Chapter 92

A violent storm begins to rage across the golden desert. Sand and gold dust, once forming dunes, scatter in all directions.

The colossal wind, laden with sand, extends relentlessly, threatening to swallow everything in its path. The one responsible for conjuring this sudden tempest in the tranquil desert, the Sword Saint, clicked his tongue as he looked at the sword in his hand.

“Tch, filthy.”

The demon Michael had offered no resistance.

That disgusting face held neither the will to live, nor the despair of death. He had merely burned his life away to restrain the Sword Saint’s feet. Erecting layer upon layer of defensive barriers, and reinforcing them with incantations.

The Sword Saint found the sight utterly revolting.

Efficiency, rationality, reason.

A composure unbelievable for a being facing death.

‘That kind of thing is not life.’

A living being ought to abandon everything before death and thrash about. Higher purpose and justice are meaningful only to those who survive. But the demons did not.

Could one call something that does not fear death a living being? Flesh and bone, flowing blood, and thought, yet the Sword Saint refused to acknowledge them as life.

Thus, the Sword Saint loathed demons endlessly, from the depths of his heart. And to him, Michael’s attitude in the face of death today was nothing short of the absolute worst.

A look and demeanor that didn’t even try to survive, devoid of even a sliver of attachment to staying alive.

The Swordsman was furious at Mikael’s attitude.

Because of it, his blade contained more strength than usual.

“…”

The result was the enormous storm now unfolding before the Swordsman’s eyes. Watching the sandstorm, whose end he couldn’t foresee, whose size he couldn’t predict, he sighed quietly.

The sword he gripped tightly in both hands had lost its blade completely, the guard beneath the blade melting away.

The blade had vaporized due to the frictional heat generated by swinging the sword at dozens of times the speed of sound.

The Swordsman tossed the useless sword hilt to the ground.

* * *

My head feels like it’s splitting. The pitch-black darkness before my eyes begins to regain its colors.

As the fragmented senses return, the pain in my hands and toes becomes increasingly vivid.

I’m not even sure if I’m breathing properly.

…No, rather, am I even alive?

“Sleeping soundly, are we?”

“Hah…!”

Like a sudden storm, an enormous volume of air rushes into my lungs. My ribs creak. My hands and toes, once overwhelmed by pain, now begin to register an icy chill.

“And with such a filthy stench permeating everything.”

Dajin’s voice, laden with scorn, pierces through my ringing ears and echoes in my head.

I’m dizzy. I feel like I’m going to throw up. But one positive fact remains: I am still alive.

“My protection shielded you from the heat and wind of the explosion, but I still cannot grasp just how fragile your body truly is.”

A brown floor swam dimly into view. It was odd. Just moments ago, it felt like I was in a dense forest, but now all that surrounded me were heaps of dirt and stones.

I turned my head slowly, scanning the surroundings with blurred vision.

The lush foliage had vanished without a trace. The giant ancient trees, the fiery burning leaves, all evaporated.

“…Huh?”

Instead, a massive pit yawned before my eyes, large enough to swallow an entire mountain. It was as if I were looking down from the stands of a colosseum.

“…”

In the very center of that colosseum stood Maltiel. His dark skin, crimson eyes, and disgustingly long fingernails were easily discernible even with unfocused vision.

Beside me stood Dajin, a deer made of blue lightning. That damned deer, it seemed, had sprung from my body without my even drawing my staff.

…Though, I suppose it saved my life.

Maltiel gazed up at us, his eyes seeming to find Dajin, who was wrapping me in comforting lightning, bothersome.

It was certain that Dajin had protected me while I was unconscious.

“Don’t look at him so fiercely. He won’t do anything.”

Dajin spoke, looking down at Maltiel in the pit with a relaxed air.

“You seem too intimidated. I thought demons could roughly gauge their opponent’s magical power. With those eyes, you should be able to tell I’m not the original, no?”

“…Indeed, the mana is around that of a 7th Circle mage. But mana isn’t everything. I’ve seen far too many mages who create spells of immense power with only a sliver of mana.”

Maltiel seemed well aware that Dajin was a mere avatar, weakened beyond comparison to the original. Even so, he was wary of this transcendent being guarding my side.

No matter how weakened, Dajin’s essence was that of a spirit, the very source of magic. A fundamental difference existed that mere reduction in mana could not bridge.

“In short, you lack confidence. How sad. Those born with middling talent always have lukewarm goals.”

Dajin sighed, gazing at Maltiel with what seemed like genuine boredom.

“You all need to be a little more reckless and foolish, it seems.”

Dajin, then, stroked my head softly with a warmth like lightning.

…My mind’s too muddled to be sure, but did this b*stard just call me stupid?

“Hopeless, utterly hopeless.”

Dajin turned a cloven hoof towards me, looking rather irritated.

“I suppose I’ll just be a spectator, then.”

“…What?”

My head’s only just clearing, but what is this b*stard going on about now?

“You should be helping, not spectating…”

“If you and I combined our strength, that Archduke would be crushed in an instant. Where’s the fun in that? A fight should be a close call to be enjoyable, wouldn’t you agree? Be grateful I saved your life.”

His tone was arrogant and presumptuous, as if he held all things, all the world’s logic, within his grasp.

I honestly considered tearing off the antlers of this pompous deer, and my face contorted with the thought.

“Don’t stare at me like that. I’ll offer some encouragement from within, at least.”

With those final words, the lightning that formed the damn deer vanished into the air. At the same moment, tiny particles began flowing out of my right hand, gathering together on their own.

Soon after, a small staff was clenched in my hand, and the scattered lightning was sucked into it in an instant.

“…Unbelievable b*stard.”

Incensed, I slammed the staff in my hand against the ground. But as if unable to escape from myself, the staff instantly turned into tiny particles and burrowed into the skin of my right hand.

“Ssssh, haaa.”

To shake off the mounting irritation, I took a deep breath and looked up at the sky.

‘Let’s assess the situation rationally. Dajin has already made up his mind. Getting mad at this deer isn’t going to change a thing beyond this point.’

With a single deep breath, my head, which had been burning hot, instantly turned icy cold.

It cannot be overstated, not even repeated countless times. To be born a vagrant, solely to acquire the [Composure] trait, was the correct choice.

The sky was heavy, filled with somber, charcoal clouds. It seemed just moments before, before I lost consciousness, the sun had been blazing.

‘Perhaps not so strange.’

A sudden, cataclysmic explosion had ripped through the lush mountain. The surrounding air turned searing hot, and the moisture within the dense foliage evaporated entirely. A tremendous aftershock must have also slammed into the epicenter, and the resulting updrafts, quite possibly, conjured these dark clouds.

‘…The weather, at least, lends me its aid.’

Dark clouds are a lightning wielder’s dearest friend. I can feel it—behind that ebony curtain, bolts, my swords and shields, clash and gnaw at one another, clamoring to be used.

“General!”

Then, from behind the crater, a booming voice resonated. I lowered my head, seeking the familiar sound.

Not far from Maltiel, stood Rex. His awkward stance suggested his physical state was not entirely sound.

Rex was alive.

…What of the other soldiers, including Alter?

“…”

The belated question began to churn within my mind, struggling to regain its composure.

Alter was dead.

‘No, no. That’s Alter Heindel. The most highly regarded lightning mage alive.’

Except for perhaps three mages of other schools who had reached the 9th Circle, he was considered the strongest of them all.

‘What were the odds of him surviving that explosion?’

The vast, desolate landscape before me offered its reply.

A colossal crater, spanning over 30 kilometers in radius. Nothing remained beyond that.

‘Even under the rosiest scenario, believing Alter survived falls not under prediction, but prayer.’

The hours, bordering on months, spent alongside Alter flashed through my mind in an instant.

“…Truly gone?”

Inside the jolting carriage, the moment he first taught me how to use a grimoire surfaced first.

The look in his eyes, once rife with doubt, transforming into one of joy and anticipation…

“Reporting the damage assessment for Assault Team One!”

A loud shout pierced the fog of complex emotions that had begun to spread thickly within my mind.

I lifted my head, which had been pointed towards the floor for who knows how long.

At the edge of my vision stood Rex, an orc with visibly impaired legs.

“All Assault Team One members, save for the General and myself, are of unknown status! It is highly probable that all perished in the blast!”

Rex reiterated the current situation to me. His expression held no trace of pity or unease.

It was odd.

How could he stand so bravely like that?

“However, death is not yet confirmed! Do not forget how magnificent a mage Alter is! Their status is ‘unconfirmed’! I repeat! Their status is ‘unconfirmed’!”

He offered no clumsy platitudes. He didn’t deceive with foolish lies, insisting that “Alter is surely alive.”

He merely reminded me of the situation unfolding before our eyes, as it was.

“…Indeed.”

That was enough.

Alter is a great mage. Worthy of being called the mage closest to the 9th Circle.

Am I even in a position to worry about Alter’s safety?

He surely managed the explosion of Maltiel in his own way. Wasn’t he the one who started the battle against the Archlord, volunteering as bait while I was still reeling?

That keen mind, that profound experience… and those eyes, burning with a scarlet fire, were absolutely not those of a man about to die today.

“Therefore, focus, General! Malthael stands before us, right now!”

Believe it.

Nothing has been resolved yet.

Malthael lives, right before my eyes, and could unfurl those wings and take flight at any moment, should he choose.

So believe that Alter is a magician great enough to survive even a sudden explosion, and let’s not dwell on anything beyond that.

“Let us go.”

I slowly set my foot down the steep slope.

As if waiting for this very moment, the cumulonimbus roared with deafening thunder.