The arrow flew through the air, slicing through the sunlight to reveal a sharp silver hue.
The Sword Saint halted mid-swing, turning his head at the unsettling sound of the wind.
A large arrowhead was hurtling directly toward the Sword Saint’s head.
This was the Grand Marshal’s sniper shot, coming from beyond the field of vision.
An ordinary soldier wouldn’t even realize the arrow was coming, leaving them helpless as it smashed through their skull. An exceptional soldier might have noticed the arrow just in time for it to tear through their head, and even an elite warrior might have been unable to react effectively due to the precise timing and trajectory of the shot.
The Sword Saint had been in the middle of slicing through Raguel’s windpipe.
Ariel’s arrow had struck with perfect precision, catching the Sword Saint at the exact moment his mind was fully focused on the attack.
Even worse, the Sword Saint’s body was suspended in the air, with no solid foothold around him.
‘Perfect timing.’
At first, he thought of blocking the arrow with his sword. But then he reconsidered.
‘The force behind that arrow is significant. If I block it, how far will the recoil send me flying?’
On the ground, he could have absorbed the impact with his legs, but in the air, that was impossible.
Even if he managed to perfectly deflect the arrow, he would still be forced away from the center of the battlefield.
‘If I block the arrow like this, my body will rise even higher. It will take at least three seconds to return.’
Three seconds.
In that brief moment of deflecting the arrow, the Sword Saint would be forcibly detached from the battlefield for three seconds.
To some, it might not even be enough time to get back on their feet, but for the Grand Marshal, it would be more than enough to recover and retreat from the battlefield.
He couldn’t directly confront the arrow.
‘Avoiding it would be better.’
As soon as the thought solidified, his body moved without hesitation. He effortlessly twisted his trajectory in mid-air, narrowly missing the arrow as it grazed past his hair.
Whoosh!
A chilling sound of wind swept past the Sword Saint’s eyes.
“…You lunatic!”
As the Sword Saint performed acrobatics to evade the arrow, Raguel’s injured body had mostly healed. Raguel, showcasing the terrifying recovery speed befitting a Grand Marshal, swung his long claws towards the Sword Saint’s neck.
With no reaction, the Sword Saint swung his blade again, cleanly severing Raguel’s arms and legs once more.
Even while attacking, the Sword Saint’s gaze wasn’t on Raguel.
Moments later, the sonic boom created by the arrow’s passage echoed across the battlefield.
“…”
The Sword Saint’s eyes had been tracking the arrow’s trajectory ever since it had been shot. Raguel’s curses fell on deaf ears as the Sword Saint continued to follow the arrow’s path with unwavering focus.
‘Found it.’
Soon, he spotted the shadow lurking beyond the muddy hill.
Upon meeting the Sword Saint’s piercing gaze, Ariel, the Grand Marshal, felt an inexplicable fear freeze her entire body.
Despite being over two kilometers away, and despite the shadow covering her position beyond a hill, the Sword Saint had instantly identified the sniper’s location.
This was no ordinary human’s level of perception.
‘Raguel has lost all his forces. He lacks both intelligence and skill, and I could kill him anytime I want. But what about that sniper?’
Even in an instant, the Sword Saint’s mind never ceased its calculations.
Though instinct alone would have sufficed to dominate the battlefield, the Sword Saint was searching for the most efficient way to resolve the situation with minimal casualties and time.
‘According to the reports, her shadow conceals her so completely that it’s nearly impossible to locate her visually. I might not be able to spot her position so easily the next time she fires.’
His eyes rapidly assessed the battlefield. Even as massive, venomous masses of flesh rained down from above, he remained undisturbed.
‘On top of that, the Grand Marshal still has control over a significant number of troops. She poses a far greater threat than Raguel who’s right in front of me.’
Cold determination, calm focus, and careful deliberation.
‘Let’s adjust the priority order.’
The moment his thought solidified, his body moved with lightning speed.
The Sword Saint reached for Raguel’s head, grabbed it firmly, and then pressed his feet against the chest of his opponent, propelling himself downward with great force.
The Sword Saint plummeted toward the ground, leaving behind a grotesque shower of blood and bone that bloomed like a macabre rose in mid-air. A black core, deeply embedded within Raguel’s chest, revealed itself briefly.
‘The most difficult factor in this battlefield is that sniper.’
Around the shattered remains of Raguel’s chest, the flesh and bone began to grow rapidly, attempting to cover and conceal the core.
As the Sword Saint watched the grotesque mass of tangled flesh that bloomed behind the blood-soaked rose, he visibly grimaced in disgust.
Crash!
The next moment, the Sword Saint’s legs collided with the hardened ground, creating a powerful shockwave.
Leaving the scattered fragments behind, he pushed off the ground and quickly dashed toward Ariel.
“…Damn.”
The Marauder, Ariel, felt her vision momentarily darken as a palpable sense of death raced toward her at breakneck speed from two kilometers away.
Every creature has its strengths and weaknesses.
Ariel’s strengths were her unparalleled precision and shooting skills, allowing her to target an enemy’s neck from dozens of kilometers away, and the shadowy darkness that concealed her body from sight.
However, even the greatest sniper among the Marauders had her drawbacks.
The lifeblood of a sniper is stealth and the ability to hide. When the Demon King created the Grand Marshal Ariel, he gifted her with special skin capable of blending into the shadows and immense defensive strength to aid her in her task of sniping.
But such evolution always comes at a cost: Ariel had sacrificed her magical power and flight abilities to gain her unique skin and immense tensile strength.
Ariel’s sole purpose existed in the act of sniping.
‘Got him.’
In direct combat, Ariel was far below the average capabilities of a Grand Marshal.
“Fight!”
Ariel summoned numerous mutant creatures that she had buried beneath her feet, propelling them to the surface.
Terrifying lifeforms—combinations of giant mushrooms, old trees, and countless fish—rushed at the Sword Saint.
Thud.
A light and feeble sound echoed through the air.
The Sword Saint’s slender blade had already swung. Despite the multitude of flesh-and-blood masses rushing forward with fangs and claws, he showed not a hint of disturbance.
He indiscriminately swung his sword at the shadowy Grand Marshal hidden in the mist.
The thin silver blade tore through the dark shadow. His hands were filled with the sensation of splitting flesh and bone.
In less than a second, the Sword Saint had swung his blade 51 times.
Ordinarily, he would have concentrated on pinpointing the location of the core by comparing the speed of its regeneration. However, the shadow concealing Ariel made it difficult to distinguish the subtle variations in the regeneration process.
The method he had used to locate cores up to this point wasn’t working.
Therefore, the Sword Saint decided to disassemble Ariel into fragments smaller than a finger joint.
Though inefficient and far more exhausting, his instincts told him this was the best option.
At around the 102nd strike, the Sword Saint felt the sensation of slicing through something alien, not flesh or bone.
He ceased the continuous attacks, which had lasted no more than two seconds, and wiped the blood off his blade.
Silence.
The battlefield was fully engulfed in it.
The chilling sensation coursed through every being, whether Marauder or allied soldier, equally.
All creatures began to feel an overwhelming sense of awe and terror toward the lone human dominating this battlefield.
“Done with one.”
1 minute and 20 seconds.
Hardly more than 1 minute and 20 seconds had passed since the Sword Saint’s arrival in Valleland.
Grand Marshal Ariel was dead.
*
Ariel’s death left a deep impression on everyone present in this battlefield.
To the army of the continent and their generals, it brought courage and hope; to Ariel’s subordinates, the high-ranking Marauders and mutants, it marked a senseless end; and to her fellow Grand Marshals, it left terror and despair.
“Ariel is dead. We don’t have much time.”
In the distance, Grand Marshal Maltiel exhaled a quiet sigh upon witnessing Ariel’s death.
“Michael, do you have any analysis results?”
“It’s definitely a specialized magic school type, but… I don’t know more. It would take no less than ten minutes to analyze and find a way to break it.”
Among the nine Grand Marshals, Michael was especially knowledgeable about magic and mystic systems. Even the spells used by the Marauders were more complex and specialized compared to Michael’s intricate sorcery.
“Ten minutes is more than enough time for that monster to kill us three times over. Maybe we should abandon the idea of finding a hole in the barrier. Is there any other way? You’ve always known more about magic than I do.”
Maltiel asked Michael in a nervous tone.
“Bel is undoubtedly an outstanding mage. But this barrier is too perfect, beyond what’s normal. He must be taking some form of risk to maintain it,” Michael explained.
“Risk you speak of?”
“Probably his brain is being fried right now, sustaining such a complex magic formula.”
“If Gridia’s around, frying his brain doesn’t matter much. She’ll heal him the moment it burns away.”
“Therefore, as I said earlier… this barrier’s perfection and scope have surpassed reasonable limits.”
Michael continued with a frustrated expression, revealing his growing anxiety.
“The magic that envelopes us isn’t something that could be sustained simply by risking brain damage. There must be other risks involved.”
“And you haven’t been able to pinpoint those risks?”
“I haven’t.”
Michael replied curtly.
“But are you sure there are risks involved?”
“I’m certain. And they’re likely very dangerous.”
Hearing Michael’s confident words, Maltiel gave a bitter smile.
“I usually don’t like gambling… but this time…”
The oldest surviving Grand Marshal among the nine was brimming with countless tactics and strategies in his mind.
“It’s better than sitting here and waiting to die.”
Thus, even in this dire situation on the brink of death, the monster began to move, choosing the option with the highest efficiency and the best chance of survival.
