Is It Because of You? -4-

A drop of blood beads at the tip of my sword. A red line had been carved into the impenetrable fortress that no one but Yuria could ever wound, and it began to drip fresh blood.

Drip... drip...

I'd severed Olaf's arm. Looking at his face, I smiled.

I reached him.

The gap that had seemed impossible to close was finally bridged. Was it a favorable matchup? Or had I grown stronger? The feeling of withstanding the guard of an opponent I couldn't even meet eyes with a year ago was far more profound than I'd imagined. I felt like I'd become a powerhouse who could carry a major pillar of the story now.

With a calm expression, I gazed down at Olaf, who stared placidly at the severed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠limb on the floor, and said, "Where's that god you kept calling out to?"

"..."

"Cry out to your god."

"What have you done to my body?"

"Ask your god that too."

His right arm, severed cleanly along with a spray of white semaphore. The falling droplets of blood. Even to Olaf, who had endured countless battles, this wound felt different from the usual.

Regeneration... isn't working?

His immortal body, which regenerated from any injury, now rejected its divine blessing as if abandoned by its god. A fundamental severance. A chilling sensation crept up his spine, and Olaf bowed his head, muttering, "This can't be."

"..."

"Only heretics can defy the grace of god. Is my faith insufficient?"

Olaf shook his head, muttering to himself. Hearing his words—I can't regenerate—I smiled.

"Pray harder."

Olaf spoke in a steady voice. "Don't get cocky, heretic."

"..."

"God will deliver judgment upon you."

"God, huh..."

His nonsense made me chuckle softly. It was laughable that the god he sought wasn't showing him mercy. Recalling his backstory from the novel, I spat words laced with mockery. "Then why isn't the god you're seeking granting you salvation?"

"Don't blaspheme him. He always answers my prayers, fulfills my—"

"Then why doesn't he answer your daughter's prayers?"

One word from my lips froze Olaf's body cold. Daughter. A topic I shouldn't touch—but I had to use every weapon at my disposal to shatter his mentality. He'd tormented others, after all. No rule said I couldn't do the same.

I burst into mocking laughter. "Pfft... Isn't it ridiculous? He answers your prayers but ignores the ones from the daughter you love."

Having read the novel, I knew Olaf's past. How selfishly, for petty reasons, he'd given himself to the heretics. King of the shadows. And a father who'd lost his daughter too young. His reverse scale.

Mentioning his daughter was Olaf's untouchable reverse scale. Clenching my fist, I shrugged at him glaring daggers, ready to kill. "What the hell is your god doing that he...?"

"Shut your mouth."

"Won't even answer because she's not human?"

Scoffing, I glanced at the monster shrieking outside the window.

Kieeeek!

"Looks like your god discriminates by race."

"I'll tear your limbs apart right now."

"Try it."

I gripped my sword and waited as he strode forward. I crouched, legs bent, ready to inflict a fatal wound before he could adapt to me as a threat.

Black aura thick with black magic danced from Olaf's axe. Proving the apostle rank wasn't just about ability, he advanced with ferocious momentum.

I breathed in slowly, surrendering my body to the gentle wind. Closing my eyes, I murmured softly, "Dog..." No, even I thought the technique name ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sucked, so skip it.

Snorting, I gathered deep power from my dantian. Sheathing my sword. A technique pouring all strength into that instant friction.

Iaido.

Olaf's eyes trembled widely as he saw the massive horizontal slash approaching. The toothpick he'd dismissed now held the potential to sever his neck.

Thud.

He took a step back, revealing his fear of the blade—but it was too late. The sword reached his jaw, slicing skin.

Shlick.

The cool sensation of the blade cutting flesh. Shallower than my first strike, but it had connected without slicing empty air.

"You bastard!"

Deeply gashed, Olaf cried out his silent god's name and snatched the axe from the floor. "An answer to my prayers!!!"

"Your god is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dead."

"Shut up!"

Parrying Olaf's clumsy axe swings, I was certain. I could win.

Olaf's ability was reflection. Reflecting all damage aimed at him. Mihail's attacks. Ruin's. An ironclad greatwall that took and repelled everything. No weakling. Perhaps evenly matched with Rowen.

Just one thing.

Tirving severs all blessings from its target.

Our matchup was disastrously one-sided, tipping the scales heavily. In the novel, only Yuria's holy power could damage Olaf. Tirving exploited his weakness more extremely, choking his lifeline.

No matter his grand magic or black magic to sweep all away, severing its regenerative foundation rendered it useless.

Regrettably, I couldn't block reflection. My ability wasn't holy power. Tirving's best was limiting his monstrous regeneration.

I endured the searing pain in my shoulder and arm, swinging my sword. I had confidence in my own regeneration.

Limit Break tests the limits of 'Regeneration Lv. 4'.

Limit Break tests the limits of 'Rehabilitation Touch'.

My blade closed in on Olaf again. Bursting with aura on the verge of exploding, I held my breath and lunged at his collapsing stance, piercing the opening.

"God..."

Watching the approaching sword, Olaf thought inwardly: Was that guy a monster who didn't feel pain? His will, gritting teeth and swinging despite mirroring wounds, terrified more than falling lightning.

He had to escape this irreversible, disadvantaged situation. The battle's flow was against him.

Gripping the axe handle, Olaf pondered. Maybe razing everything here wouldn't be bad.

Calmly organizing his thoughts, he admitted it. That man surpassed his expectations. He'd fallen for the serpent's taunts, knowing everything, and let his guard down.

As an apostle, he couldn't show such disgrace—wiping tears before the cold corpses of departed apostles.

"Lord."

Olaf bowed his head, silently enduring Ricardo's strikes. Embracing the lost lamb's tantrum was a shepherd's duty.

"My Lord..."

Praying, he heard Ricardo's "repentance." Raising hands to the sky, he prayed. "Angel, come to me."

As his prayer ended, the monster outside, weathering thunder, stirred. Its writhing body thrashed wildly, gaping a massive maw toward the inn.

I gritted my teeth at the black hand extending from the angel's mouth. "Damn it."

To save the cornered Olaf, his savior arrived.

Kwarrrrng!!

The angel, spewing black hands like a baby's grasp, ignored the pouring thunder and enveloped Olaf.

"Daddy... Daddy..."

Emitting grotesque, mechanical sounds, the angel cradled Olaf tenderly. "Daddy... Daddy..."

I gritted my teeth. This can't happen.

Phase 2 couldn't open. Emotional ploys wouldn't work then.

I hurled a sword strike at Olaf, slipping into the angel's maw. "Fuck."

Olaf was laughing.

I swung my sword through the night. Not to defeat him.

To survive.

Desperately.

Dawn broke.

*

The battle lasting until ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠daybreak ended. Olivia stared blankly at the inn's rubble.

"Ricardo...?"

Bleeding and collapsed, Ricardo breathed raggedly. His blood-crusted hand trembled as he forced a smile at Olivia. "Young Lady, you can't stay here."

"..."

"I think I can win now..."

Krunch.

Behind Olivia, Olaf shoved rubble aside. Shedding his elderly form for a sturdy youth's, he revealed pristine flesh, gazing down at her.

"Girl, do you believe in God?"

Olivia stared blankly at Olaf and asked, "Is it because of him?"

"Young Lady."

"Is he why Ricardo's hurt?"

Darkness frosted Olivia's eyes. Cold, profound shadow swelled, fixated on one target.

Olivia spoke coldly to Olaf. "Die."

A massive shadow from the sky blotted the dawn sun.