Chapter 189
Chapter 189
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 189
Chapter Title: Jet-Black Erik (1)
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*
If demons were a tidal wave, then these men could be called the breakwater. Even before that gateway leading to the fallen Valhalla—a hell no different from the abyss— the Inquisitors silently carried on with the slaughter, nothing but slaughter.
-Kududuk!
A demon's blade finally plunged deep into an Inquisitor's abdomen. His armor crumpled, the wound tore open, and corrupted mana seeped inside. It was a fatal injury, one that would have killed an ordinary man on the spot... and yet.
"Burn... us...!"
The Inquisitor, clad head to toe in heavy plate, still burned with furious passion in his eyes. It was a sight that transcended mere survival, as if humanity's very will had been forged into form.
-Kwajik!
The Inquisitor's warhammer smashed straight into the demon's skull, which had been leering at him with its tongue flicking out. And it didn't stop. For the sole purpose of crushing the enemy, the enemies, the foes of civilized society.
"Brother."
In the midst of that brutal melee, Zephys gazed at his brother, whose life was rapidly draining away. Using every limb—arms, legs, shoulders, knees—to pulverize demons, he keenly sensed his squadmate collapsing, and the pressure on the entire squad easing as a result.
"I'm... still... kuhuk... fine, Brother."
"The onslaught will ease soon."
It was just as he said. He didn't know the mechanism, but that gateway closed once every set interval, then reopened. That brief moment to catch their breath, when the enemy numbers clearly thinned, was what allowed them to hold their ground here and keep fighting.
Their path stretched onward over the crushed corpses of demons. Silently, slowly, with staggering steps, laboriously... yet without pause, they pressed forward.
"Brother!"
Fabiano shouted hoarsely. Zephys whipped his gaze forward. A massive morningstar, like a siege ram, was plummeting toward him. Too late to dodge. Zephys thrust out his left arm. Prepared to sacrifice it.
-Kwaaaang!
But just before the siege ram struck his body, a massive explosion rang out, and the arm wielding the weapon vanished entirely. Zephys blinked for a moment, then swung his longsword, ripping open the startled demon's throat.
"Brothers, sorry I'm late."
"Anzelo Brother."
-Flutter.
A cloak billowed across the battlefield. Half-torn and crusted with blood, it whipped wildly in the fierce wind blasting from the gateway. Fernandez Cerned, covered head to toe in wounds and gore, walked toward them.
Smoke leaked from the Thunderthrower in one hand. He stood before Zephys and gave a brief nod.
"You arrived at just the right moment."
"...Doesn't seem like it. What's the situation?"
"The enemy's waves have hit seven times now. The eighth... in about five minutes."
That was the time until the gateway closed and reopened. Hearing Zephys, Fernandez glanced at the dimming gateway.
'Still green.'
-We can't expect him to be as seasoned as us.
The ritual for opening the gateway, the supporting spells, and the ritual mechanics themselves were utterly crude. Compared to the gateways Fernandez had casually wielded in his prime—ones that opened and closed at will—this was nothing more than brute force tearing a rift in dimensional space.
Dimensions were separated by firm, resilient barriers with immense restorative power. Conceptual barriers, yes, but with a viscous physical reality that clung tenaciously. Dimensional walls healed rifts with ferocious speed.
To hold one open required a "tool" to keep the wound pried apart, like some surgical procedure. A dimensional gateway was one such tool, demanding intricate, finicky rituals.
Thus, a gateway that closed periodically meant they had to rip through the dimensional wall anew each time. The most primitive method, one that couldn't withstand the dimension's restorative force.
Fernandez, lost in thought for a moment, looked at Zephys. His wounds were severe.
"Bardo Brother, report casualties."
"Feliciano, KIA. Ermino, KIA. Dario, critical. Carlo and Bardo, combat effective. That's all."
"Recover the fallen brothers' remains and withdraw."
"...What?"
Though the helmet's visor was down, hiding his face, Fernandez could easily imagine Zephys's expression of shock and rage.
But there was no time. Fernandez felt his head spin from the hellish mana saturating the air, forcing himself to recalibrate his sense of time.
The density was enough to twist flesh and shatter minds with mere breathing. He wiped his stinging nose with the back of his hand. Black blood smeared across it.
"I was wrong. Bardo Brother, this isn't a battlefield humans can endure."
"Sounds like you're saying you're not human, Anzelo Brother."
"I..."
"Enough. Say no more, Anzelo. I'm furious enough as it is."
Zephys plunged his greatsword upside-down into a demon corpse and leaned on it, catching his breath. He—and Demonica like him—weren't versed in rhetoric.
"We call each other brothers because that's what we are. Demonica are always deployed right after the worst happens, and this isn't the absolute worst I've seen in my long service."
"No. This moment is the worst, and the fact that it feels like a lesser evil means the true worst hasn't even begun."
Fernandez touched his burning eyes. Sticky fluid clung to his fingertips. He'd thought his vision warped from mana corruption, but it was blood tears.
The other nearby Inquisitors weren't faring much better.
"Brother, since you called me Anzelo, I command you as field commander of this operation. Pursue and eliminate the scattered demons, eradicate any further outbreaks."
"...What good is that if we can't close this gateway?"
A hellgate opening was one of the handful—no, finger-countable—cataclysms in civilized history. From that instant, humanity's full might had to converge, or the world entered the countdown to doom.
This one wasn't directly linked to Hell itself, just a gate to fallen Asgard... but the impact would be little different.
Opening in the remote north, far from the continent's heartlands, was the silver lining. But when the fully corrupted north mustered and marched south, could the continent hold?
Even destroying the gate would leave the mana it spewed corrupting earth, rivers, and sky, turning the area uninhabitable for at least a century. Mana would boil beasts into monsters, drive men to madness and atrocity.
"Don't order us to abandon our duty, Anzelo."
Thus, thus—the Inquisitors couldn't flee this mad space brimming with death. They were the beacons illuminating the abyss's depths, the self-consuming flames sworn to guard human civilization.
But Fernandez shook his head.
"This was my mission from the start, Brothers. Prevent further casualties, eradicate the heresy. Too many brothers have gone to the cathedral today. My last drop of blood is enough alone."
"...Can you do it?"
"I wouldn't try if I couldn't. Just pray to the cathedral's beacon for what's left."
"Ashes... to ashes, dust to dust. Anzelo Brother... I trust you."
Zephys forced dry words from parched lips. To a saint declaring total self-sacrifice for an obviously suicidal task, he had nothing left to say.
The mission's gravity, its potential to spark doom if failed... was all too familiar. When did a demon incident ever arise lightly? Specializing in them meant being the firefighter dousing flames on the brink of apocalypse.
Thus, Zephys nodded. Even in failure, they couldn't all die. Someone had to report to HQ, and only three remained who could.
Thus, trust the brother and contain the crisis. Their vows were for humanity's salvation, not self-destruction masked as martyrdom.
"May your name shine eternally in the Holy Pantheon's cathedral."
"Our paths align, so we shall meet again someday."
The Demonica murmured low and nodded. Their deliberations were long, but action swift. They never rested beyond necessity, so these five minutes overflowed with respite.
Prepared to depart, Zephys pulled a shield from his back and handed it over.
"You left this. The brothers at HQ will grieve."
"An honor."
Fernandez slung Marco's shield onto his back with a smile. Brief grins crossed. Instead of further words or blessings, they turned and vanished.
-Roft's troops are forming a front line.
'Good. Earning their soul tribute.'
-More useful than expected. Suspicious fellow, though...
'Death-domain gods are usually suspect.'
Fernandez chuckled shortly, gripping his sword hilt. The gateway was slowly reopening. From here on, he'd carve the path alone.
Hell mana gnawed his body, feverishly lightening it—like morphine at death's door. Familiar, too.
-Welcome... so sweet.
Feizashi shivered briefly, scanning around. Rotting yellow, corpse-pale blue, clotted-blood red... multicolored vapors swirled the sky.
On this toxic earth, the turquoise-glowing gateway yawned open... then shut.
"Hm...?"
[Aura. Challenger.]
A resonant voice hammered his mind. Low, numbing just to hear. Fernandez narrowed his eyes at the front.
Atop that hill, ridge's end. Backlit by the gleaming gateway. A boy looked down, smiling.
Arrogant bastard. Fernandez smirked, rolling his shoulders. Want a boss fight, eh?
*
The blizzard stopped; only wind blew. Not crisp night breeze, not northern east wind. Lukewarm, sticky gusts. Fernandez ascended the hill against the headwind.
He couldn't meet the foe with ragged breath and churning vitals. For Demonica, walking was rest. Unless sprinting, stamina recovered.
"Quite bold."
[Reason for me to fear?]
"Well, a bit of shame and self-reflection wouldn't hurt. Jet-Black Erik."
[You know me. I don't know you. Southern stranger. Declare your name, honor this duel.]
"Not much to adorn it with. Like your head."
Fernandez eyed the scaled boy. Now visible clearly. Yellow-glowing pupils held serpents swallowing tails; skin bristled white scales.
Its black hair... less physical, more ink dispersed in water, undulating. Jet-black suited it viciously.
"Just call me Anzelo. Right now, no greater name means anything to you or me."
[Poetic.]
" Sacraments proceed in verse by nature."
-Sring.
Fernandez slowly drew his greatsword, assuming stance. Distance: ten-odd meters. For swordsmen of their caliber—or Erik's—it was a hair's breadth from engagement.
"For the crime of butchering your own clansmen as clan head, sentence of death."
He set spacing, focused. Blood-blurred vision flowed; tricky, but doable. Wary of wasting even a moment flicking crusted blood from his eyes, Fernandez measured distance carefully.
"For reveling in power, ravaging kin, sacrificing comrades for strength, and ultimately submitting to demons, sentence of death."
[You dare judge me? Prove your worth first.]
Its stance straightened—not mammalian crouch, but reptilian strike pose. Like a viper rearing before lunging. It gripped the axe in a stiff-looking posture.
Crunch—their grips creaked, tendons writhing.
"And for terrorizing your father to slaughter your own child, sentence of death!"
[Tiresome, outdated, pathetic. Enough theater. This is the dueling ground, Anzelo!]
-Thud.
Its form blurred. Like a serpent ripping into prey's throat, it skimmed the ground in eerie motion, charging.
-Kaang!
Fernandez charged too. They crossed at one point, clashing greatsword and axe blade. In that split-second clash, breaths mingling at arm's length. Fernandez glared into its dripping-yellow, venomous eyes.
"The defendant's chance for repentance has expired. No prayers. This court sentences death!"
"Bullsh...!"
-Taaaang!!
With the explosion, its head tore away for an instant. Fernandez racked the empty chamber with a click, blowing smoke from the Thunderthrower's muzzle.
-Did we... get him?
Feizashi whispered, stunned. Sadarkelia-blessed champion, down in one shot? He recalled humans fortified by archdemon blessings, Erik in his prime who'd wrecked the continent's midlands, stammering.
At that, Fernandez scowled.
'Every time we said that in our past life, the heroes came back alive weren't few...'
-Kuduk.
Before the thought finished, its body staggered back, then twisted grotesquely.
'That line just reset it. Careful next time.'
Meant as a joke, but Feizashi didn't laugh.