Chapter 724 - Even if I Die, You Must Keep Fighting
"To snap a tightly stretched string, all it takes is one snip of the scissors."
There's a saying that all it takes to tip a balanced scale is the right single stone.
Enkrid thought that Dmule might have predicted this situation before him.
Maybe Hescal had advised him, or maybe he just had a bad feeling.
If not, then—
"Just two swordsmen and one girl."
Why would he say something like that and desperately try to kill Anne?
"If he didn't know, he wouldn't have gone out of his way to pick a fight."
That was the thought coming to mind. If Hescal had really decided to take action, saving Anne would have been extremely difficult. Reflecting back after time had passed, that was the conclusion. No matter how much Ragna guarded her day and night, Hescal would have found an opening and stabbed her.
But that never happened.
Such small stones gathered on one side of the scale, and the pebbles that were just two swordsmen and one girl were enough to tip the balance.
After the shiver ran through Enkrid's body caused by seeing the House Head's sword, he lacked the skill to predict the outcome of the fight, but it wasn't difficult to review the situation after seeing the result. Alexandra accelerated Will, using her strengthened muscles, heightened senses, and motion vision better than usual. That's how she created an explosion of good will.
To put it more simply, it was like a fight where you light a single candle and have to hold on until it completely burns out.
Then Tempest changed his form and struck Will.
It was an explosion of a single point—a single slash putting everything on the line. This wasn't a candle flame but a spark from flint. It burst only at the moment it struck.
However, the intensity was several times stronger than that of a candle. It was like releasing all the power needed to burn a candle at once.
'This isn't a sword strike that a sick body could make.'
The reality that Enkrid had momentarily forgotten out of joy crept back into his mind.
Despite having half his body cut off, Dmule still reeked of rot.
Thick black fluid oozed through his half-crushed organs, and rainwater was flooding inside his severed torso.
Yet he was still not dead.
It was as if he was proving it.
"Die."
Dmule's left hand, attached to the only somewhat intact side of his body, rose.
At the same time, the words he muttered were filled with resolute will and magical power, turning into a spell.
Black mist gathered in front of his hand, transforming into a long rod that shot forward.
It was no different from the shape held in the hands of other Scalers until now.
It was obvious without anyone saying it that the weapon was filled with poison.
Whoosh.
As the rod formed by the spell took on a solid shape, the sound of it tearing through the air was sharp and clear.
Would the House Head be killed by just a simple rod like this?
No way.
Under normal circumstances, maybe.
But the House Head's eyes were already bursting with blood vessels with each slash, blood seeping out.
Everyone looking back at him could see his eyes turning bright red.
It wasn't just his eyes either.
Blood began to flow from his nose, mouth, ears—every hole in his face.
Amid all this, the spell came flying at him.
Even watching, Ragna couldn't stop it.
He himself was barely conscious.
Any violent movement was impossible.
Still, his body honestly responded and he managed to sit up halfway.
But someone else acted first.
It was Enkrid.
The moment he recognized reality after his moment of joy, he sprang into action immediately.
They all knew from experience that such a demon always prepared something for the very last moment.
He had nearly lost Shinar even after killing the One Killer.
How could anyone forget the monstrous act of trying to shove everything—including souls—inside Shinar's body with the final outward slash of the blade?
Yes, he hadn't forgotten that moment.
Despite his whole body creaking in pain, Enkrid was able to stand in front of the House Head.
It was just a series of simple movements.
He squeezed his muscles, lifted his foot, and reached the House Head just before Dmule moved the spell.
Once he secured that position, he twisted his wrist and swung Samcheol in a sharp arc, striking the middle of the black rod.
It shattered with a sharp ringing sound, scattering fragments across the floor.
He didn't have the strength for a full swing, so he only turned his wrist, using the weight and centrifugal force of the blade—but it was lucky he managed to block it at all.
If he hadn't hit the spell's flow precisely, he might have ended up with a hole in his own chest instead of the House Head.
"My body's really something."
There was no denying his physical condition was a mess.
Just barely managing to block the spell that had been flying at him non-stop until now was nothing short of miraculous.
To be honest, if he hadn't dared to let some of the weaker spells pass through his defense halfway, he would probably have several holes in his body by now.
As Enkrid caught his breath and looked ahead, the barely-alive Dmule glared at him with terrifying intensity.
Even without moving his tongue, it was as if his voice could be heard.
Actually, Dmule did speak.
"I hate you. I really hate you."
"What's got you so mad?"
Enkrid asked back, his tone softened.
Was he willing, even at death's door, to humor the monster's rage?
While everyone was thinking that way, Enkrid spoke up again.
"You think I look young?"
No, that wasn't it.
Enkrid kept picking at Dmule's attire until the very end.
It wasn't that he found it amusing to tease him.
There was some calculation behind it. To be precise, it was a conclusion reached by combining the Luagarne-style Tactical Sword technique with Krais's cunning tactics.
'Dmule still has the strength to pull a trick.'
To use that fully, he'd need to clear his mind. If that's the case, then overturning his composure would be advantageous.
He couldn't let him stay calm.
He would take advantage of even the smallest edge. Enkrid was confident.
If it weren't for the Luagarne-style Tactical Sword, there would be no reason to act like this.
He owed it all to the lessons he had learned from the frog.
Well, if the opponent fought honorably, he wouldn't go this far himself.
At the very least, he was just a ghost hiding in the back, scheming to take down Anne.
So, wasn't it fair to tease him a little?
Dmule couldn't bring himself to continue.
"You—you, you..."
"T-This."
If he were to remain enlightened even when being mocked like this, he might have experienced a miracle.
To be that enlightened, one could say he'd have become a god.
He didn't become a god, but fury surged through him because everything he wanted had been completely shattered.
Crossing some line, Dmule's reason and emotions merged into a single purpose.
No matter what happened to the House Head who cut his own body, that guy—he would definitely kill him.
Kill him by any means necessary, no exceptions.
And Dmule was no fool.
'No, it won't end with just killing him.'
There was no way he would leave Yohan behind and walk away just to kill that one guy. Was it only the guy who was speaking out who was the problem?
No.
Yohan, the House Head, everyone wielding swords—they were all targets of resentment.
And there was something he realized only now.
'Hescal, you bastard.'
He had been deceived. Looking back, it was obvious. That guy's goal wasn't to seize divinity.
His aim must have been the life after taking it.
In other words, he survived for a reason.
He had things left to accomplish.
The dead Hescal couldn't have had things end the way he wanted.
'I'm going to die.'
Was it because he had struggled so long to avoid death?
Dmule knew he was going to die, and he clearly understood the limits of what he could do before that happened.
Death was a foregone conclusion.
'Yohan will go with me.'
Once he dies, the seeds of the disease he spread would instantly sprout and grow.
Then the majority of Yohan's faction would perish.
Eight out of ten from Hunter's Village, Village of the Intermediary, and Retiree's Village would die.
This was a secret he hadn't even shared with Hescal.
If Hescal found out, he'd probably be cursing even in death.
That bastard Hescal.
He had established himself here decades ago.
Most of those seeds were dormant, but not in recent years.
He was prepared at this level.
But that was all there was.
'And then, it's over.'
That bastard barking up ahead will be the one to survive, and that will be the end.
'Will they spread the news that they killed me and praise themselves?'
Since he was young, people had always accused him of having a "snake's heart."
Dmule was extremely jealous.
He was often told he was like a snake that had become human.
Enkrid's damn praise made him resentful.
More than that, the very fact that bastard would survive filled him with hatred.
On the brink of death, Dmule weighed everything he had.
How could he kill both Yohan and that bastard?
Even though things had gone wrong and he had ended up like this, Dmule was no fool.
He thought of a way to kill that detestable guy quickly.
"I'm going to die."
Dmule's mouth opened.
"Even a passing Human-faced Dog could tell that."
Enkrid tried to cut in, but Dmule didn't get riled up.
"Listen, Yohan's House Head."
His voice overlapped once more.
Enkrid saw this as Dmule's last move.
No matter what spell flew his way, he could block it once more.
His body creaked a little, but his sword skills to cut through spells had improved, thanks to Esther's training and the recent real combat.
There was even something he had learned from letting a spell slip through at the end.
'Even if fifty of those same black rods came flying at me again, I could somehow block them all.'
He might end up with a few holes in his body, but if they pierced skillfully, it wouldn't cripple him.
"You won't be left to do this alone."
Rhinox approached and said.
Behind him, Enkrid saw multiple swords pointed at Dmule, including those wielded by Ana Hera and Riley.
Their determination was surely no less than his own.
This fight belonged entirely to Yohan.
They had drawn their swords to protect themselves.
The House Head, with his vision fading into a blur, only saw Enkrid's back before his sight went completely dark.
Had he gone blind?
Maybe.
The swings he had unleashed earlier were moves he wouldn't have dared make even at his prime.
It was fair to say those strikes were made with everything he had left.
In truth, he had swung his sword with the willingness to die immediately afterward.
Despite the exhaustion gnawing at his entire body from pushing Will too hard, and his desperate urge to sink down and rest, the one who had just been cut still hadn't stopped taunting him.
Blood trickled from his ear canal.
His ear felt muffled, but he could still hear.
"I'm listening."
The House Head answered, and Dmule began cursing in an unbelievably calm tone.
"I'll let you decide. There are only two options."
At first, the House Head wondered what kind of choice this was, but as he listened, the surprisingly resilient, rotten body's owner continued to flicker vile words with his filthy tongue.
"If I gather my remaining strength and unleash it, everyone in Yohan who caught the plague I spread will die.
The seeds of this disease usually take time to grow, but if I die, they'll sprout all at once and take their lives immediately. It was planted in that form from the beginning. But—!"
He suddenly stopped speaking, his tone thick with intensity.
Ragna, who was listening, felt a throbbing pain in his head.
The man's voice sounded layered, as if overlapping several times. It was the voice of a monster who had wished to become a god, squeezing out his last strength to explode one final time.
"In its place, I will give all the curses I possess to that one. Then, the curse that will cause the plague I spread throughout Yohan to sprout all at once will disappear."
Dmule raised his remaining fingers and pointed at Enkrid.
Was he saying that killing only Enkrid, out of pure hatred, would be enough?
No.
Dmule knew people.
More than that, he could manipulate human hearts.
Wasn't that how he had even used Hescal as a tool with his own sword?
Looking back, it seemed like a deception, but the reason he first wrapped around and brought him was precisely because he touched upon human desires and hearts.
'I understand humans.'
Dmule was confident.
Enkrid would refuse this offer.
No one in this world wants to die.
That much was a truth.
'Moreover, there is no one who would die for someone else.'
Parents might die for their children.
But a person who would die for a complete stranger?
Is there such a person?
Because of the words he spoke, the House Head had to weigh Yohan against an outsider, and it was clear which way the scales would tip.
Enkrid would resist.
And the House Head would try to capture and suppress that defiant man.
'Even if I die, you must keep fighting.'
That is the first part of his plan.
But there is a hidden strategy beneath that.
What if the House Head and Yohan capture Enkrid?
He said the seed of the disease wouldn't sprout all at once, but he never said the illness would disappear.
Even if everything goes wrong, it's only a matter of whether they die sooner or later.
"Are you expecting us to believe that?"
Rhinox cut in.
"Now, watch closely."
Dmule said as he waved his hand, and a golden square frame appeared in the air behind him, followed by golden letters rising within it.
"You've probably heard of it before—the Oath Proverb Scroll. I will inscribe my will into this Proverb Scroll."
A rare relic had appeared.
The words written in the Proverb Scroll must come true.
And the price for that is the soul of the deceased.
Rumor had it that the owner of that golden, radiant Proverb Scroll was one of the Demon Gods who ruled the Demonic Domain.
They said he even carried the nickname "Master of the Proverb Spell."
Rhinox also knew about the Proverb Scroll.
That was an unavoidable death sentence.
No, it was a matter of having one's soul held hostage.
"It's real. That Proverb Scroll."
Schmidt, who had confidently taken his place as a fighter during the battle, suddenly stepped forward and spoke.
He had trained in both magic and swordsmanship simultaneously.
Based on his knowledge of magic, he believed what Dmule had said was the truth.
He bore a scar on one side of his cheek, torn and darkened, proof that he had fought fiercely.
Schmidt spoke again, reasoning out loud now that he understood the situation.
"It doesn't make sense to say this was all prepared to deceive someone. There's no one here in Yohan with a magical aptitude, and the fact that I'm even here isn't exactly something that was planned."
If Tempest or others refused to believe it, truly terrible things would happen.
Schmidt did not want that to happen.
'I can't just lose my half-brother and close friend all at once.'
"There's no lie in what I'm saying. Believe it or not, do as you please. But all of this is the truth."
A sense of calm confidence came through in Dmule's tone.
For someone who was about to die, it was surprisingly bold.
Those standing behind him started clamoring, asking what the Proverb Scroll was, whether it was real, and if they could trust it—but they quickly fell silent.
No matter how you looked at it, the atmosphere suggested that everything he said was true.
***
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