Amidst the tragedy, an arrow flew vividly.
The massive arrow, as if it had embraced the melted sun, bore an overwhelming presence even before it closed in.
To the extent that the tyrant, who was currently grappling with Richard’s punches, turned his head absentmindedly and was thrown into confusion.
Its intense approach precisely pierced through the tyrant, no one else but him.
ZEEEENG!
At the moment of collision, the tyrant realized this was neither ordinary flame nor mana.
Even though he was pushing back with all his might, the arrow was driving the tyrant backward. The sheer force contained within the mere shot left the tyrant greatly perplexed.
KRKRKRKRKRK!
A skill capable of moving any colossal object to an extent where it’s believed nothing could budge—Thunder Call.
The attack form known as Mountain Breaker possessed such formidable power that not even a high-ranking priest could block it.
“GRRRRRAAAH…!”
Being pushed back. Despite being a high-level priest in terms of physical capabilities, the tyrant was helplessly driven back, struck with astonishment.
“This muuuuch…!”
While groaning in shock, he also felt humiliated.
Because the very sight of himself being pushed back by something as intangible as mere flames was being witnessed by what he deemed as weaker beings.
However, being pushed back was just the beginning.
The tyrant had no way to counteract this immense force.
And so, continuing to be pushed back—
THUD, accompanied by a strangely resonating sound of landing.
KWAAGHAGHAGHAGHA!
There was no other option but to explode.
Soaring pillars of flames. A kind of intense heat the tyrant had never encountered before.
Even a grand mage couldn’t produce such intensity; the tyrant suffered from both scorching pain and the searing heat.
His scales melted and scattered, his flesh burned and fell off, and his bones cooked and cracked.
“KH, UUUUURRRGH!”
With great effort, he swung his arm to brush away the flames, yet it remained peculiar.
For these flames were at a level where even the tyrant couldn’t dispel them with a single strike.
In the instant he recognized this peculiarity, he felt intense heat right behind him.
Strangely fast-moving flames. Soon followed by intense heat. And then—
“AHAH.”
KWAAANG!
The monstrous strength striking his spine and the laughter of a woman enjoying herself.
The tyrant, feeling his white steel scales crack and scatter, was violently hurled away.
“You…!”
Even while rolling on the ground, the tyrant quickly assessed the situation and frowned as he verbalized his understanding.
Where there had been newly bloomed intense heat stood Ereta.
With a satisfied smile, she stood with her arms open, accepting the burning flames into her body.
The deity of fire among the three calamity gods who would burn the universe on its final day and give birth to a new one.
The spider wielding fire.
Her daughter, Ereta, had harmonized her unique divine power with the valor of absorbing the life force of her opponents, mastering the art of exchanging fire and life for divinity.
As a result,
Ereta’s divine power, having absorbed the powerful flames, elevated her to an equal standing with the tyrant.
Lightly leaping up like a dance, Ereta disappeared momentarily, and the tyrant raised his arm to block.
KWAAAAAAANG!
The axe piercing through his arm shattered it as the tyrant was driven back.
Regenerating his broken arm, the tyrant retaliated with a precise punch aimed at Ereta’s abdomen, but she didn’t stop.
Her heightened regeneration caught the punch, entwining it with flesh.
Above that, Ereta grinned wickedly and slammed her mace down.
KAHHHAAANG!
Flying white steel scales and chunks of the tyrant’s skull. A reflexive punch launched toward Ereta’s head.
But neither the tyrant nor Ereta perished merely from their heads being shattered.
Kicking legs surged forward, and upon impact, the shockwave reverberated through the tyrant’s entire body, causing him to stagger. Ereta lifted her axe high.
KWAAJIGIK!
The weight, strength, and gravity center—all utilized in a fierce downward strike, precisely embedding itself into his shoulder, melting him from the inside out.
The burning axe embedded in his shoulder consumed him from within with intense heat.
As the fallen tyrant pulled out the axe and retreated, Ereta did not retreat but pursued.
And again, she swung her axe.
The axe filled with flames and immense power was an attack the tyrant could not easily withstand.
An upward swing blocked by a hand slap, only for Ereta to spin around and bring the axe down from above with crossed hands.
Blocking the attack while slashing a leg, Ereta countered with the heavy head of the axe, kicking his foot aside and severing his leg.
The moment the severed leg regenerated, Ereta’s axe blade plunged into his neck.
KAANG, KAGAGAK, CHING!
The tyrant was astonished.
Even if it was just for a moment, obtaining physical abilities and regenerative powers on par with his own.
However, one thing was certain: the tyrant soon quelled his astonishment, realizing this state wouldn’t last forever.
It was only a matter of time before he turned the tables. If he endured and forced regeneration, wasting divine power, there’d be no issue.
Before the tyrant could translate his thoughts into action, someone moved.
“EEEEEEIIIIIYAAAAAAAA!”
The sound cutting through the air—far too rough to belong to an elven girl.
A reflexively swung backhand slapped across the face with a loud crack, but Angie didn’t stop.
“To dieee!”
Angie, rushing to assist Ereta, extended her fist straight forward and pounded the tyrant’s spine.
UGGIJIGI!
As the vertebrae broke and stiffened, Angie’s kick and Ereta’s axe battered the tyrant’s body.
Flying flesh and bone, melting white steel sticking to the ground—the tyrant was at the center of it all.
Attempting to block the incoming axe blade between his elbow and knee, the tyrant charged forward with a headbutt to push Angie away and tried to escape.
But what blocked his path wasn’t just one person.
KAHHHAAANG!
Suddenly, a red streak of lightning slashed his leg, knocking him down.
CHHEEONG!
Richard’s leaping knee strike crumpled his face and sent him flying backward.
As Lumel’s judgment pierced through his body, thunder swirled, freezing the tyrant in place.
“HHUUUUUURRGGH!”
Lumel threw the tyrant, impaled on his spear, using suppressed ki. As the airborne tyrant hovered, something incredibly fast pierced through him.
KWAAAAAAANG!
Flying white steel scales, flesh, and bone fragments. An arrow came from the direction where a dragonkin stood, blood streaming from both eyes in rage.
Enraged, he repeatedly drew arrows.
TUNG, TUNG, TUNG, TUNG!
Heavy arrows flew in succession, unmatched in bulk.
Each hit caused large chunks of flesh to tear away, leaving the tyrant highly displeased.
He didn’t like how the so-called weaklings were desperately trying to fight against him.
Dignity, majesty.
Such things had long been abandoned.
Thus, without hesitation, the tyrant transformed his body.
“Step aside, you inferior creatures!”
His muscles bulged, his body grew enormous. His white steel-scaled arms morphed into tentacles studded with white steel spines.
Truly grotesque in form, yet undeniably potent in power. Before the group could react, the tentacle swung.
KWAUUUUUUUNG!
Swinging through the air like thunder, the tentacle collided, sending Ereta and Angie flying. Richard received the blow and collapsed.
Flying rocks struck Tiamat, knocking her down, while Phey’s leg was pierced by scattering white steel scales, causing her to fall.
Upon reaching Lumel, he silently stepped back, and the soldiers firing morning stars also retreated to a safe distance.
Unaware of this, the tyrant grew increasingly irritated and enraged.
Weak, worthless, devoid of value—these beings obstructing his path angered him.
Unable to suppress his irritation any longer, he finally voiced it.
“I don’t have time to fight the likes of you! Only those permitted to challenge me may dare wound my body!”
And in this place, there was only one such permitted challenger.
The man who had disappeared after firing the arrow.
Aslan.
When the tyrant finally spotted him after scanning his surroundings, he comprehended several reasons.
Why Aslan hadn’t joined the battle earlier.
Why Aslan’s group had so easily withdrawn when the tyrant was struggling.
Aslan was poised, waiting for the tyrant.
The hilt facing forward, the blade pointing backward—a stance akin to sliding the sword back into its sheath.
Yet held low, making it impossible to sheathe the blade.
The blade pointed towards the sky behind Aslan, the hilt towards the ground.
Upon seeing this, the tyrant, leading his grotesque body, charged forward.
KUNG, KUNG, KUKUGUNG, KWALLLEKK!
Smashing obstacles in his path, using his four transformed legs to advance.
“ASLAANNNN!”
Roaring, charging forward.
Aslan, observing the approaching giant, calmly lowered his stance.
Everything depended on this one move.
If it missed, was blocked, or failed to end it—
There would be no chances left.
Only a gruesome death awaited.
Under the descending moonlight, Aslan gripped his sword firmly.
With this one strike.
That incomparable regeneration, the impenetrable white steel, martial arts, and the ability to transform his body.
All of it had to be cut through.
The advancing tyrant understood this fact.
It seemed he had realized that whatever Aslan was preparing now was a countermeasure.
He was approaching to crush that countermeasure.
The closing distance. The remaining gap. It felt as though death was about to whisper in his ear, but—
Aslan maintained his composure, securing his stance.
This entire battle and combined assault, this miracle, was the foundation for this one decisive strike.
The tyrant charging head-on.
Confident and arrogant, the high priest believed he could finish Aslan quicker than the latter could execute his move.
Observing the high priest’s overconfidence in his preparation and strength, Aslan gripped his sword tightly.
Focusing, he locked eyes on the tyrant.
The technique was incomplete.
Just as it had been when used against the deity of victory, this technique required too many elements.
Firstly, sufficient time was needed.
And considerable spirit was necessary.
No matter how much, Aslan had to dedicate all of his superhuman concentration to this one strike.
Even then, in its incomplete form, it wouldn’t reach its target.
It must be perfected now.
Right here.
Focusing, Aslan observed the tyrant’s massive figure.
A body mixed with whiteness and flesh. The approaching giant.
Its trajectory was almost invisible to the naked eye.
His vision was already too blurred.
Life itself seemed faint.
His exhausted body felt like lead.
Yet, he could still move thanks to indomitable willpower.
Through sheer determination, Aslan guided his slowing body and took a step forward.
Pointing the hilt at the tyrant, he lowered his stance significantly.
The firmly grasped sword. What he aimed for wasn’t the tyrant.
Beyond that.
The divine power sustaining the tyrant’s existence.
Those twisted entities sprinkling tragedies from the distant heavens.
The malevolence hanging like stars.
What Aslan sought to cut was precisely that star hanging in the sky.
And this sword, in this fleeting moment, had reached the deity.
Through the superhuman concentration born from confronting death.
[Remaining Spirit: 10]
The numbers rapidly decreased.
[Remaining Spirit: 5]
And as the numbers dwindled, the purity Aslan held ignited brilliantly.
[Remaining Spirit: 0]
Aslan’s blurred vision finally reached the horizon.
The overlapping horizon seen through his hazy vision resembled a cluster of light and darkness.
Beyond that, nine stars blazing in the sky.
One of them became his target.
Aslan murmured.
“Star Cutting.”
[Special Combat Technique]
[Star Cutting]
Then the sword advanced.
—!
Silently advancing, it split the light and darkness in half.
It severed life and death.
At the moment the sword swung, a trail of white seemed to momentarily touch the star.
And the one who had severed it saw a bright light, glowing like a dying star.
Thud, thud.
He saw his falling body.
The white steel scales prepared to resist the purity.
The greatly inflated flesh and muscles.
The martial arts extended to block this current strike.
And the regeneration and divine power maintaining all of this body.
He watched as everything was severed by a single stroke.
The right arm and chest completely detached.
The fallen arm neither moved nor regenerated.
The chest-split tyrant returned to his original form with sparse white steel scales, kneeling down before—
“Hah, hah… Hahaha!”
He burst into laughter and rose, charging toward Aslan.
Aslan, tired and bleeding from the corner of his mouth, ran forward to meet him.
They rushed toward each other.
The final exchange.
The first move belonged to the tyrant.
A charging kick. Even without divine power and regeneration, it possessed enough force to kill Aslan.
Aslan blocked it with tilted purity.
KAANG! Sparks flew, and it seemed he was pushed back, but Aslan grabbed the tyrant’s fist and swung it.
POW!
The sword-embedded fist struck his ribs, tilting the tyrant’s body. Aslan kicked the tilting body.
CHICK! The falling tyrant rolled, but when he charged again, Aslan brought down the purity held with both hands.
KAHHHAAANG!
Blocked with scaled arms.
CHEEENG!
The following sword slash was blocked with the back of the hand, and a palm strike followed.
KA-GAK! The handle deflected the punch. Beneath the dimming sky, two whites clashed, producing flashes of light.
Broken fingers creaked, yet Aslan drove the purity upwards from below, tearing open the pre-existing chest wound.
Blood gushed. The tyrant swung his fists without resistance.
There was no finesse in those punches.
Nor in his martial arts.
Just wild swings.
Aslan received every attack with precise techniques.
“Still… Still! There’s more!”
KAHHHAAANG!
The tyrant forcing his way through Aslan’s refined techniques. He swung his white steel-covered fist to block the purity and lunged forward.
With his remaining fist, aiming to crush Aslan’s heart.
To shatter the already stopped heart and finish it.
It was a chilling intent. The sight of him scraping the purity while approaching was truly monstrous.
But Aslan did not retreat.
He merely stepped back a few paces, gripping the sword.
[Remaining Spirit: 1]
Through the hidden effect of indomitability, regenerating spirit.
One spirit per hour.
Ordinarily, it would be an insufficient amount, but not now.
Aslan swung the gripped sword.
CREEEENG!
Deflecting the swinging fist, he aimed for the neck where scales had almost entirely peeled off.
A horizontal slash. With the current state of the tyrant, it should kill him instantly.
The tyrant raised his arm to block the blade and, at that moment, noticed something.
The blade, glowing with the pure whiteness of purity, had turned black.
Startled, the tyrant had no time to withdraw his arm as the blade met it.
And the moment the blade touched the arm, it passed through the wrist as if vibrating at high speed.
SCREEEECH!
The blade, turning back to its pure white as it darkened, carved a crescent moon shape in the dim night.
Circularly slicing through and withdrawing, the blade. The tyrant looked at the attack, blinking.
Clutching his neck, he merely stumbled back.
Precise, fatal, and perfectly efficient—no wasted movement.
A flawless single strike that offered no counter.
The tyrant, experiencing the technique physically, spoke.
“What… is the name… of this technique?”
Aslan answered with his last breath.
“Knight-Killer.”
The tyrant, smirking crookedly, let go of his neck.
“Brilliant… indeed.”
Thud. The tyrant’s head rolled away, and his body collapsed to the ground.
Simultaneously, Aslan sank to his knees.
The purity clutched in Aslan’s hand continued to burn brightly with pristine white.
