EP.146 Superhuman, Mere Human (1)
The Cardinal of the Deloheim Church, Berdict.
He looks at his hand. Blood runs along his fingers. Drops of blood from the tips of his fingernails go plop, plop as they splatter on the snowy ground.
“······.”
He stares blankly at the blood droplets.
He sees the corpses sprawled around him. Surprisingly, he feels no thoughts whatsoever. It’s not the first time he has taken a life, and in his mind, this is a righteous act.
‘By sacrificing the worthless, we resurrect the valuable.’
It’s just. The Cardinal places the life of the blind child upon the altar. There is no hesitation in his actions. He merely does what he believes is right. This is how the Cardinal devotes himself to the Star.
“Aah···.”
The Cardinal sighs.
It’s not a sorrowful sigh. It’s a sigh dripping with ecstasy. He looks around the snowy plains.
‘Starlight.’
Holy power overflows from all directions. Sacred relics resonate with each other. Here, where white particles of light rise, the blessing of the Star seems about to flood over.
It feels like anything is possible.
He senses omnipotence.
He believes that even the miracle of rebirth, connecting with the divine, is possible right now. If only he had the relic of the First Saint.
“Um, Cardinal.”
Just then, a voice breaks his immersion.
The Cardinal turns around. Behind him stands a Holy Knight. It is Berlang, ranked second among the elite hundred known as the Iron Wall.
“What is it, Berlang?”
“It’s noisy outside. It seems the Warriors of the North have noticed and launched an attack.”
“Is that so.”
The Cardinal nods.
“So, what of it?”
“···Pardon?”
“This is a sanctuary. Don’t you see the overwhelming starlight before you? Even the one called Iron Wall… will struggle to move properly here.”
Berlang silently watches his fist.
He tightens and loosens his fist. The movement is slower than usual. Pointing it out, the Cardinal says.
“Even a blessed one like you feels this way. Do you think those ignorant barbarians who don’t believe in the divine could step in here and… perform adequately?”
The Cardinal chuckles.
“That’s impossible.”
He continues with the ritual.
“I’ll focus on the ceremony. Don’t interfere.”
“Yes, I understand···.”
Berlang’s words don’t finish.
He suddenly turns his head sharply. Glancing back, he swings the shield that earned him the moniker of Iron Wall.
Clang!
Something bounces off the shield.
Berlang squints his eyes. A unique blade floats in the air.
‘···An axe?’
That’s when Berlang recognizes it.
Someone grabs the spinning axe mid-air.
“Stop there.”
The owner of the axe speaks.
A chilling voice echoes across the snowy plains. Both Berlang and the Cardinal see the figure of the intruder who has stepped into the sanctuary.
White hair like snow.
Red, glimmering eyes.
The boy with those distinctive features holds an axe in both hands. The Cardinal recognizes him. Berlang does too.
‘Lac von Grace.’
The only son of the Duke of the North.
“Step aside there.”
He narrows his eyes.
The axe, gripped tightly, makes a squelch sound. The veins bulge on the arm holding the axe. Lac surveys the surroundings, filled with scattered corpses. Among them are some from the North as well.
Thud.
Lac takes a step forward.
His demeanor suggests he won’t hesitate to destroy anything in his path. But something stands in Lac’s way.
Boom!
Berlang slams his massive shield down.
He becomes the Iron Wall, blocking Lac’s path. However, Lac does not stop.
“If you won’t step aside…”
Lac strikes the ground.
Even in the thick mana density, Lac’s movements aren’t the least bit sluggish. With narrowed, bloodshot eyes, he swings the axe.
“I will break through.”
Clang!
The sound of metal clashing resounds loudly.
2.
“Hoo, ha·····”
Drip, drip.
With each step forward, blood drops. It feels like all the bones in his body creak. The ragged Draka stumbles while walking through the snowy mountains. Moving is not easy.
‘What a mad mage.’
He didn’t underestimate their capabilities. Because he didn’t, he prepared ample measures. The advantageous terrain. An ambush. Even causing an avalanche, bringing the situation into a choose-your-path moment.
He used great tricks.
He pushed his limits and charged through, even considering the bloodshed. He was determined to seize his chance.
‘But what was the result?’
Draka recalls the exchange that just occurred.
The mountains were overturned. A blinding light struck down, seemingly burning his retinas. Into the heat that rushed forth, Draka thrust his foot.
‘I intended to strike his neck.’
He thought there was a sufficient chance.
The problem was that the Ashen Mage anticipated that much. A prior spell disrupted the trajectory of Draka’s sword. The tip of the blade never reached its target.
Hence, Draka made his choice.
He couldn’t kill. If he was to lose, then… even in defeat, he had to grasp what he desired. Draka would not leave behind a meaningless loss at any cost.
-Swoosh!
In that moment, Draka twisted the tip of his sword.
Instead of directly targeting Raniel, he aimed for the cape draped over her shoulder. No matter how much Draka was outmatched by the Ashen Mage… surely he could slice off the corner of a garment.
The moment he tore the cape, a containment spell broke, causing something to spring out. What sprung out was something Draka had anticipated.
‘A vial containing the remains of the Saint.’
The instant it leaped out, Draka grabbed it and pulled his sword down. He forcefully steered the blast’s direction downward. Luck was on his side, Draka thought.
-BOOM!
The redirected explosion struck the unstable ground.
The avalanche dissipated, but the Ashen Mage fell beyond the collapsing ground. Such a thing wouldn’t kill or injure him, but… he wouldn’t be able to chase after Draka at this moment.
‘…That was lucky.’
A series of coincidences coincided.
That’s how he managed to survive.
Of course, he wasn’t ‘safely’ alive.
“Guh···.”
Draka stifled his breath and gripped his tattered garment tightly.
Drip, drip, blood fell. His torn limb screamed in agony. It wasn’t just his arm. He felt nothing in one leg. It was due to the explosion.
“Still, it’s not a failure.”
Draka looks at the vial in his hand.
The fragments of the Saint’s bones resonate with it. The vial is layered with multiple sealing spells, so he can’t open it right now… but it’s certain that this is the remains of the Saint.
“······.”
However, for some reason.
Draka feels a strange discomfort from the vial he holds. An instinctual revulsion. He doesn’t know why. He moves on without understanding.
“Hoo, ha···.”
Under normal circumstances, he might have doubted it.
But right now, Draka’s vision is narrowed. Like those who reach the end of a long journey, he sees only what he wants to see.
‘Now, it’s really close.’
He keeps walking.
Stumbling, panting… he walks on. Just as he always has.
“Armel, Armel···.”
He mutters the name of his departed daughter.
It’s almost time.
Decades spent enduring everything to keep his promise to her. The moment of fruition is nearing. The end of his long journey is near.
Just a little further.
Just a little longer.
He will see that girl again.
He can finally meet his daughter, whose face has faded from memory. Will she be shocked at her old father’s appearance, or will she tease him about how he looks?
He doesn’t know.
Not knowing, Draka continues to walk.
Clenching tightly, as if vowing not to let anyone take this from him, Draka grasps the vial with the hand that should be holding his sword. Right now, this vial is more precious to him than anything else.
“Armel···.”
He walks endlessly.
Towards his destination.
3.
Clang, clang!
Amidst the clash of metal, Berlang feels a rush of surprise. Pure astonishment.
Clang!
His gaze is fixed on Lac in front of him. Watching Lac swing the axe, Berlang sticks out his tongue in disbelief.
‘It’s truly remarkable.’
The air feels heavy. His body feels heavy.
In this space overflowing with holy power, even breathing feels hard. This is true even for Berlang, who has gained the name Iron Wall through countless wars against heretics.
‘Yet, even in this environment…’
Clang, clang!
The boy charges straight at him.
There is no retreat. No disorder. The boy’s breathing seems even, and he doesn’t appear to be slowing down. Berlang pays homage to this fact.
‘I mustn’t underestimate this young boy.’
Berlang stomps his foot.
The white light encircling his shield grows even more prominent.
‘He must be regarded as a fellow warrior.’
A barrier of light envelopes Berlang.
The body cloaked in light itself is a weapon. He swings his fist, wrapped in light.
Clang!
Lac’s body lifts off the ground as he hastily swings the axe to block.
Berlang’s focus shifts to Lac mid-air. As he begins to chant an incantation, arrows of light pour down towards Lac.
Stab!
His clothes tear. Blood spatters.
Even twisting his body to evade, the wounds continue to accumulate. Nevertheless, Lac’s eyes still shine brightly.
“Hoo.”
Landing lightly on the ground, Lac exhales sharply. He places his hand on his heart.
Thud, thud.
His heart beats loudly.
Perhaps it’s the excitement, but blood feels like it courses through him rapidly. Yet, even in this situation, his breathing remains steady. Lac feels joy at this fact.
‘It’s working.’
The training he did with Professor Rania.
The things he engraved in his body through fainting several times within the sanctuary.
He is experiencing the fruits of that hellish training firsthand.
‘In a place where breathing would normally be hard…’
Now, he is rampaging as he pleases. If he were still his former self, he wouldn’t have even dared to dream of this. Sensing his growth, Lac slowly lifts his head.
“······.”
The Holy Knight, holding the shield, glares at him.
The wall of light spreading from him is unwavering. It feels as if he’s facing a massive barrier. Behind the wall is the old man firing arrows of light.
‘It’s simple.’
Due to its simplicity, it’s a difficult combination to breach.
However, the strategy to counter is also simple. All he has to do is break that wall. Lac asks himself.
‘Am I ready?’
He answers his own question.
‘I have adapted.’
Despite moving his body roughly, his breath is steady. His mind is clear. The arrangement of mana is solid.
So now it’s time to move to the next step.
Lac lifts the axe in front of his heart. He senses the spell stocked in the axe handle. It’s a spell he must use carefully, even in ideal conditions…
‘The Warriors of the North are the fires of passion.’
Without hesitation, Lac releases the spell.
He taps his heart with the axe handle.
‘Iron that is eternally tempered and never cools.’
The spell is released.
Heating.
Thud, Lac’s heart beats loudly.
His red eyes become heated.
Steam rises from Lac’s body. With eyes like flames, he gazes at the arrows of light pouring down towards him.
It feels slow.
Everything around him is so slow.
Thud! Lac bashes the ground.
The speed is incomparable to before. Snowflakes fly up. The wind rushes in. Whoosh, whoosh, the arrows of light merely strike harshly into the ground.
Fwoosh.
In an instant, Lac closes the distance of ten steps and swings the axe. The axe meets the Iron Wall. The result is different from before.
CLAAAAANG!
The air resonates. The Iron Wall shakes.
“······!”
Berlang’s eyes widen.
The once sturdy Iron Wall now has cracks forming.
*
“I didn’t expect this.”
I mumble, hanging from a chain attached to a cliff. The cliff is quite deep. It required some time to climb up.
Clink.
As I pull on the chain, climbing the cliff, I think.
I didn’t see this coming.
That’s the plain truth.
I expected Draka to charge in there.
So, I laid a powerful trap beforehand, and Draka fell into it with ease.
‘That was good up to that point.’
The problem came next.
In that moment, Draka twisted his sword path. He sliced my hem and changed the direction of the blast downward. That was an outcome I had not anticipated.
‘I thought he would stab my neck even if he died.’
The protective spell I carefully placed around my neck became useless. That part felt a bit strange. Because the Draka I knew wouldn’t make such a choice.
The Sword Demon, who is Draka?
A person who has reached the realm of superhuman with sheer obsession.
A person whose obsession is stronger than anyone else’s. No matter the obstacles, he is the kind to dig deeper.
“Hmm···.”
That’s the Draka I know.
Thus, I didn’t predict the behavior he displayed. Being caught off guard, I was hit.
“But whatever…”
I chuckle slightly.
From within my half-torn robe, I reveal the vial. Light spills forth from it.
“I’m not worried.”
Although I didn’t see Draka’s actions coming, the same is true for him. I don’t only have one vial; among them, one is particularly important.
‘Important measures are hidden in multiples.’
It’s the most basic strategy.
