Chapter 111
Chapter 111
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 111
Chapter Title: Wildcast (4)
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*
After flaunting his existence to all the wasteland's powerhouses, hiding away in a base would be nothing short of self-contradictory.
Fernandez moved slowly toward the city of Tutan Gartep, ceaselessly leaving traces of his passage.
-Kwaaajik.
The spells he could cast in a day without prior preparation varied by scale, but a few at most was the limit.
The Bronze Throne was slowly recovering its functions, but the damaged circuits were barely at the level of a novice mage.
In contrast, even the simplest spells Fernandez used far surpassed that level.
Thus, with every single spell he cast, he had to meticulously minimize the burden on the Bronze Throne.
-Wooduduk!!
In the vast barren plain of the wasteland, on remote land without even a path, a grotesque structure rose up.
Piercing through the parched dry earth, a totem emerged—twisted skulls, branches, rusted scrap metal, and assorted junk intertwined.
[Idol of Evil Worship]. A simple curse totem that instilled fear in those with weak spirit power.
It also drove away lowly beasts and insects, while leaving clear traces of mana to signal someone's passage.
For Fernandez, who camped out in the open, it was one very useful spell. It lured enemy pursuers and repelled annoying beasts. The great wasteland was full of ferocious wildlife, after all.
-Shall we rest here today?
‘Rest’ feels a bit funny to say.
The flesh of a Religiosa Demonica could maintain function without sleep for three days. After two nights, sleepiness tormented him and fatigue accumulated, but it was enough to keep minimal activity.
The strain his body complained of was an illusion that time could heal. Fernandez closed his eyes, heavy with dark fatigue, and sat cross-legged beside the totem.
-Sring.
Eyes still shut, he drew the Necropolis dagger from his bosom. Without hesitation, he slashed his arm. Numbing pain flowed up his forearm.
-Slurp...
Blood was sucked into the dagger. The curse injected through the wound slowly chipped away at his soul. With each fragment of soul lost, his mind drew closer to the spirit realm.
‘Take good care of things.’
-What, getting all shy now.
His left arm slipped from his control as Feizashi's soul enveloped him. The arm smoothly formed seals, and iron chains wrapped around it.
While he sank into meditation, Feizashi would guard his body and manipulate the Chains of Dominion. Through the chains binding Nepherka and Partak, he could monitor their actions.
“Huu...”
Fernandez's right hand formed a mantra, slowly, slowly sinking into the fathomless depths of his mind.
The moment called for past memories.
*
Who was the strongest warrior he could recall? Until recently, he would have said King Dain.
Since the king's soul had melted into his body, inheriting his karma, grudges, and madness had also infused his experiences and senses into Fernandez's flesh.
He believed King Dain's swordsmanship was already inherent within him, merely not yet mastered. Yet even after crossing countless brushes with death, even dying and reviving, his swordsmanship remained mere fragments slipping through his grasp.
Fernandez coldly assessed his own state. Restoring his peak magic was nearly impossible.
Only by staking his life and fulfilling countless conditions could he barely revive a few spells.
In swordsmanship too, he held no hero's talent.
His talents and skills specialized in strategy, tactics, mind games, and schemes. His swordplay was limited to mechanically repeating and mastering what he had learned.
So what should he do? Fernandez decided to take a master. If he couldn't gain enlightenment through the heroes' flashes of wit, inspiration, and talent to shatter his walls—as heroes typically did—then he would follow and master their techniques.
With magic insufficient and swordsmanship lacking, all he had in abundance were divinity and lifespan. Through meditation that spared no spirit energy, he would invite a master.
Not King Dain. His swordsmanship was in the realm of instinct and talent—more miracle or magic than technique. It couldn't be learned by watching and imitating.
But in his past life, he had witnessed a warrior at the pinnacle of martial arts in battle. His nemesis.
The strongest warrior he had faced.
He decided to take peak-condition Darian Shrike as his master.
*
-Slurp.
Mana-laced wind brushed his ear. Fernandez slowly opened his eyes. A familiar space.
The Crimson Spire, his sanctum—and barring the Aeseas High Council, the pinnacle of material world's towers.
“Long time no see, Amethyst Hall.”
Amethyst Hall, where dozens of spells wove illusions and confusion, demons dissolved into spirits lurking between to prey on intruders.
In his Feizashi days, he had hoped it would be the last thing challengers or assassins faced—their limbs scattered.
Foolish mages decorated their dungeons with progressively stronger traps and minions. True sages hurled their strongest from the entrance.
Those who broke through could kill him anyway; those who couldn't got no time to adapt.
Thus, the Crimson Spire's defenses were always at full readiness. Even so, there were times Feizashi himself had to descend to the Crystal Hall to repel intruders.
When Darian Shrike and his nine disciples came for his life.
Fernandez strode to the center of the hall, ornate robe trailing. He felt his minions submitting from mirrors lining the walls.
He didn't need you now. Ignoring the growling demons, Fernandez waited at the hall's heart for his visitor.
-Weeeeng! Weeeeng! Weeeeng!
Soon, alarms blared deafeningly through the spire. Ah, just like that day. The traumatic sensation made Fernandez chuckle.
Now the bastard would smash the door.
-Kwaaaang!
Light exploded like a falling sun, shattering the Amethyst Hall's grand doors to pieces.
Fragments scattered in the air as the ornate bronze doors—reliefs of demons and sacrifices—crashed into the hall.
“Feizashi! Feizashi Wildcast!!! Today! I shall deliver justice!!”
“Predictable as ever.”
A gravelly voice boomed through the hall, and the familiar face appeared. Fernandez smiled warmly at the towering elderly warrior striding forward.
“Come in, brother.”
“...What?”
“We made a pact, didn't we? Haha.”
“What nonsense is this time!!”
At Fernandez's words, Darian scowled and spun his spear in a wide arc. The holy relic of Shaield, the Sun Spear, crushed the spells on the Amethyst Hall with radiant power.
Intense light reflected wildly, dyeing the hall in brilliant hues. Feeling the demons shrink back, Fernandez clicked his tongue.
“Useless lot. All of you, stand down.”
At his command, the demons retreated. Fernandez tapped his staff and stepped forward.
A little closer, and he'd enter Darian's range. Darian noticed too, tensing slightly.
The scheming Feizashi approaching so defenselessly was beyond expectation. Smiling, Fernandez spoke.
“Apologies for the poor hospitality. You came unannounced, and I lacked time to prepare. Bear with me.”
“You and I aren't the type to schedule visits.”
“True enough. Haha.”
Darian narrowed his eyes and slightly raised his spear. His thoughts were plain as day.
Trap or not, strike first. Fernandez tossed his staff aside with a clack.
“I won't use magic.”
“...What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said.”
-Kwajijik!!
Sparks flew from his hand. Recalling his most familiar sword conjured King Dain's greatsword into his grip. Replicating its mysteries was impossible, but the result was satisfactorily complete.
Lightly aiming the sword, Fernandez grinned playfully.
“Let's cross blades, brother.”
How lamentable that the warrior he clashed with most in life was one of the material world's strongest.
Yet now, he was glad his worthy rival was Sun Spear Darian Shrike. In his memories, he had faced him so often he could replicate every move and tactic.
Even if just a hallucination in meditation, from memory. Darian would enact the moves he had made then.
Moves the mage he was couldn't comprehend. Moves the swordsman Fernandez could now grasp.
“A new suicide method?”
Darian stared blankly at him raising the sword.
*
“Khuk...!”
“...What. Did he really die?”
The first time: three exchanges. Before three sword strikes, his heart was pierced. The prior two were mere cautious probes, so one true assault sufficed.
Fernandez etched the spear's trajectory lunging for his heart into his retinas and swallowed blood.
“Once more.”
Consciousness sank.
*
The spear blade slithered like a snake into his greatsword, severing the power flow and flicking it aside. Despite his iron grip, he couldn't stop the blade from rising.
An exquisitely precise strike countering strength, flow, and gap. In slowed time, Fernandez watched Darian's movements.
The spear tip stabbed unerringly into his chest. The impact shattered his heart, internals churning.
‘Twisted half-turn low right, reversing the power direction.’
A product of vast experience and sense. No technique to imitate on the spot. Perfect timing, perfect counter.
“Khuk...!”
“...What. Did he really die?”
Hearing Darian's dazed voice, Fernandez whispered through bloodshot eyes, blood dripping.
“Once more.”
As many times as it took, teach me.
Vision darkened, consciousness sank.
*