Chapter 192

191. Pitch-Black Erik (3)

*

The axe blade reflected light as it fell. Immediately after, a greatsword thrust into the gap. Attacks that ignored defense, attack after attack!

-*Splat!*

Blood splattered. Faster than that, the enemy’s body returned. The greatsword that had sliced through the ribs was deflected. Similarly, the axe blade came down on the shoulder. The left arm fell off and spun in the air.

-*Thud.*

Fernandez threw the greatsword into the air for a moment, grabbed his left arm, and pressed it against the wound. The wound instantly healed. In his case, while he couldn’t recover the spilled blood, he had the means to immediately repair the loss of flesh.

Thus, the nature of the battle was pure destruction aimed at each other. Erik clicked his tongue as he watched the scene.

‘A monster-like guy.’

This was the first time Erik had experienced such an intense battle in his life. He frowned as he felt his senses dulling. Though his almost reptilian face likely didn’t show his expression, he was growing increasingly anxious.

‘…I, of all people, am being outmaneuvered in reading the flow!’

Erik watched as Fernandez’s body grew larger. It wasn’t just a matter of perception. The enemy’s attacks were reaching him faster than his senses could react, clawing at his body.

Was it because his senses were dulling with each resurrection? Feeling his rationality evaporating, Erik swung his axe even more frantically.

-*Clang!*

Fernandez’s greatsword scraped the side of the axe and thrust forward. A near-instinctive exchange of blows. Even in this ferocious sword fight, where savagery was on full display, the enemy’s onslaught followed the principles of swordsmanship.

-*Clang!*

The greatsword deflected the axe and immediately aimed for the neck. Erik felt a few scales on his cheek tear off as he ducked.

“Tired already?”

[As long as Jormungand’s magic exists, I am invincible!]

“Worth testing, then.”

[…What?]

Erik looked at Fernandez in confusion. He stood tall, holding his greatsword. His armor and skin were indistinguishable, his entire body a patchwork of old wounds barely healed and new ones forming.

“Among those who’ve said such things to me, none were truly invincible. You might be different, so let’s test it.”

[Arrogant fool!]

Erik bared his teeth and hissed. Anger melted his rationality, and the sticky madness summoned by hellish magic seized his body.

-Stop him.

A serpent’s voice whispered in his ear. The thin thread of rationality tried to resist, but it was too late. Erik charged forward, swinging his axe as if resigned.

*

The blood loss had reached a critical level. It was more agonizing than death itself. Fernandez struggled to hold onto his fading vision, chewing on his tongue.

A sharp pain momentarily woke his mind. And at the same time—

-*Clang!*

His greatsword reflexively blocked the enemy’s axe. It then slid forward, aiming straight for the crown of Erik’s head. But Erik, like a snake, twisted away through the gap in the attack.

No need to block. It wouldn’t be fatal. A warrior prioritizes self-preservation, but a mage does not. A mage knows when to discard and when to bet, and for him, who stood at the pinnacle of spellcasting, this was almost instinctive.

-*Crunch!*

The axe deeply split his side. Blood gushed out but soon healed. In exchange for allowing the attack, Fernandez’s greatsword cleaved Erik’s spine in half and cleanly kicked him away.

[Guh…!]

Erik gasped, trying to regain his posture. Almost simultaneously, the gateway’s magic began to repair his body. Fernandez’s wounds were also healing, but… the blood loss had reached a truly dangerous level.

It was the harmony of Diemonica’s miraculous healing and durability, combined with the immortal blessing bestowed by Loft. Fatal wounds leading to death were restored by Loft, while manageable wounds were healed by Diemonica’s divinity.

For a brief moment, Fernandez now possessed a self-healing ability close to that of a troll. But even as broken bones mended and torn wounds healed, the spilled blood would not return.

Thus, his vision blurred, and his limbs grew cold. His facial muscles were stiff, making his bluff perfect, but the odds were slim.

-We can’t keep fighting like this.

‘Thanks for stating the obvious.’

-We need to make a decisive move.

‘How much blessing is left?’

-About five more times.

Loft’s blessing wasn’t infinite. The branch of mistletoe he had given was growing shorter. It was time to make a move. Fernandez nodded and looked at the panting Erik with a crooked gaze.

-*Swoosh.*

He sheathed his greatsword. Seeing this, Erik couldn’t hide his confusion. Soon, his hair began to stand on end.

[You fool! How much more will you insult me!]

“I don’t need to insult you, Erik. You’re doing that to yourself.”

Fernandez closed his eyes and slowly raised his right hand. Gently, his fingers moved as if caressing the air. At the same time, his left arm twisted at an unnatural angle and rose. [Construction].

-*Click.*

One step, one step. Carefully. Even with trembling hands and dulled senses, the craftsmanship of a master intertwined with magic. The Bronze Throne’s magic circuits spun fiercely, absorbing the hellish magic blooming around them.

“Cough.”

Blood soaked his throat and spilled out. What a waste. Fernandez, in his dazed state, thought so. As the blood loss worsened, the magic seeped in, and Diemonica’s divinity began to rage wildly.

Internal organs tore apart, gushing with fresh blood. Life was…





It’s cooling down rapidly. And in proportion to the void left by the disappearing life—

-Whoosh!

A black halo began to rise behind his head. Seeing this, Erik charged forward. Whatever the guy was preparing, now was the chance as he suddenly showed a gap!

-Swoosh!

Erik’s axe came down towards Fernandez’s head. It was a strike with such immense power that it could split even the mightiest tree in one blow. The guy with his eyes closed had no way to block this!

However, Fernandez’s left hand, which had been still in the air, shot forward like a beam of light and grabbed Erik’s neck in mid-air.

[Gah!?]

-Thud.

Erik had the body of a boy. On the other hand, Fernandez, though somewhat small for a Diemonica, was definitely taller than the average male. Erik’s feet left the ground.

[Useless… struggle!]

“Lighter than I thought.”

The halo behind Fernandez’s head burned fiercely, as if consuming the sky. Crunch, the sound of bones breaking came from the neck gripped by his left hand. Through his blurry vision, Erik saw Fernandez’s right hand.

The hand gripping the Beastman was densely etched with calm, spiderweb-like lines of Hellish Magic. Thud, something crumbled. One of Fernandez’s eyes burst on its own, oozing black blood.

“And… too young.”

The center of Fernandez’s forehead split open, and blood flowed. [Arcane Vision] shimmered and appeared on his forehead.

If blood loss impaired his vision, magic would compensate. If his body’s strength failed, he would force it to move with magic. Controlling his own body like a puppet, he was pushing his limits.

-Crunch.

Erik struggled, feeling as if his neck was being crushed in a press. The axe, his feet, his fists struck his chest, stomach, shoulders, and head. Taking all the hits, Fernandez slammed Erik into the ground.

-Bang!

[Gah!]

“Your soul has no chance of salvation, Erik. Even if you repent. Even if you convert. The time for you to save yourself has already passed.”

[Nonsense… nonsense!]

Erik screamed with bloodshot eyes, resisting. Fernandez, with his eyes closed, absorbed the attacks with his body and repeatedly slammed him into the ground. Continuously breaking and repairing, his body gradually lost its original form.

Now, it was little more than a pile of scales. Yet, he still harbored wildness, rage, and madness, glaring at Fernandez with hatred.

-Fernandez.

‘I know, this is hypocrisy. How disgusting it was to pity someone who must be killed.’

Fernandez pressed the convulsing Erik to the ground with his foot and picked up the Thunderthrower hanging from his sword belt. A single bullet was loaded into the empty chamber. Click, the intricate and precise gears turned, securing the bullet inside the chamber.

‘But, look at this.’

In his previous life, Erik was a hero who fought to save the people of the north. The king of the north, Daya. But now, he was nothing more than a boy manipulated by demonic tricks.

A pile of flesh, crushed and deformed by countless destructions. It… it resembled the end of a son. Looking down at the eyes consumed by madness, the mouth spewing curses and drooling. Fernandez, with his eyes closed, brought the gun to Erik’s forehead.

“By the authority granted by the Temple of the Gods, I will… sanctify you. Will you pray?”

[I do not pray to gods…!]

“Loft.”

Now, only the very tip of the mistletoe branch remained, trembling. Suddenly, Loft appeared beside him, grinning and laughing.

“Do you need my help, friend?”

“Immortality is the antithesis of death.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Take back my blessing. When you gave this to me, wasn’t this the moment you wanted?”

“Originally, the mistletoe branch was prepared to kill Baldur, that foolish boy… but, in the end, it’s the same. Alright. Let’s do it.”

Loft clapped his hands and laughed. The mistletoe branch turned to dust and scattered, seeping into the barrel of the Thunderthrower.

-That was the last bastion.

‘Every moment has always been our last bastion.’

Now, we are merely entering the realm of mortals again. Nothing changes. Fernandez pressed the gun into Erik’s forehead and whispered.

“I will carry on your legacy.”

[I hate you. This world, and the gods! I, I will… this north…!]

“I will do it for you.”

-Bang!

There was no recoil from the gun. His left arm, torn to the nerve endings, was forcibly moved by magic. There were no more organs left in his body to sense anything.

Thus, Erik’s death was hollow. Just like the moment he had ended his son’s life. Fernandez stood over his body for a moment, eyes closed.

The cold north, where food was running out. A hellish land where even summer brought no sunlight. Only eternal struggle proved glory, always turning sword hilts towards each other, endlessly draining the strength of the entire people.

Among them, a young boy who had lost his father in battle, Erik of that time, looked at his starving people and thought. I will save them.

If not for Baldur’s intervention, it would have been so. Fernandez pondered the memories seeping into his mind through the gun’s barrel. Erik’s soul shattered, and his spirit was being sucked into him.

For a moment, a shiver ran through him. His stopped heart began to beat again. The unique, fierce anger of the northerners was coating his emotions.

Hatred and madness seemed to reach out to twist his soul.

-Fernandez.

‘I do not regret.’

His past life, and the future altered by it. The cause for the greater good. I do not regret any of it.

But, I pity. Empathy comes from understanding, and in this moment of souls mingling, he fully understood Erik. He fully accepted his hatred and anger.

-Click.

Hanging the Thunderthrower back on his belt, he slowly drew his greatsword. His heart raced madly, pumping blood throughout his body.

“Loft, open the gate to Asgard.”

“Oh, friend. Always throwing yourself into peril. One would think you have dozens of lives.”

Loft chuckled and approached the gate. He sat at the edge of the gate, stroking the flesh-made door.

“Ah, Baldur. This fool. To think the one who wanted to be king only managed to create Bifrost.”

Loft clapped his hands, and slowly, light began to seep through from beyond the gate.

***