I’taar has died. But he did not lose. Not yet.
The martial artists realized this fact, and even Richard, who had not directly thrown himself into the battle, could understand it.
The martial artists had lost. Quite clearly so.
Despite their powerful attacks, the supreme divinity’s gift of nothingness, and their bodies that could handle that nothingness to perfection and beyond…
They couldn’t even kill a dying old man.
The two martial artists received this fact differently.
Demis, the shrimp martial artist, found it intriguing and looked at I’taar with a gaze tinged with respect.
It was also a gaze of envy, wondering if he could have reached such heights if he had continued pursuing his path.
On the other hand, Roim, the mantis shrimp martial artist who had initially shown respect and admiration for I’taar, reacted differently.
He ground his teeth.
Using what little remained of his human oral tissue to reveal his frustration, with eyes that were no longer human glaring wide, he slammed his fist into the ground where he lay prostrate, venting his frustration.
KWAH!
Mounds of dirt shot up like rain, pelting his carapace, which was typically unbreakable by human fists due to its tough chitin.
The fist that struck the ground was also covered in chitin and, having been used repeatedly in glowing strikes, now emitted a haze-like heat.
Despite possessing powerful bodies and techniques, they had not won.
If they had merely lost, it wouldn’t have mattered.
They could challenge again and win next time.
But that opportunity was gone. I’taar had died, and quite clearly as a definitive victor.
Whether it was a defeat of technique or will, Roim simply vented his frustration.
As he shed the pretense on his face, he gritted his teeth and shouted.
“Winning, just winning and then dying arbitrarily, is that it, I’taar! You damn bastard…!”
KAHNG, KAHNG, KAHNG! With each strike against the ground, the rising mounds of dirt revealed his unrelenting anger.
Whether it was out of humiliation or purely out of ambition, it was unclear, but he soon took action. Rising from his injury-free body, he ran toward I’taar.
The thunderous weight of his charging bulk caused fine dust to rise from the ground, and the momentum carried through his punch exploded in the distance.
KWAHAAAAA!
A sound that could not be produced by a human body. The flying body of I’taar. Richard, observing this surreal scene, swallowed a suppressed scream as reality encroached upon him.
Just moments ago, I’taar’s body seemed indestructible, but with one punch from the martial artist Roim, his torso split apart, dividing into three pieces.
Another martial artist grabbed Roim’s shoulder as I’taar’s corpse rolled across the ground.
“Calm down.”
“Calm down? Do I look calm? That damn bastard insulted our art!”
“You’re the one insulting our art. What do you plan to achieve by battering a corpse…? Venting your anger will only make you look pathetic. If our master’s head were broken, perhaps the master would take back his fists.”
Fortunately, it didn’t seem to be the case. With Demis’s casual tone, Roim breathed heavily while glaring disdainfully at I’taar’s body.
“And, even if this guy had more time and fought longer, the result wouldn’t have changed. Admit it. We lost in martial arts. His art was above ours. Of course… we are the ones standing at the end.”
Shaking his fist lightly to cool his temper, Roim was tapped on the shoulder by Demis, who glanced at Richard.
Only after facing off against I’taar did Demis realize that the technique that spared Richard was similar to I’taar’s own.
A technique too valuable to let vanish. A sincere reverence for I’taar allowed Demis this indulgence.
“You there.”
“…Master…”
“I’m only taking your teacher, I’taar. You… well, just stay alive.”
At the gentle voice, Richard looked up to see Demis already standing before I’taar’s remains.
With his waist and an arm severed, the body lay in three pieces. He reached out to the fragmented corpse and detached the head.
From the severed cervical spine, some unknown substance dripped, and the severed head alone remained clutched in his hand.
The tongue hung limply, the eyelids closed but opened slightly with the pressure of his touch, and the kind smile was replaced by the hue of death.
Caught in the rounded hammer-like claw, even the scalp peeled away.
His achievements were tremendous, his skills divine, yet…
His remains were easily defiled.
The four-piece remains of his teacher.
As Richard’s face turned various shades and his spirit frayed worse than his body, his body moved involuntarily.
Screaming, clenching his fists, without any semblance of proper stance, he charged forward.
His body couldn’t keep up with the surging emotions.
“Tch, you should leave when I offer mercy.”
Without sincerity, Demis lightly pushed Richard away with a round hammer-like fist.
KAHNG!
That single push was enough to send a human body sprawling.
Watching Richard’s body tumble across the ground, Demis nodded to Roim, whose shrimp antennae quivered as he barely calmed down.
“Let’s go. The Executioner awaits support…”
“Not… going…”
Their departure was blocked by Richard’s words.
Struggling to his feet, his battered body exhaled hot breaths.
“Leave… and go.”
Blood dripped from the corners of his mouth. Demis regarded Richard with disdain.
“You barely survived. Should I really let you kick away my mercy…? Your life was barely saved by your teacher.”
Richard raised both hands into a fighting stance, causing Demis to glance at Roim.
The movement of opening and closing his claws indicated he was struggling to hold back.
“Leave… and go,” Demis gestured, prompting Roim to step forward.
Approaching, Roim asked,
“Are you that brat’s disciple?”
All signs of courtesy were gone. Richard couldn’t answer.
Words wouldn’t come. Only inevitable ones.
“My teacher…”
“Perfect timing. I need to crush you and prove my technique is superior to that brat’s.”
An entirely forced statement. Reason or logic was absent, but no one could point it out.
In Gelaadridion, where might equals right, no one questioned a martial artist’s words.
Who, after all, could stand against that massive fist?
Roim’s colossal fist clicked audibly as it accelerated.
Unlike regular mantis shrimps, the water jet expelled backward provided significant acceleration and heat.
Steam billowed as the fist surged forward. A blow that would cleave a human upon impact. Instinctively, Richard extended his arm toward the incoming fist.
Though fractured with bone shards protruding, the pain blurred.
KWAHAAAAAA!
The roar echoed, and Richard was sent flying.
Crushed into a bloody pulp, he wasn’t, causing Roim’s shrimp antennae to quiver.
“Hmph, mana tattoos. Are you from Varmanz?”
The punch hadn’t fully connected but neither had it missed completely. Such clumsiness was characteristic of Richard’s skill.
Partially evaded, partially hit, he survived solely thanks to the mana tattoos.
That he could stagger upright was due to them.
While most would flee, Richard instead advanced.
Roim’s face contorted in displeasure, while Demis behind him stroked his chin, intrigued.
“Do you have a reason to fight so desperately with a dying body? If he says he’ll save you, why not just leave? Is there something wrong with your head?”
There was no politeness, but his anger had subsided somewhat as Roim asked.
“Perhaps it’s righteousness. Like how we treat each other.”
“Hmph.”
Though derisively snorting, Demis’ tone hinted at contemplation as silence trickled between Richard’s labored breaths.
“Your tenacity pleases me. Would you serve the Supreme Divinity?”
When Richard didn’t respond, Roim added,
“With your technique, you could grow stronger. Perhaps surpass that so-called teacher of yours. It’s possible. For the ultimate art…”
Richard remained silent, but Roim continued speaking about the benefits of serving the Supreme Divinity and their origins.
As he listened, Richard recalled Aslan’s words from the cabin—about killing evil deities and changing the world.
Ordinarily, one would laugh off such talk.
But here it was, right before his eyes.
Richard stared hazily at Roim and thought:
Martial artists possess human hearts, and it makes them even more malevolent for committing such acts.
For a being born of evil to overcome it and become good is great, but for someone born of goodness to reject it and embrace evil is vile.
‘These guys… are vile.’
Vile to survive and consume human souls, venerating monstrous gods.
Plundering human-crafted techniques as they wander.
As Richard witnessed this firsthand, he realized his tragedy was commonplace, almost mundane.
Laughter bubbled up, and Richard lowered his head.
He harbored no noble purpose.
He was merely a young man unable to forgive his father and unwilling to acknowledge his past weakness.
He bore no grand cause.
But even such a base person as himself knew one thing clearly.
The martial artists, the Supreme Divinity, and those godlike evil beings…
They didn’t sit well with him.
Following Aslan’s words, they must die.
And he couldn’t allow them to take I’taar.
If taken, his art would be used for evil.
Breathing shallowly through his shattered ribs, Richard steadied his body amidst the painful breaths.
The mana tattoo emitted a dim light as Richard raised both arms.
Broken and moving awkwardly, bone fragments jutting out, causing excruciating pain, but still moving.
Planting his ankle, whether sprained or broken, on the ground, he endured pain enough to elicit groans, yet still moved.
That was enough.
As his hazy consciousness awakened amid the pain, Roim, who had been praising the Supreme Divinity, fell silent.
“Is this genuine?”
Instead of answering Roim’s question, Richard aimed both arms and briefly spoke.
“Not… going.”
Roim scoffed, while Demis showed pity.
“So be it.”
Roim’s scoff turned into a sigh as his fist flew.
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