Hard Carried by My Sword Chapter 239

With the wipeout of the Imperial Knights, there was no one left to bar the infiltration team’s path. The team sprinted at full speed the mont they passed through the third hall. The last battle had been a near all-out battle, so they couldn’t afford another drawn-out fight.

Destroying the barrier core wouldn’t imdiately cripple the Evil Order, but dismantling it would allow them to summon reinforcents from outside the White Peak Palace. That was the priority.

Within minutes, the team reached the chamber that housed the heart of the barrier.

Leon, entering first, looked around and asked, “So this is the core of the White Peak Palace’s barrier?”

“Yes,” Lyon replied, stepping in behind him with a nod.

Their gazes locked on the sa thing, the Core Chamber. At its center floated a massive mana stone, easily more than three ters in diater.

“Incredible...”

Even Valter, who hated the Empire and the White Peak Palace itself, couldn’t help but be awed by the sight.

The power overflowing from the mana stone flowed through hundreds, perhaps thousands, of mana conduits, sustaining every function of the palace. If the fabled Dragon Heart, which was exactly what its na suggested, truly existed, this was what it would look like.

That stone was none other than the Core Stone of the White Peak Palace. It was its beating heart, maintaining every system and circuit within.

Lyon looked at it and gave a faint, bitter smile. “To think I’d be the one to bring down the White Peak Palace...”

He’d steeled himself for this from the start of the operation, yet now that the mont was actually here, he couldn’t help but lose his composure montarily.

The White Peak Palace symbolized centuries of history and prosperity—the glory of the Clyde Empire and the throne of the emperor himself. And it fell to Lyon to tear out its heart.

Valter jabbed at the Core Stone with his sword, but the surface rippled and repelled the blade with a wave-like distortion and a crackling sound.

The Core Stone was a mass of power, its scale unprecedented. Not even an Aura Blade could pierce its field easily, and forcing a way in risked triggering a catastrophic surge.

However, there was one person who could override that defense.

“O White Peak Palace, the rightful prince of Clyde, Cailum, stands before you.”

Lyon drew a shallow cut across his palm and pressed his blood against the stone. The next second, the energy field began to lt away.

No living royal carried purer blood than Lyon, not even the current emperor Nex. The first level of the security system responded only to true imperial lineage.

Within seconds, the dissolving barrier opened a path. Lyon stepped forward, unhindered, and stood before the Core Stone.

“Father...” he muttered.

If the late emperor could see him now, what would he say? Would he condemn his son for destroying the empire’s glory, or scold him for hesitating in such a crucial mont? He couldn’t know the answer to his own question, but seconds—or perhaps minutes—passed as Lyon stood frozen in silent conflict.

Outside the field, Leon frowned. A vague unease, a feeling he couldn’t shake, tugged at him.

Is destroying that thing really the right move? There’s no better plan, but... sothing’s telling that we shouldn’t do it.

El-Cid chid in, —Hm. Are we missing sothing?

Maybe. It’s strange that there’s no defense here at all. The White Peak Palace’s barrier is a major asset for them, yet not a single core mber of the Evil Order has shown up.

Even if the alliance of the Mad Emperor and the Evil Order had produced sothing monstrous, their combined forces shouldn’t have been stronger than the united armies of the Revolution, Ferma, and, not to ntion, the Holy Church.

If the remnants of the Nine Hell Bishops had gathered outside the palace, that would be one thing, but leaving the barrier core unguarded still made no sense.

“Ly—”

Leon started to speak but stopped, unable to think of a way to argue against continuing. After coming this far, how could he suggest abandoning the core and retreating?

And besides, his suspicions were nothing more than intuition. Without evidence, he couldn’t justify altering the mission.

Then, a loud crack rang out as Lyon’s sword ca down in a clean vertical strike. The Core Stone had been split perfectly in two. The weakened energy field offered no resistance; the stone shattered, and its halves clattered across the floor.

At once, the mana within dispersed in all directions. The density of mana in the room spiked a hundredfold, though it wasn’t enough to harm the Aura Masters present.

The White Peak Palace, its power source gone, would soon shut down.

When nothing happened, Leon dismissed his unease as just nerves.

“I guess I was just overthinking it, huh...”

Or rather, he tried to.

THOOM!

A sound, one loud and eerie enough to strike their very souls, reverberated.

THOOM!

And it wasn’t just Leon. Elahan, Karen, and the other Masters all turned in unison toward the sa direction, their faces pale and rigid. Sothing with a different order of existence, sothing utterly terrifying, had erged into reality.

THOOM!

A shockwave pulsed like a beating heart. Only the Masters recognized what it was, and their faces twisted in dread. Lyon, still short of Master rank, only blinked in confusion.

El-Cid’s voice echoed in Leon’s mind.

—Hah! So this place was actually a prison for that thing. The White Peak Palace was built to contain it. Seems the Evil Order summoned a monster even they couldn’t control, so they kept it chained and asleep all this ti.

A monster? Just how strong are we talking?

Leon’s heart sank. Experience had taught him how high El-Cid’s standards were when it ca to evaluating threat.

—At least demi-god level. We’re completely and thoroughly screwed.

Demi-god?

—Kasim might manage mutual destruction at best. But with what you have here? Not a chance. If you fought it ten tis, you’d die ten tis. A hundred tis, you might be able to bring it down with you, maybe once or twice, if you’re lucky.

One to two percent odds. And even that ant dying together, not winning. Before Leon could even respond, the creature that had been sleeping beneath the White Peak Palace, sealed by its barrier, broke its chains and shattered its cage, setting its colossal foot upon the soil of the imperial capital, Calelum.

THOOM!

***

anwhile, the outside of the White Peak Palace was absolute chaos.

Ten thousand soldiers had their bodies seized by wraiths and turned their spears on their own allies. The rest hesitated, unsure whether to subdue them or kill them, and died for it.

To make matters worse, the possessed soldiers moved with the physical limitations of their bodies unshackled, lashing out with no regard for broken bones or torn flesh. It was a power that no ordinary soldiers, those unable to wield Aura, could withstand.

The knights tried to re-form the lines in a hurry, but calming a panicked army in monts was impossible. And then, Adela burst straight through the poison mist bare-skinned and lashed out with twin palms.

“Die!”

“Tremolo, Duet of Palm.”

Shockwaves of material disintegration hamred out one after another. Even Morse didn’t trust his regeneration to tank that, so he smashed the ground with a cluster of tendrils, using the rebound to fling himself back. The innocent earth shattered, and a cloud of dust billowed up.

Predicting his evasive move, Adela sent the follow-up.

“Staccato, Solo of Finger.”

It was a skill that delivered a lightning-like thrust. The light that fired from her forefinger pierced Morse’s heart before he had a chance to react.

The secret technique, focused purely on penetration and speed, shared nothing with the Tremolo or Vibrato she’d shown before. It existed to catch alive those who’d survived her past clashes.

“Keugh, I’ll give you that one. I thought you only knew how to charge like a boar.”

Even with a coin-sized hole punched through his heart, Morse only staggered once before regaining his balance.

Adela scowled as if chewing gravel and yelled, “Hey! If your heart and brain get pulped, you’re supposed to die! Why are you still flapping your damn mouth? Where the hell do you find the audacity? Fuck! You fight so fucking dirty! Fucking fuck!”

“A glowing review,” Morse said with a grin.

“Glowing? You got orc dicks up your ears or sothing?”

Spewing curses at his infuriating calm, Adela dipped low again. With her small fra, the ground was always near. She skimd along it as she ran.

Her footwork minimized drag, and her stature let her play the highs and lows. In a single burst, she accelerated past Morse’s visual tracking. Just like her epithet, “Rampage,” she charged only forward like a boar, exactly the fighting style that suited this youthful-looking cardinal.

“Vibrato, Quintet of Fist.”

She smashed whatever stood before her. Bundles of summoned tendrils burst under the onslaught; inexplicable shells and barbs cracked and splintered.

In raw physical force, she could stand even with Nekator. Even Morse, finally unleashing the power he’d held back, found that all he could do before Adela’s charge was cling to life.

By a hair—half a beat off—a grazing shock tore one of Morse’s arms to ribbons. The limb ripped from the shoulder sprayed black blood.

Adela bared a feral grin and said, “Next is your head. If pulping your brain doesn’t kill you, I’ll just grind you down to the last scrap of at.”

“Terrifying. I’d rather not die here, though.”

“That’s my call, not yours.”

Morse shook his head and replied, “This was a close battle. However, our fight ends here. I expected one of us to die, but I’ll admit that I underestimated you.”

“Running away again?”

“Calm yourself. “It” is about to start.”

“What the hell are you talking ab—”

Before Adela could finish her retort, the White Peak Palace barrier shut down, and the monster sleeping in the palace’s depths opened its eyes.

THOOM!

A dreadful presence rolled out for kiloters. Lesser beings couldn’t even perceive it; only a handful of Masters felt it.

Adela’s hair stood on end.

We’re going to die.

Against this new enemy, there wasn’t even a sliver of a chance.

asuring the gulf on instinct, Adela scread, “You bastard! What crazy thing did you summon? Don’t tell it’s a Demon King?!”

“As if. To call a proper Demon King, you’d need to offer up about four of these imperial capitals.”

Morse explained it like a mundane detail. They were simply short on sacrifices.

“Hog of the Goddess, do you know the concept called the ‘Spirit Realm’?” he asked Adela.

“You an a dinsion where only souls can exist?”

“Precisely. I petitioned the lord of that realm for a pact and granted my pupil a benediction.”

“Benediction, my ass. Another fucked up curse, you an.”

Ignoring her, Morse went on, murmuring, “The boy you call the ‘Mad Emperor,’ Nex, had the makings of a great and wise king. He was a seed of a ruler who wanted to overturn a world where bloodline and station fix a person’s fate. I offered him a way to achieve—no, exceed that ideal.”

A world where all people enjoy life equally. To build that utopia, one simply had to rge the myriad shards of life—thousands, millions—into one.

The numbers wouldn’t be reduced by killing, however. It was done by literally making them... one.

Morse continued, “Let ask you one thing, hog of the Goddess. The hundreds of thousands who lived in the capital Calelum—where do you think all those souls went?”

Her brows twitched at the taunt.

“Your tricks never change. You used them as sacrifices, didn’t you?”

“No. Aside from those I spent bargaining with the lord of the Spirit Realm, I gave the rest to Nex.”

“What...?”

Adela’s eyes flew wide. She was smart. Long years had given her insight far beyond most. And so she realized—one of those things better not known.

Seeing that she understood exactly what he was implying, Morse smiled darkly. “Hehe... so you understand.”

“Y-you crazy bastard!”

Adela snapped and lunged, but Morse had already begun teleporting, anticipating her reaction. A fraction of a second off, her blow cut only air. His voice lingered in the space where he’d stood, spritzing malice like a taunt.

—By making the souls of five hundred thousand imperial subjects part of himself, Nex stepped into the next realm. He shed a mortal body and now reaches for a transcendent throne, one that can touch the world even in a spirit form.

With the authority bestowed by the Spirit Realm’s lord—the “Grand Art of Soul Separation”—he absorbed every citizen of the capital offered as sacrifice. With the possibility, energy, and causality of hundreds of thousands of souls, Nex had beco sothing no longer properly called mortal.

Even so, he could not beco a god. Hundreds of thousands were woefully insufficient. To claim a divine seat ruling a dinsion, he would need to consu at least half of its inhabitants.

—Rejoice! A new king is born! Behold the first step of a transcendent who can beco a god!

Tuning out the nauseating proclamation, Adela stared at what was rising from deep within the palace. Through the bedrock, through the ceiling, a vortex of souls speared up past the clouds.

“O G-Goddess...”

Even Adela reeled at the stench of souls rotted to a sickening depth. Such a thing must not exist. It broke the cycle and stole life’s most sacred right, posturing and swelling as if proud of its bulk. A giant of ectoplasm, a substance on the boundary between matter and soul, looked down on the humans below like ants.

As it completed, Morse cried out, —Behold: Nex, the Death King, descends upon this land!

Thus was born the Evil Order’s demi-god—Nex, the Death King.