Chapter 437
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 437
Chapter Title: What Should I Call You?
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[Witch sis, don't you have something to say to me?]
"Sorry, but no snacks."
[When did I ask for snacks? Not that—apologize! Apologize!]
Yuna Kyung hopped up in the air.
She flapped her wings furiously, pouring out her passionate protest.
[You said you'd relieve me soon when you asked me to watch the seal, right?! How many days has it been now? Huh?!]
"How was I supposed to know things would turn out like this?"
[Even a prophet doesn't know that?]
"That's why I'm not the world's greatest prophet."
Ainsha hadn't foreseen the Demon God's resurrection either, so what could she do?
Yuna Kyung scowled at Sir's shameless words.
She knew Sir had a ton of preparations to make for subjugating the Demon God.
She knew, but...
[If you couldn't do it, you could've at least had someone else relieve me! Nailing a poor little bluebird like me in place—have you no conscience?!]
"No choice. Moscow's no place just anyone can stroll into right now."
Sir shrugged.
Moscow, shrouded in the Demon God's curse, would knock out any ordinary human just for stepping foot inside.
Even a Seven Dragon Society expert would suffer internal injuries or collapse after too long.
They simply couldn't send relief.
Everyone who could withstand the curse even a little was tied up rescuing civilians, leaving Yuna Kyung as the only spare.
"Honestly, I'm more amazed you're perfectly fine."
[Are you saying I should've been bedridden?]
"Come on, I wouldn't wish for such a boring result on someone even a dissection wouldn't be worth it for."
[...Witch sis, you really act like a witch sometimes, you know that?]
"What else is new?"
She stared at her like some lab rat.
Yuna Kyung let out a deep sigh at Sir's intrigued gaze.
Even if she weren't a bluebird but a normal person, she'd get the exact same look—she knew it.
Sir was the Queen of Magic.
She'd lived far longer than Rimon, and as one of the Silver Age's top villains, she'd tried to conquer the world against the gods themselves.
That was why.
Finally giving up on pressing Sir further, Yuna Kyung changed the subject.
[So, where's Sadist sis? I haven't seen her around.]
There were over a thousand armed forces from the Silver Dragon Clan deployed in the area.
Factor in the Russian army waiting outside the city, and it was their full might.
Yet their top expert, Ekaterina, was nowhere to be seen.
Sir's answer to Yuna Kyung's question was simple.
"That kid's out sick. More like her aides tied her up tight and dragged her off, but close enough."
[Oh, dragon transformation aftereffects?]
"Nah, she caught a cold."
[...The Seven Dragon Society princess can catch a cold?]
"Who knows?"
Yuna Kyung asked hesitantly amid a strange sense of déjà vu, and Sir flashed a sly smile.
"Eavesdropping all night, half-naked in front of someone else's yurt in this freezing Moscow blizzard? Bound to happen."
[Nah, no way.]
Yuna Kyung snickered.
There were limits to time and place. Catching a cold doing that in this Moscow storm, of all times?
No matter how off her rocker Ekaterina was, she wouldn't pull something that stupid.
Sir chuckled at Yuna Kyung's firm declaration.
"Common sense says you're right... But remember, kid: if you're a witch, common sense always exceeds imagination."
[...I'm not a witch, I'm a bluebird?]
Ignoring Yuna Kyung's protest,
Sir turned her head.
Her gaze fell on what was once the Kremlin Palace, now a massive iceberg with only the Tower of Frost piercing the sky.
"That Demon God down there proves just how flimsy 'common sense' really is."
Not just gods and priests—
Even she, a grand witch, had never imagined such a being could exist before it appeared.
Sir confessed flatly, then gazed at the iceberg ahead with an odd expression.
"Though even it can't match that kid."
A white-haired man sat cross-legged before the iceberg, sword across his knees.
The Sword Tower's lord, who'd taught seven of history's thirteen Sword Masters, humanity's guardian deity who'd even slain the Demon God—
The last Sword Master himself, an existence defying all reason. Sir smirked meaningfully at him for a moment.
Then she slipped a hand into her cleavage.
"Alright, time for us to get ready too."
Thud.
From who-knows-where,
She dumped out a pile of scrolls—rods of gold, silver, and jewels wrapped in parchment.
The legendary grand witch and prophet wrapped up lazily.
"This war's gonna be a brutal one."
As Yuna Kyung flitted about following Sir's orders,
And over a thousand Silver Dragon Clan warriors held formation at the ready,
Rimon sank into meditation.
Not just biding his time.
He was honing body and mind for the imminent battle.
The Demon God—the foe that had pushed him to death's door seventy years ago—was that dangerous.
Of course, "strong foe" meant something different now, and the situations weren't the same, but...
No room for the slightest mistake.
For the millions—billions even—whose fates hung on this fight.
For Ainsha, who'd given everything to make this Demon God subjugation possible.
Crack.
As Rimon delved into his inner world, subduing the thirteen swords forming a tower and the writhing energies below,
A single crack split the iceberg.
Tiny, insignificant, barely visible.
But it spread in an instant.
The mountain of ice soon webbed with fractures.
Rumble!
The iceberg shattered,
And shadows exploded from within.
The seal crafted by Ekaterina and Sir, stopping time itself, had finally broken.
Shadows eroded everything more fiercely than before, venting pent-up rage.
Yet facing the curse's waves, Rimon neither drew his sword nor stirred from meditation.
Step.
A silver-haired maid stepped forward instead.
Kana, taking command in place of Ekaterina, trussed up in the camper.
She lifted her skirt slightly, drew a knife from her thigh belt, and spoke coldly.
"Great Storm Arrow Fire Formation, deploy."
Whoosh!
The shadow waves halted.
Silver Dragon Clan warriors, bows ready, loosed a thousand arrows in resonant psionic harmony.
They pierced the shadows, igniting fierce flames that burned them away.
Just the beginning.
Boom! Kaboom! Rumble!
Whether sprouting tentacles,
Clumping for mass assaults,
Or surging with sudden speed,
Any breach of the line met arrows that skewered shadows, forcing retreats amid infernos.
Expected.
They were descendants of warriors who'd terrorized Genghis Khan and the continent.
Not Golden Dragon sharpshooters, but all master marksmen and rapid-fire experts.
But that was it.
Burned repeatedly, shadows regenerated from the pillar of darkness, growing denser.
Even special arrows laced with Silver Dragon tech and psionics fell short against the Demon God linked to providence.
As shadows engulfed the darkness pillar,
Groooowl!
They paused,
And reversed, sucking in the endless upward-spewing darkness.
Like a larva gathering nutrients for its final molt.
The Silver Dragon warriors ceased fire at the sight, retreating swiftly.
All except one.
Rimon, still cross-legged in meditation.
"...Time, huh."
As he opened his eyes and murmured,
Flash!
Black lightning struck.
Shadows burst apart.
Darkness blanketed the world.
No—black light.
Not shadows that faded before light, but cursed radiance devouring even the sun.
Facing the eye-searing black light, Rimon didn't flinch.
He simply rose and half-drew his sword.
But then,
He paused.
At the blinding epicenter,
Where the curse's source should be, stood something utterly out of place.
A massive, ornate jet-black door like a palace gate, radiating dread.
As Rimon narrowed his eyes at the unexpected sight,
Creeeak.
The black door swung wide,
And a black carpet unfurled, stopping precisely at his feet.
Door open—enter if you dare.
"Quite the polite invitation."
To cleave it all or not?
He toyed with his sword briefly,
Then chuckled, sheathed it, and strode onto the carpet.
Beyond the open door awaited not a fortress of skulls and demons,
But the opposite.
Far beyond expectations, transcending imagination.
A cascading waterfall of clear water.
Butterflies fluttering over flower fields.
Orchards heavy with fruit.
Rabbits nibbling grass.
Wolves munching berries beside them.
No demon castle—this was paradise, heaven, a peach blossom spring.
And at its heart, a man awaited him.
"Welcome, Sword Duke."
"...Fancier tastes than you look, Mr. Politician."
He looked like a grizzly bear.
Yet perched on a small rock, cracking a walnut for a tiny squirrel.
Rimon eyed him narrowly.
"Or should I say that?"
Once revolutionary leader preaching liberty and equality against the government.
Post-revolution, Soviet secretary steering the nation.
But denying revolution's failure, he'd revived the Demon God to fell Ekaterina—a dark wizard...
"Demon God, sir."
The man who'd become the Demon God itself.
Facing Sergei Vladinov, Rimon smirked coldly.
"Good. Let's begin."
Meanwhile,
The moment Rimon entered the door, others sprang into action.
A group in white occupied a rooftop overlooking the plaza with the black door.
The White Dragon Clan's elite, the Divine Dragon Squad, prepped swiftly.
"Everyone, hurry."
At the center, a white-haired girl sat demurely amid unusually flowing robes and jangling jewelry.
Ainsha gazed at the distant black door on the ground, face blank, and spoke.
"From here on, it's a race against time."