Chapter 81

“Ugh-! Huh-!”

Belatur spat out a handful of blood and stared ahead.

At the end of that gaze was a beautiful being that had suddenly appeared on the battlefield, toying with him.

A man who introduced himself as El Palas.

But he was not the only one.

Clearly, a type of beast that walked the earth like Orcus, these long-eared, beautifully shaped humans danced onto the battlefield like butterflies, devastating the surroundings.

What was even more astonishing was that, amidst the chaotic battlefield where life and death were rampant, this being showed the composure to avoid humans entirely and solely eliminate the Orcuses.

And the Palas he was facing stood out among them.

Compared to Orcus, which seemed to be less than half his body thickness, Palas had a slender build.

Yet the core that extended from his paws to his head was even sturdier than Belatur’s.

The thick and solid muscles of Orcus appeared clumsy as they were covered with thick fat, but this creature’s muscles, undulating like a work of art, seemed beautiful with every contraction, sending shockwaves through the surrounding area.

“…What are you looking at?”

As Belatur’s fighting spirit began to boil within him, Palas frowned, looking elsewhere, prompting Belatur to frown as well.

Palas slowly turned his head to look at Belatur.

“Not much.”

When Palas tossed those words out nonchalantly, a prominent vein bulged on Belatur’s forehead.

Accompanied by a rough growl from his mouth, Belatur’s figure suddenly appeared before Palas.

“Focus on the fight! Ear freak!”

The movement was not one of calculated action but an explosive burst of innate muscle power.

The ground that Belatur’s踏én foot struck was quickly kicked up, momentarily obscuring the surroundings as he swung his club down, aiming to crush Palas’ skull.

But that club was blocked by Palas’ palm.

‘Here it comes…!’

Belatur grimaced, feeling the intense shock transmitted through the club.

His physique, weight—everything overwhelmed that of Palas.

He was even wielding a massive and solid club, swinging it with enough distance to add acceleration.

Despite all this, when Palas reached out his palm towards the incoming club, it was Belatur who was sent flying instead.

It was an unidentified power.

At first, he thought Palas was like Orgin, a spellcaster, but on closer observation, he realized that it wasn’t just about the touch; he could feel the entire body engaging in vigorous movement the instant contact was made.

Unlike Orcus, who was wrapped in layers of fat, the muscles that constituted Palas felt palpable and reminiscent of a specimen, twitching noticeably when moving.

However, after several clashes, Belatur predicted that he could flip into a different posture, using the force of his other hand to push off the ground and, like a stunt, stand upside down before spinning and delivering a kick toward Palas.

Boom!

Even though it was a sudden posture and strike, Palas effortlessly stepped back by a single step to avoid Belatur’s foot, but a heavy resonance echoed as the ground cracked where Belatur had stomped down.

Though the force was enough to crush an ordinary human like a rock dropped from the city wall, Palas remained expressionless as he tossed the club away.

Palas expertly dodged, but the club passed by, shattering the skulls of three nearby human soldiers before finally coming to a stop.

However, neither that nor Belatur mattered much to Palas.

The thrown club seemed to be a mere distraction and, with the blind spot created, Belatur charged in.

‘I’ll hold my breath. At the fastest speed I can muster, I’ll keep attacking without giving him a chance to dodge!’

The distance Belatur approached was exquisite.

Using the long arms that came from his physique, he positioned himself so that the opponent couldn’t reach him while he could attack with perfect precision.

Simultaneously, he committed to attacking, sacrificing the timing of his breathing needed for recuperation, extending his arm with a tide-like force.

The barrage of punches shot forth, even creating faint afterimages, disrupting the air.

When his punches stopped, the Orcuses and Batár Army thought that Palas, standing before them, wouldn’t leave even a corpse behind after facing such force.

But other elves, keeping an eye on the battle while dispatching the surrounding Orcuses, wore expressions of understanding.

“Huff-huff-huff.”

Belatur continued to gasp for breath, his massive upper body expanding and contracting due to the backlash from his incessant strikes.

Before him stood Palas, maintaining the same solid center, looking unfazed.

“To think… huff-… that you could avoid all… huff-… of that.”

A trace of amazement flickered in Belatur’s eyes.

Not only was it astonishing that he dodged all of Belatur’s punches at max speed, but also that the alignment between Palas and Belatur hadn’t changed from the beginning.

Palas had evaded Belatur’s punches without even taking a single step.

“That’s absurd… What the hell are you… who are you?”

He had seen beings that were born with immense strength like Orgin, who communicated with monsters and employed bizarre spells.

All beings on the continent significantly fell within these two categories.

But neither appealed to Belatur.

His own strength could never emulate Orgin’s, nor could he replicate Odine’s magic.

Moreover, among the offspring of Algul, there were plenty who were innately superior to him.

For that reason, he sought something different.

Instead of envying and resenting what he could never catch up to, he aimed to find his own way.

What mattered was ultimately reaching victory.

So he devised ways to win.

He thought of methods to defeat greater power with lesser force.

He practiced using distance and mastered how to wield weapons.

His goal was never purely slaughter.

He sought to prove that the path he chose was the right one.

Initially, he fought against similar or weaker opponents to hone his senses.

To the Orcuses, for whom violence was both a means to obtain what they desired and a constant symbol of power, Belatur, who sought to refine and enhance rather than indulge in violent power, was special.

As he gradually faced stronger opponents, defeating them one by one, he soon won against all of Algul’s children except Orgin and Algul himself.

When he began to be recognized as the third strongest among the Orcuses excluding Algul, he started being called the pious Belatur.

Thus, Belatur was confident.

Perhaps he lacked some innate divine power, but no one was as exceptional as the one who had understood the art of fighting and winning and honed it.

However, that confidence shattered here.

He undoubtedly possessed a physique superior to the humans that existed in ancient times on the continent, but this ear freak’s kind was weaker than the Orcuses created for battle.

But just look around.

Elven beings, without distinction of gender, were brutally taking down Orcuses with their bare hands.

He was being utterly defeated by a species that was inherently weaker than him.

It was straightforward.

These ear freaks were executing what they had cultivated throughout their lives.

No, they were far superior.

Even the average ear freaks, aside from Palas, though they might lack strength compared to Belatur, were at a level far beyond anything he had aspired to.

He could intuitively sense it after a long pursuit.

Moreover, could this Palas, having lived for as long as Belatur, or even a thousand years, ever reach such a realm?

A being that seemed to materialize a concept he pursued?

“…If I could just land a single strike…!”

Jealousy that he had long forgotten surged forth again.

With that thought, Palas, who had been slowly stepping forward to attack Belatur, suddenly stopped.

“Did you think you could win if I allowed a single strike?”

Hearing the pitiful emotion in Palas’ voice, Belatur felt shame and humiliation.

Palas took a moment to think, then slowly spoke.

“…Then give it a try. I won’t dodge.”

A perfectly dismissive attitude towards him.

But the feeling of jealousy he hadn’t experienced in a long time wanted only a single opportunity.

‘Even if my technique falters, my physique is still a bit superior. If he were to take my full-force attack…!’

“…How blatant.”

“Do you intend to bite your words?”

“Rest assured, I have no such thoughts.”

Both hands pressed against the ground as he extended his right leg out for the stride.

It was an unmistakable stance for charging with full force.

But it completely disregarded defense; the movements were large.

Such a form could not exist in a battle where both sides checked and countered each other’s moves.

It was a stance only taken when one side was completely certain they could absorb the incoming attack.

Thus, Palas wore a bewildered expression, but Belatur endured the shame rising from his chest.

As soon as his breath for a full charge ended, the ground where Belatur had stood left a massive imprint as he vanished from sight.

Belatur’s form was like that of a projectile, manifested from a distant world, racing toward Palas.

And as he approached within a mere inch of Palas, in that fleeting moment, Belatur was certain.

Palas would die due to his own arrogance.

Hoping to witness the regret in Palas’ final moments, Belatur locked eyes with him, feeling something was amiss as Palas continued to look at him expressionlessly.

As Belatur’s massive, accelerated form collided with Palas, a colossal shockwave shook the surroundings.

In an instant, the shockwave caused many participants to lose their balance and bleed from their ears.

“…Impossible.”

“生靈鬪甲. The name for receiving a full-force attack.”

Belatur’s full power resulted in Palas stumbling back three steps.

With Belatur kneeling in futility, Palas’ spear pressed against Belatur’s solar plexus.

“…I have something to ask.”

“What is it?”

“Your movements. And the philosophy that shapes them. What is it?”

“Martial Arts (武).”

“…Does it even have a proper name?”

Belatur forced a laugh, feeling empty.

“Are you… the god of martial arts?”

At those words, a slight smile spread across Palas’ once-expressionless face.

“Well, if there is to be a person in this world worthy of being called the god of martial arts, there would only be one. To put it precisely, I am merely one of her disciples.”

“…Even at such a transcendent level, is that so?”

Belatur’s eyes, devoid of distractions, captured the figure of one who had achieved what he had sought all his life, rendering his smile hollow.

With a resigned expression, Belatur closed his eyes.

“I wish we could meet at least once more.”

“I’m afraid I cannot grant that request.”

“…I should have asked for an audience with the martial arts god instead of a final strike.”

At that moment, Belatur’s body trembled, and droplets of blood flowed from his mouth as lights began to fade from his eyes.

Palas’ lance had extended from his spear, crushing Belatur’s heart and tearing through his veins.

As he sensed the life force leaving Belatur, Palas looked toward one direction.

The golden elf, who had just moments ago scrutinized him with an air of arrogance, seemed to have vanished.

“…That lizard, is it possible he’s gone to Araya?”

Palas frowned as he gazed toward the direction where he sensed Araya’s energy.

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