Chapter 275: Signal (3)
Chapter 275: Signal (3)
Translation: Godtl
The moment Belphegor dropped his staff and Frondier drew twin swords with both hands.
Basic Roah Swordsmanship
Frondier-style Variation
Diagonal Slash, Crossed Twin Blades
It was self-evident that Frondier's blades would shine.
Crossing his arms, Frondier swung them outward in a crisscross motion.
"Tsk...!"
In an instant, Belphegor's head spun.
What absolutely had to be avoided was Excalibur. Getting hit by that mana-infused blade would be dangerous.
On the other hand, the shortsword in Frondier's other hand was much shorter, and since he had already lost his weapon, the technique he just used should have been meaningless.
Swish!
Belphegor dodged Excalibur's trajectory and instead burrowed deep toward the shorter shortsword.
It was the best decision he could make in that brief moment. Thanks to it, he managed to evade Excalibur.
That choice wasn't wrong, but—
Squelch!
"?!?"
He still had to suffer a wound far deeper than he had anticipated.
The shortsword's blade carved deeply into his chest.
'The shortsword's aura...!'
In his dazed and confused state, he hadn't noticed it clearly.
The defining trait of Frondier's aura—'colorless.'
His aura, which extended the reach of his blade, had slashed into the defenseless demon's chest.
"Ghk, ugh...!"
Belphegor staggered back in pain. It wasn't a fatal wound, but neither was it shallow. Had he been an ordinary human, that single strike would have killed him instantly, but his innate aura's ferocity allowed him to endure.
"...As expected of a devil."
Frondier's cold, sunken eyes scanned the retreating Belphegor.
"To only suffer that much from a strike like that."
"...You."
Belphegor's eyes flushed red.
"How dare you...!"
He was furious. Despite bearing the name of Sloth.
More than dropping his weapon, more than the wound on his chest—
"How dare you wield twin blades before me...!"
What truly enraged him was the sight of Frondier holding swords in both hands.
—Twin-blade techniques are more illusion than reality.
Across all eras and lands, the idea of wielding two swords in both hands couldn't have been that difficult to conceive.
Yet those who truly mastered twin blades could be counted on one hand.
This was because twin-blade techniques were, in reality, far less effective.
Generally, twin-blade techniques were harder to control than wielding a single sword. Each blade interfered with the other's trajectory, and unlike a one-handed sword that could be gripped with both hands, they were far more prone to being dropped.
Moreover, since most slashing motions relied on the arms, it was impossible to concentrate greater power into a single strike.
That was why Belphegor had assumed Frondier was merely being arrogant—
"Don't get so worked up, Belphegor."
Frondier's eyes were endlessly cold.
"I merely devised the most suitable method to deal with you."
"...!"
Frondier still hadn't broken his twin-blade stance.
As they faced off once more, Belphegor soon realized Frondier's intent.
'...Indeed, those swords make twin-blade techniques possible.'
At this moment, Frondier's twin-blade technique was unlike any conventional form.
Excalibur, still imbued with his mana—its blade was not something to be blocked, let alone struck against.
Meanwhile, the shortsword in his left hand had once unleashed Falling Petals, making any attempt to clash weapons a hesitant affair.
Excalibur, which had to be avoided at all costs, and the shortsword, which could not be blocked with a weapon.
From Belphegor's perspective, in a situation where he had to evade and find openings, most of the weaknesses of twin blades lost their meaning.
'I'd prefer it if you stayed conscious of Falling Petals.'
Not to mention Frondier's bluff.
Frondier still couldn't wield Falling Petals as freely as Aitze. At the very least, a seasoned warrior would be able to tell when Frondier was about to use it.
However, now that he had just witnessed the Falling Petal technique—one so perfectly executed that it disarmed its opponent—Belphegor couldn't help but remain wary.
"Zakon!"
As Belphegor stretched out his arm, the staff that had fallen due to the Falling Petal trembled violently before flying back toward him.
Crack!
"Did you really think that would work?"
Of course, Frondier's Black Heaven seized the staff, obstructing its return.
Belphegor's expression twisted once more, but soon, as if struck by a thought, he tilted his head slightly.
"......Truly fascinating."
Whatever had crossed his mind, his wrathful demeanor vanished as he looked at Frondier.
"The technique you're using—it's undoubtedly Fabrication. The very skill the gods mutually agreed to seal away, preventing its existence in this world through a covenant. It's a skill only Frondier de Roah possesses. So, that must mean you're Frondier."
"......What are you trying to say?"
Frondier feigned composure in his reply, but his mind raced.
Fabrication was a technique the gods had sealed away through a covenant?
If so, did that mean Thanatos' descent when the skill activated was also part of the gods' 'covenant'?
"Yet, if that were the case, the Mana of Helheim you possess—that's not an amount a mere human could accumulate."
Belphegor pointed at Frondier's Black Heaven.
If Frondier's mana included the Mana of Helheim, it surpassed even the time he had consumed the Dragon's Heart. It was the price he paid for defeating countless souls within the Fragment of Helheim.
"A human's soul remains nearly uniform in quality while alive. Overcoming another's soul requires a struggle akin to desperation. Even shaking off mere wandering spirits is difficult for humans, yet you've devoured the power of Helheim's relatively intact souls—tens of thousands of them? That's not something a human can do. Even a devil wouldn't act so recklessly. What are you?"
Frondier fell silent at Belphegor's words.
Truthfully, even he had questioned it himself.
What he had faced were massive conglomerations of condensed souls. Though they had diminished somewhat by consuming one another, their wills lost and directionless, were they truly such easy opponents?
Yet Frondier had shattered those conglomerations. With nothing more than a single grasp of his right hand. And at that moment, he had been certain he could win—without any basis.
"Hoh."
Belphegor read the lack of response in Frondier's expression. His languid gaze settled on him.
"So, even you don't know what you are. Outsider."
"......."
"Living in Frondier's body, mimicking him, deceiving everyone around you—yet you don't even know what you truly are. How fitting for a fake."
Belphegor extended a finger.
Frondier tensed his stance in response.
However.
"Normally, I wouldn't use the power of a Deadly Sin on a human."
In an instant, Frondier's mind reeled from the overwhelming sense of powerlessness that assaulted him.
"But for you, I'll make an exception. Consider it a recognition of your worth. Be grateful."
Frondier lowered both his swords. His hands trembled violently.
Belphegor's slow, deliberate voice grew distant.
"People don't fear Sloth."
Frondier could barely lift his eyes to look at Belphegor, his grip on his swords unbearably heavy.
"Because they believe they can always break free from it through sheer will. How amusing—they dread Wrath, Lust, and Gluttony so much, yet act as if Sloth is something they can shake off whenever they please."
As Frondier listened to Belphegor's voice, he strained with all his might to rise.
What assailed him wasn't mere drowsiness or lethargy. It was the sensation of being cast into a swamp of existential futility—a crushing sense of worthlessness toward being alive itself.
Even if he stabbed his own heart right now, he could die without feeling any pain. The sensation Frondier was experiencing now was close to suicidal impulse.
'What kind of power is this? Even my Sixth Sense didn't react.'
A force whose origin and method he couldn't comprehend. It wasn't simply a matter of visibility or invisibility.
"That's how humans die, Frondier. I've taken more human lives than any other Devil."
Is this what a Cardinal Sin is?
"How dull. That's human death for you. It's not war, famine, disease, or disaster. The fact that humans are so easily distracted by such obvious things is proof that their very design is slothful."
Is this the Devil of Sloth, Belphegor?
Selena returned to her own home in Manggot and changed her clothes.
Having grasped the layout of Manggot to some extent, returning to her own home was an extremely simple task for someone like her, a trained assassin.
Her house appeared undisturbed, with all her clothes intact. The concealed needles were also in perfect condition.
'......?'
However, Selena, who could perfectly sense the exact number of each needle, felt something strange.
The number of needles was different.
It wasn't that there were fewer. There was exactly one more.
'What is this?'
But she didn't have time now to take out every needle and check what was wrong. Selena completed the rest of her inspection and stepped outside.
'To get out...'
Selena moved cautiously, maintaining stealth as much as possible.
The assassination unit 'Ten Points,' raised by Manggot. As its last remaining member, Selena had absorbed all the essence of assassination, stealth, and disguise that Manggot had developed over the years.
If she decided to hide, there were almost no one in Manggot who could find her.
'......That.'
Selena, who had been carefully walking through the cave, suddenly stopped.
Manggot members had gathered in a circle at one location. The sound of endless prayers and hymns. The intense surge of mana being emitted.
A ritual to summon a God.
'Dangerous.'
Selena didn't know exactly when the God would descend, but she could tell at a glance that the sheer amount of mana gathered there was dangerous.
It was closer to intuition, but she felt the descent wasn't far off. The reason Frondier had come all the way to Manggot alone must have been because of that God's descent. The Empire's Spear had flown here to pierce that altar.
However.
'......Can he defeat Belphegor?'
Selena bit her lip in worry for Frondier.
Though she had seen Frondier's strength firsthand, Belphegor was one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Fighting him was no different from facing a God.
A Devil of that caliber was practically on the same level as a God.
'No, I have no choice but to believe in him now.'
Selena shook her head. Even if she intervened in their battle now, there would be nothing she could do.
From the moment she entrusted her request to Frondier until now, Selena had always thought the same thing.
She would simply do what she could do.
Swish—
Selena slowly made her way toward the exit.
With near-perfect stealth and the map of Manggot in her mind, the combination of the two made reaching the exit effortless.
"......"
But if someone was standing right at the exit she needed to pass through, that wasn't a matter of stealth.
"Selena. Turn back."
The man waiting at the exit spoke heavily as Selena approached within arm's reach.
Seeing that he knew her name, Selena shot him a piercing glare. Her gaze was sharp enough to cut.
"......My name."
Releasing her stealth, Selena stood before him.
"You knew my name, Hagley."
Hagley simply stood with his hands behind his back, looking at Selena with a face full of paternal affection, as if gazing at a child.
"Of course, Selena."
Hagley extended a hand toward Selena.
With eyes that seemed to offer one last chance, warm and forgiving,
"I was the one who brought you into the family."
As if it were nothing significant, he uttered those words as casually as flowing water.