Let's see what those limits are.
Thud. The paladin’s shoulder guard slammed into my abdomen. My muscles crumpled against the steel. It hurt like hell. But I had drawn him in exactly as far as I wanted.
‘He’s solid…! It’s not Qi Art! What is this? It feels like I’m fighting a powerful beast!’
As he hesitated for a moment, I seized the cross-sword with my bare hand. Blood dripped from my cut palm, but the paladin’s sword was now caught in my grip, unable to move.
I yanked on the sword, retrieved my skewer, and thrust it toward the paladin’s temple. The sharp point shot forward with the speed of lightning.
‘Death!’
Combat precognition. Warned of his impending death, the paladin desperately twisted away. He shoved me again with his shoulder and jerked his head aside to avoid the fatal blow. Simultaneously, he unleashed his Qi to its limits, enveloping himself in a defensive aura. A paladin’s Qi Art isn’t flexible, but it is incredibly solid, capable of blocking blades on its own.
Tch. No good. I flipped my grip on the skewer.
‘…The vision?!’
He saw death. Once he prepared for it, there was no need to follow through. Instead of his temple, I targeted his fingers. The skewer slid like a snake between the hands gripping the cross-sword, then I stabbed and twisted, prying his fingers open.
With his Qi focused on protecting his head, the paladin’s grip had weakened, and I snatched the cross-sword from him with absurd ease.
A swordsman losing his sword, or a priest losing his cross. Which is more humiliating? I don’t know, but this paladin just experienced both. How does it feel? Humiliating, isn't it?
‘What in the world is this bizarre technique?! He used the skewer to break my grip, and in the split second it loosened, he wrapped his fingers around the hilt and snatched it away! It’s like he’s spent his entire life training just to disarm people!’
Is this really the time for that? You just got disarmed.
“Brother, look out!”
Just as I raised my skewer to finish him off, I was interrupted. Two other paladins thrust their cross-swords at me. It was an attack I couldn’t block with a single skewer, so I shoved the disarmed paladin away and retreated.
This is getting tricky.
Their combat precognition makes one-hit kills impossible. Any wound that isn’t immediately fatal is healed instantly. I should be able to overwhelm them with superior strength and skill, but with the support of their priests, the paladins move as a single unit, covering for one another.
No wonder nobody likes fighting paladins. They read my every move, block even the most perfectly timed surprise attacks, and a war of attrition is useless against them. It’s a disgusting feeling, like being slowly dragged down to defeat.
“Those aren’t the movements of a mage. Are you all right, brother?”
“Be careful…! He sees through my every move. He strikes at openings in a profane and insidious way, and worst of all… he’s twisting our combat precognition!”
“Twisting the Sky God’s revelation? What are you talking about? How can a mere mortal defy a power granted by the Sky God himself?”
“He’s not defying it! You’ll understand when you face him! That man… he’s like a demon!”
Still, paladins are all defense and no offense. If I can just find a way around their combat precognition, this will be easy.
The problem is that their combat precognition is a power from the Sky God. It’s a force that has become a law unto itself, a system named ‘Sky God’ that symbolizes the Sanctum itself.
Can I really overcome something like that? Sigh.
“Hold fast to your faith! He is a demon. Do not be deceived! Forward!”
“The Sky God watches over us!”
Brimming with faith, the paladins bolstered each other’s resolve, formed up, and began to press their attack.
*
“It’s no use. Not you.”
Intensity is an emotion born of conflict, of clashing and friction.
That was why Lankart Spendry was so impassive. Heat and intensity were concepts that had nothing to do with him. Even standing before a cardinal who had received a revelation from the Sky God—a being at the apex of power and authority—Lankart remained cold.
“I told you, right-handers cannot invade my world. Force won’t work. Not even if you’re the Sky God himself.”
“Silence, you blasphemer!”
Cardinal Elton leaped dozens of meters in a single bound. Empowered by the revelation, he could do anything. When he stomped, the earth rose to support him. When he kicked off the ground, the wind propelled him forward. A shimmering light formed a spotlight wherever he gazed.
Cardinal Elton’s victory was assured. As long as the revelation was with him, he could never know defeat.
But his opponent was Lankart Spendry.
Tantalus—the dumping ground for all the remnants of the old kingdom, for all its evil, filth, and blasphemy. The prisoners trapped there had festered for over a decade, growing ever more vicious, their eyes bloodshot as they sought to devour one another.
The strongest mage in the Military State, who had descended into that hell alone, slaughtered all who resisted him, and then calmly walked out.
Lankart Spendry.
“Most of the strong ones are right-handed, you see.”
As he charged, Cardinal Elton realized his body was somehow curving to the right. He was moving forward, yet the distance between him and Lankart refused to shrink. He was orbiting the mage like a planet around the sun.
Lankart flicked his right hand toward him.
‘The revelation…!’
Cardinal Elton had once been a monk, and combat precognition was his to command. But since becoming a cardinal, his life had never been in direct danger, so the ability had likely lain dormant.
But within Lankart’s unique magic, he sensed ‘death’ in that simple flick of a finger. The holy gauntlet moved on its own, enveloping his body.
A powerful shockwave erupted from Lankart, passed through the World of the Right-Handed, and slammed into the cardinal. It was like being struck by a cannonball. A series of explosions rang out, and Cardinal Elton’s massive frame was thrown back like a toy.
The torn and tattered holy gauntlet disintegrated. The Holy Power surrounding Elton healed his wounds, but the shock that had rocked his entire body brought him to a standstill.
Through it all, Lankart spoke, seemingly unimpressed.
“Come to think of it, isn’t it written in your holy book? That God holds the right side in high esteem.”
In the distant past, such stories existed. The right was considered the direction of happiness, honor, and good fortune, and the seat at the right hand of the Sky God was recorded as the most glorious position of all. Conversely, the left was often considered evil and demonic.
Though factions that interpreted the doctrine differently had since arisen, Cardinal Elton retorted.
“God has no limits. The Sky God views left and right as equal. The preference for the right is nothing more than an order imposed by ignorant mortals like us!”
God was absolute; any perceived lack was simply due to the insufficient faith of mortals. Cardinal Elton recited the doctrine he held dear. An absolute being would have no preference for one side. If truly omnipotent, He would treat left and right as equals.
Lankart scoffed at his words.
“The fact that you even have to say that proves you’re wrong. The right and the left are not equal.”
“…What do you mean?”
Lankart quietly raised his right hand.
A mage’s unique magic is their interpretation of the world’s form. A mage who analyzes the world and draws close to its source eventually learns to project their inner world onto reality. This act of overwriting the world’s rules with their own—that is unique magic.
That is why there is a saying among mages.
The more powerful a mage’s unique magic, the more profoundly they understand the principles of the world.
Lankart was an insolent and arrogant man, but he was respected for one reason: his unique magic was among the most powerful in the entire Floating Castle.
Some questioned what profound principle a mere ‘World of the Right-Handed’ could possibly embody, but Lankart paid them no mind. To him, the words of fools who failed to grasp such a simple truth were no different from the barBeast King.
Lankart stated firmly.
“Because God is right-handed.”
*
“Hah, hngh!”
“Pant, pant…”
Contrary to their esteemed reputation, the paladins were more accustomed to defeat than to victory.
First, paladins did not fight the weak. If their opponents possessed faith and showed courtesy, the paladins would treat them as kind brothers. They only faced powerful and troublesome foes: great evils, heretics, users of black magic, and wielders of the Arcane. They fought more losing battles than they won.
Paladins were more skilled in defense than offense. Their combat precognition, healing abilities, and holy Qi were all excellent, but reactive. They could maintain an advantage throughout a fight, but they lacked the power to deliver a finishing blow.
Besides, they were inherently limited, having embraced faith instead of their own principles. If they were truly strong, they would have had no need to become paladins.
But paladins did not fear defeat. They had fought for their faith their entire lives, and they believed that even if they died, their sacrifice would become the cornerstone of a new future.
However.
“A… demon!”
Facing this one man, for the first time, they felt fear.
‘The revelation is useless!’
Their combat precognition was useless.
No, it worked. It worked, but he mocked it, toying with them. He would press an attack with genuine killing intent, pushing them to the brink of death, but the moment they foresaw it and blocked, he would withdraw his intent as if it were all a feint and take some other advantage instead.
The man, still wearing that inscrutable smile, sighed.
“Do I really look like a demon? That’s a bit harsh. I haven’t even killed one of you yet.”
As he spoke, he suddenly leaned in. A startled paladin swung his cross-sword in a textbook-perfect diagonal slash, putting the full weight of the thick blade into the attack.
He blocked the incoming blade with his sleeve. A mere piece of cloth shouldn’t have been able to stop a blade wreathed in Qi. Shaking off his fear, the paladin pressed the attack, intending to slice through sleeve and all. The holy blade made contact with his arm.
Or so it should have.
Shhhlick. The sleeve dissolved into dozens of falling cards made of flattened steel. I don’t know where they came from, but the overlapping cards had blocked the blade like scale mail.
“Kugh!”
Normally, one would still feel the impact through armor, but this man was anything but normal. Unafraid of being cut, he trapped the cross-sword under his arm, yanked the paladin forward, and thrust out his skewer. It shot up like a bolt of lightning, aimed straight between the paladin’s eyes.
Sensing mortal danger, the paladin’s combat precognition showed him his fate. He quickly threw up an elbow to shield his face.
“Oh, dear. I was just kidding. You’re far too jumpy.”
A faint sneer. In that same instant, the skewer changed its target. The paladin didn’t even realize what was happening. He felt a sharp impact on his elbow, and suddenly his cross-sword was gone. With incredible dexterity, the man twirled the weapon before tossing it aside.
He was blatantly targeting their cross-swords—the symbols of their faith and their very weapons. It was as if he were mocking them, asking, Is this the extent of your devotion?
But it was a mockery they could not overcome.
This man rendered their combat precognition—the very power of their faith—useless. The moment they reacted to a vision, he would change his target and go for their swords. It was as if he were intentionally trying to deny God himself.
No, that was precisely his intention.
“Don’t stop, brothers!”
One of the paladins shouted, mustering his courage.
“That man is trying to defile our faith! Do not fear death! Forward! Surround him!”
True to his word, the paladin charged forward valiantly. And once again, a vision of combat came to him: the skewer thrusting forward to pierce the space between his eyes.
‘A vision of death…! But it has to be another feint! I won’t fall for it this time!’
It had been the same every time. If he followed the vision and dodged, the man would change his attack as if he’d anticipated it. The initial attack was always a feint, ready to be withdrawn at a moment’s notice.
It would be the same this time. So, he would ignore the vision and charge straight ahead.
‘Sky God, forgive my blasphemy!’
The cold skewer plunged into the head of the paladin who had abandoned his faith for a moment, all for the sake of that same faith.