Chapter 296: Miracle Blessing (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 296: Miracle Blessing (2)
The people of this world grow up listening to myths from infancy. They nurture their dreams while hearing the chronicles of those who carry out divine judgment.
'I want to be like them—like an angel!'
Innocent children harbor pure admiration. They favor angels far more than God, as angels possess far more elements to spark their imaginations.
Sailing across the skies on snow-white wings, annihilating evil. Executing justice. Tearing through the night to illuminate the dawn. Ivory feathers drift down as if gently cradling those seeking salvation. The morning sunlight drapes around them in a halo, obscuring their facial features.
Yet within the shadow of those faces, their eyes shine with a lofty radiance. Reaching out with a warm touch, they speak to humanity:
—Do not tremble in the dark. We are here.
Romance. It is the precursor of heroes and the legacy of angels. Though to the Ancients they were sworn enemies, the world knows nothing of their secret history.
History is written by the victors. Because angels were always the victors, they were the stars of myth, the very symbol of sanctity. People held them in awe.
Among them, Metatron was hailed as the most brilliant angel of all. He stood in a tier above all other angels—to the point he was practically considered a demigod. Praising his power and character was enough to tire one's jaw.
At least, that was the case... until he smashed through his coffin and made his entrance.
“Grrrrrr.”
Metatron bared his teeth viciously, drool dripping from his jaw. The low groan he let out sounded like that of a bear or a wild beast. Far from a mere figure of speech, he truly looked like a wild animal.
“Allow me to introduce him to you all! My elder brother, Metatron!”
Kuarne squared his shoulders as he introduced him, publicly declaring the identity of the dull-eyed, beast-groaning man.
Confusion seized the crowd. Countless eyes flickered in shock.
Metatron.
It was a sight starkly opposed to the dream they had admired in their childhood. Shackles were bound around Metatron’s ankles. Having worn them for a long time, his chafed skin was crusted with thick scabs of dried blood.
The atmosphere turned ominous. Heroes and demons alike swallowed dryly.
Goooooo.
The pressure radiating from Metatron pressed heavily on their shoulders. Their hearts hammered so violently that their left chests throbbed with pain. The object of their childhood awe now looked like the Grim Reaper.
Metatron twisted his waist halfway. His right shoulder twitched. Immediately after, a sudden storm tore through the area. A storm in the most literal sense of the word.
A sharp sonic boom. Log, the Dark Elf chieftain, could only roll his eyes sideways. His pupils constricted—an instinctual physical reaction to witnessing an unbelievable sight.
“Th-This is...”
A straight punch. A simple thrust of his fist. In that single strike, dozens of demons were wiped out. They hadn't even been within his direct range.
Wind pressure. The whirlwind generated by his fist tore straight through their ranks like a bullet train slicing through a tunnel.
'...This is possible through raw physical strength alone?'
Log shifted his gaze sideways. Kuarne offered a soft, knowing smile, his faintly visible eyes glinting with cunning.
'Kuarne pulled some trick.'
Log's suspicion was correct. Kuarne had intentionally thinned the air density to amplify the punch's destructive force. It was a technique the brothers had frequently used back when they were both angels.
“As expected... incredible, Brother.”
Kuarne marveled. Though his magic had assisted, it was ultimately just support. The destructive power belonged purely to Metatron. Had an ordinary hero thrown that punch, it would have been nothing more than a gentle breeze.
Time, which had momentarily frozen, resumed its flow. Simultaneously, the heroes and demons snapped into formation with perfect discipline. The demons hastily cast barrier magic, while the heroes raised their shields to construct an iron wall.
Metatron slammed his bare foot down. The ground buckled softly like clay under his weight.
Kwah-ang!
He charged. A battle of one against many—the opening salvo of this unexpected second round of the Human-Demon War. A clash where the One attacked and the Many defended.
“Shit! What the hell is this strength?!”
Thirty tankers strained with all their might to hold their shields steady. They were Warrior-rank heroes, renowned musclemen one and all. On top of that, they were pouring in every Blessing they possessed.
Yet it was overwhelming. The iron wall buckled deeply under the wind pressure of his punch. The impact penetrated not just their shields, but through their muscles to grate against their bones. They couldn't relax their tension for even a second. Their muscles remained locked in tight contractions without a moment to rest, beads of blood and sweat welling up on their skin.
The situation was no different for the demons—in fact, it was worse. Unlike the heroes, they were taking direct hits from his actual fists.
“Why the hell are we attacking him at close range?!”
Slaying Evil was etched into Metatron’s very muscles. His brutal severity toward demons was perhaps driven by his innate nature.
Crash!
Barriers shattering was a constant occurrence. Innumerable majin abandoned defense to launch counterattacks, only to have their bodies burst apart.
Metatron rampaged in all directions, kicking up clouds of dust. Moving back and forth at subsonic speeds, he pummeled the demons' barriers and the heroes' iron wall in turn. Swinging his dangling arms like scythes, he reaped lives. The flexing of the dense muscles packed onto his arms was vividly clear.
A crowd of hundreds collapsed helplessly before a single punch. The bottom of his descending fist crushed majin into the ground. His hands were drenched in blood. The un-wiped blood trailed his strikes like whips. It was a violent dance that completely disregarded defense.
Metatron was strong. His mythical power was tangibly felt. That he had single-handedly slaughtered Grigori was no idle rumor. And yet, even this was weaker compared to when he was in his right mind. With both feet sealed by shackles, he relied solely on his fists.
Simply thrusting, striking, and shattering. Metatron’s attacks remained faithful to the essence of destruction. There were no named techniques.
Crunch—
With just that, he was an unmatched army unto himself. Elemental magic failed to pierce his dense muscles. Fiery magic that should normally be as hot as lava did little more than scorch his skin. It was strength and durability far beyond any normal standard.
'To even stand against this monster, it would take at least a Corps Commander-level fighter.'
The Spear Saint gritted his teeth hard. He was bracing a shield with his back alongside the tankers. Holding it with his arms alone was impossible. His feet sank deep into the soil.
'Kuarne.'
Through the narrow gap between the shields, he spotted Kuarne standing at a distance, calmly watching the mayhem.
“Why isn't he joining Metatron?”
If Kuarne joined the fight, the scales would tip in an instant. Having already fought a fierce battle, both the heroes and the demons had lost many of their key fighters. Though they were somehow holding on for now, the survivors were exhausted.
'If Metatron and that guy teamed up in a situation like this...'
The mere thought sent a chill down his spine. Yet Kuarne was only casting auxiliary magic to support Metatron.
'Something is wrong. Even if he cast a massive spell earlier, staying back just to watch like this means there's definitely something else at play.'
After glaring at him for a long moment, the Spear Saint made his decision. He shouted to the Sword Emperor at the top of his lungs.
“Nibelung!”
His voice cut through the roaring chaos and reached the Sword Emperor's ears. As the Sword Emperor turned to look at him, the Spear Saint smirked.
“Care to dance a sword dance with me?!”
Leaning his back against the shield, the Spear Saint raised his spear. A fierce grin spread across the Sword Emperor's face.
“Hmph. My hands were itching anyway.”
Without hesitation, he drew his sword. The blade hummed with a clear ring.
“Isn't the best defense a good offense?”
“Haha, that's more like my friend.”
The Spear Saint pulled his back away from the shield. A gap wide enough for a person to pass through opened in the solid iron wall.
The Spear Saint inhaled deeply as he looked out at the open battlefield. His chest swelled.
'Metatron is currently engaged with the demons.'
His heart pounded. Oxygen accelerated his brain activity as he read the broader flow of battle.
'We must reach Kuarne in the meantime.'
The Spear Saint charged ahead. The Sword Emperor followed right behind. The Sage, All-Power, the Iron Leg, and All Mute joined the procession as well. The moment they slipped out, other shields filled the gap.
Through the narrow gaps between the shields, the tankers' eyes tracked the backs of the six heroes.
They willingly made themselves the bait.
The moment they crossed the line of defense, they accepted death. In the face of ultimate peril, the choice they made was sacrifice—the supreme example of a hero.
“Rraaaaaaah!”
One tanker roared. The wordless shout spread like wildfire. The tankers, who had only been pushed back until now, attempted to press forward. The damage-dealers pushed against their backs, bearing the brunt of the weight together. Little by little, but unmistakably, the heroes advanced.
The six heroes sprinted. The Spear Saint took the lead. On the right wing were the Sword Emperor, the Iron Leg, and All Mute. On the left wing were the Poison Twins.
“From what I can tell, Metatron is likely being controlled,” the Spear Saint said, keeping his eyes fixed ahead.
All-Power added, “Meaning Kuarne is the host, right? Got it.”
Meain gestured to her younger sister. Medea nodded. Nimble as wind, they split left and right. It looked as though a single entity had divided into two. Such was the synchrony of the twins.
“All Mute, stay with me. Use your Blessing to disrupt Metatron’s senses. Even a split second will do.”
The Spear Saint instructed. Instead of answering, All Mute spread her palms wide and clapped them together forcefully. A stark white noise echoed out in ripples, reverberating across the field.
Metatron’s fist halted mid-air. He raised his cloudy white eyes, looking around blankly. His gaze was dazed, like someone who had just woken up. All Mute’s [Blessing] had temporarily stolen his senses. This bought them time to close in on Kuarne. The Spear Saint turned back toward Metatron, preparing for any contingency.
“Iron Leg, you come with me. Plant a nice kick right into Kuarne’s ugly face. I’m going to shove a blade straight into that bastard’s gut,” the Sword Emperor said.
Mao Rang flexed her calves. “I’ll make sure that pretty boy turns into an absolute eyesore.”
The legends of the old era and the new generation communicated seamlessly. The distance to Kuarne vanished in an instant. The fists of the Poison Twins, who had surged ahead first, descended upon Kuarne.
“Pointless effort.”
Kuarne knitted his brow as he erected a barrier. The soft, bubble-like barrier was designed to deflect impact points. But it burst. The Poison Twins raised their sharp nails and tore the barrier wide open.
This was due to Medea’s [Poet’s Blessing]—a Blessing that foresaw the immediate future. Having identified the type of barrier Kuarne would deploy seconds in advance, she transmitted the information to her elder sister.
At that point, Meain provided the solution. As the sole magician among the heroes, her mastery of magic was profound. Throughout the battle, she had pondered the weaknesses of Spatial-Attribute Magic. And finally, she had found a breakthrough. Now, she could counter his barriers with fluid precision.
The barrier peeled away. The Poison Twins spread outward once more. It was time for the follow-up force to strike.
The Sword Emperor’s blade left its master’s hand, soaring freely through the air. The absolute pinnacle of the Sword-Control Technique. Swoooosh! The straight sword traced a dizzying path before plummeting like lightning, its tip aiming straight for Kuarne’s face.
Kuarne jerked his head aside. A thin line of blood cut across his left cheek. From his right came the clatter of iron armor. Mao Rang’s supple leg whipped toward his temple.
Kuarne caught her leg and flung her away, but Mao Rang broke her fall with a light, graceful breakfall. Kuarne’s close-quarters combat was not particularly high-level. This was doable.
Kuarne’s expression darkened. He was pouring every drop of his magic power into mind-controlling Metatron. Controlling his brother alone strained him to his limits.
“...Now that I think about it, it was because of you lot.”
Kuarne glared upward, his face grim. Faint rays of light leaked from the corners of his eyes.
“You were the reason That Person was defiled.”
He let out a chilly, mocking laugh as he continued muttering.
“Every last one of you... right here.”
Kuarne’s skin began to stain pitch-black. A pair of horns sprouted sharply from his forehead, and his pupils slit vertically, dividing his eyes in two. Ten pairs of bat wings burst through the skin of his back, unfolding wide. The surface of the wings was sticky with blood and mucus.
A Fiend.
The six heroes faltered. Kuarne tore his mouth upward into a grotesque grin as he made his declaration. His sight was far more hideous than that of any demon.
“I shall weave your hides together and offer them to That Person.”
Just then, a comet trailed a tail of light and crashed to the ground. Everyone's focus was split between Kuarne and the fallen star. With unprecedented anomalies occurring at once, everyone fell into confusion.
—Do not tremble in the dark.
As if to soothe their panic, a voice echoed.
—I am here.
Ivory feathers sank softly into the earth. A boy with glowing blue eyes filled with an extraordinary light...
`[The Miracle Blessing manifests.]`
...Leon von Reinhardt. The heroes, the demons, and even Metatron stared spellbound at the Hero.
In a blind spot out of sight, Kang Geomma—the Outer God—smirked with satisfaction from the shadows. Then, he slowly closed his eyes.
'The protagonist always arrives last.'
Now, it was time to peer into the abyss. The real protagonist was still down there.