Chapter 168
Chapter 168
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 168
Chapter Title: King of Snakes (3)
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*
The gate to Sadarkelia's abyss, the serpents' domain, was opening. Barely squeezing through, forcing its massive body to tear the boundary between worlds, the demon was descending.
-Rumble...
The colossal frame of this great monster was a magical phenomenon in itself. Beyond mere demon generals—army king class. A mighty archduke of hell, commanding dozens or hundreds of generals with a single hand, was ripping space apart to descend into the mortal realm.
The air trembled, and the world recoiled. Fernandez sensed the life of the parched earth withering away at a rapid pace. Even in this already corrupted village, the essence of nature itself had lingered. Yet as the gate to hell yawned open and the demon's aura poured forth, it all began to vanish.
-Thud, thud, thud.
It felt as if the surrounding mana was submitting to a single being. The sheer power was warping gravity. Mana swirled like a vortex, and at its end... from the pitch-black crimson shadows of that abyss and void...
[I know you.]
A voice slithered out, like dozens of venomous snakes licking the air. The hissing echoed from within the rift leading to the abyss. Pus-yellow eyes gleamed with sickly light.
"I know you too. Ksharlax. Army King Ksharlax, one of Sadarkelia's three offspring, ruler of the five abysses. King of Snakes..."
[Knowledge of me still lingers in the material world?]
-Crash.
A powerful grip crushed the ground as it advanced. From the boundary of the abyss emerged its head and neck, shoulders and chest wrapped in rope-like muscles. The rift was too narrow, so it was practically shattering the boundary to emerge.
Yet even this half-revealed form was a blasphemy against the entire world. Its pitch-black crimson scales rippled on their own, exuding an eerie mist. The mist flickered in iridescent hues as it dispersed, corroding everything it touched.
-Sizzle...
One foot slammed into the ground. The earth screamed in flames, leaving a charred black footprint. The land, the sky, the world itself rejected it.
"No army king demon has been summoned in the last millennium."
To ordinary folk, merely gazing upon it would implant hellish mana corruption and demonic madness. Yet Fernandez hoisted his greatsword upright and grinned.
"If I slay you, I'll be the first in a thousand years to hunt a demon archduke."
[Absurd. A thirst for glory? Humans remain fools. You, and this world, are no match for me. I am your death made manifest. Flee. I enjoy the hunt all the more.]
"Do you know? The rank of one's spirit rises with the karma of life."
Old friend. Fernandez felt an odd familiarity gazing at the entity. This sticky sense of kinship was likely born of the demon's madness, his mind already lightly tainted the moment he faced the archduke.
In an age where madness was commonplace, his mind was accustomed to it. This level of frenzy even aided accelerated thought. Fernandez laughed.
"I'll slay you and pile up my karma."
The path to divinity was a long pilgrimage for ascetics. The feats of mortals were steps toward the heavenly pantheon, that lofty hall. Fernandez had already set foot on that path.
At this stage, to gain greater power, he needed to butcher foes of higher rank. Fernandez spun his greatsword with one hand and sheathed it behind his back. Then he twisted, drawing another.
-Thud, thud, thud.
He felt the rough divinity surging from the hilt through his palm, igniting his veins. Like feeding fuel into an alchemical engine. In truth, that sensation was accurate. His body was akin to a machine designed to trigger divinity.
And Fernandez treated his body with that very mindset. A consumable, to be spent so long as minimal functionality remained.
[Beitasser's sword, is it? Impressive rank indeed. But you, a mere mortal wielding it—how do you presume to challenge and survive me?]
"Legends and lore say the ones who slay monsters are always human."
Closing his eyes, that moment still surfaced. In Infermer's underground aqueducts, the instant he first faced Abelsas.
*
Demons had always deceived and tempted humans. The heavens merely reaped human faith, while humanity's true foes lurked in jungles and swamps, forests and wastelands, deserts and mountains—nature and monsters themselves. Allies? None but themselves.
Yet despite that, humans dominated the continent. Short-lived, frail of flesh—burn your souls and lives, press on. Never stop. Slowly, weakly, even if you fall. Rise again, one step at a time.
Thus, the age of wildfires. Thus, the age of man.
*
The guardian dragon of humanity had said as much, laughing. Explaining why this era was deemed so harsh. Demonic madness and divine overload set his mind ablaze. This desperation, felt by mortals—this was mortal strength.
Fernandez opened his eyes and met the demon's gaze from above. Its colossal bulk testified to its life. Demons grew larger with time and devoured spirits. Its bloated form proved it.
He spun the greatsword one-handed, holding it at a slant. Aiming high guard, Fernandez stood tall against the demon's aura. The age of man was the age of fire.
"So I shall burn the demon."
[Inquisitor. Come. I admire your spirit. May your arrogance endure to your last breath. Human souls shine brightest then—and taste all the sweeter.]
The demon laughed, raising an arm. Their gazes clashed briefly, then they launched at each other almost simultaneously.
*
Orion couldn't trust his eyes. He'd formed hand seals to support the demon's battle with magic, but couldn't complete the knots.
-Boom! Kraaang!!
The greatsword whipped through the air. Precisely toward the demon's assault, one strike, one step at a time, Fernandez advanced. A storm of steel. The snow-white greatsword, forged of holy steel, glowed on its own beneath hellish shadows, tracing arcs.
-Kraaang!
Strokes that could cleave steel apart rained down. Unbelievable power from one hand. His mortal durability held, body twisting and warping with each impact.
-Krrrk!
The demon's massive iron sword clawed the ground. Crimson curses raced along the blade, burning like fire. Thus, with each clash, white and black, blue and red lights mingled and surged.
-Bang!
Another stroke, a trajectory beautiful enough to chill, toward the demon's forearm. But shallow. Shattering a few scales, the greatsword bounced harmlessly. The impact wrenched Fernandez's right arm grotesquely.
-Crack!
Yet Fernandez twisted his waist to evade, roughly shrugging his shoulder. An extreme joint reset. The pain unimaginable. But he restored combat readiness in an instant, raising his sword anew.
'Minor wounds heal via divinity.'
Orion shuddered, understanding the man's style. Treating his body as combat gear. Enduring side effects so long as function held.
Indeed, the holy sword's divinity repaired him. Roughly but surely, small injuries vanished. Thus, Fernandez's style inflicted minimal wounds while unleashing maximal attacks.
A war of attrition. Between Fernandez's mind and the demon's body—which would break first? Orion, frozen in place, glimpsed madness beyond those lingering blue afterimages in Fernandez's eyes.
Eyes like a bullfighter's—investing all without reserve for goal and purpose. That madness born of ruthless reason, deeming even himself mere utility.
A madman. No human could fight so. Thus, Orion watched their clash as if facing some incomprehensible entity.
*
The archduke demon's evil aura corroded Fernandez's clothes. Overflowing divinity limited the erosion, but steadily, relentlessly, it gnawed at garb and flesh.
-Kraaak!!
Their blades locked in midair, demon might and his power at deadlock. Opposing forces sparked. Soul-rending pain made Fernandez grit his teeth.
[Will you keep this up?]
"Not lost yet?"
[You know better. Such fights have predestined ends. Your mind and body are remarkable, but your power finite. You're dying slowly. Serve me instead.]
The archduke hissed, stepping closer. Thud. Guts churned, blood surged up his throat. That step alone twisted his innards, inflicting deep trauma.
[I value your talent and spirit. Become my right fang.]
"Not that impressive."
Ksharlax's right fang. Tetragalan had been the first demon slain by his hand. Fernandez chuckled, glaring into the demon's eyes.
"But you're right. This method doesn't suit me yet."
[This method?]
The demon tilted its head, peering down. Had the mortal realm's caliber risen? Unexpected to face such a foe first thing, it felt surprised, amused. How sweet would spirits be in an age teeming with such?
"So, back to my trade."
Fernandez leaped back, widening the gap. Mere seconds to close at a charge, but the demon didn't pursue. As if inviting, it curled its lips, baring fangs.
-Shing.
Fernandez sheathed the greatsword behind his back, raising his unused left hand. Rolling up the half-melted sleeve revealed black bandages coiled tight.
"Got Maleyrn's grimoire and tweaked it a bit."
Maleyrn of the Apex Magic Tower. He'd abandoned his own magic to delve into runeglyph forbidden arts. In the end, he could hunt gods and absorb their power—not a bad deal.
After slaying Maleyrn, Leia offered treasures from his vault. Fernandez chose one book. Amid a millennium's hoard, the most valuable.
Maleyrn's grimoire. Fusion of ancient northern runeglyphs and elven forbidden magic—a magical system born at one clan's pinnacle. A great mage's legacy, a school in itself.
One might call it the Maleyrn school. Ironic, its slayer the sole heir...
-Crack, krrk, crack.
Azure lightning coursed along Fernandez's arm. The black cloth burned away, revealing taut muscles.
[Runeglyph...?]
"No. If anything, call it Malenglyph."
Glyphs akin to ancient northern runes densely covered from wrist to shoulder. His bloodline's divinity made his left arm tingle fiercely.
-Swish.
Fernandez snapped his fingers. From the crackling arm, one glyph ignited and vanished—
"Come!"
-Kraaaang!!
At his shout, all blazed white. Tearing through ashen sky and thick clouds, three bolts hammered the demon's head. His left arm trembled numbly.
Suppressing it, he grinned. Field test success. A new magical system for a body unable to form mana circuits, filling the void of the empty bronze throne amid constant reserves worry.
One Malenglyph stroke equaled one spell. With time, effort, materials—etch as many as needed onto his body.
Like ancient mages' daily meditative inscription. Load arrows into a quiver; etch spells onto arm, fire via body as launcher.
Thus, nerves felt severed. Side effect. Gripping the fading arm, he flexed fingers, checked function. Reached back, drew the greatsword.
-Shing.
Dane's sword emerged. Holy intrusion from the key-sword disrupted magic's fine control. Felt like a mage again after ages.
-Cheat, but damn good.
Feizashi chuckled inwardly. Yes, missed this. The omnipotence.
-Snap.
Left index flicked; a bolt struck the kneeling demon archduke's head.
-Kraaaang!