Chapter 81
Chapter 81
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 81
Chapter Title: S2. A Lament Directed to the Stars -4
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Is it the arrogance of the strong, or is he simply adapting to his mutated flesh?
The cult leader, twisted into an inhuman shape, didn't move a muscle. If it was the latter, they needed to strike before he grew accustomed to this altered body. Yet Bennett dashed toward Nioire.
He sliced away the protruding shard of the elongated bone spear with his longsword and supported the collapsing Nioire. He didn't pull out the spear. There were no priests with healing abilities here, so they couldn't afford the blood loss.
"...Can you stay conscious?"
"......"
Nioire nodded with effort. Strength was draining from her body, her vision blurring, but the pain—like a red-hot poker searing her flesh—sharpened her sight again. The agony actually helped keep her aware.
Bennett picked up the Goddess's Crystal. Then he muttered vaguely.
"Nioire, please."
"......?"
What was he asking? How? It was all too vague.
The amount of mana emanating from Bennett surged exponentially. Mana light leaked through his skin in waves. Cloaked in a subtle golden glow, he charged at the cult leader.
Thud.
At the sound of something dropping, Nioire looked down.
The Goddess's Crystal, still radiating light. It seemed Bennett had dropped it. She carefully picked it up and checked the remaining mana. It was barely depleted.
"......"
Was the Goddess's Crystal nearly infinite, like a dragon heart battery? No, that couldn't be. If it held that much power, they would've summoned a meteor by now.
Bennett had only pretended to use the Goddess's Crystal.
That meant his mana amplification came from the black mages' forbidden art—scraping away at his own soul to fuel it. Bennett was burning his soul and lifespan in real time. He shone brighter than anyone, but it was little more than a flashy suicide.
Nioire's heart sank.
Bennett had slipped her the unused Goddess's Crystal without the cult leader noticing. There could only be one reason. She had to become the deadly hidden blade.
Nioire tucked the Goddess's Crystal behind her back and began chanting. Her eyes desperately fixed on Bennett's life-burning struggle.
Catching two hares at once is no easy feat, and trying to master both swordsmanship and magic often leaves you half-baked at both. If you're mediocre at either, it's better to focus on just one.
A person's mana capacity is finite, which is a fatal flaw. Swordplay consumes mana, spells consume mana. Using both doubles the drain.
Yet what can a perfected magic swordsman achieve, overcoming all these hurdles?
A red flash pierced the eyelids, searing the corneas and blurring his vision.
The ground where the cult leader stepped sank deep, disrupting his balance. His whip-like right arm, aimed at Bennett, struck empty air.
As his right arm smashed the ground, sending shattered stone and dust flying, Bennett redirected the debris into the cult leader's face for another disruption. He froze the joints to slow his movements, then leaped high.
He drove a mana blade, its cutting power maximized, into the cult leader's nape at three meters high.
Weaving spells organically to create openings and land effective hits. A perfected magic swordsman could hold their own against superior foes.
But.
Kagagagak!
Though it was flesh of blood and meat, the empowered slash barely carved a finger's depth. Enough for a human, but insufficient against a monster.
Even with soul-burning amplification boosting all spells, failing to land a solid hit was dire.
Defeat flashed through Bennett's mind, but he shook it off. No time for that.
Creaaak.
The cult leader's mouth gaped wide—his upper jaw flipping back entirely. A sinister glow flickered deep in his throat.
A chill of impending doom raised the hairs on Bennett's neck.
In midair, Bennett tied a mana rope to his longsword's hilt and hurled it like a boomerang.
The spinning blade wrapped the rope around the cult leader's ankle once, then Bennett yanked hard, propelling himself downward.
Kuuaaaaaak!
A mana blast erupted from the cult leader's mouth, piercing where Bennett had been. The ground bubbled and boiled, soil evaporating into gas. The cult leader swiveled his neck to track Bennett.
Zizizizik!
The boulder-melting beam chased Bennett. He kicked off the cult leader's calf, grabbed a wing bone, and clung to his back. Bennett steadied his ragged breath.
Using the cult leader as cover, that mana blast wouldn't hit him...
Creaaak.
The cult leader's upper body tore open like unraveling thread, a literal hole forming. Bennett blinked in panic.
"...Kuh, is your body slime or something?!"
Bennett pulled himself up by the wing bone. Gathering all his mana into his legs, he back-kicked the cult leader's lolling head.
Kwaang! Giiiieee!
An inhuman clash of head and leg slammed the gaping mouth shut. An explosion burst inside, blowing the head apart.
Kuung!
The shock hurled Bennett into the ground.
"...Guh!"
His back slamming down forced the air from his lungs. Bennett gritted his teeth and rose. Normally, you'd call it dead with its head gone, but...
This thing was beyond human. No room for complacency. While it reeled headless, pile on the damage.
"Hng..."
Shaking off the shock rippling through him, Bennett forced himself up.
Bubbling. Bubbles boiled from the cult leader's neck stump as the head regenerated. Bennett gripped his longsword, targeting the legs. Cripple mobility to seize control.
Drag it out. Head-on was unwinnable; extend the tightrope walk on borrowed time. Target the legs.
A slashing strike barely scratched a finger deep, so for real damage, a long-cast spell.
Headless, plenty of time to chant...
As he prepared ⟨Lava Blade⟩—ten seconds of casting—for the legs, a chill made him dodge back.
Dozens of eyes sprouted across the cult leader's body.
Poof!
A tentacle whipped at unseen speed, cracking the earth before retracting.
Shlick!
Bennett's left arm flew into the sky.
"......!!"
Watching the fight, Nioire screamed silently. The severed arm tumbled to the ground.
A clean cut from the shoulder, like a blade's work. Before blood spurted, Bennett clutched the stump and cauterized it. The smell of burning meat filled the air.
Cold sweat trickled down Bennett's contorted cheek. A split-second slower, and he'd have traded arm for life.
The cult leader sprouted a mouth near his shoulder and spoke.
"Quick reflexes."
"...What the hell are you? You've abandoned humanity."
"I thought you'd let your guard down with my head gone, but you've got quite the imagination. Still... playtime's over. The god was getting bored."
Bennett forced a smirk.
"For someone saying that, haven't you just been taking hits?"
"I don't call a mosquito bite 'taking a hit.' But you look spent. Arm gone, drenched in sweat already."
"......"
Bennett wiped his sweat-slick grip on his clothes and clenched the longsword with his remaining hand.
The cult leader pondered calmly. This altered body from the god was a masterpiece unparalleled in the mortal world. No life-threatening moments in the fight; he could toy with this youth all day without defeat.
Except.
The only concern: the Goddess's Crystal.
Before the battle, the youth had used some of its power. But that wasn't all. The god had advised caution.
That's why he'd been toying, drawing it out. If no ace appeared despite openings...
One eye swiveled. The girl clutching her gut. They seemed close; maybe lure it out.
With startling speed for his bulk, the cult leader lunged at Nioire.
"...Stop!!"
"Heh, hahaha! Haha! Run faster! She's dead if you're late!"
Speed advantage. Distance grew between Bennett and the cult leader, shrank between Nioire and him. Show it. Now. Unless you want to watch her die—
As a tentacle reared to strike Nioire.
A brilliant golden light erupted from behind.
"Finally using it properly, eh?!"
The cult leader turned to face Bennett, confident in countering any attack. Sustained buffs? Wear him down. Overwhelming? Warp space or shield with the girl.
"......?"
Something felt off.
The cult leader eyed the golden light from Bennett's hand. Not the Goddess's Crystal—a plain stone, enchanted to glow.
If the youth didn't have it... then where?
The answer came as scorching heat from behind. Nioire gripped the Goddess's Crystal, finishing her long chant.
A ragged, wheezing voice delivered the death sentence.
"⟨Flames of Purification⟩."
⟨Flames of Purification⟩
A massive pillar of fire shot skyward, visible from anywhere in the city.
"Aaaaaaaaah—!!!"
Inside the fire pillar, an inhuman shadow writhed. The cult leader shifted forms endlessly to escape—mantis, butterfly, toad, lion.
The flickering shapes seemed to dance at a glance.
But the flames consumed faster than regeneration. Cells blessed by a great god charred and crumbled one by one.
If only he lacked regeneration!
If only, like mortal flesh, he turned to ash without feeling the pain!
In the end, the cult leader cursed the outer god's power within him.
A long, agonizing death.
"...It's over."
[It is, yeah.]
"Can you still move?"
[Feels like death, but. How about you, Bennett?]
"...Feels like death."
Nioire and Bennett shared a bitter laugh, facing each other. They were a mess. Arm severed, gut pierced.
"Finish the ritual. If we hustle, we can pull it off before dying."
[Literally flirting with death...]
Emergency returns for mages were unpredictable with blood loss. If too much spilled, the spell might boot them to reality in blue light. Hurry.
"...Wish we had holy magic."
[Yeah. What about Tara?]
"Worst case, a saintess without power won't be treated as one. Expelled from the academy too."
[Then... how about taking Tara as a maid? Not really using her, just to keep her at the academy. If she wants...]
"Good idea. Can't just watch her get cast out."
They chatted briefly about the future. Bennett's path as a black mage, Tara's—both foggy. But together, like now, they'd manage.
Tension eased from their shoulders.
Then charred fingers pointed at Bennett.
"...Be... nett..."
The cult leader mustered his last strength for a spell. Hurling the target to a future century. If he couldn't kill, shatter their plans.
Nioire threw herself in front of Bennett. Both caught in the magic, they vanished like erased drawings.
As the caster shifted timelines, ⟨Flames of Purification⟩ flickered out. Exhausted, the cult leader died without revival.
Thus, in the meteor crater remained.
Bennett's severed arm and an unrecognizable charred corpse.
What was happening?
Had Bennett and Nioire succeeded in the ritual?
Tara paced the room restlessly. Anxiety gnawed. What if they ran into trouble? Met the cult leader?
"...Please, God."
Her sole comfort amid the trembling: no deaths here.
In mortal peril, blue light sent you home. Even if they failed to save the world, their survival was guaranteed.
Failure was fine. Just come back alive.
Time crawled unbearably slow. Minutes and seconds dragged; anxiety echoed, swelling. Tara prayed fervently, then pressed to the window, staring out.
They'd gone there. Right there. Visible from the window.
Tara waited like a statue.
Then a fire pillar pierced the heavens.
"...That's."
"W-what is that? Did Bennett do something...?"
"Sally, I have to go see. Be right back."
"Wait, Tara! You lost your power...!"
Tara couldn't contain her impulse and fear. She slung a wooden bat for defense on her back, buckled the magic sword at her waist, grabbed three throwing stones, and set out.
No matter how Sally clung and pleaded, Tara's resolve held.
On the way to the crater, Tara hurried. Mana-less, her stamina wasn't what it was. Like any girl, long walks tired her.
The magic sword and bat weighed heavy. Fear of fanatic ambushes gnawed sharply. But, but...
She had to check.
The sky-piercing pillar faded. It was over. She quickened her pace. Branches scratched arms, sharp grass cut calves—she ignored it.
Tara yearned to see Bennett and Nioire beyond the brush.
Bennett would scold her. Why come out here so dangerously? What if trouble on the way? He'd worry.
If she said anxiety overwhelmed her, he'd soften, pat her head. Nioire would fret over her wounds. Then she could say.
You worked so hard—good job. Let's head home, throw a simple celebration. For saving the world.
Together.
Like at Abraham's house—laughing, chatting, eating well. Abraham gone now, but toasting in his memory...
"......Ah."
Tara stepped cautiously.
Traces of fierce battle. Massive fight here. No sign of Bennett or Nioire, despite searching.
Then they went back.
Badly hurt, probably. Celebration... without Sally, then. She'd leave too, but first tell them good job.
"......"
Huh.
Tara looked down. Something charred black. She squatted for a closer look. A corpse.
Clothes and skin mostly burned away—unidentifiable. Her heart dropped, but she reassured herself. No way.
Safety net.
The net triggered; Bennett and Nioire safely returned. This wasn't one of them—a passing fanatic's corpse. Yeah.
Has to be.
Then... what's that arm?
That's Bennett's arm. Severed. His sword on the ground too.
No.
No way.
"No... no, no, no—!!"
If the net triggered, no corpse left.
It's not. Tara scoured for proof it wasn't Bennett. Lacking Nioire's sharp eyes, she found nothing.
Only Bennett's severed arm and the charred corpse met her gaze.
"...⟨Heal⟩."
Tara placed a hand on the corpse and chanted.
"⟨Heal⟩, ⟨Burn Recovery⟩, ⟨Regeneration⟩...!!"
No effect. Her holy power was empty.
Reviving such char was impossible anyway. Still, Tara cried out spells until hoarse. Until sunset blanketed the world in dark.
Tara knelt, praying desperately.
"Answer... please answer..."
She slammed her forehead to the ground repeatedly, pleading with the goddess.
"I was wrong, so wrong. I-I'll... do it right now. Serve you daily, praise you, be a proper saintess."
But only stars and moon looked down.
"Answer me, please—!!!"
Tara's wail scattered meaningless into the night sky.
She stayed long.
Tears dried. Nails broke clawing earth as she wailed unheard. Tara stared blankly at the corpse.
It lay still, naturally. Prayers, pleas, threats yielded nothing. Crushing loneliness hit—like dropped alone in vast cosmos.
She murmured quietly.
"You've already taken my family... now this too? Too late again?"
She spat hatred calmly. Serenely.
"Gonna show up after stripping me bare again, tossing holy power like charity...?"
Spreading wildfire starts from a spark.
Flame lingering deep in Tara's eyes seeped out. Swallowing ashes, crimson fire ignited.
If no answer. If my misery means nothing to you.
"Then, if that's how it is—!!"
Then.
"I won't cling to you anymore. Won't be swayed by your, your grand charity. I'll rely on my own strength, my own will—!!"
Tara rose, drawing the magic sword.
Thorns burst from her saintess robe sleeves. Soaked in her blood and pain, glowing red, they entwined the blade, burrowing in.
-You... my new... mas... ter...
Crunch, grind.
Thorns infested the magic sword. Its blade reddened gradually. After the beautiful predation, it was fully hers.
Tara knew her soul was stained red.
The sin was faith. Idly resenting and praying to god, never grasping anything herself. She regretted it bitterly.
Gazing at the dawn-tinted sky, Tara declared. To the grudge-bearing Silver Twilight Church, monsters, goddess, corrupt priests, those who killed comrades, any involved—all.
"I'll slaughter every last one."
That day, many fanatics died by the fallen saintess's hand.