Chapter 722 - Only?
If I can sense my Will and move it, shouldn't I be able to change it as well?
'I can do that.'
He'd already felt it in his body, and even managed to pull it off. That milky sheen that appeared on the sword had been a phenomenon caused by channeling condensed Will into the blade. If he could do it to the sword, he could do it to his body as well. He gathered up his remaining Will, compressed it, and then let it burst forth. Ragna swung Penna four times in that way.
The spot where Ragna was swinging his sword was just to the front left of Enkrid.
Since Dmule was also separated from the other two, in a way, it felt like Enkrid and Dmule were one group, while Ragna and the remaining two formed another.
Even before Ragna stepped forward, Enkrid was racking his brain, frantically pondering this and that. Luagarne-style Tactical Sword didn't instruct him to rely on instinct alone.
Trusting his intuition was a skill unique to Enkrid.
The foundation of the Tactical Sword lay in probability calculation.
'What's the way to survive?'
Or,
'What choices lead to victory?'
On the surface, his expression and demeanor seemed nonchalant, but inside, he was running endless calculations.
There were countless variables at play here.
And one of those major variables caught Enkrid's eye.
Enkrid, trying to save his strength, was sitting on the damp, muddy ground—even putting weight on his legs felt wasteful. From where he sat, he could see the danger Ragna was facing.
The Three-Eyed Old Man had swept his hand several times, raining down lightning.
In front of Ragna, a mutated Scaler with horns reached out a hand and manipulated telekinesis.
The falling raindrops were caught up in the telekinesis, shaping themselves into massive hands.
Two giant hands made of rainwater closed in from either side of Ragna. Even the rain pouring from thin air could be trapped by this telekinesis. It was an ability far beyond any Scaler they had seen so far.
At the same time as it manipulated telekinesis, the Scaler mutant maintained the telekinetic hands and then raised its left hand skyward, before leaping forward and bringing it down toward Ragna. Its speed as it pushed off the ground and closed the distance rivaled the keen instincts of a knight.
To Enkrid, the moment that hand came down seemed to unfold in slow motion.
The air around the hand's edge warped. For a moment, it seemed slow—then the speed of the chopping motion accelerated.
He couldn't devote his focus to his calculations.
Part of it was because his attention had been snatched away, and part of it was simply that his body wasn't in a state to run two trains of thought at once.
But an even greater reason was instinct.
In that instant, something in his heart demanded that he take in the scene, even if he didn't know why.
Just before the flash of lightning from the Three-Eyed Old Man struck Ragna's body, time seemed to stop. All of Enkrid's focus was fixed on Ragna's sword.
Light gathered at Ragna's blade. Even the falling raindrops seemed to be sliced apart as the light touched them, scattering to either side.
The condensed Will had become a visible glow. Ragna swung his sword.
His first slash swept to the left. Bolts of lightning followed the arc left by Penna, darting sideways and crashing into the ground.
Before anyone realized, the sword's edge extended straight forward—just as the mutated Scaler was bringing its hand down.
Ragna's outstretched sword pierced through that hand and ran straight through the horned head.
Bang!
The noise from the lightning striking the ground drowned out the other sound. It had all happened almost at the same instant.
That was how fast Ragna's sword was. One slash to the left, one straight ahead.
It felt as though two Ragnas had swung the swords at the same time, with no gap between the two strikes.
And Ragna didn't stop there.
Retrieving his sword from the thrust, he charged at the Three-Eyed Old Man, swinging again.
Right then, an invisible veil, a protective spell, and countless other Artifacts and Spell Objects all activated at once to shield the Three-Eyed Old Man's body.
In the final moment, even the third eye embedded in his forehead glowed red.
Yet none of those tricks managed to stop the swinging sword.
The old man couldn't even open his mouth, and Ragna's blade traced a clear, thin line across his neck.
After just three strikes, Ragna leapt forward once again.
His body had surpassed its limits, much like Enkrid earlier.
To anyone unaware, it would have looked like he'd cast some sort of teleportation spell.
Without leaving even a trace behind, Ragna closed the distance, and his final strike came down toward Dmule's head.
But unfortunately, his sword didn't quite achieve its last objective.
Clang! Crack-crack-crash!
A barrier.
Was it just bad luck?
No, this was to be expected.
"Wizards are cunning."
Enkrid recalled Esther's lesson.
Cracks appeared around Dmule's body. In the empty air, something with the texture of shattered glass splintered and broke apart, falling away.
The spell that had protected Dmule for forty years was now broken.
"Astonishing," said Dmule, sweeping out his hand Telekinesis slammed into Ragna's torso.
Thud!
After four sword strikes, Ragna had no strength left in his body. He was flung helplessly to the side, tumbling to the ground without even managing to regain his balance in the air.
Thunk, thud.
Right now, he probably couldn't even handle a passing ghoul.
And yet, he still clung tightly to Penna in his hand.
Lying on the ground, Ragna coughed up blood.
He tried to stand, stabbing Penna into the earth for support, but his body wobbled unsteadily.
His face was a mess, tangled hair stuck to it after rolling around in the rain-soaked mud.
The muddy puddle, now mixed with the blood he had coughed up, streaked down his face in a dark, murky red until it dripped from his chin.
"I've planted the Seed of Plague in your body. You can lie there if you wish. Even if you long for death, you still won't be able to die."
Ragna couldn't reply. Blood continued to pour from his mouth and nose.
Judging by his unfocused gaze, it was a miracle he hadn't passed out.
Or maybe he had, but still managed to hold onto his sword.
Still, he stabbed his sword into the ground and braced himself, refusing to give up the fight.
Enkrid couldn't hold back any longer as he watched Ragna and spoke up.
"Did you see that? He's just a mere swordsman, yet look at what he managed to do."
Two of the people you brought are dead, so how do you feel? Out of the three, only one is left, right? His words were taunting.
"These guys really are all lunatics."
Dmule replied.
He sounded annoyed, but not at all flustered.
Why?
Because those two he brought along weren't that important.
What mattered was sanctity—himself, who had descended upon this land.
"Fine, then come at me. I still have some strength left,"said Enkrid.
Seeing Ragna fight and endure that way, something hot welled up inside his chest.
He wanted to cut down that rotten body right in front of him, didn't he?
Alright, let's do that.
He placed his hand on Samcheol, but then Ragna's voice echoed.
"Come on, bring it. I will."
There was no need to try to guess what he meant.
The determination behind those words was clear, and that was enough.
Even though he was half-unconscious, the will in his words was unmistakable.
Just as he clenched his teeth, he didn't notice someone approaching—his body was in such bad shape he couldn't even sense it.
"That's enough. My son."
A large figure shielded Ragna from the rain.
The newcomer was Tempest Yohan, Ragna's father.
He came forward and placed his hand on Ragna's shoulder.
"It's over now."
The House Head's words were without emotion.
They held only facts and sincerity. Rhinox hobbled over right beside the House Head, groaning and complaining about his aching back.
Enkrid almost asked them why they'd come so soon, didn't they plan to arrive tomorrow morning?
But he stopped himself.
Wasn't that a variable I'd already accounted for in my calculations?
Yet, they sure did arrive late.
But he couldn't bring himself to speak up.
The two of them weren't in good shape either—especially Rhinox.
He had lost his left arm.
When Enkrid met his eyes, the old swordsman who had protected Yohan smiled and joked,
"I guess I'll have to make do with just three swords now."
He used to wield six swords with both arms, but now he only had one arm left.
And still, he managed to joke around in that condition.
Would he be able to regenerate his arm?
Unless someone like Seiki, was here, it was probably impossible.
"I, I…"
Ragna just kept repeating the same words, unaware of whose hand was resting on his shoulder.
Everyone had seen what he'd done.
The old man, Three Eyes, had been decapitated, and the Chimera, who had sprouted horns and transformed, now had a hole about the size of a fist in her head.
After stabbing with Penna, he twisted his wrist and tore through, so the edge of the hole in her skull was terribly ragged—as if someone had hacked it open with a crude blade.
In short, she was dead.
He'd killed the two of them and had tried to kill Dmule as well, but failed.
Dmule knew these two were approaching, but simply let them come because he no longer cared.
"You survived against all odds. Truly impressive. Was it Hescal who didn't do his job properly? Or did you all simply exceed my expectations?"
Dmule was not flustered—instead, he was impressed.
To think they could show such tenacity, after everything he'd prepared had ended up dead and sprawled across the ground.
He had even prepared coffins for them, but never imagined it would turn out like this. Honestly, it was beyond what he'd expected. So, in a way, he was even a little pleased. This might be the last bit of amusement he'd get to enjoy before obtaining divinity. Dmule gazed down at everyone. Before they realized it, his body had begun to grow, and now his head was two heads higher than Enkrid. His rotten flesh bulged, and black bones jutted out, supporting his body like pillars. Flesh studded with bulging veins filled the gaps between the bones, adding strength to the supports.
"All of you will be reborn. I'll infuse you with divinity and show you a new world."
Anyone watching might have thought they'd actually asked for it.
"It's you, then."
The House Head strode straight toward Dmule, undeterred by anything he said. The way his body was swelling in size was remarkable, but it seemed the House Head didn't even notice.
He, too, had cuts and scrapes all over his body.
While it made sense that no blood was flowing, the wounds themselves were stained black—a clear sign of poisoning.
Step by step, the House Head approached and came to a halt.
If he lunged forward now and swung his greatsword, he could cleave Dmule's neck in an instant.
He was within ten paces.
In that brief moment, Dmule's neck had stretched out sleekly, and he cocked his chin high, looking down from above.
The House Head spoke in a level voice.
"You're uglier than I imagined."
Rhinox, from behind, nodded in agreement.
"He really is."
Dmule looked at those remaining before him—or, more precisely, down at them.
"So that child was the one who enabled you to endure. I should have killed her much sooner."
No one present could understand Dmule's words or actions.
Nor did he expect them to.
After all, a god does not seek understanding from his creations.
He continued speaking
"Why are you creations, trapped and flailing, so stubbornly rebellious?"
Even if he didn't seek understanding, shouldn't he at least make it known just how great, remarkable, and arduous his journey had been?
This wasn't about understanding—this would become doctrine.
"There was a time when the Reaper came close and whispered to me. Yes, it was a very long time ago, far longer than now. Back then, I created a most extraordinary potion. That potion allowed me to exist in a different flow of time from others. Listen well—can you imagine what it would be like if a single day, for you, half twice as long as for everyone else?"
Originally, Dmule possessed remarkable talents, but he wanted to reach far greater heights.
He delved into alchemy, ultimately gaining mastery over the world of spells.
Along the way, he ventured into the Demon Realm, and even traveled to the Empire.
He thus glimpsed the secrets of the continent. Only then did he come to understand what he truly desired.
To become a god—that was his wish.
"That potion was just a minor benefit I gained while researching immortality and eternal life."
As the corners of his rotting mouth twisted upward, a piece of flesh dropped and hit the floor.
Just looking at him was enough to turn one's stomach.
Now his skin gleamed, hard and lustrous like a gemstone.
But it wasn't transparent. It was like a gemstone filled with filth.
"Listen. This is the proof of greatness I speak of for the first time, now that I have become a god."
Dmule's voice overlapped with itself.
As Enkrid looked at him, he felt the same sensation he'd had when facing a demon.
It wasn't just that Dmule was different from humans—there was a stark, alien quality to his very purpose for living and his contemplative attitude toward life, unlike any other intelligent being.
A dizzying sense of oppression pressed down on the air.
It made even the falling rain easy to forget.
Was it the sense of control, as if he'd seized everything around him?
Or perhaps it was more like an overwhelming magnetism that drew everyone's attention inward.
Only after he had completely dominated his surroundings did Dmule, with his decaying tongue, recite the first line of his Holy Scripture.
"For others, a day was ten days for me. I spent well over a hundred such days. This is how one transcends the ordinary to become extraordinary. It is the beginning of one born human, who surpassed demons, and became a god!"
The layered voice reverberated through their hearts.
Even the very air seemed to kneel and bow its head in submission to his words.
At that moment, Enkrid, before he knew it, blurted out his honest feelings.
"Only one hundred?"
His murmur was quiet, but everyone heard it.
***
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