222. We Are the Bedrock (3)
Night is. The night adorned with stars and the moon is a time of mystery. It is the hour when specters weep, and also when secret wisdom flows. Thus, night is the time of mages.
Yet, witch hunters and Inquisition Officers always throw themselves into the deepest darkness of the night. They have no allies except themselves. Even in the heart of the Temple of the Gods, they always assume the worst of the worst.
“Huu…… Hoo……”
The Saintmetal Greatsword, dripping with blood, hung limply. The greatsword that pierced the mage’s heart gleamed coldly under the moonlight. Pascal gasped for breath.
His lungs were damaged, and the wind whistled through them. Blood gushed up and flowed down his throat. He spat out saliva and coughed for a while. With trembling hands, Pascal pushed the mage away. The mage’s body rolled lifelessly on the ground.
Yet, the skeletons surrounding him did not disappear. During the battle, he realized. This mage was not the mastermind of this situation from the beginning.
“Palace Mage Antaen. This court sentences you to death.”
“Kruk, kuk, kkuk.”
The mage who bombarded the battlefield, cloaked in robes, was Antaen. Pascal frowned and looked at Antaen, who was chuckling. With a bloodied hand, Antaen pointed beyond the sky above Pascal’s head.
“Under that night sky, everyone is a sinner. Sentence them all to death for their sins.”
“May the Temple of the Gods grant us protection.”
-*Crunch*.
He twisted the blade and pulled it out. The old mage’s body collapsed. His mind was a mess. Where did it all go wrong? The discovery and accusation of heretical circumstances happened almost simultaneously. Someone was plotting.
Who dared? Who dared to incite the Inquisition Officers with dark mages and heretics? Pascal thought as he struck down the approaching skeletons with trembling hands.
The Empire. Palace Mage Antaen hailed from the capital of the Empire. And the noble who accused the heretical circumstances was a count of the Empire. Was this a method to plot against the Duke? Did they dare, dare to involve the Church in their nation’s politics?
-*Crunch*!
The blade that struck down skeletons and severed specters trembled but did not dull. Still sharp. Still keen. Pascal crushed the specter’s skull and panted.
“Saint…… Brother……!”
With a breath that seemed about to break, Pascal cried out with a heart full of blood. His operation. His advice to ignore the Empire’s accusation. There had been secret contact with the Pope, hadn’t there? Then, he must have been investigating this matter.
I was foolish. I was the one who interfered. Pascal bit his lip. He thought he had been incited by strange words, but it was himself. He had to correct the mistake.
The limit of his stamina was near. But the limit of his will was not yet. Where did it all go wrong? Worrying about this was already too late. Where should he start fixing? It was time to ponder this.
From where, who, how.
Should he burn them?
The witch, the heretic, the demon……. If they used the Church for their own worldly affairs, then they themselves were the heretics.
He crushed the skeletons and began to run as fast as he could. Not towards the safe frontline guarded by the Duke’s forces. But towards the Duke’s palace.
* * *
Kirhas wrinkled her nose, concentrating. What is this smell? Indeed, the knights on the battlefield usually had the unique scent of sweat and excitement, and it was hard to find anyone in this outpost who didn’t, so relying on her sense of smell was reaching its limit.
Everyone reeked of a terrible smell. Tension, excitement, fear……. The unique smell of the battlefield. No, the smell of war. A sharp killing intent mixed with burning anger.
Yet, amidst it all, a familiar smell wafted. Familiar, somehow. A smell she had encountered before……. If smells had colors, this one would be purple. That kind of feeling.
‘Where have I smelled this before? What is this smell?’
In truth, she was merely sitting solemnly in a chair, lazily watching the battle unfold, with no greater role. If she could dive into the frontline and wreak havoc, that would be great, but Fernandez’s orders were not about the victory of the battle but the safety of the Duke.
So, she had taken on the role of a guard. Saying it like this sounded self-deprecating, but she was trying to find some role for herself in the chaos of this battlefield. At least a way to pass the time.
After all, this battle would end at dawn. If the Duke remained unharmed by then, it would be our victory. Her master had said so, and she had never doubted it.
‘A disturbing smell……. Hmm……. The ocean. No, not the ocean……. Something similar…… similar…….’
A sticky smell. Mixed with a metallic tang. Close to the smell of iron. Iron could be found anywhere on the battlefield, and the smell of blood was similar to the metallic tang, so it was easy to miss.
What is this smell? What…….
‘The Dawn of Melisildur.’
Upon hearing that victory in war would come when the sun shone, that magic suddenly came to mind. The moment when a miraculous light swept through the port.
Magic? The port? Why did such words come to mind suddenly…….
‘Is it the smell of elves?’
Elves smell like the ocean. They have the salty tang of the port. They’re also salty in personality. Grumpy, complaining, and yet arrogant. Annoying creatures. Pointy-ears!
‘Hmm. Similar, but not quite…….’
Not the smell of elves. It’s more of a gloomy smell. Similar, but both are salty. There’s a metallic tang, closer to the smell of iron…….
‘The smell of iron is similar to the smell of blood.’
The smell of blood. The metallic tang. Similar to elves. The port. The Dawn of Melisildur. Dragons……? No, Abel smells good. Not dragons.
“Vampire!!”
Kirhas screamed and jumped up. The knights around her, who were checking their gear and preparing to return to the battlefield, were startled. Kirhas’s eyes quickly scanned the surroundings. Who…
Nyaha, where are you?
And then, in a corner. Her eyes met those of a knight who had been watching her. His yellow eyes gleamed briefly beneath his visor.
“Found you!”
Kirhas’s face twisted terrifyingly. A sticky aura of bloodlust wrapped around her body. The Empress of the Hunt, Kirhas Hearttaker, the chosen chieftain of Kadán. Her true nature was being revealed.
A face she could never show to Fernandez. The instinct that flared up when she found the trail of her prey. Her veins bulged, her nails sharpened, and her entire body tensed like a bow, ready to strike.
From Mumto’s dimension to here. The chosen one who crossed over with Kadán’s divinity, the fully awakened Kirhas Hearttaker’s instincts were stirring—
“Damn it.”
Seeing this, the vampire let out a short sigh. The disguise had been perfect. Even an Inquisition Officer wouldn’t have been able to detect his presence. But how, just how had she figured it out? The vampire’s confusion was brief.
-Thud!
Like a flash of lightning, Kirhas lunged forward. As she leaped, she grabbed the hilt of her sword and struck in one swift motion.
-Clang!
The floor shattered as if crushed by the claws of a beast. The vampire quickly dodged and began to flee in some direction.
“W-what the hell—!”
“Move! The Duke is in danger!”
The panicked knights sprang to their feet. Kirhas slipped past the knights trying to stop her and chased the vampire into the darkness. The direction the vampire had fled… the rear of the frontline. That’s where the Duke was.
* * *
The King’s Palace had stood alongside the history of Ribue. Their ancestors were the ancient clan leaders who first named Ribue and settled in the region, and the clan that remained and prospered became the Ribue of today.
Thus, the historical significance of the King’s Palace was synonymous with the entirety of Ribue. Long traditions, ancient history. Authority and respect were not in the bloodline, but in the walls built by that bloodline.
And now, at this very moment, the King’s Palace was collapsing. The sturdy inner walls that had never once been breached by an external force under the flow of time were now exploding.
-Crrumble!
Fernandez ran along the collapsing walls of the banquet hall, grabbing onto a beastman. Crack! As the spell tangled, a wedge was driven in. Seven attacking spells aimed at Fernandez simultaneously crumbled.
-Boom!
Using the falling bricks and pillars as footholds, he leaped and found the next platform to land on. He couldn’t stop for even a moment. At this point, with Manderson’s spells, now turned demonic, destroying the King’s Palace, stopping even for a second would mean being buried under the rubble and dying.
And at the same time, he had to find her.
‘Manderson’s spell is protecting someone.’
He didn’t need to think about who it was. In the collapsing building, Manderson himself didn’t bother to avoid the debris, so it was obvious who he was trying to protect.
No demon or heretic could step forward publicly without erasing the entire foundation of society. To gain a public identity, they had to parasitize somewhere.
And that parasite. The beautiful woman embodying Manderson’s desires. A noble bloodline and shining talent. Rene Philippa. Manderson planned to eliminate Fernandez, complete his plans with the Imperial Palace, and then marry Rene Philippa to swallow the region.
In that case, Rene Philippa would have to appear publicly. As a Duke in the Empire’s politics and as a puppet ruling the people. She had to remain unharmed, flawless in the public eye.
Therefore, the protective spell around Rene Philippa represented Manderson’s rationality. How long it would last was uncertain, but at least while he was rational, Rene had to be rescued and protected. The moment Manderson, now gone mad, abandoned protection and focused on attack, she would be crushed under the rubble and become a corpse.
-Crash!
Bricks flew on their own, raining down like arrows. Like catapult projectiles. Each physical impact was too powerful for human flesh to withstand.
-Clang!
But he deflected them. Each strike put immense strain on his muscles, but it wasn’t impossible. Strength against strength. Deflecting the bricks with his sword, moving forward. Forward!
-Crack, crack, crackle!!
And with his other hand, he grabbed the beastman. By the remaining power of the Bronze Throne, he was nearing his limit. There weren’t many spells he could use. So, he focused solely on counterspells, using the Bronze Throne to drive in magical wedges.
Driving in a magical wedge to disrupt the flow of a spell was a technique far superior to simply casting a spell. It wasn’t a skill an ordinary mage could use while running around and swinging a sword.
Thus, it was akin to acrobatics. Fernandez could feel Manderson’s frustration keenly. Fighting like a warrior, countering like a cunning mage, yet not using any offensive spells.
“Are you mocking me now?!”
He had trampled on Manderson’s pride. A mage of this caliber could surely defeat him with stronger, more lethal spells. But this guy, this little human, was just swinging his sword, deflecting bricks, dodging around, and circling him like it was a game.
“Not at all. I always give it my all.”
“You… you bastard!”
-Boom!
Magic surged, and the form of a wraith emerged. In that moment, everything around the wraith rapidly decayed into dust, and mold and spores sprouted above it. The demon of decay.
Fernandez twisted his body, changing direction, and quickly grabbed the beastman. Before the demon of decay could fully manifest, a blue lightning bolt grazed the demon’s body, turning it to dust and collapsing it.
Once again, a counterspell was cast. Manderson coughed up blood from the backlash of the forcibly dismantled spell and raged. Every time he tried to use a high-level spell, a wedge was driven in.
It was almost like art. A momentary and precise insertion of a magical wedge that even the most perfect mind in the most perfect condition wouldn’t dare attempt.
So, he had no choice but to use brute physical techniques with the sheer volume of his magical power. Simply projecting magic to lift bricks and blow up buildings was easy.
Because of that, Fernandez bit his lip and kept swinging his sword.
‘Damn it, if you’re a mage, just use magic!’
-It’s funny hearing that from a mage wielding a sword.
‘Then just stick to swordplay! This is like some street psychic fighting, lacking the romance of a magic duel.’
-How much progress?
‘75%!’
Distracting him, not overwhelmingly winning, securing Rene Philippa’s safety, and draining his power—now at 75%.
![[TS] Obsessed Gamer: The Ultimate Return](https://i3.wp.com/novelhitam.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/TS-Obsessed-Gamer-The-Ultimate-Return2.png?resize=85,105 "[TS] Obsessed Gamer: The Ultimate Return")
