Chapter 379

378. Forgiving Your Sins (2)

The command tent of Phaeirn was engulfed in a crimson blaze, roaring fiercely. Sparks crackled and danced, and the acrid stench of sulfur mingled with the smoke.

The soldiers, unable to even think of extinguishing the flames, panicked and retreated. Some of the more faint-hearted soldiers fainted, while those who managed to keep their composure turned and fled.

“It’s the blessing of the Duke of Crimson.”

Fernandez narrowed his eyes as he gazed at the flames. The brilliantly burning fire seemed to hold a gloomy darkness within, blocking out the midday sun.

Vicente frowned at the unholy sight. The weight of his armor and greatsword became almost unbearable.

*Snap!*

As Fernandez flicked his finger, the oppressive pressure weighing Vicente down vanished.

“Keep your wits about you. I won’t be of much help now, so you mustn’t falter.”

“Do you know what that thing is?”

“A minion blessed by the Duke of Crimson, nothing more, nothing less. It’s not even close to being a demon, just a fool.”

Fernandez spoke without hiding his disgust. He coldly stared into the flames.

“In this era, rare relics are needed to receive the Duke of Crimson’s blessing. But even if all the functions of those relics are utilized, it doesn’t mean that thing can ascend to the status of a demon.”

“You seem to know a lot. Is this information from the Inquisition Office? I hadn’t even heard of the Duke of Crimson before you mentioned it.”

“Experience.”

Vicente tilted his head, but Fernandez didn’t elaborate further. He slowly checked the state of his magic circuits.

His thread-like magic circuits were already too damaged to be used for the time being. The nerve bundles themselves were shattered, and only by focusing on healing could they be restored.

This injury was likely sustained when he saved Abel and countered the spells of Phaeirn’s combat mages. Not good.

The one they were about to face… Zigismund. He wasn’t someone to be underestimated, nor overestimated. Being fully blessed by the Duke of Crimson meant he had at least broken the limits of a mortal in battle.

‘How enviable.’

Fernandez clicked his tongue. If Zigismund had been a mage, the Duke of Crimson’s blessing wouldn’t have worked in his favor. The blessing crushes human reason and fuels destructive instincts.

But for a warrior, it’s a different story. Their physical abilities and personal skills would transcend human limits, and their body would shed its human form.

‘What relic did he get? Jakasmil? The Eye of Paledit? Urgen’s right hand should still be underground, so it can’t be that…’

During the long period of research and pursuit to unlock the Duke of Crimson’s seal, the only relics of the Great Demon he had managed to gather in the material world were those three.

Among them, as a prince of Phaeirn, he could have obtained the Bloody Axe, Jakasmil, or the Eye of Paledit, a protective amulet. But there was no way to know for sure without meeting him directly.

*Crash!*

As they stepped toward the command tent, a corner of the burning tent exploded violently, sending black smoke soaring into the sky. A thick pillar of smoke, like a dragon’s breath, began to stain the blue autumn sky.

“Hey, Sir Albert. Do you agree with his death?”

“…Huh?”

“This is important, so answer quickly.”

It was a sudden question. Fernandez nodded awkwardly. Vicente, seemingly amused, grinned and took a large step forward.

“Zigismund!! The Knights of the Round Table of the Council of Ten Thousand Swords have deliberated on your fate! The council’s decision is death, and this is the will of all the Knights of the Round Table! Show yourself! Come out and accept your fate!!”

In this place, there were only two Knights of the Round Table, and the Council of Ten Thousand Swords referred to the audience hall meetings presided over by the King of the Dane Kingdom. In a way, it wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Your Highness, isn’t the number of Knights of the Round Table insufficient to call it a council?”

“The king’s decision holds the highest authority among the Knights of the Round Table.”

“…Isn’t the reason it’s called the Round Table to signify equality?”

“Of course, some statuses are more ‘equal’ than others. The one with the most ‘equal’ authority is the king.”

Fernandez couldn’t help but laugh at this farce. Then, from within the pillar of fire, a voice like the crushing of metal shards echoed.

[How dare you!! Speak of fate to me!!]

*Crash!!*

Kicking through the half-collapsed tent, a giant engulfed in flames revealed himself.

“Oh, what a rude fellow. Isn’t that right?”

“Indeed, Your Highness.”

“If we add the crimes of royal insult and disrespect to the audience hall, would it affect the verdict?”

“Probably not, Your Highness. According to the supreme will of the Council of Ten Thousand Swords, there is only one verdict for him.”

Fernandez and Vicente each took their positions and drew their swords. A knight who had lost an arm and a knight who could barely move stood in the same stance, raising their blades toward the soot-covered giant.

“Death.”

* * *

The Great Demons of the Abyss and the Great Gods of the Heavens are revered by the sentient beings of the material world, feeding on their awe. For example, the faith of those who worship the sun flows to Shield, and the fear of disease and pests flows to Urkasia.

Thus, the paradigm or scale of faith in an era proves the strength of a deity. Just as Yekaset, who once monopolized the fear of the unknown and savagery, lost its power in the age of civilized society.

So, do the blessings bestowed by these gods depend on the strength of their divinity? Surprisingly, the answer is ‘no.’

‘It’s a matter of choice and focus.’

A unique relic that cannot be imitated holds immense power. Conversely, ordinary relics lose their potency. Like the Keyblade Rosary of Vaitas, a relic that remains only as a symbol, carried by anyone without rarity, holds no divinity.

A great god with many followers, a great demon with numerous minions. Their commonality is that the concentration of their blessings is dispersed. But in Tyban’s case—

‘In this era, Tyban has very few followers, its existence is almost hidden, and there are hardly any exposed relics.’

In his past life, that was why Faijashi served Tyban. The merit of serving a great demon with immense power but few minions.

Other great demons wielded immense power and commanded many followers. Including underground organizations not visible on the surface, the number of human followers serving a single great demon and its underlings was countless.

In such a situation, what choice would a wandering wildcast have to make to gain true power? Even if it was a being that governed concepts entirely unrelated to the greatness of magic, Tyban was an incredibly attractive choice for Fernandez.

And that attractive choice, in this era, is that man.

[You…]





I will kill everyone, kill, and kill again! I will tear this world apart, burn everything on this land, and even the distant heavens, offering it all to Him!!

“Too heated up.”

Fernandez clicked his tongue briefly and glared at him. If it was the negative influence a mage receives when serving Tyban, it was more of an emotional control issue rather than a cognitive one. After all, mages are those who must wield magic with reason.

However, when a warrior, whose essence is combat, serves Tyban, it always ends up like this. There may be degrees of difference, but their cognitive abilities deteriorate, and their destructive instincts run wild.

“You’ve taken on too much power for your capacity, Zigismund.”

Fernandez briefly assessed him. The Blessing of the Great Demon was too immense a power for a mortal body to contain, and Tyban wasn’t cunning enough to distribute his blessings appropriately. The blessing, forcefully bestowed upon a meager follower, was no different from a curse.

Indeed, the gifts of demons are often hard to distinguish from curses, depending on the context. Especially in the hands of those who don’t know how to handle them.

[Shut up!!]

-BOOM!

Flames surged with his footsteps. The earth rejected him, splitting apart, and from the cracks, the fires of the abyss licked up like tongues. Just his breathing polluted the atmosphere, turning the sky ashen.

Seeing this, Vicente let out a disbelieving laugh.

“That… hmm. A half-baked demon, is it?”

“Of course, in terms of power alone, he’s at the level of a sovereign, but he’s not a demon. He hasn’t shed his mortal flesh… he’s still human.”

“Your standards for humanity are quite generous, Fernandez.”

Vicente gave Fernandez a stunned look, then coughed and adjusted his stance. Sweat dripped down from under his helmet. It was an unseasonably sticky, sweltering heat, more fitting for late summer than the late autumn harvest season, with winter just around the corner.

Vicente adjusted his helmet and chuckled. The seasons were out of sync, the sky was ashen, and a demon-like creature was rampaging while terrified soldiers dropped their weapons and fled…

“A mythical battle, indeed.”

It was a fight worthy of being recorded in the final chapter of an epic. Just moments ago, it was a tragic hero’s tale, a mere human struggle, but now it had transformed into a battlefield that could be written into biblical scripture.

Finding it all too exhilarating, Vicente decided not to feel too much regret over losing an arm. Knights who could experience such adventures were rare, both before and after this era.

“No, I hope this is the last myth of our time.”

“It will be.”

Responding, Fernandez smiled dryly. They had given up countless things for this one battle. The things they had to abandon and the souls sacrificed were beyond counting.

This must not happen again. Civilized society cannot endure any more bloodshed, and even now, they were nearing their limit.

“It must be so.”

So, let this be the last. Fernandez gripped his sword and glared at Zigismund.

* * *

Vicente swung his sword, ignoring the flames clinging to his skin. Even with one-handed swordsmanship, when wielded by a knight at the pinnacle, it becomes a deadly strike.

-CLANG!

The greatsword, drawn in a graceful arc, clashed against the creature’s claw, producing a loud noise. Feeling the immense force, Vicente quickly retracted his sword and rolled away.

-WHOOSH!!

A massive gust of wind, as if a cavalry charge had passed, made his body sway slightly. The creature’s right hand, filled with ferocious power, tore through the space where Vicente had just stood.

-THUD!

[You little rats!!]

Seizing the moment, Fernandez charged and stabbed with his sword. The blade didn’t penetrate more than an inch into the crimson skin, but flames erupted from the creature’s wound instead of blood.

Fernandez pulled back his sword and leaped away. Dust rose thickly as the creature’s massive leg crushed the ground.

[Yes! Dodge and run! You cannot escape your death!]

“Predictable—”

“Boring!”

Fernandez and Vicente retorted as they swung their swords again. Each strike resonated with a metallic sound, but none left more than superficial wounds.

It was an unfavorable fight. Both Vicente and Fernandez could suffer fatal wounds from a single attack. Yet, they pressed on, swinging their swords and dodging without faltering.

-CLANG!

It was Zigismund who broke the tense stalemate. He gnashed his teeth and leaped back. Flames flowed over the scars etched like tattoos across his body, filled with rage and madness.

[You flies!! Your antics end here!!]

The flames crawling over Zigismund’s body began to drip like blood, forming strange patterns. Fernandez, staring through the heat haze, let out a short sigh.

“I thought he had a talisman of wound rejection, but it was Jakasmil.”

“What’s that?”

“The Duke of Crimson’s blood-bleeding axe… his relic.”

Seeing how the blade didn’t penetrate, Fernandez had thought it was a talisman, but the pattern revealed it was a relic. If so, the durability to deflect blades was his body’s natural strength—

‘He received a greater blessing than I thought.’

Tyban’s domain is destruction. Naturally, a relic in the form of a weapon would be more powerful than a protective talisman. Jakasmil was among the top relics of its time.

A simple artifact specialized solely in destruction, imbued with fragments of Tyban’s power. Fernandez sighed as he watched the ominous crimson axe slowly emerge from the blood-drawn pattern.

[I will shatter your land, crush your people, and destroy your ideals and beliefs! In the silence after all is done, I will kill you myself!!]

Finally, Zigismund, wielding the axe dripping with flame-like blood, began to shout loudly. His wounds vanished, and a crown of flames rested crookedly on his head.

Vicente watched the scene with wary eyes and whispered quietly.

“Seems like he’s regressed to infancy, but is there anything else to watch out for?”

“Don’t get hit.”

“Wasn’t that always the case?”

“No, Your Highness. Even if it’s a blade, shield, or armor, don’t let that axe touch you.”

Jakasmil. The axe imbued with Tyban’s power of destruction. Anything that touches its edge, no matter how sturdy, will crumble and tear apart. Like how Urkasia’s power corrodes everything, this relic was of that kind.

In the hands of a skilled warrior, it becomes an extremely troublesome weapon. And those blessed by Tyban are all skilled warriors. Faijashi detested this weapon, but facing it was an insurmountable challenge.

“So, you’re saying we shouldn’t even try to block it now?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Well, damn…”

Vicente chuckled and tossed his sweat-soaked helmet to the ground. After shedding his half-destroyed armor in the heat of battle, he stood clad only in a thin tunic, spinning his greatsword and resting it on his shoulder.

“Feels refreshing, at least.”

Since armor was useless against such a weapon, he chose to disarm himself. Inspired by his boldness, Fernandez also broke and discarded his armor buckles.

Both gripped their weapons tightly and charged toward Zigismund, who was barreling toward them like an enraged bull.