Chapter 190
Chapter 190
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 190
Chapter Title: Ebony Erik (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
*
[Dwarven relic, huh... Quite the amusing trick.]
Scales sprouted as if time itself were rewinding, and scattered flesh began to gather. Gurgle—a bubbling sound rose as bone and meat reassembled. Soon, its hair cascaded once more, and yellow eyes spun into place.
“I thought it was a snake, but it’s a lizard after all. Guess the head’s no different from the tail.”
[What an irritating tongue you’ve got. Perfect for ripping out.]
Erik chuckled low, readjusting his grip on the axe. The creature cracked its neck and assumed a stance. Fernandez sheathed Thunderstriker at his waist and gripped his greatsword firmly with both hands.
“To think I’d cross blades with Erik in this lifetime.”
[How much weaker is he compared to his prime?]
“Weaker? Who knows. Sadarkelia raised this hound with meticulous care.”
In his previous life, two figures heralded the fall of human civilization: one was the northern king, Ebony Erik; the other, Karadskarl, the Kagan of the Five Great Tribes of the Ger. Those two monsters had nearly shattered civilized society, but what made them particularly shocking was that they weren’t demon minions.
To their own people, both were ‘heroes.’
Karadskarl had unified the endlessly feuding clans of the Baekguk horse tribes and turned their internal strife outward with an invasion. Erik, too, had decreed the Great Southern March to migrate his northern folk southward amid dwindling food and supplies, as clans bared fangs at one another.
Though both took demon worshippers into their ranks and met ignoble ends, in their prime, they had wielded their swords for their own strength, will, and greater cause.
But... Fernandez gazed at Erik’s sinister grin with conflicted eyes. The man was utterly corrupted by Sadarkelia.
‘Our fault, isn’t it?’
—What else could it be?
Theories abounded for the northern pantheon’s fall. The seal guarding Sadarkelia had weakened, likely due to the Holy Pantheon of Good Gods’ interference. And her direct meddling on the continent probably stemmed from Mumto’s death.
Ebony Erik, the hero who had gloriously perished holding the north. Without demonic interference—or corrupted Asgard’s—he might have had a different fate.
—Click.
But now, it was all meaningless. Erik had to die regardless. His Great Southern March had ravaged the continent’s east and north, stripping the Empire of strength to face Karadskarl later.
After that, only an avalanche toward apocalypse. Karadskarl’s destruction would leave the continent in poverty and ruin, a paradise for gutter rats, demons, and corruption.
Even if Erik hadn’t fallen, he still had to die.
[Finished praying, priest?]
“Yeah.”
If this was atonement for crushing those possibilities, it was more than enough. Fernandez opened his closed eyes. From the moment he’d returned to the past to change the future, he’d vowed to trample countless possibilities.
Compared to his cause, his purpose, this was scarcely worth self-reflection. Or...
—Hypocrisy.
‘Right.’
Hypocrisy. How repulsive was pity for one who must die. Fernandez—and Feizashi—had seen too many such fools in their past life, and had mostly impaled them on pikes to line the streets.
—Shing.
The greatsword sliced through empty air into position. A high guard, textbook greatsword defense. Erik smirked at the sight and charged like lightning.
—Clang!!
Axe met greatsword, sparks flying. Their forms blurred. Erik’s white scales and ink-black hair flowed like water, like serpents.
—Hiss.
Its tongue rasped like metal. Fernandez wordlessly slashed downward, expressionless. The greatsword glanced off the axe blade and spun toward the neck. But it wasn’t fast enough. Erik slipped the attack in an instant.
—Clang!
Fernandez’s silver-streaked curls scattered. White and black blurred until they met at some point—
—Crunch!
The greatsword bit into the axe. Erik’s weapon flew back, and in that gap, Fernandez plunged forward.
—Clang! Clang! Graaah!
Steel whipped like a storm. Fernandez’s greatsword cleaved deep into Erik’s chest and rocketed upward. Erik coughed blood... and laughed.
[Well done, priest.]
—Crunch.
The axe hurtled in. Even in what would fell any normal being, Erik pressed the attack. Fernandez barely parried and deflected, frowning.
“Undying blessing...”
Erik grinned viciously at the words. Fernandez had suspected as much when the head first flew, but now... He blocked Erik’s relentless assaults—carving into his own body—and clicked his tongue.
‘Tricky bastard.’
—Hah, how’s it feel on the receiving end?
‘Definitely an annoying blessing.’
Erik fought exactly like Fernandez once had: taking every minor hit on flesh—or even bone—to grind down the enemy’s.
Obvious, yet devilishly hard to counter. If he’d just been a demon bulling forward on durability, it’d be easier, but Erik’s style was viciously sharp and agile.
—Graaah!
He hooked the axe on the greatsword’s tip. Demonica-honed reflexes, precise technique. He flicked the blade away and thrust for the throat. Erik didn’t defend—he dove deeper.
[Got you.]
“No. You’re caught.”
—Crunch.
Tendons writhed in Fernandez’s forearm. Erik’s agility was his weakness. Fernandez hoisted him up and slammed him into the ground.
[Urk...!]
“Shoving yourself onto a blade and pulling? Done it before.”
Anyone could try it with assurance of survival and grit to ignore pain. Naturally, Fernandez had.
—Boom!
His gauntleted fist crushed down on Erik’s brow like a hammer. Again—boom, boom, boom. In perfect mount, greatsword pinned to the neck with one hand, he hammered with the other.
[Grraaah...!!]
Erik thrashed wildly with the axe. Fernandez didn’t dodge. It shattered armor and sank into his shoulder. But he swung again without pause!
—Boom!
Dust billowed; Erik convulsed. Immortality didn’t numb pain. Will could overcome it, but not nerves shocked into paralysis. Amid flashing white, Erik shuddered and swung.
—Crunch!
Finally. The axe struck Fernandez’s neck. Victory. Beneath the mangled face, Erik grinned.
[Ha, haha, hahaha! Tough, but dumb!]
—Crunch.
Erik yanked the axe from Fernandez’s neck, trembling. This thrill, this sensation. Life surging, death on his back—exhilarating.
[Ahh, I feel alive...]
“Now you’ll feel dead.”
—Boom!
The hammer-fist crashed down. Erik slammed into the ground, gagging.
[H-How?]
“Told you, I’ve done it.”
Fernandez twisted his torn neck back into place, scowling. The mistletoe sprig from Lofton in his chest felt shorter against his skin.
‘Been a while since I died.’
—Don’t get used to it.
‘I know. Can’t fully trust Lofton.’
The neck wound knit with eerie sounds. Torn vessels reconnected; blood surged, warming his chilled brain.
—Crunch.
Erik tore free from the impaled greatsword and escaped the stunned Fernandez. His head began regenerating rapidly.
Watching, Fernandez eyed the mana swarming coldly around him.
‘Blessing’s soul-bound.’
—Body’s reshaped from gateway mana.
‘Good. The real body’s his soul... or...’
—The gateway itself.
Headless, yet restoring flesh without losing memory, emotion, or senses. A high-tier blessing, even beyond what Fernandez had from Beitasser.
When is death final? Breath stops? Blood clots? Heart ceases? Flesh rots? Death’s vague, conceptual.
Thus, immortality varies by definition, despite similar results. Fernandez’s from Beitasser was ‘restoration’—rewinding flesh to pre-fatal moment.
Erik’s was ‘fixation.’ Anchoring the spirit to the mortal plane. A lost body scatters into spirit (yeong), nature (seong), vital soul (po), and soul (hon). Erik fixed his spirit here, reforming flesh via gateway mana.
But perfect immortality doesn’t exist. Not for celestial gods, abyssal archfiends. Even stars beyond eventually fade.
Let alone us mere mortals. Fernandez raised his greatsword at Erik. Let’s see how undying monsters fare.
*
“We have to turn back.”
Kirhas wheeled her mount mid-retreat along the ridge. Demons from the gateway had scattered or vanished, but most slammed into the lines ringing the camp.
They seemed to hold, but no. Demons poured endlessly each opening, while the skeleton legion dwindled. Gaps widened; more demons broke toward the plains beyond.
It would collapse eventually. Even without Kirhas’s tactical eye, everyone there sensed it gazing down. That moment would be the north’s last.
“Fall back, regroup the troops...”
“Abel. You know that’s impossible.”
“I swore to protect you. Leading these men there’s just heroic suicide—nothing more, nothing less.”
“Behind us lies survival, but no victory. Victory’s only ahead.”
—Shing.
Kirhas drew her longsword, pointing forward. The gateway’s immense aura chilled her stiff.
“That spot. See it?”
“...Yes.”
Fernandez and Erik clashed there. Distant dots, but close enough for Kirhas and Abel’s vision.
A horrific fight. All defense forsaken, solely to stab one more time. Swordplay prioritizes protection at core—deflect, counter.
By that measure, theirs transcended technique. Pure feral savagery.
Abel watched, then sighed deeply.
“You’re right. Even if only death awaits, even if defeat and despair remain. We can’t leave him alone there.”
“Yes, Abel.”
The two spurred their mounts toward the battlefield once more.