Chapter 46
Chapter 46
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 46
Chapter Title: Chains of the Fallen King
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Clank, clank!
A chain caked in layers of dried blood, so dark it seemed to swallow even light, slithered forward with an ominous rasp.
Whoosh!
The massive chain, fitting for a troll's hulking frame, lashed out like an anaconda's flickering tongue, aiming straight for the lives of the Latent Dragon Squad.
Boom!
"...Urgh!"
The staggering shockwave carved deep furrows into the ground beneath his feet.
He could feel his thighs—thick as logs from endless training, repeated and refined—screaming in agony.
...Grind!
Ralph gritted his teeth as he barely held back the relentless storm of chains with his halberd.
'Crazy... This is the power of a half-crippled bastard?'
It was nothing short of insane.
Thank goodness their training in the Trial Spire had pushed them further; if they'd encountered him on their first mission, their heads would already be rolling on the floor.
"Do something!"
"Quit whining and hold the line!"
As Ralph bellowed in pain from the chains, Dane—standing behind him—summoned a whirlwind of mana, as if to prove he hadn't been slacking.
Whoosh, flare!
Three enormous spears of flame materialized behind Dane's back.
"O flames, become sharp spears to pierce my foe! Fire Spear!"
With his incantation complete, Dane swept his hand forward, and the fiery spears hurtled toward Attila in unison.
"Go!"
Kaboom!
The magically forged spearheads shot toward Attila's chest—the gaping scar across it left wide open and seemingly defenseless—as he swung his chains at Ralph.
"Hmph!"
Attila snorted derisively and took the incoming fiery spears head-on, without even bothering to block.
Boom! Boom!
The three spears detonated against his body in sequence, erupting into massive fireballs.
The blistering heat scorched the surrounding air; even a troll should have taken some damage from that.
But.
Thud, thud!
"Pathetic flames not even fit for a campfire."
Attila brushed off Dane's fiery spears as if they were mere dust.
"...Monster."
Dane ground his teeth.
He hadn't expected his full-power spell to inflict mortal wounds on a young troll, but he'd at least thought it would singe him a bit.
To think it was this ineffective.
Pfsh! Pfshshshsh!
The cave ceiling.
A barrage of hidden weapons rained down like a storm.
Sylvia had abandoned her poisons—now useless—and unleashed a hail of darts designed to pierce skin and shred internals.
But her assault fared no better.
Swish!
Attila whipped his chain at blinding speed, forming an impenetrable shield.
"...Tch!"
Tat tat tat tat!
Beneath Sylvia, who clicked her tongue from the ceiling and prepared her next volley.
Ryu An Pallkion charged straight at Attila, drawing his sword from its sheath at his waist.
Kaboom!
The blade arced out in a semicircle, slicing precisely toward Attila's neck.
With his chains occupied blocking the overhead darts, Attila's lower guard was wide open.
'Got him!'
The swift thrust.
Just before the blade met Attila's throat.
A chilling gaze locked onto him from above.
Ryu An's eyes met Attila's ice-cold stare. He yanked back his sword and twisted his body desperately.
Slash!
A horrifying sensation as the hem of his twisting clothes shredded away.
Having dodged death by a hair's breadth, Ryu An broke out in cold sweat.
"Close, but I could've swatted one more fly."
Attila smacked his lips regretfully.
In his right hand—the one he'd overlooked while focusing on his whipping left—the grotesque sickle, crusted with hardened blood, gleamed.
Bzzz! Vrrr!
While Helena cast healing magic on Ralph, flung back by Attila's chains, she bided her time for a shot with her bow.
But she couldn't find a gap in those chains that blocked even Sylvia's endless darts.
'Damn it, when the hell is he gonna move?!'
Ralph rubbed his broken ribs as Helena's healing flowed in, inwardly grinding his teeth at whoever had landed them in this mess.
Ian, who had drawn his twin swords and poised to charge Attila.
...Shff.
But Ian suddenly relaxed his stance and sheathed his blades.
No, not just sheathed—he stepped back, crossed his arms, and looked at his squad.
"You guys fight first."
That's what he'd said.
"...What?"
And this was the hellish scene that followed.
No attacks landing, teetering on the edge of life and death like a deadly game of tag.
"......"
Yet amid the crisis, Ian stood with arms crossed, coolly surveying the battlefield.
"All talk, but nothing but fodder to throw at your underlings? What a disappointment."
Attila sneered, but the Latent Dragon Squad thought differently.
That's our leader.
There had to be a reason.
'I get it, but...'
At this rate, the squad would get wiped out first.
Ian watched his squad's perilous struggle with calm detachment.
'To grow, you need to pay the price.'
His squad had surged in skill after the Trial Spire.
But to reach Ian's goals, they were still far short.
He aimed for the pinnacle.
Those who would stand by his side couldn't settle for this level.
He had to push them to their limits.
Only then would they grow endlessly.
'Can't waste a golden opportunity like this.'
This troll king was perfect fodder to hone their teamwork.
Of course, if things got truly dire, he'd step in.
Swords were meant to be honed, not broken.
Twist!
And at last, the feared moment arrived.
Ryu An, lunging with drawn sword, lost his footing on the shockwave-shattered floor.
A split-second lapse, but the veteran Attila never missed it.
"Farewell, vermin."
Swish!
The chain's hook filled Ryu An's vision.
'Damn, this is it.'
Ryu An squeezed his eyes shut, accepting death.
Clang!
Instead of his skull shattering, a metallic ricochet rang out.
Ian had moved in an instant, batting the chain aside.
Boom!
The chain grazed Ryu An's face by a paper's width, cratering the cave floor.
Clank!
It snapped back to Attila's hand.
"A warrior closing his eyes mid-battle? You've got a long way to go."
"Boss, showing up all cool after sitting it out? Not cool at all."
Maybe from the near-death scare, Ryu An grumbled at Ian's scolding.
Snicker!
Ian chuckled lightly at Ryu An's complaint, then brushed his cheek with his thumb.
Swipe!
"......"
Pressing his cheek brought a sting and a warm slickness on his thumb.
It was cut.
Even deflected, the mere wind pressure packed this punch.
"Impressive. Chain mastery unlike any troll—devastating without even touching. And weakened like this... No wonder you ruled a region."
Ian, who had faced Iron Mask head-on and withstood his aura, was certain.
This troll king's prime must have been formidable.
But.
'That's all you were.'
The casual killing intent Iron Mask had exuded.
He was leagues beyond this.
If the troll king matched the Iron Mask Ian knew, the squad would be dust already.
History said they'd clashed—and wizards' pursuit of truth left no room for lies.
But that Iron Mask was the past one—vastly inferior to now.
To fear a troll king beaten by that version, injuries and all?
It would insult every powerhouse Ian had faced.
"Perfect stepping stone."
Ian thought.
Facing the troll king solo, without Tiger Cloud Unit, was the right call.
Attila's power was just within reach if Ian pushed to near-death.
That's why he'd let the squad go first.
Their training mattered, but so did scouting.
Chain patterns, habits, techniques—all analyzed for certain victory.
His squad had exceeded expectations.
Now, Ian had one task left.
"I'll devour you."
Devour you, then climb higher.
Flash!
Gripping his twin swords, Ian shot toward Attila like a beam of light.
"Insolent human! Know your place!"
Clank!
Attila's chains filled the vast cavern.
Coated end-to-end in black blood, they bristled pores with threat.
Boom! Boom!
But Ian dodged every one by a hair's breadth.
Attila's chains were cursed weapons, steeped in foes' blood.
They rattled hearts, birthed terror.
But.
Ian in his past life wielded blades that claimed far more souls.
No reason for his spirit to waver here.
Besides.
"Not bad, but sloppy."
Tap!
Amid the tangled barrage blocking his path, Ian smacked a chain link with his shortsword.
Boom!
The incoming hook veered wildly, smashing elsewhere.
"Whipping long chains in tight quarters? Only fools do that. And your patterns are too predictable."
"?!"
Attila's eyes bulged at Ian calmly dismantling his chains.
Though wounds dulled their raw power, Attila prided his chain mastery as sharper than ever.
Few in these lands—Great Flood included—could block them back then.
Yet his pride shattered in an instant.
To some beardless whelp.
'...Just luck.'
No kid could read a weapon soaked in human and orc blood.
Clank!
Attila recalled and lashed again, chains shrieking toward Ian from all sides.
Fore, aft, left, right.
The chains surged to punish the fool charging the king.
But Ian dismantled every assault, closing the gap relentlessly.
"Grrr! Insolent cur!"
Swoosh!
At close range, Attila dropped the chains, gripped his sickle, and swung horizontally.
Ian slipped past the life-reaping sickle—much like the chains—and his shortsword dove into Attila's guard.
"Hmph!"
A straightforward, almost simplistic strike.
Attila sneered at the obvious feint, pulling back his sickle to block.
Cling!
"?!"
The shortsword, set to clash head-on, split apart with a metallic screech, slicing empty air.
And.
Kaboom!
It coiled snake-like around Attila's sickle arm.
Crunch!
Yanking hard, the shortsword's fangs tore into Attila's arm savagely.
"Gaaahhh!"
"Chains aren't ideal in tight spots like caves. Hard to control, especially on recall—big tells. Better to keep 'em short."
"You damned human dare—!"
Clank, clank!
Attila whipped his good arm's chain.
But Ian, having analyzed it all, evaded effortlessly.
Boom, boom!
Ian flowed with Blood Demon Iron Chain Art's footwork—Blood Cloud Step—casually dodging as he reeled in his shortsword.
Like with Ryu An, the chain dogged Ian persistently.
Ryu An had frozen; Ian did not.
Matching Attila's extended right arm, Ian lashed with his longsword.
Cling!
Like the shortsword that shredded his arm, the extended longsword meshed with the chain.
Or intertwined, perhaps.
Ian's blade slithered between the links.
Like a snake constricting prey.
Godlike technique.
"!"
"That chain's done now."
Flash!
Ian surged closer with Blood Cloud Step.
One target.
The heart of the massive scar across Attila's chest.
"Human scum, touching my chains?!"
Crash!
Attila tried countering, sickle severing chain from his wounded arm.
"Too late."
To Ian, who had mapped Attila's style via the squad? Futile.
"It's over, troll king."
Slash!