Chapter 155

At first, I thought it was just my imagination.

Then, I wondered if the sparks from the clashing swords had reached my wrist.

But no.

As the battle continued, it became more and more obvious.

The heat, growing thicker and hotter.

A burning sensation was seeping out from my right wrist.

A power I couldn’t possibly control. Along with magic.

Memories from the Karmaine Dungeon flashed through my mind.

[ᚲ]

I don’t know how to read it, but that thing.

The ancient mark engraved on my right wrist.

The heat was rising from that very mark.

So, is this… like what the Undead Knight showed back then? Some kind of mysterious magic about to activate?

It seemed like a plausible guess.

Otherwise, I couldn’t explain the magic swirling around my wrist.

…So, how do I use this mark?

I stared at my burning right wrist like a blind man who’d lost his cane.

—

Perhaps they saw my hesitation as an opening, the Black Iron Knights charged again.

I pushed the unanswered questions to the back of my mind and continued the fight.

Come to think of it, this was the first time I’d faced a true master after realizing the power of my karma.

I’d fought plenty of master-level enemies, but they were all just monstrous creatures.

Not like these guys.

I parried the swinging longswords and deflected the thrusting blades with Ice Blade.

The slashes aimed at my legs were deflected by my armor.

It was quite the valuable experience.

Unlike the monsters that swung their weapons wildly, each of their attacks was a masterpiece of swordsmanship.

Defense, offense, counterattacks, and evasion.

I observed and experienced it all, engraving it into my memory.

I pieced together the movements in my mind, analyzing their fundamental principles.

My brain, heated by the excitement of battle, completed the task in an instant.

And then, I incorporated the understood movements into my attacks.

Durandal, thrust forward, tore through the Black Iron Armor with an odd trajectory.

With each exchange, my sword grew sharper and more menacing.

I should thank Claire.

Who knew she’d prepare such excellent training material.

– Clang! Clang! Clang-clang-clang!

Every time the swords clashed, flashes of light illuminated each other.

Like dozens of lightning bolts striking in succession, light and thunder tore through the surroundings.

Slowly, but surely.

The scales of victory began to tip.

The burning reed field spread the heat of the sunset.

Durandal’s blade soaked in blood.

Shattered pieces of Black Iron scattered across the ground.

The Black Iron Armor, torn to shreds like rags. The black longswords, chipped and cracked.

Bodies slashed and torn to tatters.

It was a sight that clearly spelled defeat.

“Guess you’re reaching your limit, huh?”

No answer came back… but they probably understood my taunt.

Given how they rushed out the moment Claire called.

I swung my sword again.

The enemies’ movements were noticeably slower than before.

My swordsmanship, having devoured all their skills, began to cut down these now-useless teachers.

An arm, bitten off by a blue arc, flew into the air.

It was the moment I was certain of victory.

And then,

Finally, the fuse was lit.

—

– Hwaruk.

A low, rising premonition.

The magic condensed to its limit within the mark on my wrist finally erupted like a volcano.

Magic flowed through my fingertips, seeping into the sword.

Fierce flames surged, wrapping around the blade and burning brightly.

A sword of fire.

It was a sight so magnificent it drew admiration.

I still didn’t know the name of the mark, but at least I understood that the manifested magic was the power of fire.

– Whoosh!

The admiration was short-lived as Durandal trembled violently.

The rising flames quickly subsided, scattering in an instant.

…Right. Durandal was a metal that rejected magic.

Even if it was its master’s magic, huh.

Really, what’s the point?

Feeling a bit hollow, I looked down at the lowly vibrating silver longsword.

All my powers are like this. They reject each other.

Thanks to that, each risk maintains a precarious balance.

The Black Iron Knights, wary of the sudden surge of flames, also looked at me in confusion as the fire died out.

No words, no visible expressions… but their reaction was clearly baffled.

“…Don’t look at me like that. I’m just as confused as you are.”

My cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

—

But the anomaly didn’t end there.

The scattered magic gathered again.

Not toward my right hand, which rejected magic… but toward my left arm, which emitted cold.

Intense heat seeped into my left arm, frozen by the Ice Blade’s chill.

The cursed cold that had penetrated to the bone dissipated weakly.

No flames surged.

Just a wisp of smoke, and the silver gauntlet turned pitch black.

Uh…? Is this okay?

I worried it might break, wondering if I should discard the Ice Blade…

But before I could hesitate, the charred Ice Blade revealed a black sheen.

A black Ice Blade.

I’ve never seen this in the original.

It felt strangely unfamiliar.

So much so that I unconsciously wiggled the fingers of my left hand.

The blackened Ice Blade still emitted the cursed cold, but it no longer affected me.

The heat of the magic swirling around my left arm neutralized the cold.

I couldn’t figure out the cause of this phenomenon, but the result was good.

At least for now, the time limit on the Ice Blade was effectively gone.

—

By now, I had a rough idea.

This mark probably gathers magic at will, transforming it into fire and heat… or something like that.

I still don’t know the exact activation conditions or how to control it.

But I’ll have to figure it out.

If I can control this power, it means I can use the Ice Blade without any restrictions.

Ah, maybe this will work too?

A sudden idea.

I briefly switched Durandal to my left hand and drew a dagger with my now-empty right hand.

Then, I focused my consciousness on the mark on my wrist.

– Hwaruk.

The prediction was correct.

The dagger in my right hand began to burn fiercely, imbued with magic.

The steel, wrapped in flames, glowed bright red.

This… could be quite useful.

The Black Iron Knights hesitated for a moment at the sight of the torch-like dagger.

Celebrating the fact that I’d resorted to magic, I hurled the burning dagger at the enemy.

The dagger shot forward like a red beam.

The targeted Black Iron Knight swung the longsword to the side.

*Clang!* The flaming dagger was deflected uselessly.

No matter. It wasn’t an attack meant to hit in the first place.

Creating just a moment’s opening was enough.

Before the knight could even pull back the tip of the sword, I was already right in front of him.

“You should’ve dodged that.”

I deflected the clumsy, reflexive swing with Durandal in my left hand.

A sword swung in an unstable stance wasn’t even a threat anymore.

I reached out with my right hand and grabbed his helmet.

I wasn’t planning to crush it. I could’ve, with a bit of effort, but a better idea came to mind.

Fire.

Just like the dagger.

Focusing my consciousness on the engraving, the knight’s head began to burn.

He started convulsing. He didn’t care much about ordinary wounds, but the pain of his head burning was apparently unbearable.

I let go of his head and stepped back.

Even after releasing it, the flames grew fiercer, sucking in the surrounding magical energy.

“Burns better than I thought. More like firewood than a person.”

The flames spread across his body.

Black smoke seeped out from the melting helmet’s eyeholes.

The knight, now a giant torch, passionately danced across the night sky.

The heat reached me, and sweat dripped down my chin.

The engraving on my right wrist had completely quieted after the last burst of flames.

Seems there’s a limit to how much I can use it… Guess I’ll get another chance later.

This guy was as good as dead anyway, and taking down the other two with just swordsmanship would be enough.

So now… kill them, cut off Claire’s head, and it’s over.

Wait, was I supposed to capture her alive?

Unlike the original, Ophelia wanted Claire alive.

No idea why, though.

I heard them hurling insults at each other, but after that, I was too focused on the fight to catch what they were saying.

Well, Ophelia probably doesn’t need my help to capture Claire.

Glancing at Claire, she was trembling, unable to use magic—looks like the poison stew plan worked perfectly.

Sure enough, Ophelia knocked Claire out with a shockwave.

Didn’t kill her, just knocked her out.

—

I turned my gaze back to the burning knight.

If he swung a punch in that state, the fire might spread to me.

The sight was bizarre beyond belief.

The knight’s head suddenly popped off.

*Pop!* Like a champagne cork after vigorous shaking.

The only difference was that what shot out wasn’t liquid but solid.

“Kiiiiiiii!”

A piercing scream. He finally opened his mouth—or rather, his throat.

A giant maggot-like worm burst out from the severed neck.

Its reddish-brown skin was wrinkled, with caterpillar-like hairs sprouting all over.

A maggot thicker than my forearm, at least 60cm long.

Hundreds of teeth lined its mouth, with the knight’s head dangling from the tip.

The inside of the head was hollow.

It was obvious. The worm had eaten everything.

Probably nestled near the spine, devouring everything above the neck and rolling around inside the skull.

As the maggot left the body, the knight collapsed and burned to ashes.

The worm writhed on the ground.

Abandoning its host was the right move, but too late—the flames had already spread to it.

“Kiiiiik! Kiiiiiiik!”

The roasting maggot screamed and squirmed, spewing yellow fluid from its mouth.

Ugh, seriously. Disgustingly creepy.

My face twisted involuntarily.

The stench of rot and burning worm filled my nostrils.

This world… I could tolerate a lot, but the enemies being so revolting was hard to bear.

Soon, the well-roasted maggot stopped moving.

The miasma flowing from the worm stained the ground.

I wanted to ask Durandal what it saw to judge that as human.

Even if a worm was controlling the head, as long as there was breath, it counted as human?

The blue longsword vibrated faintly, its golden engraving glowing.

It looked like it was protesting, which made me chuckle.

The golden light grew brighter, as if apologizing to me.

Like before, a blessed power flowed through the hilt.

The other two knights hesitated.

They probably had maggots in their heads too. Just kill those, and it’s over.

I charged at them.

I deflected their desperate sword thrusts and struck with my fingertips.

A black ice blade shattered the helmet and pierced the skull.

The sensation of something squishy bursting. My left hand was drenched in black blood and yellow fluid.

Disgusting.

I shook off the residue from the ice blade.

The last knight charged at me with all his might.

A fierce slash tore through the air, its trajectory twisting subtly.

The strike aimed at my waist suddenly rose, targeting my neck.

It startled me at first, but I’d seen this swordsmanship dozens of times during the fight.

The ice blade caught the longsword.

The final strike was blocked futilely.

Before the maggot knight could react, Durandal, held in a reverse grip, plunged into his skull.

And that was the end.