Varkuntol, the Mountain City
The mountain city of Varkuntol trembled as a demonic arm, writhing like black flame, hurtled toward Rombel.
Caught off guard, Rombel made his decision in an instant.
'I can't dodge it completely. Just make sure I don't get grabbed.'
Just as Elbridge's physical abilities far surpassed those of an ordinary human, Rombel's own strength was on a level no ordinary dwarf could match.
Even so, that body alone could not hope to contend with a demon.
A demon's strike would kill you if left undefended, and trying to meet it with raw power was a quick path to death.
That was why Rombel executed a defensive maneuver honed by long experience.
The instant before the demon's hand reached him, Rombel leaped lightly in the same direction the hand was moving.
He then planted the flat of his massive double-bladed axe like a shield, curled his short, stocky dwarf frame, and tucked himself behind it. It was a move only possible because of a dwarf's low stature.
The demon's grip tried to close around both Rombel and the axe in a single fist.
Had Rombel's axe been an ordinary blade, he would have been seized along with it and crushed to pulp. But this axe had been blessed by priests and holy knights from countless orders in ages past.
Crackle—!
Smoke rose from the demon's hand where it touched the axe blade. In the end, the demon opened its fist again and simply slammed Rombel away.
BOOM—!
The impact traveled through the axe and rattled his skull. Rombel desperately clung to consciousness.
His body was sent flying violently. Rombel twisted his head slightly to check what lay behind him.
A building wall. He twisted in midair, and the moment his feet touched the wall, he bent his knees just enough to absorb some of the force.
The wall crumbled with a roar, sending up a cloud of dust.
Rombel rose, using his axe as a crutch. His knees, which had absorbed the brutal shock, felt numb. But they hadn't broken. By his standards, that was damn near a perfect defense.
Ptui.
Rombel spat and raised his axe high.
As a seasoned warrior, he quickly compiled everything he had learned about the demon so far.
'It threw demonic beasts to destroy the gate. That means it can't use any other supernatural ability capable of breaking the gate.'
'Judging by the size of that arm, its true body is among the larger demons. High probability it relies heavily on physical force.'
'Range of joint movement appears similar to a human's.'
'I felt faint heat right before impact. Black flames rising from the arm… It seems its main weapons are overwhelming strength and the flames of hell.'
'But it probably can't manifest the heat at will. The distorted beast it uses as a conduit wouldn't be able to withstand that heat.'
'Its strength also seems to be used only in limited bursts. A distorted beast of that size couldn't handle the recoil otherwise.'
Rombel reached his conclusion.
'I can handle this.'
But there was one variable even a veteran warrior had failed to calculate.
The demonic beasts that had not been caught by Elbridge's Blockade.
Elbridge was frantically slicing through demonic beasts and offering their corpses to his Goddess.
1171, 1170, 1169…
Fatigue was building. Yet the power dwelling within his body only grew stronger. Far from being depleted, the Goddess’s authority continued to accumulate. At this rate, he felt he could hold out indefinitely.
But the moment Rombel blocked the demon’s attack, Elbridge felt a surge of unease.
The sound of Rombel defending against the demon, followed by the crash of a building wall collapsing.
That tremendous noise was drawing the attention of the demonic beasts toward the rear.
To make matters worse, he could see the demon’s arm rampaging inside.
'…So Rombel’s surprise attack failed.'
No matter what happened behind them, the beasts trapped by the Blockade could not escape.
The problem was the countless beasts that had not been caught by it—those simply waiting for the Blockade to end.
The uncaptured beasts began turning and moving toward the back.
A distorted beast and even a single demonic arm were formidable opponents on their own.
If dozens, or hundreds, of demonic beasts charged Rombel on top of that…?
'He will inevitably die.'
By the time the beasts that had turned back reached Rombel—
—could Rombel avoid the demon’s arm and eliminate the distorted beast in that short window?
'…The odds are far too low.'
To save Rombel, he needed to move immediately.
But the instant Elbridge left the Blockade, the authority would vanish like morning mist.
If that happened, it was obvious that a massive swarm of beasts would descend upon the dwarves. Elbridge had no way to move.
1165, 1164, 1163…
Then, from behind, Marcus’s shout rang out.
“Sir Elbridge! Go!”
Elbridge could not turn to look.
But he could tell Marcus’s breathing was ragged. He must have run here in the middle of combat.
Elbridge shouted back, “If I leave, the authority will disappear!”
“We’ll handle that part!”
“We?”
Elbridge finally looked behind him.
Beyond the hastily erected barricade, he saw dwarves running alongside Marcus. In their hands were crude objects that could barely be called weapons.
At best, pickaxes, shovels, crowbars.
Yet what caught Elbridge’s eye was not their armament, but the look in their eyes.
The dwarves were not dreaming of a perfect victory without sacrifice. They were prepared to pay the price. Just like the dwarf warriors he had met on the battlefield two hundred years ago.
Come to think of it, every dwarf had been something of a warrior.
Their sturdy bodies and stubborn spirits.
Elbridge made up his mind and shouted, “I’m going!”
He burst through the swarm of beasts and sprinted with all his strength.
The path he had been blocking until now lay wide open.
“Push—!”
“Uaaaaaaa—!”
The dwarves’ roars echoed behind him.
As Elbridge charged forward, the beasts attacked as if they had been waiting. Large and small scratches appeared all over his armor, and wounds opened beneath it. But unless it was an attack he absolutely had to block, Elbridge paid them no mind.
1131, 1130, 1129…
Finally, Elbridge stepped on the carapace of an insect-type beast and leaped high.
The moment his body touched one of the stone pillars created by the Blockade, the temple-like structure made of divine power vanished like a mirage.
Elbridge, along with every beast that had been trapped by the Blockade, regained their freedom.
Some beasts turned to follow Elbridge. Others charged toward the dwarves blocking the path to Varkuntol.
“Hold them! Hold!”
“Aaaargh!”
“Stand your ground!”
The dwarves’ screams and shouts rang out. But Elbridge paid them no attention whatsoever.
Worry was a luxury for those who had not steeled themselves.
He ran toward Rombel with everything he had. Several beasts that had started ahead turned to target him.
“Get out of my way!”
Elbridge swung his sword, blocked attacks with his shield, and kept running.
In the end, he reached Rombel’s side faster than any of the beasts.
“Rombel!”
A look of half suspicion and half bewilderment crossed Rombel’s face. That was only natural—after all, the man who should have been holding the outer wall had just cut through a swarm of beasts to get here.
“Elbridge! Why the hell are you—”
At that moment, the demon clenched its enormous fist. The demonic arm hurtled toward Rombel at a horrifying speed. If it connected, he would be pulverized.
Rombel could not finish his sentence and tried to dodge the demon’s fist.
But Elbridge shouted at him.
“Rombel! Go!”
Rombel trusted Elbridge. He trusted Elbridge’s judgment.
If someone like Elbridge had made that call, there had to be a reason.
Rombel stopped thinking and immediately charged toward the distorted beast.
Elbridge took a deep breath and offered a prayer to his Goddess.
“O Goddess. Grant me the Authority of No Retreat!”
Thanks to Elbridge continuously slaying beasts and offering their corpses while inside the Blockade, the amount of authority the Goddess of the Rusty Shield could wield had increased far beyond what it had been at the start of battle.
Elbridge asked for an even more powerful authority.
The demon’s fist was already right in front of him. There was no time to wait for the Goddess’s reply.
He immediately raised his shield to block the massive demonic fist.
'May the Goddess bestow her authority.'
Elbridge’s shield met the demon’s fist.
It was only one arm of the demon, yet the size difference between that arm and Elbridge’s body was almost impossible to compare. Normally, failing to block a demon’s strike meant death, and even successfully blocking it should have sent him flying backward or crushed him flat.
Yet Elbridge did not budge an inch. He held his ground.
His shield glowed with brilliant light.
And Elbridge instinctively understood.
The authority the Goddess could grant had been completely exhausted in this single use.
But that small opening was enough. Rombel had already thrown himself into the distorted beast’s embrace.
Rombel hurled his body forward and swung his double-bladed axe.
The huge axe blade swept across the distorted beast’s neck.
It was done.
The demon’s fist that Elbridge had been blocking began to scatter like smoke.
This happened because the distorted beast, which had served as the conduit for the demon’s power, had died.
Not only the demonic arm, but every beast that had been charging also slowly dissolved.
Of course, neither the demon nor the beasts had truly died. With their conduit gone, they were simply returning to wherever they had originally come from.
Elbridge and Rombel turned to look behind them.
Beyond the passage connecting Bronzimmar and the mountain city of Varkuntol, they saw a barricade soaked in blood.
Regrettably, most of that blood belonged not to the beasts, but to the dwarves. In the brief time Elbridge had left his post, more than several dozen dwarves had met their deaths.
Yet the dwarves were not drowning in sorrow or fear.
“Ooooooooh—!”
On the contrary, they roared loudly, savoring the thrill of victory.
The dwarves Elbridge had met on the battlefield two centuries ago had never introduced themselves as holy knights.
Even the holy knights of that era had called them warriors, not paladins.
They were not a race that could only fight with divine help, so the title of holy knight simply did not suit them.
Rombel, louder than anyone, bellowed with all his might.
“Uaaaaaaaaaah!”
Then he picked up the severed head of the distorted beast rolling on the ground.
An indescribable ecstasy burned in Rombel’s eyes.
Every dwarf’s gaze, along with those of Elbridge and Marcus, turned toward him.
Rombel walked slowly toward the dwarves. He stopped, then climbed atop the tallest building in Bronzimmar.
What was he trying to do? Deep suspicion filled the dwarves’ eyes.
But the quick-witted ones had already guessed.
Rombel had said he was excommunicated from the order two hundred years ago.
He had said he wanted to return to the Iron Anvil Order.
He had said that after two centuries of repentance, he would perform one final great deed, stand proudly before his god, and become a believer of the Iron Anvil Order once more.
Therefore, Rombel would now offer this head to the God of the Iron Anvil and prove his faith.
Rombel raised the beast’s head high and shouted.
“O God of the Iron Anvil! A warrior excommunicated from the order two hundred years ago! The dwarf Rombel, who has lived as an unbeliever for two centuries, now stands before you! I offer this beast’s head and the glory of battle to you…”
Then he hurled the beast’s head to the ground.
A vast silence fell over the mountain city.
The dwarves could only stare in confusion, unable to comprehend what they had just witnessed.
Had he really just thrown away the offering he was about to present to his god?
Or was it an accident? But that throwing motion seemed a little too…
Facing the bewildered stares of the dwarves, Rombel took a deep breath.
Then, with two hundred years of pent-up rage, he roared.
“Offer it? Offer it to you, you worthless son of a bitch! What the hell did you ever do to deserve an offering from me?!”
The silence grew even deeper.
Since the founding of the mountain city Varkuntol, it had probably never been this quiet.
And that silence was shattered by an utterly unexpected voice.
"Insolent wretch. Have you finished speaking?"
The colossal voice of a god filled every corner of Varkuntol.