Final Battle: The Hero's Sword Pierces the Black Sky (3)
“【■■■■■… ■■, ■■■■■】”
“【■■■■■■■■■, ■■■■■■】”
“【■■■■■… ■■, ■■■■■】”
“【■■■■■■■■■, ■■■■■■】”
A ferocious storm howls like whoooosh, whipping through the air and nearly shredding the chant that echoes like a song. The voice weaving the incantation belongs to Count Melrn. The words spilling from his murmuring lips are in a noble demonic tongue unknown to Emilia.
The spell flows forth. The words pour out. As if singing of the current crisis. Or perhaps lamenting that 'small sun' hovering in the sky.
The wrist Count Melrn had sliced open with his blade moments ago was already healed good as new. Yet the massive spray of blood he'd flung into the air lingered, tracing crimson arcs that sketched geometric shapes and runes in the void.
“【■■■■――Draw the lines, draw the letters】.”
“【What is drawn is the song of protection】.”
“【Here today, I shall erect a wall of guardianship to defend what is precious to me】.”
At some point, the lips that had uttered the demonic tongue shifted seamlessly, now spilling incantations in the common continental tongue.
The exact content of a spell or chant doesn't truly matter. Magic, after all, is something birthed and completed from within oneself. It stirs the heart, evokes images. It builds convictions, composes rituals, and if followed in the proper sequence to reach the answer... then the magic manifests.
Of course, magic demands preparations and tools, so achieving the desired result requires paying an equivalent price.
Here, that price was the blood infused with pure mana from consuming the Demon King's Egg—more than enough to overflow.
Guuuuuuuuhhh... guuuuuuuuuhhh...!
Oooooooohhh...
The storm rages on wildly. But the 'small sun'—which had flickered unstably until now—suddenly dims as if snuffed out in an instant.
Darkness falls.
It hasn't vanished. No such hopeful miracle occurs.
The mana core, which had barely managed faint flickers of light, now erupts with a blinding crimson glare far surpassing anything before――spewing forth the torrent of prepared mana.
Kuooooooohhh!!!!
With a roar of mana that shakes the heavens and earth—a bellow from a monster without vocal cords—the light of death plummets toward the ground.
A high-heat, hyper-compressed mana blast. An act of savagery as if hurling fragments of the sun straight down upon this land. A crimson barrage laden with terrifying violence. Flames of utter annihilation revealing blatant murderous intent toward all life.
Count Melrn gazes up at it, the beam vaporizing the pouring rain and shoving aside the fierce winds as it descends.
...I can't block all of that.
He knows it instinctively. Though an alchemist, he's little more than an amateur mage. Even having consumed over half the Demon King's Egg, he has no means to withstand such a pure torrent of mana, a mindless wave of destruction fueled solely by killing intent.
――But, even so.
Knowing it's insufficient, Count Melrn extends his gloved right hand toward the oncoming light.
――It's fine. It should hold, at least to some degree.
Knowledge unknown to him seeps into Count Melrn's mind. Sights he's never seen, memories not his own, burrow into him.
Even the words he'd murmured moments ago were in a language originally unknown to Count Melrn.
All of it belongs to the Demon King. All are the Demon King's memories.
Protecting the Demon King's body is the knight's role. And preserving, carrying forth the Demon King's memories and soul—that falls to the chamberlain, Mona.
Connected through Count Melrn's shadow, mediated by their contract, she infuses him with the Demon King's soul she's safeguarded.
“Hah... guh...!”
His chest feels like it's being torn apart. A puny human, not even living a century, is but a candle flame before the Demon King's mighty soul of utterly different essence.
Devro Melrn—a single flickering candle—feels his wick melting from root to tip in an instant under this blaze.
Directly experiencing that Demon King's soul, enduring agony as if bones and flesh separate, soul melting away, he barely clings to sanity.
He confronts the Demon King's memories.
Bears witness to the Demon King's magic.
Recalls the Demon King's tongue.
Absorbs the Demon King's experiences.
No need to master it all. He carves out and consumes only the necessary fragments.
Attack is needless now. Defense. Pure defense.
A shield to repel the enemy's assault demands those memories and rituals.
And just as he draws forth all required recollections, the barrage of death fires from the heavens.
――It's fine. It's fine.
――The preparations are already complete.
All that's left is to place the final period on this incantation. To name the creation born of his desires woven into the chant.
Blood streams from his eyes, nose, and ears, yet Count Melrn utters the closing incantation.
⟨ Pigaroa, Neva Greil ⟩
The plummeting beam of light.
Between it and the balcony where Emilia and Count Melrn stand, a golden barrier manifests.
What appears is a golden barrier. Composed of geometric patterns, bizarre runes and formulas beyond human comprehension, the resplendent wall doesn't manifest singly—it erupts in two layers, three, ultimately eight layers simultaneously.
Vast and fantastical enough to blanket the entire castle, it illuminates the dark night sky, shimmering in beautiful gold as if singing a brilliant spectacle.
A super-advanced shield woven from the ancient Demon King's memories and rituals.
The majestic shield clashes against the incoming dragon's breath.
Kuooooooohhh...!!
Kwaaaaaahhh...!!
The crimson beam plummeting from the sky.
The mystical golden barrier.
The battle between the red lance and golden shield seems evenly matched at first glance.
But soon enough, cracks spiderweb across the foremost barrier, shattering it into glittering fragments.
The next follows. It holds only briefly before exploding apart like the first. The barrage proceeds smoothly to the third, fourth, fifth barriers.
“Guh... hup...”
Cough... kuugh...!
Count Melrn, standing on the balcony, vomits blood.
Blood flows thicker from his eyes, ears, nose. With a cough, dark crimson clots splatter the floor.
His raised right arm trembles violently to maintain the barriers. Each time the barrage pushes and shatters one, the shock rebounds straight into that arm, that body, ravaging Count Melrn.
Vessels burst somewhere within, bizarre purple bruises blooming across his flesh in an instant. Skin splits, blood soaking his elegant tuxedo crimson.
Yet.
Even so.
Despite it all.
Count Melrn stands firm, body convulsing, on the verge of collapse, right arm unwaveringly raised.
Though the barrage threatens to overwhelm, he pours remaining mana to reinforce the lingering barriers.
The sixth holds longer than the fourth or fifth. But only by seconds before it too shatters.
Kudddddd...!!!
The seventh. Already cracking. Shaking unstably, on the brink of disintegration.
Blood spurts from his raised right arm with a hiss. Another vessel burst—who knows where.
His body, altered by the Demon King's Egg, strives to heal per its nature, but wounds accumulate faster than recovery.
Beyond the visible damage, his internals are a horrific mess.
My... vision's... blurring...
His strained eyes see almost nothing now. In his flickering field of view, only two glaring lights pierce through his eyelids.
Unaware of the situation, he senses the seventh barrier's fall only through the shockwave rippling through his body.
Just one layer left. But no strength remains to hold it.
In this instant, Count Melrn—maintaining the barrier—is reduced to mental and physical rags.
I have to block it... just a bit... more...!
His will screams, but his body refuses.
His quivering arm drops against his command. His knees buckle, and he crumples to the floor.
Mona, barely emerging from the shadows, supports his body, but it's too late—the barrier is done.
It can't hold any longer. With Count Melrn fallen, the wall is worth less than paper; it will shatter utterly.
This is the end...
“Good work, you. ...As much as I hate to say it, you tried hard, so I'll praise you. Just this once.”
Ahh, a rasping wheeze escapes his ruined throat, like air leaking from bellows.
Even in this state—sight and hearing nearly gone—he clearly perceives that voice, that light.
“――――――”
From his wind-leaking throat, he calls Emilia's name.
Whether she hears or not, Emilia glances at the fallen Count Melrn, then strides past him to the forefront.
Exactly reversed from moments ago. Now Emilia stands before Count Melrn, glaring up at the sky.
Her gaze falls on the unstable, cracking, shaking golden barrier—and the comet-like crimson light pressing against it.
And in Emilia's hands, gripping a greatsword entwined with a blinding silver torrent...
