Chapter 181: The End of the Battle
"Damn it! Stop him!" Shurahat commanded. He had placed a few monsters on the periphery of the battlefield, as a rearguard, but he hadn't expected to have to use them like this.
But the image on the screen made his blood run cold. The man was too fast. The flying monsters that were supposed to intercept him couldn't even touch the hem of his cloak and were left in the dust. And any that tried to block his path were instantly torn to shreds.
As he drew closer, the image on the screen grew clearer, and he finally saw his face.
The black hair, the young human face, the calm and indifferent expression, and the eyes, eyes that were a placid surface, hiding a deep and deadly intent. And at his waist... a familiar, sheathed longsword.
The memory of it, of that battle two hundred years ago, came flooding back.
The terrifying human swordsman, and the elven holy sword, Athos, in his hand. And the blow that had shattered his defenses, that had broken his horn.
"Impossible! It can't be!"
He was frozen in place, as if he had been struck by lightning, the color draining from his face, leaving only a deathly pallor. The fear of it, the sheer terror, it was so great that he had forgotten to breathe.
He raised a trembling hand and touched the top of his head, where one of his horns should have been, but was now just a smooth, flat stump. The mark of his shame, the real reason he had hidden himself away for two hundred years. "It's him! The swordsman! That sword, Athos... it's the one!"
His voice was a twisted, disbelieving sound. "But how can he still be alive!? Two hundred years! How can a human live for two hundred years!?" He had hidden for so long, had waited for him to die. "Why... why is he still alive!? Why is he here!?"
A wave of a pure, unadulterated absurdity washed over him. The figure that had once brought him so close to death, the figure he had thought was long since buried by time... he was back. And he was with her, with the equally terrifying elven mage, Serie.
All his plans, all his schemes... they were now ashes in his mouth. To stall for time? The plan for Ersten? It all seemed so... insignificant, before this man, this wielder of a holy sword, this creature of an unfathomable and mysterious power.
"Run! I have to get out of here!"
That was the only thought in his mind. He did not hesitate. He stopped his scrying and activated his final, desperate escape route. It was a small teleportation circle, a thing that required a massive amount of mana, a thing he had never thought he would have to use. He poured all of his remaining mana into it, and more, pushing his own body to its absolute limit, and even then, it was not enough. But he had prepared for this as well. He took out a special magical item and, with its power, the circle was finally activated. A small, shimmering portal, its edges glowing with an ominous light, opened before him. On the other side was a pre-set, safe location.
He stumbled through, without a second's hesitation, without even a glance back.
And just as he was about to disappear, a bolt of energy struck the very spot where he had been standing, blasting a massive crater in the rock. The swordsman... he had already reached him.
"...Shurahat..." a voice, a cold and unforgiving voice, echoed in his mind.
He had never told him his name. How had he known? The man's perceptiveness... it was terrifying.
He threw himself through the portal, and it slammed shut behind him, leaving only a faint, fading ripple in the air.
He had escaped. But the swordsman's voice was now a brand on his soul, a memory that would be even more painful than the one from two hundred years ago. He knew now that his greatest enemy was not gone, but had returned, in a more terrifying form than ever before. And he knew... that he had been remembered.
He hovered in the air above the cave, which was now a gaping hole in the side of the mountain. In that last, final moment, as he had felt his presence and had unleashed his attack, his aura had vanished. He had used a teleportation spell.
"Tsk... he's fast."
He had not expected Shurahat to be so desperate as to drain his own mana and activate a teleportation circle. It seemed the memory of their last encounter had left a deep and lasting scar. He did not give chase. The destination was unknown, and to follow blindly would be to fall into a trap. And besides, the battle at Weiburg was not yet over. Flamme was still there. And the fact that Shurahat had been here, in person... it only confirmed his suspicions.
The kingdom of Ersten... that was the real prize. The massive army had just been a feint, a diversion. And if his real target was the 'Light of Ersten'... he couldn't let it fall into their hands.
Even if he was wrong, it didn't matter. He could just deal with the human infighting. After two such devastating defeats, the demons would not be able to gather another army for some time. The dwarves were safe, for now.
He cast his flight spell and returned to Weiburg.
The battle outside the city was almost over.
Serie hovered in the air, the last of her magical aura slowly dissipating. The ground below her was a scene of utter devastation, pockmarked with massive craters. Of the ten demons who had attacked her, and the ones who had come to their aid, none had survived.
The dwarven warriors were now just mopping up the last of the scattered monsters, their eyes filled with a new and profound reverence as they looked up at her.
(End of chapter)
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