259. The Method of Distinguishing Good and Evil (7)
The magical lamps illuminating the night streets flowed like waves and disappeared behind. The light was so intense it left afterimages. The sound of the wind rang in his ears like the sharpening of a blade. Yet, amidst the chaos, there was one sound that stood out clearly—
[Come.]
A single sentence. A chilling, sticky sound, like the flapping of dozens of flies, buzzed in his ears. It grew louder and stronger.
[Come, Inquisition Officer. Come to your death. If you wish to call your death a martyrdom, so be it. If all you desire is your own death, how noble and humble a stance that is.]
The auditory hallucinations overlapped, forming a sound. The sound, with its incantation-like rhythm, gradually intertwined with noise. The flickering magical lamps, the rough flapping of insect wings, the pale mist, and the tightening grip of the enemy……
A spell. A vile, sticky spell. His senses tangled, the ground twisted, and his sense of direction slowly faded.
But the one running through that place was Diemonica.
-Wham!
Fernandez slashed through the air while running. Beyond the pale mist where nothing seemed to exist, he felt the blade cutting through flesh.
The sound of tearing skin and crushing bones echoed. Soon, the hidden figure in the air was torn into pieces and scattered. The creature would revive soon, but it didn’t matter. By then, Fernandez had already covered over five meters.
His breath grew heavy. It wasn’t a matter of lung capacity. The poison mist and the spell were stealing his breath. But his body was not that of an ordinary human.
No, it was human. It was the pinnacle of humanity. A being infinitely close to the limits of what humans could achieve.
Perhaps, one day, a species that had endured without extinction might reach it. The essence of ‘possibility.’ The pinnacle of chance, miracles, and evolution. Diemonica, forged over eons, was the blessing of the gods—
-Crunch, crunch, crunch!
Diemonica, even in the deepest abyss of despair, stood firm on the ground, gazing at the sky, trudging through the mire. A symbol of human will.
-Wham!
Flesh rained down. Fernandez, expressionless, swung his blade relentlessly. Sometimes from above, sometimes from the side, sometimes from the shadows beneath his feet, demons sprang forth.
Had he looked back, he would have seen a path paved with flesh and demons. A road of blood and death. A cruel, sticky path, as if a slice of hell had been manifested into the material world.
‘Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the world. Not peace, but a sword.’
He whispered the scripture of the Inquisition Office. It is not you, but my flock. You shall be the shepherd who wields the sword at the forefront……
“A torch that lights the dark night, a sentinel against evil, a cross that illuminates the rough seas!”
Shaking off his heavy breath, tearing through his lungs!
“Fear me. I am the sheep of the righteous, the dragon to the wicked.”
His steps did not stop. One more step forward. Forward. Toward the depths of hell that had descended upon Paltennoia.
“As the night deepens, the lamp burns brighter. We have not come for peace, but with a sword. Fear me.”
As more demons surged, the movements of his blade became more intricate. At some point, his sword strikes were no longer just about taking lives. Each strike carved patterns in the air.
One stroke, and then another over it. The trajectory of his blade, swung while running, resembled that of a beastman.
“Our name is flame!”
With the final stroke, Fernandez roared. The three elements of divine incantation are origin, prayer, and miracle. Fernandez spun his greatsword and sheathed it, almost simultaneously drawing another sword from his back.
A pure white light ignited along the blade. A divine radiance so intense it could burn souls.
The demon’s poison running through his veins burned away in an instant. A terrible pain wracked his body, and his eyes filled with blood, tears of blood streaming down.
-Slash!
He slashed down. A heavy recoil, as if tearing the world apart, shook his grip, nearly causing him to drop the sword. But through that gap, he pressed forward—
[Impressive.]
A whisper reached him. Fernandez, with bloodshot eyes, looked ahead. Before him, hell unfolded.
* * *
Hot air rushed in. Fernandez knew his reddened vision wasn’t just from the blood streaking across his cheek.
The emperor’s forbidden zone, hidden by barriers and illusion spells. This place was……
-Ugh……
-Gasp……
A laboratory. A laboratory directly operated by Nehalipixi. A massive incubator cultivating only pain and despair.
Horrifying bodies, so ghastly they might as well be corpses, were scattered everywhere. Those walking among them, jotting something on charts and occasionally stimulating the test subjects, all turned their heads toward Fernandez at the same time.
Pale, wax-like humans in white coats stained with blood and pus. They stared at Fernandez with glassy, emotionless eyes.
“You’re the first to tear through the barrier and enter.”
Their mouths opened, and the same voice echoed simultaneously. Fernandez caught his breath.
Fernandez looked around. It was vast. A huge cave, seemingly dug out entirely from the floor of a section of the island, where experiments were being conducted on the citizens who lived there.
The space was filled with faint moans and the sound of boiling blood, drifting like fog. Fernandez tightly gripped the holy sword pulsating hotly in his hand.
“Fernandez, calm down.”
“I’m calmer now than I’ve ever been.”
Fernandez spat out the words. Reciting scriptures and casting divine spells was merely necessary. It wasn’t that he couldn’t control his intense emotions and rushed in recklessly.
“Then what’s the strategy?”
“Burn everything and kill Neharifixi.”
“Good.”
Faijashi chuckled. Fernandez spun the blade, steadied his stance, and charged straight toward the heretics.
* * *
“The author is beyond comprehension.”
Deep within the nest, a pair of red eyes flashed and rose. The being gazed at a man charging straight toward him from afar.
*Crunch!*
One vision went dark. As his minions became his eyes, it meant only one thing: his carefully nurtured offspring were dying.
*Crunch!*
Another vision flickered out. The last sight of the recently deceased offspring was a beast with blue flames charging toward them.
The being lurking in the nest slowly rose. The glowing eyes ascended higher, flickered, and then split into eight.
“He clearly knows magic, yet he wields a sword like that?”
Though the figure burning his minions was unmistakably a mage, the precision of the blade was so sharp it was hard to follow even for his eyes. It was a skill no single person should possess, but having seen it himself, denying reality was pointless.
So, change the strategy…
“A head-on fight is foolish…”
The glowing eyes began to dim one by one. Fully assimilating into the darkness, Neharifixi laughed ominously.
* * *
It was getting harder to keep his eyes open, and at some point, Fernandez decided to fight with them closed. The backlash from the divine spells was rapidly deteriorating his physical functions.
The burden of the Keyblade was overwhelming even for Diemonica’s body. For an ordinary person, merely holding it could shatter their soul and kill them. Wielding it in battle and forcibly drawing out its divine power was arrogance to expect to remain unscathed.
But the problem was “compatibility.” Mumto’s necromancy had aspects that aligned with his strengths, and Sadarkelisa’s minions were easier to deal with as they relied on brute force… but Urkasia’s minions were different.
They wielded plagues and insects. The commonality between the two was that they couldn’t be cut with a sword, and using magic recklessly was too constrained by the limitations of his body.
So, magic had to be used only at critical moments. Fernandez subtly moved his fingers, lightly touching the flames.
*Fwoosh!*
A small ember flew toward the exploding flesh, embedding itself precisely. Soon, the body turned to ash. It was a method of using minimal magic for maximum efficiency, like driving a magical wedge.
*Clink.*
Confirming that there were no more breathing entities around, Fernandez spun his sword and sheathed it. The blade slid into the scabbard with a crisp sound.
This was their workshop. Neharifixi would never abandon this place. Unless the paladins or Inquisition Officers launched a full-scale purification of this place, that arrogant demigod wouldn’t flee from a single intruder.
“Why isn’t he attacking? Uncharacteristic of him.”
“Should I pretend to be more exhausted?”
“Drop it. Your acting is terrible.”
Ignoring Faijashi’s voice, Fernandez rolled his barely recovering eyes around. He saw charred corpses and those not yet fully burned.
“Why, do you want to pray?”
“If that would suffice.”
But goodwill without action is no different from malice. If reality could change by sitting still and praying, such hellish scenes wouldn’t exist in this world.
“Do you pity their situation? Do we have the right to?”
“The right.”
Fernandez fiddled with the sword hilt as he answered.
“The villages we burned, the ‘innocent’ souls we killed. If they saw us now, would they marvel at our great repentance? Hey, Fernandez. I can tolerate the corruption of souls, but I can’t stand living as if the past never happened. It’s disgusting.”
“We have no right to judge anyone. Yes, that’s true. At least we don’t have that right.”
But as long as we remember the scent of fading Frizia that day, we still have something akin to a “right.”
The right to pity those sacrificed here. Because their plight is no different from ours. They are dead, but he cannot even do that.
Severing a soul tortured by demons is euthanasia. Ending their pain-filled lives is akin to mercy. But he cannot do that. His life is a gallows, but abandoning it is mere escape.
As long as there is a purpose, he cannot stop. It’s an opportunity earned by sacrificing everything, so he can never give up.
Thus, the only right he has is regret. The right to regret. At least he has that much.
“And if that’s all I have left, then no matter where this life leads, it won’t be a waste.”
Faijashi said nothing. The gap between him and Fernandez had irreparably widened, and even shared memories couldn’t bridge the difference in their thinking.
But there was one thing. If there was one thing they could trust about each other, it was that they would never settle for reality.
The rest was over. Fernandez drew his sword, slung it over his shoulder, and moved forward.
![[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")
