Chapter 381: Crushing It
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 381: Crushing It
"Ah... Goddess... please forgive... forgive this sinner..."
After a thunderous boom, the entire space suddenly fell silent.
Thus, that mournful wail became exceptionally clear.
It was like a cry from a soul reaching its end, a scream of one enduring infinite agony, like... a desperate, deathly, raspy song echoing through the long reaches of time.
Amidst this hoarse singing, the golden, tadpole-like runes covering the withered body flared with unprecedented brilliance.
As if refusing to be suppressed, it... rebelled!
Creeeeeak.
Under the dual weight of gravity and shadow magic, the Prisoner’s joints let out a piercing, grinding sound. Under the solemn gazes of the group, he began to force himself upright, inch by inch.
The lantern swayed, its flame flickering. From the eyes blinded by boiling mercury, dark tears of blood continued to flow.
A foul, miasmic wind whipped his tattered robes. A terrifying power, like an erupting volcano, burst forth from within!
Clang—!
The Prisoner’s withered frame vibrated violently. Paul’s hands shook as a powerful counter-shock surged through his palms, nearly jarring the hilt of his sword loose from his grip.
"I figured suppressing this damn thing wouldn't be that easy," Paul muttered, his usually flippant expression sinking into a rare, grim frown.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed he wasn't the only one. Both the adventurer Thunder Spear and the freak Reta, who had joined him in the assault, were being forced back by the Prisoner’s forceful counterattack.
Retreating slightly might not seem like a big deal, but the people who had just launched that coordinated attack were by no means ordinary.
There was the mysterious woman known only by her title, Thunder Spear, a figure of great renown within the Adventurer's Association.
There was Reta, a war monster meticulously crafted by the Stone Cauldron Association.
There was Fei'er, a mage highly valued by the Tower of Origins—someone who could return to study high-level magic even if she failed to secure the seat of the Saintess.
There was the famous Saintess candidate, Freya, and the God-Attendant Knight by her side—a man who couldn't be ignored, reported to be a powerful martial artist yet capable of wielding rare shadow magic.
And finally, there was Paul himself, the successor to the Sword King.
Under the combined might of five powerful combatants, this withered Prisoner—who looked like a bundle of dry sticks that would snap in a stiff breeze—had only been briefly suppressed.
But that level of suppression was far from enough.
To reach the point where this monstrosity could be safely purified, they had to render him completely incapable of resistance or movement.
In a sense, making someone entirely immobile and helpless was more difficult than simply killing them.
Perhaps that was exactly why he was being refined into an alchemical item.
"This isn't working."
Seeing her knight struggle slightly and the Prisoner still finding room to resist, Margarita’s eyes flickered.
"Are you saying they can't hold him down?" Annie asked, her face equally dark. She hadn't joined the fray directly because Reta required her direct control to exert his maximum combat potential in short bursts.
"No, they can suppress him, but that's not the problem," Margarita replied.
Though the group had been pushed back momentarily, it was only a momentary setback. The Prisoner had been refined into an alchemical item, granting him a terrifying resilience against blades and magic alike, but because of that, he lacked diverse offensive means.
Since the beginning, he had only been resisting one-dimensionally.
Such resistance was bound to be futile; Margarita had absolute confidence in her own knight and the other formidable opponents present.
The only problem was...
"Time... it seems we're running out of time," Margarita sighed softly.
The group had moved quickly. From the moment they struck to the initial suppression, only ten seconds had passed. However, the Prisoner’s level of resistance had exceeded her expectations.
At this rate, completely subduing him again would likely take at least another minute.
One minute...
Margarita glanced sideways, her lip twitching.
They should have had enough time, but some "genius" had decided to throw a Heart of Destruction into the mix—a weapon that didn't distinguish between friend and foe.
While it had sent a massive number of Demon Hounds to the afterlife, it had also blasted a gaping hole in their own defensive line.
The endless swarm of Demon Hounds could replenish their numbers instantly, but where were they supposed to find extra people to plug the gap in the defense?
In less than thirty seconds, those hounds would be right on top of them.
What a massive pain.
*
"Well, looks like it's my turn."
Watching the scene unfold, Muen tucked his pocket watch away, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The situation looked a bit dicey.
However, it only looked that way. Given the capabilities of those involved, they were nowhere near the point of despair. After all, the Saintess candidates hadn't truly made their move yet.
But...
"Since I was the one who told everyone to show their true colors, I can't exactly just stand here and watch, can I?"
He figured he’d just rush in, swing his blades a few times for show, and slack off. There was no need to waste too much effort here...
"Hmm?"
Muen turned back to look at Liya, a questioning look on his face. "What is it?"
"Um..."
Liya, who had once again reached out to tug on the corner of Muen's tunic, bit her rosy lip. Her small face wore a hesitant, adorable expression as she stammered, "Muen... you gave me that chance to show off on purpose earlier, didn't you?"
"Didn't you step forward on your own?" Muen said with a smile.
"No, if it weren't for Muen..." Liya shook her head vigorously, then added, "S-so, I want to see Muen look dazzling, too."
"Oh?" Muen blinked. "Why?"
"Because... when they said those things about you earlier, I didn't say anything, but actually... I was very unhappy," Liya said earnestly.
Muen quickly realized she was referring to the comments about him being a "soft persimmon" and a "pretty boy."
So, Liya had actually been upset over something so trivial.
For some reason, Muen felt a sudden surge of happiness.
"Are you sure?" Muen asked, looking her straight in the eye.
"Yes!" Liya met his gaze without a hint of flinching, straightening her back. "Before, I might not have liked it—I might have even been a little afraid. But now... I'm very strong, so..."
I want everyone to know that my knight is the best of them all.
"I see."
Muen didn't ask what she hadn't liked or what she had been afraid of. He just looked at her quietly.
He suddenly felt a powerful urge to pull this girl—fragile on the outside but strong on the inside, and most importantly, the cutest girl in the world—into a fierce embrace.
But he didn't.
Instead, he took her dainty hand and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it.
"As you wish, my Princess."
He said:
"In five seconds, I shall bring you victory."
*
"In that case, why hasn't that blonde bastard moved yet?"
Annie raised an eyebrow, her voice cold. She clearly still held a grudge over Muen calling her a "flat board" earlier. "He's the one who told everyone to show their true strength, yet here he is, just watching the show?"
"Or maybe he knows his contribution wouldn't matter?" Margarita said tonelessly.
They truly did need a final straw to break the camel's back right now. But to overwhelm the enemy in such a short time...
Margarita recalled Muen's fighting style from earlier. Like Paul, he seemed to be the type who relied on speed and technique.
While his blades seemed unusual, technique didn't count for much when it came to raw suppression. Against an alchemical object as stubborn and hard as a rock, finesse was largely useless—which was exactly why Paul had just tasted frustration.
"So what do we do? Time is limited. Do we just keep watching?" Annie asked.
"You should probably stop talking like that," Margarita said, turning to her with a half-smile. "It's not like you've started trying yet."
"Pot calling the kettle black," Annie replied, crossing her arms with a cold, meaningful smirk.
The two women locked eyes. As if reaching a sudden, unspoken understanding, they both took a step forward.
At that moment, the same image flashed through both of their minds: the scene of Liya successfully turning the tide and opening the gates under the watchful eyes of the crowd.
"As fellow Saintess candidates, we can't let her hog all the glory."
They stepped forward again, their eyes shining with confidence...
"Heh~"
Suddenly, they heard a flippant whistle.
A blonde figure blurred past them, his eyes darting toward a certain part of their anatomy as he went.
"Four Aces? Playing that big a hand?"
The blonde figure, dual blades in hand, vanished into the distance, leaving behind a sentence that left them standing bewildered in the wind:
"Sorry, but I'm crushing it."