Chapter 378
Chapter 378
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 378
Chapter Title: Absolving Your Sins (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Fairn's command tent was engulfed in crimson-black flames, roaring fiercely. Sparks crackled and danced, while the acrid stench of sulfur mingled with the smell of burning flesh.
The soldiers didn't even think to extinguish the blaze; they fell into panic and retreated. A few of the faint-hearted fainted outright, and even those who kept their wits about them turned tail and fled.
"The blessing of the Crimson Archduke."
Fernandez narrowed his eyes at the inferno. The brilliantly blazing flames harbored a gloomy darkness within, as if no midday sun could pierce them.
Vicente frowned at the profane sight. The weight of his armor and greatsword was growing unbearably heavy.
-Snap!
As Fernandez flicked his fingers, the crushing pressure bearing down on Vicente's body lifted.
"Keep your wits about you, Your Highness. I won't be of much help from here on out, so you mustn't falter."
"Do you know what it is?"
"A minion blessed by the Crimson Archduke—nothing more, nothing less. It's barely a fraction of a demon, let alone the real thing."
Fernandez spoke without hiding his disgust. He gazed coldly into the flames.
"To receive the Crimson Archduke's blessing in this era requires exceedingly rare relics. But even if one exploited every ounce of power from those relics, it wouldn't mean the creature could ascend to a demon's stature."
"You know an awful lot about this, don't you? Is this from the Inquisition's intel? I'd never even heard of this Crimson Archduke demon until you mentioned it."
"Experience."
Vicente tilted his head quizzically, but Fernandez offered no further explanation. He slowly checked the state of his mana circuits.
His fragile mana circuits were already ruined beyond use for the foreseeable future. They'd need dedicated treatment just to barely recover function—the nerve bundles themselves were shattered beyond repair.
This was probably from the injury he'd sustained saving Abel and countering Fairn's battle mages. Not good.
The foe they now faced... Sigismund might not warrant overestimation, but underestimating him would be a mistake. Being cloaked head to toe in the Crimson Archduke's blessing meant he'd at least shattered mortal limits in combat.
'Enviable, in a way.'
Fernandez clicked his tongue. If Sigismund were a mage, the Crimson Archduke's blessing wouldn't have favored him so one-sidedly. It crushed human reason and stoked destructive instincts.
But for a warrior, it was different. It elevated physical prowess and skill to superhuman levels, shedding the frail shell of humanity.
'What relic did he get? Zakasmil? The Eye of Paladit? Urgen's Right Hand would be buried underground by now, so no...'
During the long period of researching the Crimson Archduke's seals, tracking his whereabouts, and fleeing pursuit, he'd collected only three great demon relics in the material world.
Of those, what a prince like Fairn could acquire was limited to the Bleeding Axe Zakasmil or the protective amulet called the Eye of Paladit. No way to tell without facing him directly.
-Kaboom!
As they stepped toward the command tent once more, one corner of the flame-wreathed structure exploded violently, sending a plume of black smoke rocketing into the sky. Like a dragon's breath descending, a towering pillar of soot stained the clear autumn midday heavens.
"Hey, Sir Albert. Do you consent to his death by any chance?"
"...Pardon?"
"It's important, so answer quickly."
It was an out-of-left-field question. Fernandez nodded hesitantly. Vicente chuckled as if struck by whimsy and took a bold step forward.
"Sigismund! The Round Table Knights of the Thousand Swords have deliberated your fate! The council's verdict is death, by the will of all Round Table Knights! Show yourself! Come forth and accept your destiny!"
There were only two Round Table Knights present, and the Thousand Swords Council referred to the king's own privy council. So, in a stretch, it was accurate enough.
"Your Highness, doesn't calling it the Thousand Swords Council fall short on quorum?"
"The king's vote outranks all Round Table Knights."
"...Wasn't the Round Table called that to signify equality?"
"Naturally, some stations are more 'equal' than others. The most 'equal' authority belongs to the king."
Fernandez couldn't help but burst into laughter at the farce. From within the pillar of flame came a voice like grinding metal shards.
[How dare you!! Presume to dictate my fate!!]
-Boom!!
Bursting through the half-collapsed tent, a flame-shrouded giant revealed itself.
"Oh, manners nonexistent as well. Wouldn't you say?"
"Indeed, Your Highness."
"If we add royal insult and courtly irreverence to his crimes, would it sway the judgment?"
"No, Your Highness. By the supreme will of the Thousand Swords Council, there's only one verdict for him."
Fernandez and Vicente drew their swords and spread out, advancing on the soot-backed giant—one-armed knight and beleaguered knight alike raising blades in unison.
"Death."
* * *
The great demons of the Abyss, and the heavenly proxies, earn awe from mortal minds, piercing their own flesh in reverence. For instance, worship of the sun flows to Shaild, fear of disease and pestilence to Urkasia.
Thus, the paradigm or scale of faith defines a divinity's might. Like Yekaset, once monopolizing terror of the unknown and savage wilds, fading in civilized eras.
So, do the blessings these gods grant depend on their divinity's strength? Surprisingly, the answer is 'no.'
'It's a matter of selection and focus.'
A unique, inimitable holy relic holds immense power in itself. Ordinary relics naturally fall short. Like Beitasser's key-sword Rosario—mere symbol now, stripped of rarity, carrying no divinity even if anyone bears it.
Proxies with masses of followers, great demons with hordes of minions. Their commonality: diluted blessing concentration. But Tyban's case—
'In this era, Tyban has scant worshippers, his existence nearly hidden, with almost no exposed relics.'
That was why Feizashi Wildcast had served Tyban in his past life. The merit of even his minions rivaling greater powers.
Other great demons commanded vast sway and countless devotees—including shadowy underground cults. The human followers of one great demon and its underlings were beyond numbering.
Amid that, what choice for a wandering Wildcast seeking true power? Even if it ruled concepts unrelated to magic's grandeur, Tyban was irresistibly appealing to Fernandez.
And that appealing choice was now that man's.
[I’ll kill you all, kill and kill again! Shatter this world, burn every inch of land to the farthest heavenly fringes, all as offering to Him!!]
"Thoroughly degraded."
Fernandez clicked his tongue briefly, glaring at it. For mages serving Tyban, the adverse effects weren't cognitive decline but emotional control. Mages channeled mana through reason, after all.
But for one whose essence was warriorhood, it invariably led to that state. Degrees varied, but reasoning dulled, destructive urges raged mad.
"You've taken power far beyond your capacity, Sigismund."
Fernandez summed it up curtly. A great demon's blessing was too potent for mortal flesh, and Tyban wasn't sly enough to ration his. Pounded into scarce devotees like that, it was curse more than boon.
Indeed, demons' gifts blur with curses depending on perspective. Especially in unskilled hands.
[Shut up!!]
-Roooar!
Flames surged with its footsteps. Earth cracked in rejection, abyssal fire licking up from fissures like tongues. Its mere breath fouled the air, heavens turning ashen.
Vicente gave an incredulous laugh at the sight.
"That thing... right, not even a fraction of a demon?"
"By raw power, it's king-level, but not a demon. Hasn't shed mortal flesh... so it's still human."
"Your definition of... human is awfully generous."
Vicente shot Fernandez a startled glance, then cleared his throat and reset his stance. Hot sweat trickled beneath his helm. Ill-suited for late autumn harvest season, with winter nigh—this sticky, oppressive heat.
Vicente adjusted his helm and laughed heartily. Seasons skewed, skies ashen, demon-like thing rampaging, terrified soldiers discarding arms in flight...
"Mythic battle."
A clash worthy of epic finale. Mere tragic heroism moments ago—a petty mortal squabble. Now, transformed to biblical verse.
Delighting in it, Vicente shrugged off losing an arm. Few knights across eras could claim such exploits.
"No—may this be our era's final myth."
"It will be."
Answering dryly with a smile, Fernandez reflected on countless sacrifices for this single clash. Things abandoned, souls lost—beyond count.
No repeats allowed. Civilization couldn't bear more blood, already at its limit.
"It must be."
So please, let it end here. Fernandez gripped his sword tighter, glaring at Sigismund.
* * *
Vicente ignored the flames clinging to his skin and swung his blade. One-handed swordplay from a pinnacle knight was lethal in itself.
-Clang!
The elegant arc grazed beneath its claw, shrieking on impact. Feeling that iron strength, Vicente retracted swiftly and rolled aside.
-Whoosh!!
A gale like charging cavalry buffeted him. Its right hand, brimming with savage force, shredded the space he'd occupied.
-Crash!
[You rat bastards!!]
Seizing the opening, Fernandez lunged, thrusting deep. The blade pierced crimson skin barely an inch, but instead of blood, flames flared from the gash.
Fernandez withdrew and leaped back. Boom—dust billowed as its thick leg stomped the earth.
[Yes! Dodge and flee! You can't escape death!]
" Predictable—"
"—and dull!"
Fernandez and Vicente countered in unison, slashing again. Flesh rang metallic; no strike drew more than scratches.
Disadvantageous. Either could take a fatal blow from one hit. Yet they pressed on undaunted, blades whirling, bodies weaving.
-Clang!
Sigismund broke the razor-edge stalemate. It gnashed teeth and leaped back, flames tracing tattoo-like scratches across its fury-maddened frame.
[Puny flies!! Your antics end now!!]
Flames crawling its body dripped like blood, forming eerie runes. Fernandez eyed them through heat haze, sighing shortly.
"Knew it had a Wound Rejection amulet? No—Zakasmil after all."
"What's that?"
"The Crimson Archduke's Bleeding Axe... its relic."
Blade barely nicking suggested an amulet with Tyban's blessing. But those runes confirmed a relic. Meaning its durability was innate flesh—
'Got a bigger blessing than thought.'
Tyban's domain: destruction. Protective amulets paled next to weapon-form relics infused with his power. Zakasmil ranked top among contemporaries.
Simple, destruction-only relic. Shard of Tyban's authority. Fernandez sighed at the ominous crimson-black axe blade emerging from blood-runes.
[I’ll smash your lands, crush your people, pulverize your ideals and faiths! In the silence after, I’ll kill you myself!!]
Fully drawn, flames flowing like blood, Sigismund bellowed. Wounds vanished; a crooked crown of fire crowned its head.
Vicente watched warily, then whispered.
"Seems regressed to infancy, but any other cautions?"
"Don't get hit."
"Wasn't that always the case?"
"No, Your Highness. Not even blade, shield, or armor against that axe head."
Zakasmil. Tyban's authority of destruction incarnate. All it touched crumbled, rent asunder—no matter how sturdy. Like Urkasia's corrosion on everything it touched.
In skilled warrior hands, a nightmare weapon. Tyban-blessed wielders all became such. Feizashi loathed it, but facing it was hopeless.
"So, no blocking attempts now?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Tch..."
Vicente grumbled a laugh, hurling his sweat-slicked helm to the ground, unlacing straps. He shed half-ruined armor, down to thin tunic, spinning his greatsword onto his shoulder.
"Feels refreshing, actually."
Pointless against such a weapon, so self-disarming. Inspired, Fernandez laughed, smashing his own buckles and discarding armor.
Weapons gripped tight, they charged the bull-raging Sigismund.