Chapter 31
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 31
Chapter Title: Ambush (3)
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Pavilion looked at old man Richer with a resolute expression.
"We'll make it work somehow. If I fight with the intent to die, I can buy us a few seconds."
"What should I do, old timer?"
"You hide. No—run away. No matter how much I attack these werewolves, the odds of taking them all out are low. There's over an eighty percent chance I'll die right here."
"What happens if you die?!"
Tae-jin shouted at the top of his lungs. If the sound barrier wasn't in place, the werewolves would have charged straight at them.
"Sorry. I can't take you all the way to the Empire. It's a grim end for someone who boasted so confidently at the start of this journey, but try to understand."
"How can you just decide to throw your life away like that? Let's just run together!"
Old man Richer shook his head.
"No. That might work for others, but not for me."
"Why? Why can't it be you?!"
"Because I was a human butcher. Even just counting the lives I took directly with my own hands, it's already in the hundreds. For a human butcher like me, trying to save people in my final moments isn't a choice. It's a duty, an act of atonement. Even then, it'll only repay a tiny fraction of the blood debt."
Old man Richer murmured those words and rose to his feet. His face was that of a man who had chosen this place as his grave.
Tae-jin immediately jumped up and blocked the path of old man Richer and Pavilion.
"There are plenty of ways to save people! Why are you so desperate to die right here? Just live longer and save more—that should count!"
"No. You think atonement means only saving people in places that suit you, where it's comfortable? You can't atone with such convenient methods. A blood debt isn't that thin a thing."
"You didn't kill them because you wanted to!"
"Even a swung sword gets stained with blood. That blood has to be washed away someday. I'm sorry I couldn't do more to help, Tae-jin."
When Tae-jin refused to move aside, old man Richer gathered a faint spark of lightning at his fingertips and clenched his fist. It was a clear sign that he'd attack if blocked.
He was probably planning to knock him out and shove him somewhere safe.
Tae-jin yelled, his anger boiling over.
"You damn old bastard! Go die if you want—I don't care anymore!"
"Sorry. In exchange, let me give you one last lesson. Hide and watch. Someday, you might follow in my footsteps."
Old man Richer said that and started walking.
Old man Richer couldn't complete his spell without the sound barrier. The sharp-eared werewolves would tear him apart the moment they heard him.
Tae-jin hid behind a tree, maintaining the sound barrier magic as he watched old man Richer. At the very least, he had to give him time to prepare his final spell.
Old man Richer chanted quietly.
Tae-jin's heightened senses, tense to the limit, traced every twist and turn of the mana flow as Richer moved it.
A labyrinthine space, twisted and coiled countless times. Mana could enter, but it was sealed tight, unable to leak out.
For Tae-jin's sake, Richer cast slowly and deliberately, as if urging him to etch every moment into his eyes.
The resulting mana chamber was even more solid than the one from the border, vivid enough to almost see with the naked eye.
Surrounding mana was drawn into the mana chamber. The moment it filled to the bursting point, old man Richer infused it with attributes.
And when the lightning energy concentrated strongly, Pavilion crossed the sound barrier and bellowed.
"Come on, you dog bastards!"
Twenty werewolves whipped their heads toward the sudden noise, forty eyes locking onto Pavilion. Eighty legs propelled them toward him.
Five seconds. No, even three would do. To buy that fleeting moment, Pavilion staked his life and stood tall before the twenty werewolves.
Without even a sword, he raised a metal rod to eye level. Gripping the end with both hands, he took a deep breath.
The moment a werewolf's jaws lunged at him, he'd jam that rod into its mouth to buy even one more second.
As the first werewolf leaped at Pavilion, old man Richer's mana shot out toward the sky and ground simultaneously.
Decades of refinement: Intricate mana lattice forms a sealed chamber.
Skyward surge summons thunder. Groundward pulse designates strike point.
The magic Richer displayed was different from the crude, overwhelming power at the border.
This mana arrangement bore the mark of someone who had devoted decades solely to lightning magic. Something genius alone couldn't replicate.
The sight old man Richer showed in this moment was denser, more precise than any mana array Tae-jin had ever seen—no single inch out of place.
Like the world's most complex and intricate arabesque.
Tae-jin realized it. This wasn't the kind of magic you could just watch and imitate right away.
The mana rising to the sky birthed lightning, while the mana shot to the ground marked the strike zone.
The bolt, which would naturally scatter in the air, plunged ferociously toward the designated spot instead, engulfing his entire field of vision in light.
There was no sound. Just blinding brilliance. Even with eyes closed, the intense light pierced through his eyelids.
After the brief flash faded, eight werewolves lay sprawled on the ground—not singed, but charred black as coal.
And right after, a deafening rumble shook heaven and earth. Ears rang, and his body felt like it was floating.
"One!"
Right. That was just the first bolt. Is this what a high-rank War Mage means?
Soon, old man Richer glanced back at Tae-jin. A signal to memorize the spell and run.
Tae-jin backed away hesitantly, eyes fixed on old man Richer.
The werewolves faltered briefly, but realizing no second bolt was coming, they refocused.
Their gazes locked back on Pavilion and old man Richer, and they kicked off the ground, leaping forward.
Another massive mana surge toward the sky, and a small burst toward the ground.
Once more, the mana wove like flower petals, like fine fabric, gathering the lightning.
The moment the thunder mass in the sky broke its limit, the bolt struck again. A few more werewolves charred black, and the survivors edged backward slightly.
Five werewolves still stood. Better than expected—old man Richer couldn't hide his joy, even as blood streamed from his nose.
"Two!"
"Come on, you dog bastards!"
Pavilion stepped forward again, shouting loudly.
His fur now bristled not from fear, but from fighting spirit. He breathed heavily, filled with the anticipation of victory.
Flash—
But the third bolt couldn't wait for a full breather. Even distributing his power, slamming down three such massive strikes wasn't easy.
Before losing consciousness, hastily directing the bolt at the two remaining werewolves was the best old man Richer could do.
After the third bolt, old man Richer collapsed on the spot. Pavilion was all that remained.
Could Pavilion, who couldn't handle even one werewolf, take on three?
Pavilion's resolve was strong. But reality was harsh—brimming courage and will alone couldn't fell enemies.
No, he wasn't alone. Tae-jin hid behind the tree.
Tae-jin gazed at the miracle Richer had wrought, the radiant bolt crashing down. His eyes took in the plunging lightning, the blackened werewolf corpses, and old man Richer collapsed on the ground, blood streaming from his eyes as he breathed raggedly.
Finally, Tae-jin's gaze settled on Pavilion's back, standing alone to block the three werewolves.
But unlike his listless eyes, Tae-jin's spirit probed the underlying truth of the phenomenon.
He knew intuitively. He couldn't replicate that bolt, forged from decades of accumulated experience.
This wasn't talent's domain. It was mechanical repetition, endless practice, the of hundreds, thousands of humans woven together. A bolt drenched not just in blood debt, but overflowing with it.
But before that, the mana space Richer had created—twisted and coiled countless times. Tae-jin felt certain he could imitate that much.
Following the hazy image of old man Richer's magic he'd glimpsed, Tae-jin twisted and coiled his mana. An impossibly complex form, with countless parts he couldn't clearly recall.
But Tae-jin instinctively filled the gaps in the crudely stacked structure.
Like slathering crude plaster over a broken, shattered statue with rough hands, Tae-jin's clumsy, crude touch was added. He knew neither principle nor theory. Yet the statue, though losing its original graceful form, didn't crumble.
It balanced, stood firm in place, enduring.
Tae-jin sensed intuitively. This would work. Here lay the final way to save lives.
The werewolves glanced once at the fallen old man Richer, then fixed on Pavilion before them. Before two breaths passed, their legs moved again, launching toward him.
The first werewolf's jaws were blocked by Pavilion's rod, but the second's claws raked his side.
That seemingly light motion tore chunks of flesh from Pavilion, blood splattering onto the leaves.
And as the third werewolf lunged jaws toward Pavilion's leg—
Tae-jin focused his power. He didn't know fancy attack spells. He'd never learned them. He couldn't summon pillars of fire, slam down massive bolts like old man Richer, or even create the ice or wind blades common in comics.
But one thing he could do. The simplest, most intuitive method.
Twisting pure force itself and projecting it.
Like the snap of slowly twisting pasta strands, a cracking sound echoed from Tae-jin's body as blood vessels burst.
Yet Tae-jin didn't stop, concentrating his power. He gathered every nerve toward the werewolves' position and projected the force.
The projected force, the amassed power. What to do with it?
Simple. Like shoving sliding doors apart from both sides, he moved the two forces in opposite directions. As if tearing the werewolves' bodies sideways.
For a split second, the three werewolves' waists twisted like shattered mirrors, then snapped back.
But their bodies didn't return whole—they severed completely, into six pieces.
Tae-jin lost consciousness. The last thing he saw was the werewolves' spurting blood drenching Pavilion.