Chapter 450
Chapter 450
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 450
Chapter Title: We'll Open the Path
With a thud, the moment Raniel grabbed Rak's hand, her body floated into the air. Belnoa swung the arm holding Rak in a wide arc. After Rak and Raniel's bodies hung suspended for a brief moment, the two landed on the bone dragon's back.
Tak.
Confirming the pair aboard, Belnoa belatedly clambered onto the bone dragon's back herself. Rak and Belnoa wiped away their cold sweat as they gazed ahead. More precisely, at Raniel slumped atop the bone dragon's back.
"......"
She was silently catching her breath.
Looking more closely, her body was riddled with wounds. Accumulated injuries from bites and punctures. Pus oozed from the cauterized spots.
...Even for Raniel van Trias—even for the mightiest hero—her power wasn't infinite.
She had faced ancient calamities. Forgotten gods. Hundreds, thousands of them, pinned in place so they couldn't escape elsewhere, all while battling the apostate. By that point, her body had already reached its breaking point...
'And on top of that...'
Rak turned his head.
The bone dragon kept a steady distance from the apostate, circling her position. From its shuddering back, Rak shot a glare at the apostate.
'She was dealing with that too.'
Even if the swarms littering this place were mere fragments of the Demon King, the woman at the center was different. Rak swallowed hard at the colossal presence radiating from her. Cold sweat trickled down his spine.
Yet despite an enemy like that—with no rest, no moment to catch her breath—Raniel had pressed on with the fight. Rak's expression twisted as full understanding dawned.
"...Hoo."
Raniel let out a long exhale, clutching her knee as she rose. Rak ground his teeth, watching her stagger to her feet. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again before finally forcing out the words.
"Professor... no, Senior."
Rak said.
Raniel looked at Rak.
"The path."
The same words from moments ago.
Rak repeated them.
"We'll open the path."
Rak said, eyes fixed on Raniel.
...Always.
Always, it had been Raniel who cleared the way. So that Rak, Belnoa, Chloe, and Resti could shine. So they could take their stage, she had carved open paths at the cost of her own life.
That was why she had always been their Professor—a mentor and a benefactor.
'But no one can do that forever.'
Rak clenched his fist.
Wasn't that why he'd trained this long? To stand on the same stage as her. He couldn't remain a disciple forever, couldn't stay the one who needed protecting and coddling. No, he absolutely couldn't.
The Academy days were long behind him.
Now, it was time to stand independent.
"Better late than never."
Rak gripped his holy sword tight.
"This time, we'll open it."
The path you always opened for us.
So this time, we'll do it for you.
To repay our debt.
"Yeah, so rest up—even just a little."
Belnoa, eavesdropping on Rak, let out a chuckle as she rose. The two pushed past Raniel to take point. In that instant, the bone dragon's head began to slowly shift direction.
Diagonally, boring toward the center.
The bone dragon surged forward with greater ferocity. A deep rumble shuddered through its entire frame. Raniel, gripping her knee to stand, chuckled softly and plopped right back down.
"Anyway."
Still slumped, Raniel looked ahead.
She gazed at the two standing ahead of her.
"Whoever taught them, they taught damn well."
2.
The bone dragon charged diagonally toward the apostate.
Its momentum, spiraling toward the center like a whirlwind, was utterly ferocious. Grasping hands tore at its flesh, bit into it, yet the bone dragon barreled onward.
"......"
And the apostate.
She made a light gesture toward the oncoming bone dragon. The foul sludge swirling around her evaporated in an instant. Black divinity flashed once.
Pabababababang!
The sludge flowing across the ground erupted upward all at once like explosions. The surging sludge formed massive stakes. Impaled and crushed by stakes as thick as its torso, the bone dragon still tried to press on... but it couldn't withstand the next barrage.
Kwajik.
A colossal hand of congealed sludge seized the bone dragon's head. Hands large and small sprouted from the ground, clamping its body before crushing it outright. The bone dragon detonated, sending chunks of flesh scattering everywhere.
Massive flesh globs. Magistones that formed its carapace.
From the debris shooting in all directions came a relentless tap, tap, tap. The apostate furrowed her brow. Peering through narrowed eyes, she spotted two figures bounding from fragment to fragment.
Belnoa and Rak.
The apostate reached toward them, but pinning down their erratic leaps between debris proved difficult. Their movements outpaced even the hands rising from the sludge, leaving the grasping limbs to shatter only the platforms they'd already passed.
Chwak.
After repeated leaps, Rak landed with a slide on a slanted fragment. Balancing atop the plummeting platform, he drew a deep breath. Then—kuwoong. He slammed his foot down, settling into stance.
The holy sword Ganikalt extended straight behind him.
Clutching the platinum-glowing blade fiercely, Rak began his incantation. He unleashed his stocked spells in sequence.
Smite.
Kwarung—a bolt of white lightning plunged down.
Not toward the enemy, but the sword in his own grip. And it didn't end there. The circuits etched into his forearm blazed to life. The ignited circuits coalesced into a single spell.
Smite, Smite, Smite, Smite...
Each flash of white lightning rang out with a resounding kaang of clashing metal. Kaang, kang, kaang... The ceaseless clamor mimicked the din of a forge. Yet amid the noise, the sword in Rak's hand remained unshaken. Serene as ever.
A holy sword pierced by dozens, hundreds of Smites.
Gripping it tight—even as it thrummed wildly, threatening to slip free—Rak exhaled the breath he'd held. His eyes snapped wide.
...Formless Sword.
The sword's secret to attaining the pinnacle.
Rak interpreted it differently from his forebears.
The sword has no form—and lacking form, it can become anything. Then couldn't everything he wielded become a sword? Rak regarded his holy sword and the spells entwined upon it as one singular blade. Sword aura coiled around dozens of spells.
His widened eyes traced the sword path.
The sword aura, wrapped in a storm like a raging gale, felt heavier than ever. Ignoring the crunch of shattering bones and ripping muscles, Rak swung his arm. Swung his sword.
Whoosh.
Toward the encroaching black hands, black droplets, and massive stakes blocking the way. The instant the blade arced, its tip dragged a ferocious storm in its wake. Like a blizzard howling from the northern mountains.
The sword aura took blizzard form, devouring everything in sight. No quiet sever of slicing flesh—but instead:
Kagagagagagagagak!
The grind of shredding, tearing, pulverizing.
The spells fused with the sword aura demolished and splintered all they touched. The whirlwind scoured everything between the apostate and Rak. It bored a massive hole through the heart of the black waves.
The hole began to refill.
The apostate summoned walls of hands to block it once more...
"Belnoa."
"On it."
Tak—Belnoa kicked off beside Rak and launched herself. She had no intention of letting that hole seal. Amid a black storm, she rose into the air.
Tik, tididik.
Cracks spiderwebbed across Belnoa's forearm.
The black dragon's carapace engulfed half her arm. She swung the outstretched draconic claw. Black storm wreathed its five talons.
Kiiiiiiing!
A shrill cry pierced the air, whipping fierce winds across the battlefield from nowhere. The parched gusts swelled into a tempest. The black storm battered the waves. The sludge rushing to fill Rak's breach scattered in all directions.
Foul sludge surging everywhere.
The path lay open at last.
Recoil threw Rak and Belnoa's stances into disarray as they plummeted toward the ground. But just before impact, Belnoa flicked her fingers one final time. Updrafts surged from earth to sky.
Whoosh.
The raging currents lifted debris into a path of wind. And riding that path was neither Belnoa... nor Rak.
Tak—someone bounded onto the debris. She surrendered to the updraft and leaped. She streaked past Belnoa and Rak. Ash trailed in her wake.
"Thanks."
Leaving those brief words, Raniel overtook the pair and soared high. She leaped beyond the apostate's reach, gazing down from above. The apostate lifted her head, smiling as she extended a hand toward Raniel.
And Raniel.
Reached not for the apostate, but behind her. As if grasping for something. But what?
"Fire. Chloe."
Raniel shouted.
The instant she did, far off, two massive circuits unfurled then vanished. From that fleeting deployment emerged twin spells. One from Chloe, one from Resti.
Supreme spell, Flare.
Supreme spell, Ignis.
One a slender ray of compressed flame, the other a cyan spear of lightning condensed to its limit. Spells of opposing natures. Incompatible forces. Yet Chloe clenched her fist toward the pair.
Star's trait, Convergence.
The two spells merged.
A compressed heat ray coiled around the cyan spear. Chloe unleashed the fused lance. A slender beam sliced diagonally across the battlefield. Toward the skyward cyan spear, Raniel cried out.
Spell-Capture.
Thud—Raniel seized the cyan spear.
The instant she gripped it, her palm began to burn away. Yet she refused to release it. She thrust her left hand forward. Yanked her spear-clutching right hand back.
Accel.
The cyan spear trembled.
Spells layered atop spells.
Accel, Accel, Accel, Accel, Accel...
The form shuddered under endless overlaps. When it hit its limit. The apostate's foul sludge closed in right before her face. Raniel exhaled her held breath and swung her arm.
Spear Throw.
The cyan spear left her hand without even an afterimage. The moment it departed, the sludge inches from her face crumbled with a dry pop and incinerated. Through the burning sludge gleamed a straight beam.
The spear reached its mark in an instant.
In her slowed perception of time, Raniel watched.
The apostate's divine arts—her Veil of Rejection—shatter. The foul hands encircling her burn to ash. The spear tip finally pierce the apostate's hand.
And...
Hwat.
The cyan spear pulsed pure white. Laden with twin supreme spells, it erupted in a blaze of light. Swallowing even sound itself.
———!
A roar like crashing thunder or cataclysmic blast—and light consumed the apostate. In the blinding white world, Raniel swung her arm.
Charuk.
Chains lashed out into the blaze.
The chains bound something. Yanking them taut, Raniel plunged into the torrent of light and heat.
3.
Light seared her retinas.
As unleashed lightning and flames ravaged her body, the apostate laughed. Regeneration and incineration cycled endlessly. Through her blurring vision, she spied the chains extending—charuk. They coiled around her arm.
She's coming. The heir of the contract.
Taut chains hauled the heir into the light. Gazing at the approaching human form, the apostate reached out. To impale her once more. Even as light charred her, the moment her fingers began to trace their line.
Swish!
An arrow from somewhere slammed through the apostate's arm with a thud. Overpowered by its force, her arm snapped back. The opening thus created.
Hwaak!
Something burst through light and heat.
A mangled, wounded hand.
It clamped the apostate's nape with a thud. Moments later, the battered Raniel broke through the blaze. Burning, bleeding from every inch, she finally reached the apostate.
Charuk—the extending chains wrapped the apostate's throat and Raniel's hand. As if vowing never to release.
"Think that grabbing me..."
The apostate laughed, reaching out.
She seized Raniel's arm—the one clutching her throat. Sludge coiled around her fingers hardened into stakes, the instant it aimed to skewer Raniel.
"...will be enough..."
Pajik.
Something erupted from Raniel's body.
Crimson-black lightning. The instant it surged, the sludge touching her flesh evaporated. For the first time, the apostate's eyes flew wide.
"......"
Raniel raised her head in silence.
Eyes bulging wide. Bloodshot sclera. Pupils dilated to their limit. Her chilling stare overwhelmed the apostate, if only for an instant. The moment her gaze was stolen by those eerie eyes.
Pop—one of Raniel's eyes burst.
Several of the five fingers gripping the apostate crumbled away. Yet the chains held fast; Raniel didn't let go.
Didn't let go.
With her burst eye closed, Raniel smiled.
"Arm's still attached."
That was enough. Muttering so, she stomped the ground with her foot. Swung her arm. The apostate witnessed it with her own eyes. But what unfolded next evaded her perception.
Chijik, ■ji ■■■■■■■■jik.
Unintelligible noise.
Unknown crimson-black lightning. Dozens of rays slamming into her body in a heartbeat. Severed arm. Spewing black sludge. Body-rattling shockwaves. By the time the apostate registered it, she no longer stood upon the ascending stairs to the heavens.
Kuwaaaaaaaaaang!
With a colossal roar, she crashed into the earth.
The stairs she'd climbed to the sky lay utterly demolished. Barely prying her eyes open, she looked ahead. There stood Raniel, wreathed in crimson-black lightning.
She exhaled deeply. Amid the long plop of dripping blood, she murmured through parted lips.
Accel.
And, Accel.
Once more, the apostate's world flipped upside down.