Each imperial knight was a warrior who had reached the level of Expert. Even after losing their sense of self, their martial skills had not dulled in the slightest.
Empowered by the White Peak Palace’s energy, they were capable of threatening even Masters, and their true danger lay not in individual might, but in their mastery of group combat.
If Leon’s party wanted to break through the Imperial Knights, they couldn’t afford a war of attrition. These enemies were supplied with near-limitless power, which ant that there was no point in dragging it out. They had to stake everything on a single throw of the dice.
“Elahan! Hold the front line!” Leon cried out.
“Yes, Hero!”
The mont the order fell, Elahan charged forward. Gripping the Holy Iron Breaker with both hands, she swung it wide, forcing the Imperial Knights to retreat. Even creatures driven only by instinct—no, because they were driven only by instinct—sensed the destruction in that blow and backed away.
“Haaaaaah!”
And she didn’t stop there. Elahan continued to swing the massive maul in wild, sweeping arcs in every direction.
The head alone weighed over thirty kilograms, its length longer than an average person’s height. The wind pressure alone was devastating, as if to declare that brushing against it would be enough to crush one’s bones to dust. Each swing grew faster, heavier, the golden afterimages blurring together into one continuous storm.
Ordinary humans would have been out of breath in seconds and collapsed within minutes, but Elahan kept going, pushing far beyond her limits. The golden storm roared before them like a wall, shielding her comrades. None dared to approach the sheer force of it.
Had they retained their minds, they might have tried to circle around or attack from a distance to wear her down. But save for Evans, the rest were re puppets—imitations of the warriors they once were.
I didn’t want to use it here, but we can’t afford to hold anything back now!
With that thought, Leon gathered his strength.
The power amplified through his four Stigmata compressed tighter and tighter, fixed around his body as he pushed beyond the limits of what flesh could endure. As the Sun Sword manifested, golden light coursed through his veins, his very marrow boiling with heat.
It was no longer a re enhancent. He was overdriving his body, forcing it beyond its design. If he slipped for even a second, the overflowing power would consu him and turn the battlefield into a sea of fire.
“GhhhaaAAAAAH!”
He stifled a scream with sheer willpower. His heart felt ready to burst.
And it was only natural. He was now absorbing the power stored in the cloak gifted to him by Grania, which was enough to wield Three Stars in Heaven’s Jar three consecutive tis. Even with his imnse capacity, far beyond a normal Master’s, the strain was excruciating.
His nerves burned and regenerated again and again while smoke rose from his skin as his own blood boiled. Despite all that, Leon stood through the pain of being burned alive, his sword ignited with dazzling light.
“Sun Sword, Crimson Lotus, First Form.”
The crimson flas of Prominence deepened to orange, to gold, and finally pure white. For an instant, the Aura around him reached the density of Corona itself. A white fla, different from the holy fla, swirled and roared around him.
“Elahan...!”
He had no ti for long explanations. Just calling her na was enough for Elahan to understand at once. Using the montum from her spinning hamr, she shifted her weight and launched herself upward.
A simple redirection of force was all it took.
As her body suddenly lifted into the air, the Imperial Knights froze, uncertain where to strike. For half a second—the blink of an eye—they hesitated. But to an Assassin Master, that fleeting instant was more than enough.
“Pitch-Black Dance, Unique Form: Shadow Step.”
From beneath Karen’s feet, shadows stretched outward, seizing the legs of every imperial knight. However, even for Pitch-Black Dance, binding dozens of enemies of nearly equal power was impossible.
“Khuh!”
Even though it was just one or two seconds of restraint, the strain tore at her insides, and blood spilled from Karen’s lips. But it didn’t matter. That was all they needed.
“GrrraaaaAAAHH!”
With a roar that sounded half like agony, Leon swung his blazing sword with all the strength he had left. Those whose legs were caught had nowhere to run, no way to leap, no space to dodge. Then, the form his sword should take was obvious.
“Heavenly Jade, Second Form: rak.”
A horizontal slash swept out like a tidal wave. The blade of white fla carried such power that even grazing its edge could vaporize anything in its path. The air itself ignited, leaving a trail of vacuum through which only light remained.
And he wasn’t finished. Both arms scread as his nerves burned away, but Leon lifted the Holy Sword once more and swung in reverse.
“Heavenly Jade, Second Form: rak-Reverse.”
Unleashing two secret techniques back-to-back was technically the sa chained secret technique, but the burden it placed on the body with this specific maneuver was beyond reason.
Connecting a vertical slash to a horizontal one was one thing; striking horizontally and then reversing that sa motion for another strike was entirely different. Montum, recoil—everything fought against him.
And yet, he had no choice. Neither North Star Cross nor Three Stars in Heaven’s Jar could wipe out the Imperial Knights completely.
Twin waves of white fla roared outward. Those in the front, despite having raised their shields, lted like wax; those behind them fared no better, their bodies slumping into molten shapes.
It was horrific to behold. In an instant, over thirty Imperial Knights were reduced to a thick, bubbling slurry that pooled across the floor. Even as their armor and flesh liquefied, the heat didn’t subside. The air shimred, nauseating and oppressive.
The survivors weren’t unscathed either. Even through their Aura Fire and artifact armor, they suffered severe burns; so had limbs charred black like brittle charcoal.
“No...”
Unfortunately, the Imperial Knights felt no fear. They didn’t even understand pain. As long as they could still move, they would continue to fight.
The forty-odd who remained all raised their swords, and that was when Valter joined in.
“Explosive Technique, Dragon-Shaped Sword.”
With his attack, the remainder were imdiately engulfed by a raging fire dragon that ca charging toward them.
From behind Leon, Valter had unleashed his secret technique, grinning with fierce satisfaction.
“Hahaha! How’s that taste, you imperial bastards?!”
Shockingly, the attack was several tis stronger than before, but that wasn’t Valter’s doing. It was Leon’s.
An Aura Blade manifests the user’s intent. When Masters didn’t oppose each other, and their elental affinities aligned, they could synchronize their powers. Leon’s “Sun” and Valter’s “Explosion” were perfectly compatible.
Thus, Valter absorbed part of the energy Leon had released, dramatically amplifying the Dragon-Shaped Sword’s output.
“Pfft. You didn’t even do it all yourself,” Karen muttered with a teasing smirk, watching his boastful laughter.
Valter only laughed louder, thrilled at the sight of the burning knights. Whatever the case, the scales of battle had tipped decisively.
“Let’s finish this,” Leon muttered.
The lingering heat of the blade cleared his mind. Leon steadied his trembling knees, his blood-slick hands gripping the Holy Sword tighter.
Elahan and Karen both nodded. Four Masters clashed once more against the twenty remaining Imperial Knights.
***
“What?!”
The mont Leon’s double rak slashes detonated, even Evans whipped around in shock. Even with the White Peak Palace’s power surging through him, he could never have withstood such devastation head-on. Was that blazing vortex of annihilation truly the technique of a single Master? The radiant heat reached even where he stood, searing his skin red despite the Aura shielding him.
Then, the voice of soone he should not have forgotten ca at him aggressively.
“You bastard...! You dare take your eyes off ?!”
Unlike Evans, Cedric faced the searing light directly, his gaze unwavering even as his pupils burned. His eyes blurred for a mont, but for a Master, the physical senses were simply auxiliary tools. At sword’s reach, his precision never faltered by even a milliter.
It was a fleeting instant, but Evans caught the shift and instinctively drew a sharp breath.
I can’t dodge this. Too late to block or deflect.
But even then, he didn’t consider himself dood. After all, he possessed a power that defied the rules of both attack and defense, an Aura Blade that bent space itself.
“Balisarda, Armor Form.”
The air around his torso shimred, distorting the space where Cedric’s blade would fall. Even a teor’s impact couldn’t have left a scratch.
He was the Commander of the Imperial Knights. Those who once guarded the imperial banner before him—four Masters—had tried and failed to break this technique. Evans had absolute confidence in his Balisarda.
And perhaps that was his mistake.
“I can see right through you, idiot!”
Cedric’s lips curled into a predatory grin. He’d been caught off guard once before, but that was because he hadn’t known about Balisarda. The two Aura Blades, Balisarda and Ten Thousand Severing Strikes, were ill-matched, but that matchup was not irreconcilable.
Just as Cedric hadn’t known Evans, Evans hadn’t truly understood Cedric, either. That difference decided their duel.
“Ten Thousand Severing Strikes, Third Form: Space Slash.”
At that instant, Cedric’s blade vanished. No, it seed to vanish.
From thin air, Evans’s collarbone split open, the cut driving straight down his side in one unbroken stroke.
By cruel coincidence, Evans’s wound was in the exact sa place as Cedric’s earlier injury, only far deeper. His upper body was cleaved clean in two, and his legs collapsed to the ground while the rest of him fell apart.
In his eyes flickered not pain, but disbelief, as he muttered, “H-how...?”
The hoarse voice rasped from his throat, asking how it had happened.
“What do you an, how? If you distort space, then I just have to cut through the distorted space,” Cedric replied matter-of-factly, as though the answer were obvious.
It was absurd. Evans’s eyes widened, unable to accept such a senseless defeat. Yet Cedric, looking down at him, didn’t gloat.
“I’d like to say I won,” Cedric muttered, his expression uneasy. “But if that girl hadn’t helped , I’d be dead right now. So let’s call it a draw. Fair enough?”
“You shaless bastard...”
Evans’s glare lost its venom; his expression was almost dumbfounded. To call it a draw, not a loss, after being helped? If that was the case, shouldn’t Evans get another chance? But the truth was plain: once his Balisarda, the sword of surprise, had been seen through after failing to kill, his defeat was as good as decided.
Cedric knew that too and looked almost sheepish. Seeing this, Evans gave a faint smile.
“Well... I’ll concede. I lost.”
In battle, there were no “ifs.” Help or not, whoever stood at the end was the victor. Cut in half and cooling rapidly, he could only die as the loser.
“I didn’t expect it to end like this... but it’s not such a bad way to go. I’ve had enough of being that lunatic’s puppet.”
Unable to lift himself without his lower body, Evans moved only his eyes to Lyon and Gilbert.
What did that look an? Was it regret for a vow unfulfilled? For the things he’d failed to protect? No one could know.
“Your Highness,” Evans called.
Lyon stepped forward, answering his call.
“Speak, Sir Evans.”
Evans looked up at the prince, who had grown far beyond the boy he once knew.
The youth he had once sworn to serve now stood above him, watching him die. Was it sorrowful? Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Evans no longer knew.
“Your Highness... If you truly intend to inherit Clyde, then you must be prepared to shoulder even the sins of the Mad Emperor. The atrocities he committed will beco your burden. I’ll be watching your struggle... from the depths of hell.”
Hearing that, Gilbert’s voice thundered.
“Evans! Even at the end, you...!”
Evens, however, only smiled.
“Sir Gilbert... You wouldn’t understand. My n and I helped create the hell outside those palace walls.”
“What...?”
“With these hands, we killed what we once swore to protect. We committed sins we never wished to bear, and the pride we once held high lies buried in the filth of a stable. If only my mind had been stolen completely... I wouldn’t have had to relive that despair again and again.”
Even cleaved in half, Evans was still alive. Flesh began to knit together, blood retreating back into his veins. In a few minutes—ten, at most—he’d heal completely and be ready to fight again.
Cedric raised his sword to end it before that could happen, but Evans shook his head as if to tell him that there was no need.
“Thank you, naless warrior. I was denied even the right to end my own life, but in this state, all I need to do is exert my Aura—”
With a dull pop, his healing lungs burst apart. His wounds split open again, and blood erupted like a fountain.
When an overflowing Aura was forced into a severed body, it turned into a deadly venom that destroyed the vessel itself. As he unleashed that violent energy upon himself, Evans blinked his fading eyes.
Death.
The death he had longed for was finally upon him.
“Goddess, if You would show rcy...”
The captain of the Imperial Knights spoke his final wish.
“...then please, do not forgive this wretch.”
With that whispered plea, his skull burst apart.
His upper body vanished in an explosion of gore, leaving only his severed waist behind. There wasn’t even a trace left to identify him.
Lyon stared down at what remained of Evans.
His face was twisted in silent anguish, biting at the lips that were already in tatters from doing so over and over. He had once believed this knight would stand beside him. Now, he could only look down upon the ruin that was his end.
User Comments
0 comments from readers