Chapter 93

The pitch-black sky begins to weep. A wind, blowing towards the heart, shakes the boy’s dust-laden robe.

A tranquil fury resided in the boy’s blue eyes, and he was ready to unleash it at any time.

Slowly, the boy stepped down into the deeply carved pit. In the very center, the monster coldly glared at the boy approaching him.

“Bud.”

With each step the boy took, the darkly clouded sky stirred ominously. They were poised to unleash divine punishment upon the world below, at the boy’s command.

“Vapor.”

A smile, the meaning of which was impossible to decipher, began to form on the Overlord’s face as he looked up at the boy. It was prepared to pour out every bit of battle experience accumulated over the past thirty years.

“Cumulonimbus and Monsoon.”

An intense shadow cast by the storm clouds fell upon the boy’s face, as hard and unyielding as ice.

Deep within the boy’s core, immense energy began to gather. It resembled an active volcano, moments before eruption, only to shift into the form of a tranquil pond the next.

“Blooming.”

The boy whispers the magic.

A faint lightning flickers, tickling the Warlord’s ear on the currents of the air.

The heavens still offer no voice. Even the colossal lightning that would strike the ground each time the boy used Blooming kept its mouth shut this time.

“…”

No sound, no light, no explosion occurred.

Apart from the occasional spark flaring from the boy’s body, nothing in the world seemed to shift.

A chill crawls down the Warlord’s spine.

Had someone unskilled and clumsy stood opposite the boy, they might have rashly concluded the boy’s magic had failed.

But Maltiel was no such fool.

“…Ha!”

Cold sweat begins to trickle down Maltiel’s body.

Fear surges, and courage of equal magnitude blossoms within his chest at the same time.

He was a monster who had fought the Sword Saint countless times, yet never before had his fighting spirit burned so fiercely.

“Intriguing, that whelp who, a mere two or three months ago, was so clumsy and inept.”

Maltiel does not think of the boy before him as ‘prey.’ He does not consider him an inferior foe, not even an equal adversary.

The Warlord, who had rolled across battlefields for thirty years, claiming the lives of tens of millions of people, wanted to ‘challenge’ the boy before him.

That, at this moment, was the pure emotion that blossomed in the Warlord’s heart.

“Silence.”

With the boy’s single word, a tiny lightning bolt lashed out, snaking through the air, aiming for Maltiel’s head.

The Archduke, with a lithe twist, evaded the lightning bolt, ducking low, but a stray tendril of the energy grazed his face.

Skin sizzled, flesh burst. Through the newly-carved hole in his cheek, blackened teeth flashed, and tainted blood began to drip.

Maltiel felt an icy shudder wash over him as the boy’s current made contact.

This was no ordinary lightning, conjured by run-of-the-mill electro-mages. The boy’s bolt contained *something* else entirely. Perhaps an overwhelming talent, or the pure rage of one who has lost subordinates.

Whatever it was, it was a sensation Maltiel had not encountered in the past thirty years.

“…fortunate, then, that it should stop at this level.”

Under the silent heavens, Maltiel’s hollow laughter echoed, muted.

Nothing stirred in response to Maltiel’s mirth.

Not the boy, nor the orc with the shattered leg, nor even the thunderhead brimming with lightning. All merely stared, somber, at the Archduke’s mad laughter.

“Stop? Who stops? I am only just beginning.”

In contrast, the boy’s fury found resonance in all things. The storm clouds obscuring the sky, the mounds of earth underfoot, even the bedrock hidden beneath, all radiated a stark, silent rage.

“You are a far more troublesome adversary than the Swordsaint, that air-headed fool. There is resolve etched into you, boy.”

In that instant, the unpleasant smile vanished from Maltiel’s face.

A tempestuous wind whipped past the boy’s cheek.

*Boom!*

The delayed thunder of the blow resounded in every direction.

The boy hadn’t even registered Maltiel’s disappearance. Even as the obsidian fist hung suspended before his eyes, he was unable to track its movement.

*Thud!*

Maltiel’s extended fist was halted by the ‘Blessing of the Spirits.’ The weighty vibration created by the impact of fist against barrier rippled through the surrounding air.

*‘An invulnerable defensive magic, at first glance. But…’*

“There is no such thing as perfect magic, wouldn’t you agree?”

Maltiel lightly retracted the fist that had struck the barrier. A thin, faint shield that surrounded the boy then scattered like mist.

“……!”

Only after the barrier dissipated did the white-haired boy realize Maltiel had arrived before him.

“Discharge.”

The moment he registered Maltiel’s presence, the boy concentrated a massive amount of current, detonating it from his fingertips.

Caught in the blast, Maltiel tumbled hundreds of meters away, his left arm and leg instantly reduced to ash and gone.

‘Bloom’ didn’t enhance the boy’s physical abilities. His dynamic visual acuity and perception remained stubbornly below average.

He lacked the capacity to extend his hand in response to a nimble opponent’s movements, nor could he conjure lightning in time.

He didn’t even dare hope for the luxury of considering his next move after seeing the opponent move. He simply needed the minimum distance, the time, for his brain to register the fact that the opponent had ‘moved’.

So, the boy surrendered himself to the explosion erupting from his fingertips.

His fragile, slender body was lifted high into the sky by the pure white light and wind.

Stray strands of hair frequently obscured his vision.

The positions of heaven and earth reversed dozens of times a second. His ears were filled with the sound of his robe fluttering wildly in the wind.

‘My dynamic visual acuity can’t keep up anyway.’

In his fight against Maltiel, the boy’s five senses were not to be trusted. No, they were nothing more than a significant hindrance.

And so, he boldly closed his eyes. He abandoned all attempts to follow Maltiel’s movements with his eyes.

With his eyes closed and focused, the sound of lightning tearing through the air echoed more clearly in his ears.

A faint, electrical whimper brushed against the boy’s fingertips. He followed this warning sound, raised his fingers, and issued another command to the lightning.

“Discharge.”

*Thoom!*

An immense current of energy coalesced at the boy’s fingertips, then expanded in an instant. At the epicenter of the explosion he created, Malthiel stood, wings unfurled, a pitch-black hand extended towards the boy.

Soon, the Archlord’s body, engulfed in azure lightning, plummeted headfirst toward the ground.

“Ha!”

This time, Malthiel lost both his wings. His entire body was marred by burns, flames clinging to where his wings had been. Despite being caught in two massive explosions in quick succession, a smile of satisfaction plastered the monster’s face.

“To close your eyes before an opponent! Bold, and yet… prudent. I commend you.”

*Thoom!*

Only then did the storm clouds massing behind the boy finally begin to unleash their pent-up fury.

A pure white light burst through the pitch-black darkness, reaching out towards Malthiel.

With his remaining leg, Malthiel kicked off the ground with immense force, rolling away from the lightning.

‘Three seconds.’

Normally, it wouldn’t take even a single second to regenerate his wings. But Malthiel was currently suffering immense damage, with only 30% of his magical power remaining.

Three seconds was the time needed to restore his wings. That was only possible by abandoning the restoration of his arms and head, focusing solely on the wings’ recovery.

In a battle between Archlords, three seconds was enough time to shift the balance of power ten times over. If Malthiel’s opponent had been any other general than Bean, his defeat would have been sealed the moment he lost his wings and crashed to the ground.

‘…The regeneration is sluggish. Is this… an opportunity?’

However, Bean possessed an overwhelming lack of combat experience. In addition, he had not witnessed Malthiel taking twelve seconds to recover from an earlier attack.

The boy failed to recognize that Malthiel was weakened, and as a result, a golden opportunity to end the battle slipped away.

“Strike down.”

But it wasn’t as if the boy felt no change at all. As soon as he noticed that “Malthiel’s movements are sluggish,” he immediately pointed his finger at the Archlord, issuing that command.

In response to that command, the pitch-black clouds wept, unleashing a pillar of pure white light that crashed down upon the earth.

But Maltiel’s wings had already unfurled. The monster soared into the heavens, dodging the lightning’s wrath, and simultaneously lunged at the boy once more.

“Damn it.”

It was perhaps only natural that the boy failed to make a swift decision. He lacked the battle-honed experience of the other generals, and wasn’t blessed with particularly sharp instincts to begin with.

Even so, this error of judgment, he would never forget.

‘Nine seconds until the next blessing of the spirits.’

The scales, which had tipped momentarily in the boy’s favor, returned to equilibrium. The battle continued, and the threat remained.

… No, the threat was now materialized, sharpened, flying toward the boy, its long claws bared.

“Release.”

The third explosion erupted from the boy’s fingertips.

But Maltiel was untouched by this blast. With a mere few dozen meters separating them, he used his wings to brake sharply in mid-air, preventing himself from being caught in the immense surge of electricity unleashed by the boy.

“A simple trick, but one you were forced to rely on.”

Maltiel spoke softly, watching the massive sphere of electricity fade against the ink-black sky.

In this critical moment, it was nothing other than the disparity in experience that divided their fates.

The instant the electric current vanished from the air, Maltiel spread his wings and flew toward the boy.

Soon, those dark claws flew towards the boy’s neck once again.

“Well, do you have another trick?”

Maltiel sensed it.

His hand would tear the boy’s head from his body.

Ultimately, the victory in this long war would belong to the demons. Within a short time, all life that had settled on this land would be extinct.

That instant, the thrill of defeating a Goliath and the immense sense of accomplishment threatened to overwhelm the monster.

*Whoosh—*

A tomahawk, darkened as if scorched by the sun, flew in from the edge of his vision, severing his arm.

“……”

The hand that reached for Vin’s throat was severed again. Just like that night, in that forest.

The one who threw the tomahawk was none other than Rex.

From the earth up to 2000 meters in the air where clouds drifted, he had precisely cleaved Maltiel’s arm across a distance of over two kilometers.

‘…Annoying.’

Maltiel thought, looking down at the orc standing far below.

The orc, who had replaced one arm with a prosthetic, held a massive horn to his lips.

‘That horn. It caused me quite a headache back in the mountains, too.’

Just as Maltiel sensed the danger, the artifact Rex held to his lips, the horn that summoned them, was nearly omnipotent.

Depending on the user’s creativity and capabilities, it could not only subdue opponents but also create necessary tools like ladders or spears made from bones.

A near-omnipotent artifact.

But even this near-omnipotent artifact had at least one restriction.

The ability to summon the undead was limited to the places the horn’s sound could reach.

A distance of over two kilometers.

No matter how powerfully Rex blew into the horn, it wouldn’t reach Maltiel, who was so high that he could touch the clouds if he reached out.

Even so, Rex held the horn to his lips.

The reason was simple.

‘Even for a fleeting moment. I must buy them time.’

Even if Rex was a superior warrior, he couldn’t possibly leap a distance exceeding two kilometers. He didn’t possess the ability to tread upon the air and ascend like some Sword Saint, naturally.

This was, truly, nothing more than a desperate grasp at straws.

“Just try to keep it down, I’m having a bit of fun here.”

And to that unsightly struggle, Maltiel responded.

Instead of Maltiel’s remaining hand flying to snatch the boy’s throat before him, he pointed with a finger at Rex, feet planted on the ground, horn to his lips.

Artifacts were, in truth, things of the unknown itself. Unidentified weapons, their origins shrouded in mystery – who invented them, for what purpose, and when, remained obscure.

Each weapon possessed its own unique ability, and accompanying that ability were distinct repercussions or limitations.

Thus, Maltiel couldn’t possibly be aware of the capabilities of each individual artifact. However, after the previous battle in the mountains, Maltiel had clearly perceived Rex’s artifact as ‘irritating’.

A prudent and intelligent being like Maltiel couldn’t help but take notice of such a clumsy, pathetic struggle.

‘So far, everything is going as planned. Now, I just need to focus on evading Maltiel’s magic.’

Although his leg bone was broken, Rex was a robust Orc warrior. He had confidence that he could evade a bombardment launched from over two kilometers away, even if it was the magic of an Archduke.

“Samael.”

However, no jet-black light erupted from Maltiel’s fingers.

‘Who…’

The next moment, Rex heard the sound of air tearing apart near his ear.

Something roughly the size of a person was hurtling towards him at an incredible speed. The warrior’s intuition that had kept him alive through countless battles screamed at him to drop to the ground immediately.

He had no time to ponder further.

The Orc threw himself forward, falling awkwardly.

Immediately after, a demon with enormous wings grazed the spot where he had been standing, like a bullet.

“I had been saving that trump card for a more crucial moment, as a matter of fact.”

High Lord Samael.

Having once suffered the humiliation of losing the Akiliptus Forest to Bean without bloodshed, Maltiel’s closest confidante spread his wings wide with an air of imposing dignity, as if to finally wash away the shame of that day.

Rex, who had flung his axe beyond the clouds, gazed up at the High Lord who had appeared before him, pointedly ignoring the chill that traced the back of his neck.

“I concede, Orc. You are worth investing my final trump card in.”

Intrigue, deception, strategy, and tactics.

To the very last moment, Maltiel was proving the reason his creator had fashioned him.