Chapter 259
Chapter 259
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 259
Chapter Title: The Method of Distinguishing Good and Evil (7)
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The magic lamps dotting the night streets flowed behind like waves. Their light left afterimages, pulsing at full frequency. The wind howled like a whetstone on a blade against his ears. Yet amid that chaos, one sound rang out crystal clear—
[Come.]
A single phrase. A chilling, sticky drone, like the buzzing of dozens of swarms of flies. It grew louder in his ears, stronger and stronger.
[Come, Inquisitor. Come toward your death. If you wish to call your death martyrdom, so be it. If all you desire is your own demise, how noble and humble a stance that is.]
The hallucinations overlapped into a voice. The voice wove into a sorcerous rhythm, layering noise upon noise. Flickering magic lamps, the harsh buzz of insect wings, pale mist, and the stinging press of the enemy...
Sorcery. Vicious, sticky sorcery. His senses tangled, the ground twisted, and his sense of direction slowly faded.
But the one racing through that space now was a Religiosa Demonica.
-Kwa-dududuk!
Fernandez slashed downward at empty air mid-stride. Beyond the pale mist where nothing should be, he felt flesh catch on his blade tip, clear as day.
Rrip—skin tore, bones crushed. The form hidden in the air scattered into chunks of meat. It would revive soon enough, but that didn't matter. In that time, Fernandez had already covered more than five meters.
His breath came ragged. Not a matter of lung capacity. Poison mist and sorcery were stealing it away. Yet his body was no ordinary human's.
No, it was human. It had reached the pinnacle of humanity. A being infinitely close to the limits of the human species.
One day, a species that endured without extinction might reach it. The essence of "possibility." The apex of chance, miracle, and evolution. Forged across eons, the blessing of the gods—that was the Religiosa Demonica.
-Kwajik, kwajik, kwajijijik!
Even from the deepest abyss of despair, the Religiosa Demonica planted both feet on the earth, gazed at the sky, and trudged through the muck. The embodiment of human will.
-Kwa-dududuk!
Chunks of flesh rained down. Fernandez's expression never changed as he swung his blade relentlessly. Sometimes from above, sometimes from the side, sometimes from the shadows at his feet—demons lunged.
If he glanced back, he would see a path paved in flesh and demons. A road of blood and death. A brutal, sticky slice of hell manifested in the material world.
'Do not think that we have come to bring peace to the world. We have not come to bring peace, but a sword.'
He whispered the Inquisition's scripture. You are not them, but my sheep. You shall be the shepherd who leads with the sword at the forefront against the wolves...
"A torch lighting the dark night, a sentry against the powers of evil, the North Star guiding through stormy seas!"
He shook off the labored breaths, as if tearing out his lungs!
"Fear me. Shepherd to the good sheep, dragon to the wicked."
Without pause, another step forward. Forward. Toward the heart of the hell that had come to Paltenoya. Forward.
"The deeper the night, the brighter the lamp burns. We have not come for peace, but with swords drawn. Fear me."
As more demons swarmed, his swings grew intricate tangles. At some point, his strikes no longer just ended lives. Each blow, each stroke traced sigils in the air.
One line, then another atop it. The trajectory of his blade while running formed runes, like sigils.
"Our name is fire!"
With the final stroke, Fernandez roared. The three elements of holy spells were invocation, prayer, and miracle. He spun his dusk blade and sheathed it, drawing another sword from his back in nearly the same motion.
A blaze of pure white light ignited along the blade. Holy power so intense it could incinerate souls on its own.
The demonic toxin racing through his blood with every breath burned away in an instant. Agonizing pain wracked his body, and the shock turned his eyes bloodshot, tears of blood streaming down.
-Skeeng!
He slashed downward. A heavy recoil like rending the world itself jolted his grip—even his iron strength nearly lost the blade. But through that gap, he pressed forward—
[Impressive.]
A whisper echoed. Fernandez lifted his bloodshot eyes ahead. Hell unfolded before him.
* * *
Hot air rushed in. Fernandez knew his vision wasn't red just from the blood streaking his cheeks.
The emperor's forbidden ground, veiled by barriers and illusory sorcery. This place was...
-Ku-eeee...
-Grrraaak...
A laboratory. One run directly by Nuharipiksi. A vast incubator cultivating only pain and despair.
Corpses so grotesque you'd rather believe them dead littered the area. Figures in blood- and pus-stained white robes walked among them, jotting on charts, occasionally prodding the subjects. They all turned to Fernandez at once.
Pale as wax, they stared at him with glassy, emotionless eyes.
"You're the first to tear through the barrier and enter."
Their mouths opened, echoing the same voice in unison. Fernandez steadied his breath and scanned the surroundings. Vast. A massive cavern, as if an entire district of the capital had been hollowed out, its citizens turned to test subjects.
Faint groans and bubbling breaths floated like mist. Fernandez gripped the pulsing holy sword in his hand tighter.
-Fernandez, calm yourself.
'I'm calmer now than ever.'
He spat the words. Reciting scripture and unleashing holy spells had been necessary, not some wild rush of unchecked emotion.
-Then what's the plan?
'Burn them all, kill Nuharipiksi.'
-Good.
Feizashi Wildcast chuckled. Fernandez spun his blade into position and charged at the heretics.
* * *
"That one's impossible to gauge."
Deep in the nest, red eyes gleamed as they rose. The being watched a lone man charging straight toward it from afar.
-Kwaduk!
One field of vision went dark. With his minions becoming his eyes, it meant only one thing: his carefully nurtured offspring, to whom he'd granted power, were dying.
-Kwaduk!
Another vanished. The last sight from the freshly slain was a beast charging with a blue soulstone clutched to its chest.
The dweller in the nest slowly rose. Its eyes climbed higher, flickered, then split into eight.
"He clearly knows magic, yet wields a sword like that?"
The one burning his minions was unmistakably a mage, but the blade's precision was so sharp even it struggled to follow. No single person should possess such skill, but having seen it, denying reality was pointless.
So, change tactics...
"A head-on fight would be foolish..."
Its eyes began winking out one by one. Perfectly blending into the darkness, Nuharipiksi laughed chillingly.
* * *
His eyes grew harder to keep open; at some point, Fernandez fought with them closed. The backlash from the holy spell was rapidly degrading his body's functions.
Even a Religiosa Demonica body strained under the keyblade's burden. For an ordinary person, just holding it would shatter their soul. Wielding it in battle and forcibly drawing out its holiness—expecting to emerge unscathed was arrogance.
The problem was "matchup." Mummto's necromancy overlapped his strengths, Sadarkelia's minions were straightforward brawlers he could handle, but... Urkasia's limbs were different.
They summoned plague and vermin. What they had in common: you couldn't cleave them with a blade. And with the constraints on this body, he couldn't spam spells freely.
So magic only for decisive moments. Fernandez subtly flicked his fingers, nudging a flicker of flame.
-Pyuk!
A pinpoint spark flew into exploding flesh. The body ignited, crumbling to ash. Like driving a mana wedge—minimal mana for maximum effect.
-Sring. Click.
Confirming no breathing forms remained, Fernandez spun his blade and sheathed it. It slid home with a crisp sound.
This was its forge. Nuharipiksi wouldn't abandon it. Unless holy knights or Inquisitors came in force to purge it, that arrogant demigod wouldn't flee from one intruder.
-Why isn't it coming? Not like it.
'Sshould I pretend to be more exhausted?'
-Forget it. Your acting sucks.
Ignoring Feizashi Wildcast's voice with one ear, Fernandez rolled his recovering eyes around. Burned corpses, some not fully incinerated.
-Want to pray or something?
'If it were enough.'
But good intentions without action are no different from evil. If sitting in prayer changed reality, hellscapes like this wouldn't exist.
-Pitying them? Do we even qualify?
'Qualify.'
Fernandez toyed with his hilt as he replied.
-The villages we burned, the "innocent" souls we killed. If those bastards saw us now, think they'd gasp in admiration at our grand repentance? Listen, Fernandez. I can stomach twisted souls, but don't pretend the past never happened. Can't stand that. Makes me sick.
'You're right. No right to judge anyone—least of all us.'
But that day, as long as we remember the fading Phrygia scent at dusk, we still have something like "qualification."
The right to pity these sacrificed souls. Their plight no different from ours. They'd rather die, but he can't even do that.
Ending souls tortured by demons is euthanasia. Ending their pain-filled lives is mercy. But he can't. His life is the frame, abandoning it mere escape.
With purpose, he can't stop. A chance earned by devoting his entire life—can't squander it.
So his only qualification is regret. The right to regret. He has plenty of that.
'And if that's all I have left, no matter where this life ends, it won't be wasted.'
Feizashi Wildcast said nothing. The gulf between them was now irreparable; shared memories didn't mean shared thought patterns anymore.
But one thing they could trust: they'd never settle for reality.
Rest over. Fernandez drew his sword, slung it over his shoulder, and advanced.