Chapter 191
Chapter 191
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 191
Chapter Title: Ebony Erik (3)
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*
The axe blade caught the light and fell. A greatsword followed, slipping through the gap. Ignoring defense—attack, attack, attack!
-Shwick!
Blood sprayed. Faster still, his foe's flesh regenerated. The greatsword that had sliced into the ribs was deflected at the end. On this side too, the axe blade came down on the shoulder. The left arm was severed, spinning through the air.
-Clack.
Fernandez tossed the greatsword into the air for a moment and grabbed his left arm, pressing it against the wound. The injury stitched itself back together in an instant. While he couldn't recover the spilled blood, he had the means to immediately repair lost flesh.
Thus, the battle was nothing but pure destruction aimed at each other. Erik watched the scene and clicked his tongue.
‘Monster of a bastard.’
This was the fiercest fight of Erik's life. He frowned, feeling his senses growing numb. His reptilian face likely hid the expression, but he was growing increasingly anxious.
‘...Me, I, the great me—I'm falling behind in reading him!’
The body of Fernandez that Erik watched seemed to grow larger. It wasn't just an illusion of tension. The bastard's attacks were truly outpacing his senses, clawing at his body.
Was it the dulling senses from repeated resurrections? Erik felt his reason evaporating hotly and swung the axe even more frantically.
-Kaching!
Fernandez's greatsword scraped the side of the axe and thrust forward. An integrated offense and defense near instinct. Even in this savage clash of blades, the bastard's assault followed the principles of swordsmanship.
-Clang!
It seemed the greatsword would deflect the axe, then it dove straight for the throat. Erik felt scales rip from his cheek as he ducked his head.
“Getting tired?”
[As long as I have Jörmungandr's magic power, I am invincible!]
“Worthy of a test, then.”
[...What?]
Erik stared at Fernandez in confusion. He stood tall, greatsword raised. Armor and skin indistinguishable, his body a ragtag mess of barely healing old wounds overlaid with fresh ones.
“Among those who've said such things to me, not one was truly invincible. You're worth testing if you're different.”
[Arrogant cur!]
Erik bared his fangs with a hiss. Rage melted his reason swiftly, and the sticky madness stirred by hell's magic power seized his body.
-Block him.
A snake's voice whispered in his ear. The sliver of remaining reason tried to resist, but it was too late. Perhaps in resignation, Erik swung the axe and charged.
*
Blood loss had reached a critical level. More agonizing than death itself. Fernandez bit the tip of his tongue, clinging to his vision that now showed only afterimages.
The sharp pain briefly sharpened his mind. And at the same moment—
-Clang!
The greatsword swung reflexively blocked the axe. It slid forward, plummeting straight toward Erik's crown. But Erik twisted like a serpent, slipping through the gap in the attack.
No need to block. It wouldn't be fatal. A warrior's fight prioritized self-preservation, but not a mage's. Mages knew discard plays from gambits, and for him at the pinnacle of spellcasting, it was instinct.
-Kwazig!
The axe deeply cleaved his side. Blood gushed, then sealed. In exchange for allowing the attack, Fernandez's greatsword split Erik's spine in two, cleanly kicking him away.
[Krgh...!]
Erik gasped, regaining his stance. Almost simultaneously, the gateway's magic began repairing his flesh. Fernandez's wounds were healing too... but blood loss had now reached truly perilous heights.
It was the harmony of the Demonica's wondrous healing and durability, and the immortality blessing from Loft. Fatal wounds unto death were mended by Loft, while bearable injuries were healed by Demonica divinity.
For a brief moment, Fernandez possessed self-regeneration near a troll's. But even as shattered bones knit and torn flesh mended, spilled blood did not return.
Thus, his vision blurred, limbs grew ice-cold. Facial muscles rigid, his bluff was perfect, but odds of victory were slim.
-Can't keep fighting like this.
‘I know, no need to repeat it.’
-Time for a gambit.
‘How many blessings left?’
-Five more.
Loft's grace was not infinite. The mistletoe branch he'd given was shortening. Time to go all-in. Fernandez nodded and eyed the panting Erik askance.
-Shing.
He sheathed the greatsword. Erik couldn't hide his bewilderment at the sight. Soon, the hairs on his head stood on end.
[You worm! How much more will you insult me!]
“No need for me to join in insulting you, Erik. You're doing it to yourself.”
Fernandez closed his eyes and slowly raised his right hand. Gently, his fingers stroked the air. Simultaneously, his left arm twisted at an odd angle and rose. [Construct].
-Clack.
One move, one move. Meticulously. Even with trembling hands and dulled senses, magic wove with a craftsman's skill. The bronze throne's magic circuits whirred fiercely, beginning to absorb the hell magic blooming around them.
“Cough.”
Bloody foam wetted his throat and spilled. A pity. Fernandez thought dazedly. With blood loss critical, infiltrating magic made Demonica divinity rampage madly.
Organs tore, spewing fresh blood. Life ebbed swiftly. And in proportion to the vanishing life—
-Whoosh!
A black halo ignited behind his head, devouring the sky. Erik charged at the sight. Whatever he prepared, now with this sudden opening was the chance!
-Whooom!
Erik's axe plummeted toward Fernandez's head. A blow with force to split any great tree in one stroke. Eyes closed, he had no way to block!
Yet, Fernandez's left hand, hovering still in the air, shot like a ray of light and seized Erik's throat midair.
[Guhk!?]
-Crack.
Erik had a boy's body. Fernandez, small for a Demonica but superior to an average man in build. Erik's feet dangled in the air.
[Pointless... thrashing!]
“Lighter than expected.”
The halo blazing behind Fernandez's head scorched the heavens. Crack, bones shattered in the gripped throat. Erik saw Fernandez's right hand through blurring vision.
The hand forming a mudra was etched with spiderweb lines from hell magic infusion. Thud, something crushed. One of Fernandez's eyes burst on its own, spilling black blood.
“And... too young.”
Fernandez's forehead split down the middle, blood trickling. [Third Eye] flickered into being there.
If blood loss robbed vision, magic substituted. If strength fled the body, hammer in magic power to move. Manipulating his own body like a puppet, squeezing output near its limit.
-Crack.
Erik felt his throat crushed like in a press and thrashed. Axe, feet, fists battered chest, gut, shoulder, head. Enduring all, Fernandez slammed Erik into the ground.
-Boom!
[Kraaagh!]
“Your soul has no salvation, Erik. Even if you repent of your own will. Even if you convert. The time for you to save yourself has passed.”
[Bullshit... bullshit!]
Erik screamed with bloodshot eyes, resisting. Eyes closed, Fernandez took the blows on his body, repeatedly smashing him into the floor. Ceaseless breaking, repairing—Erik's form gradually lost shape.
Now little more than a scale-covered pile of meat. Yet he glared at Fernandez with savagery, rage, and madness, hatred burning.
-Fernandez.
‘I know, this is hypocrisy. How repulsive it was to pity those who must die.’
Fernandez slammed the convulsing Erik down and pinned him with his foot. He grabbed the Thunderthrower from his sword belt. A round chambered in the empty cylinder. Click, intricate gears turned, locking it in.
‘But look at this.’
In his past life, Erik had been a hero struggling to save the northerners. King of the North, wielder of the Great Wild. But now, he was merely a boy toyed by a devil's schemes.
Formless, mangled from endless destruction. It... it resembled his son's end. Fernandez gazed down at the madness-consumed eyes, the mouth spewing curses and drool. Eyes closed, he brought the barrel close.
“By the authority guaranteed by the Holy Pantheon of Good Gods, I anoint you... Will you pray yourself?”
[I pray to no god...!]
“Loft.”
The mistletoe branch, now just a stub, quivered. Suddenly, Loft appeared beside him, grinning slyly.
“Need my help, friend?”
“Immortality is the antithesis of death.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Withdraw your blessing. When you gave me this, didn't you hope for this moment?”
“It was meant to kill Baldur, that fool kid, from the start... but effectively the same. Fine, let's do it.”
Loft clapped, laughing. The branch crumbled to dust, seeping into the Thunderthrower's barrel tip.
-That was our last bastion.
‘Every moment has always been our last bastion.’
Back to mortality once more. Nothing changed. Fernandez shoved the barrel between Erik's brows and whispered.
“I'll carry your karma.”
[I hate you. This world, the gods too! I, I will... the North...!]
“I'll do it.”
-Bang!
No recoil felt. His left arm, nerves shredded, forced to move by magic. No sensory organs left in his body.
Thus, Erik's death felt empty. Like the moment he ended his son's life. Fernandez stood atop the body, eyes closed, for a moment.
The harsh North, where food dwindled. Hellish land without summer sun. Endless strife proved glory, ever turning blades on kin, eroding the people's strength.
Amid it, the boy who lost his father in battle—that Erik of old—had gazed at his starving folk and thought: I will save them.
Without Baldur's meddling, it would have been so. Fernandez mulled the memories seeping from the barrel into his mind. Erik's soul shattered, its fragments drawn into him.
For a moment, a shiver. His stilled heart beat again. Northern fury overlaid his emotions.
Hatred and madness reached to twist his soul.
-Fernandez.
‘No regrets.’
His past life, the altered future. The cause. He regretted none.
But he pitied. Empathy from understanding, and in this soul-mingling moment, he fully understood Erik. Fully embraced his hatred and rage.
-Click.
He holstered the Thunderthrower and slowly drew the greatsword. His heart pounded wildly, pumping blood through his body.
“Loft, open the gate to Asgard.”
“Oh, friend. Always throwing yourself into the worst. You'd think you had dozens of lives.”
Loft chuckled, approaching the gateway. He sat at its edge, stroking the flesh-made door.
“Ah, Baldur, you halfwit. All a would-be king managed was Bifrost?”
Loft clapped, and slowly, light seeped from beyond the gateway.
***