Chapter 162
Chapter 162
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 162
Chapter Title: Survivors of Hazat Palan (3)
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*
An axe soared through the sky, along with the arm clutching it. The demon that had shredded the warrior's limbs with a single sword stroke let out a savage laugh as it rampaged across the battlefield.
The people of the southern continent generally believed that northerners knew no fear. And they were right, for the most part. Their god urged warriors to die in battle, the near-sure path to the god's side.
But now, their god no longer blessed them. The followers of the World Serpent ranted about the end of Einherjar, and there wasn't enough evidence to dismiss their claims as lies.
The gods no longer answered their prayers.
-Kwachik!
Another man died. Aeren silently raised her shield with fatigue-clouded eyes, shoving back the warrior in front of her as she thought. Another one dead. Soon, all of us.
But—
“No one!! Can live forever!”
“Botaannn!!”
The warriors roared in response to Aeren's cry. The demon watching her turned toward her with a growl.
“Ah, great Yarl. Aeren. I know you.”
“Don't think we've met.”
“Your gods can't protect you. Mortal. They were weak. To the Great Mother.”
“Skirt-chasing talk. Aren't you ashamed at your age?”
Aeren shoved aside a warrior swinging his axe in madness and buried her own axe in his neck. Hot blood sprayed across her cheek. The demon cackled at the sight and approached slowly.
“Step aside, vermin. That bitch is mine.”
“Prophet, you mustn't kill that woman.”
“The little one wants her life, not her body. As long as we don't kill her, chopping off limbs is fine.”
The warriors scattered at the demon's cackle, clearing a path. Aeren caught her breath amid the battlefield, feeling an odd sense of release. The demon's overwhelming presence was immense as it strode forward, but she was relieved to have bought time to steady herself.
“Your end is near. All of yours. Just like your gods.”
“You talk too much. Monster.”
“Insolent wench!”
Aeren's taunt made the demon accelerate. It charged like a rampaging buffalo, a massive wall bearing down. The giant's body closed in on her.
Aeren gripped her shield and narrowed her eyes. Could she win? Even if she could handle the demon itself, what about after? If she, the fiercest fighter, got tied down, what would happen to the line?
Her gaze flicked briefly to the front. She saw her warriors being pushed back. In that split second, the demon was upon her, raising its massive sword to strike down. Aeren twisted her shield like slipping on ice to brace for the blow.
-Kwachik!
Noise erupted as blood sprayed everywhere. Aeren never blinked in the heat of battle, but now she wanted to rub her eyes.
The demon's severed arm hung in the air. In the hyper-focused haze of combat, where everything moved slowly, Aeren gaped blankly. Crimson-black blood scattered, and the demon staggered from the impact.
And through it all—
-Tsaaaak! Kwajijik!
The shockwave upheaved the ground. Dirt exploded from the mighty blow, vibrations shaking the earth. Aeren glanced down at the object that had struck the dirt.
It was a greatsword with a gleaming dark blade. Not the northern style—unusually shaped. Thrown with such force that more than half the blade had buried into the ground, the sword wobbled.
“Kuaaaagh! Which bastard—!”
“Rude lot.”
A low voice rumbled from the hilltop. The demon clutched its gushing stump, glaring up at the hill with fiery eyes. Atop it stood a young man looking down.
*
“Kirhas.”
“Yes, benefactor.”
“Circle east. Punch through their depth and link up with the defensive line.”
“Yes, benefactor.”
“Abel, you go north. Ignore the humans and intercept the demons.”
“Leave it to me.”
Fernandez issued curt orders and drew his key-sword, gripping it firmly in both hands. The greatsword pulsed, thirsting for demon blood. The divinity flowing along the blade seeped into his veins, fevering his mind.
He kicked off lightly. His steps were nimble. A full sleepless day couldn't dull his body. Demons, their followers, heretics, cultists—their presence fueled him with fresh power.
The greatsword arced diagonally. Channeling his full speed into the strike, he slashed from the confused warrior's neck to waist in a diagonal line.
-Kwajijik!
Next came axes and swords. Other warriors beside the dead one swung reflexively. Fernandez twisted his waist low and swept the greatsword horizontally in a wide arc.
-Skagagak.
Their crude armor tore apart, the blade slicing through. Muscles snapped, bones shattered, blood and viscera erupting. Flesh literally burst.
“W-what the hell is this guy!”
The northerners cried out in shock. Fernandez tilted his head, letting incoming blood slide off. It sprayed his cheek and dripped. He surged forward again, straight into the enemy center.
-Chwaak!
“Block him—block that bastard!”
“Kill him, by the great World Serpent! Grant us strength!”
Desperation filled the warriors' eyes. Impossible power burst from his slender frame. Fernandez turned their path—their trajectory—into blood and chunks as he advanced, crushing their formation.
His eyes fixed on one direction only. Above the warriors' heads loomed the demon's face, staring blankly at him.
“Kill him! Kill!”
Screams erupted everywhere. Kirhas and Abel. Just the three of them were turning the tide. Fernandez thought as he tore apart the warrior before him.
In war, one person's valor amounts to local skirmishes. But in small-scale clashes like this, so-called 'heroes' could reverse the battle itself.
Here, Fernandez, Abel, and Kirhas were such beings. The wasteland's finest field commander, a Demonica, and a dragon in human form. To stop this mythic trio, they needed not numbers, but equals in caliber.
The nearest demon finally reached him. In the short time Fernandez had struck the area and pierced their depth—forcing the demon to turn and approach—he had paved his path with blood and flesh.
“Who the hell are you?”
“No idea why everyone wants to know that.”
No warriors approached him now. Drenched in blood, Fernandez grinned through gore-caked features, his deep blue eyes gleaming.
“You're all gonna die anyway.”
“Arrogant. Impressive for a mere mortal, but that's it. What you've done is just the power any of us could wield. Are you that bitch's minion?”
“Most refined-speaking demon I've met.”
-Sring.
Fernandez wiped his bloodied sword on his leg and raised it toward the demon's head. The demon frowned, eyeing it. Then it noticed the emblem on the blade, hilt, and crossguard.
“Beitasser…?”
“Yeah. Demon. Shall you pray?”
“Heretic Inquisitor?! How are you here? How did you sniff us out and crawl all this way?”
Fernandez gripped the hilt tighter without answering. The demon snarled, face twisting.
“Doesn't matter. You're too late! And just three of you—puny mortals—what can you do in the north!”
“Confess your sins.”
Fernandez raised the blade as the demon charged.
“I'll show you from now on.”
Demon and demon hunter clashed in the small clearing the warriors had made. Sword, blood, and dirt exploded outward, whipping up a storm.
*
It was an unreal sight. Aeren—and the warriors, unable to tell friend from foe—stared blankly. The sudden intruder was grinding the demon to pieces the moment he entered the line.
Literally. Rage, then fear, then curses flowed from the demon's eyes. Chunks of flesh tore away, its thick armor split open across the chest, its sturdy arm flying into the air.
The youth moved as if he knew it all beforehand—or could see the future. He slipped through as the demon cursed, breathed steel-melting breath, slammed its sword into the ground—like swimming through parted waves.
-Kwaduduk!
The greatsword flared again. The brighter and fiercer it burned with each gulp of demon blood. This wasn't combat; it was slaughter.
Aeren focused on how he wielded the greatsword. Normal martial arts or swordsmanship aimed for maximum effect with minimal motion.
But the youth's style was wildly unrestrained. Not for humans—like made for hunting beasts. As if designed against monsters that size.
That was the Demonica's way. Not swordsmanship or martial arts, but primal hunting motions. Raw brawling that maximized the body's potential, shunning fancy techniques.
-Chang! Kagagak!
Sparks flew as the demon's steel breastplate split in two, organs and blood gushing out. The youth, now behind the demon, spun cleanly once. And that was it.
The demon's head fell. The third one already. Against foes three tribal warriors couldn't guarantee beating, he pressed on without pause, slaying three.
“Not human.”
Aeren muttered with certainty. Everyone felt the same. The men who hadn't dared approach Fernandez scattered, ignoring the two remaining demons and fleeing every which way.
-Thud.
She turned at footsteps nearby. The beastkin woman who had leaped into the line with the youth, butchering foes, stood there, long black hair swaying.
“Did you come from Valhalla to save us?”
“...?”
Kirhas Hearttaker tilted her head. Unable to speak the northern tongue since arriving, she gauged hostility from tones to tell friend from foe.
She rummaged in her pouch, then frowned. Her cherished pipe must have been lost in the fight. She sighed and scanned the battlefield.
Fernandez stabbed his sword into a demon corpse, catching his breath. Abel approached him. She pulled out a handkerchief, wiping blood from his face as she spoke.
Watching, Kirhas sighed softly and closed her eyes. She'd thought she was a step ahead, but somehow she'd fallen a lap behind.
'Kadan, what should I do?'
Hunting encompassed the entire pursuit. As the huntress, she was confident chasing a fleeing prey—but...
Always too far. Too fast. By the time she reached out to grab his hem, he was already dashing away. Especially if the rival was Abel.
It wore her down. She stared piercingly at the approaching Fernandez. He walked over, rubbing his face with Abel's handkerchief.
Fernandez, heading toward Aeren, glanced at Kirhas and cocked his head.
“Are you hurt?”
Was it delusion to hear worry, warmth in his tone? Disgusted even by such thoughts, Kirhas forced her brightest smile.
“As if, benefactor.”
Shards of sorrow and pain stabbed her heart. But Kirhas was too upright to hate her rival or resent Fernandez.
Smiling, she approached him and lightly grasped his hem.