Chapter 83
BOOM!
BOOM!
From the farthest outskirts of the Valleland battlefield, where the Grand Marshals’ headquarters were located, a series of large explosions could be heard.
The cause of the explosions was none other than the black magic wielded by Michael and Maltiel. They were trying to break through the massive barrier that covered the battlefield and escape Valleland as quickly as possible.
The option of ‘fighting against a Sword Saint’ did not exist for the two Grand Marshals. Even if they were powerful figures, the Grand Marshals themselves knew best that they could not compare to a Sword Saint.
“I’ll give you ten seconds.”
For the two Grand Marshals, who were looking for a chance to flee, the Sword Saint’s declaration was an opportunity they couldn’t miss.
Judging that the Sword Saint wouldn’t act recklessly until the safety of the injured and less skilled individuals was secured, the two Grand Marshals began sprinting in the opposite direction of the battlefield at top speed.
They eventually came to a halt at the edge of Arthur’s semi-transparent barrier.
CRACK!
Upon meeting the semi-transparent wall, Michael unleashed a barrage of magic in an attempt to create an opening to break through.
He gathered pitch-black beams of light from his fingertips and hurled them, and even crafted javelin-like projectiles of venomous blood to throw at the wall.
However, the semi-transparent barrier stood firm, unyielding to all of Michael’s attacks, without a single scratch or mark.
“…What an unusual sensation. I thought I knew everything about the Flame School’s magic… but this is something I’ve never seen before. Did you develop it yourselves?”
After hurling a few more spells towards the barrier, Michael placed his hand on it, focusing on the sensations he felt at his fingertips.
Even as his life hung in the balance, the Grand Marshal who governed over magic and knowledge found himself intrigued by the mysterious magic before him.
“Can’t break it, huh? The barrier’s coverage reaches across Valleland entirely, so it shouldn’t have much strength, but…”
Beside Michael, Maltiel also placed his hand on the semi-transparent barrier.
It was a strange sensation indeed. When pressing his hand against the wall, there should have been the feeling of something obstructing him. Yet, at the tips of Maltiel’s fingers, he felt nothing.
It was as if he had stretched his hand into empty air. However, no matter how much force he applied, his arm wouldn’t move forward beyond a certain point.
“…No, it doesn’t seem to be based on the Five Great Elements. Is it from a specialized school?”
“Is there a way to pierce it?”
If only the Grand Marshals survived, the Marauders could quickly restore their army.
If variants were lost, they could simply be recreated. The same applied to underlings, including high-ranking Marauders, who could be newly assigned by the Demon King.
Compared to the four years it usually takes the Demon King to create a Grand Marshal, it took less than two hours to create a high-ranking Marauder.
Even if all the forces were lost, as long as the Grand Marshals remained alive, the damage of today’s battle could be fully recovered within a month.
“…We’ll need to analyze it.”
“Hmm.”
Without a word, Maltiel turned his head towards the distant center of the battlefield.
A wisp of mist was rising there.
*
“Overwhelming.”
Bin, who had never seen the Sword Saint truly fight, focused his entire attention on his back.
The Sword Saint had once protected him, but due to the aftereffects of ‘blossoming,’ Bin had lost consciousness and never directly witnessed the Sword Saint’s combat.
“Hardly a sight I’ll see in my lifetime. I mustn’t miss a single moment.”
Whether he liked it or not, Bin would someday have to become as strong as the Sword Saint.
Though the Sword Saint wasn’t the same as the magical youth Bin had encountered during blossoming, merely observing the battle of the strongest individual—known as both the ‘present and future of the continent’—promised to be beneficial.
The way the Sword Saint controlled the battlefield, the strategies they employed in a numerically disadvantageous situation—there was much that Bin still lacked.
In sync with the youth’s intense stare, the Sword Saint slowly raised his thin blade into position.
“I will personally deal with the Grand Marshals. Clear out the rest of the monsters.”
“Understood!”
The commander, who heard the Sword Saint’s order directly, responded with a choked voice.
“All forces, destroy the variants and Marauders! Ensure that nothing interferes with the Great General’s battle!”
“AAAAAAAAAH!”
A high-pitched shout reverberated through the area. The blue sky, the sun, and the wind remained silent as soldiers who had screamed in pain forgot their suffering and lifted their swords once more.
“…Ariel! Lend me some forces! Quickly!”
“Tch.”
One of the Grand Marshals, Raguel, whose forces under his command were wiped out by the Sword Saint, yelled desperately.
From beyond a stiff hill, a barrage of sharp bones rained down over the soldiers.
Massive monsters with colossal bodies comparable to whales and huge arms thunderously charged toward the soldiers from a great distance.
The grotesque creatures tightly sealed their lips as if preparing to spit, then continuously vomited bones from their enormous mouths.
“Hold them!”
The soldiers gathered their shields around the mages. The mages cast protective barriers above the soldiers’ shields.
The bones, losing their power upon hitting the barrier, easily bounced off the soldiers’ shields. From the gaps between the rows, arrows shot out straight for the eyes of the distant colossal variants.
“Leave it to me.”
Above the orderly soldiers’ heads, the Sword Saint passed by, his leather coat flapping in the wind.
While brushing past the soldiers’ heads, the Sword Saint smoothly slipped through the ranks of the variants that had quickly gathered to protect Raguel.
With a face distorted by fear, Raguel unfurled his wings and rose into the air at the last minute.
Once again, the heat haze danced before the boy’s eyes, teasing him.
The frail boy had to close his eyes momentarily.
And in that fleeting moment, everything was decided.
The two wings of Raguel, who had soared high into the air, had been severed from his torso.
“Raguel, they say you’re the weakest among the Grand Marshals.”
Raguel, having lost his wings, stumbled in the air. However, the human Sword Saint, who had never had wings in the first place, maintained a firm stance in mid-air as if standing on the ground.
“Sleep…”
The Sword Saint’s blade cut through the remaining wing that was still attached to Raguel’s body. Soon, the pitiful body began to plummet toward the ground.
The Sword Saint’s arm didn’t stop.
His slim blade drew a straight line and cleanly separated Raguel’s head from his body as it fell.
Behind the powerless falling body of Raguel, new wings began to sprout. The torso, missing its head, reached out its hands haphazardly into the air and emitted a black glow.
Rip.
The arm that Raguel had been using to prepare his magic was instantly severed. The highly toxic blood sprayed in all directions, but the Sword Saint continued his movements without blinking.
“The wings weren’t it, nor were the head or the arms. The regeneration continues to be based around the torso.”
To kill a Marauder, it is necessary to find and destroy the ‘core’ hidden somewhere within their body.
No matter how much blood they shed, as long as the core remained intact, the Marauders could infinitely regenerate their bodies.
“Next, the legs.”
Therefore, finding out where a Marauder hides its core is a vital task when engaging them in combat.
Rip!
The Sword Saint’s blade ruthlessly ravaged Raguel’s body again.
At that moment, the first wing that had been severed began to regenerate.
Raguel, moving the partially grown wing by force, struggled to regain his balance.
“Hold still.”
As if annoyed by the flapping wings, the Sword Saint slashed through Raguel’s entire chest and abdomen.
“Where are you?”
The method by which the Sword Saint finds a Marauder’s core is very simple.
He dissects the Grand Marshal’s body piece by piece until the location of the core is determined.
From the upper body that had been severed, Raguel’s face began to grow anew, the expression clearly depicting the fear of death.
“There.”
When the body of a Grand Marshal is cut, it regenerates with the core at its center.
The Sword Saint analyzed the subtle differences in cycle and speed of regrowth between the severed wings and arms of Raguel to deduce which part of his chest housed the core.
“Left side… near the heart?”
The Sword Saint mentally deemed Raguel foolish. Among all the Grand Marshals he had cut down until now, there wasn’t a single one who had hidden their core in the areas humans typically consider vital.
Since most humans unconsciously focus their attacks on such areas.
The decision to sever the wings and limbs first was precisely because of this.
“Hmm, if you intentionally used that to deceive me, I’ll give you credit.”
The Sword Saint raised his blade and pulled back his arm to butcher the area he suspected contained Raguel’s core.
Whoosh!
Just then, a tremendous gust of wind accompanied by a sonic boom arrived.
