Chapter 190

189. The Black Erik (1)

*

If demons were a tidal wave, these men could be called the breakwater. At the gateway leading to the fallen Valhalla, a hellish abyss no different from the depths of hell itself, the Inquisition Officers silently carried out slaughter—nothing but slaughter.

-*Crunch!*

The demon’s spear finally pierced deep into the abdomen of an Inquisition Officer. The armor crumpled, the wound tore open, and corrupted magic seeped inside. A fatal wound, one that would have instantly killed an ordinary person, yet…

“Burn… us…!”

The Inquisition Officer, clad in thick armor, still burned with furious passion in his eyes. It was a sight that seemed to transcend the point of sustaining life, embodying the very will of humanity.

-*Crunch!*

The Inquisition Officer’s warhammer crushed the skull of a demon who had been laughing with its tongue lolling out. And it didn’t stop. It continued to crush the enemy, the enemies, the foes of civilized society.

“Brother.”

Amidst the fierce battle, Zephis quickly glanced at his brother, whose life was rapidly draining away. Using every limb, shoulder, and knee to crush demons, he keenly felt the pressure mounting on the entire squad as members fell.

“I’m… *cough*… still fine, brother.”

“The assault will soon subside.”

As he said, the gateway—whatever its mechanism—closed and reopened at regular intervals. That brief moment of respite, when the number of enemies drastically decreased, allowed them to continue fighting.

Their path was paved with the shattered corpses of demons. They moved silently, slowly, with faltering steps… yet they advanced without stopping.

“Brother!”

Fabiano shouted roughly. Zephis quickly turned to face forward. A massive morning star, like a siege ram, was descending toward him. It was too late to dodge. Zephis swiftly extended his left arm, ready to sacrifice it.

-*Boom!*

But just before the morning star struck, it vanished with a deafening explosion, along with the arm wielding it. Zephis blinked for a moment, then immediately swung his greatsword, tearing through the throat of the stunned demon.

“Brothers, I apologize for being late.”

“Brother Angelo.”

-*Flutter.*

A tattered, blood-soaked cloak fluttered in the battlefield wind. Fernandez, covered in wounds and blood, walked toward them. In one hand, he held a smoking Thunderthrower. He stood before Zephis and gave a brief nod.

“You arrived at the right moment.”

“…Not quite. What’s the situation?”

“The enemy’s assault wave was the seventh this time. The eighth… in five minutes.”

The gateway closed and reopened at regular intervals. Hearing Zephis’ words, Fernandez glanced at the dimming gateway.

‘Still inexperienced.’

-They can’t be as skilled as us.

The gateway’s opening ritual, auxiliary magic, and the mechanics of the spell itself were terribly crude. Compared to the gateways Fernandez once used, which could open and close at will, this was merely tearing open a dimensional rift by brute force.

Dimensions are separated by strong, resilient barriers. These barriers, though conceptual, possess a stubborn physical reality. Dimensional barriers have a powerful self-healing ability.

Thus, to keep a rift open, some kind of “tool” is needed, like a surgical instrument holding a wound open. A dimensional gateway is such a tool, requiring intricate and precise rituals.

Therefore, a gateway that closes and reopens at intervals implies that the dimensional barrier must be torn open by force each time. It’s the crudest method, unable to withstand the barrier’s restorative power.

Lost in thought for a moment, Fernandez looked at Zephis. His injuries were severe.

“Brother Bardo, report the casualties.”

“Feliciano, deceased. Ermino, deceased. Dario, critical. Carlo and Bardo, combat-ready. That’s all.”

“Retrieve the brothers’ remains and fall back.”

“…What?”

Though the visor hid his face, Fernandez could easily imagine Zephis’ expression of shock and anger.

But there was no time. Fernandez struggled to adjust his sense of time as the dense hellish magic in the air made his head spin.

Just breathing was enough to twist the body and shatter the mind. He wiped his stinging nose with the back of his hand. Black blood smeared his hand.

“I was wrong. Brother Bardo, this battlefield is beyond what a human body can endure.”

“Sounds like you’re saying you’re not human, Brother Angelo.”

“I am…”

“Enough. Don’t say more, Angelo. I’m on the verge of losing my temper.”

Zephis leaned on his greatsword, planted upside down in a demon’s corpse, and caught his breath. He, and others like him from Diemonica, were not skilled in rhetoric.

“We call each other brothers because we see each other as brothers. Diemonica’s missions always come after the worst has happened, and this isn’t the worst situation I’ve faced in my long service.”

“No. This moment is the worst, and what’s to come will make this seem like the lesser evil.”

Fernandez wiped his burning eyes. His fingers came away sticky. He thought his vision was distorted by the magic’s corruption, but it was tears of blood.

And the other Inquisition Officers nearby were no better off.

“Brothers, you called me Angelo. As the field commander of this operation, I order you to hunt down and eliminate the scattered demons, and prevent further demonic outbreaks.”

“…Will it mean anything if we can’t close this gateway?”

A hellgate opening is an event so rare in the history of civilization it can be counted on one hand—no, three fingers. From that moment, the full force of human civilization must focus on it, or face the countdown to the world’s destruction.

Though this isn’t a direct connection to hell, merely a gateway to the corrupted Asgard… the impact won’t be much different.

That it opened in the distant north, far from the continent’s main civilizations, is a small mercy. But when the fully corrupted north eventually prepares and marches south, will the continent be able to stop it?

Even if we destroy the gateway, the magic radiating from it will pollute the land, mountains, and skies, rendering this area uninhabitable for at least a century…





The area becomes uninhabitable. With rampant demonic energy, beasts turn into monsters, and humans, soaked in madness, will wreak all sorts of havoc.

“Do not tell us to turn away from our mission, Angelo.”

Therefore, therefore. The Inquisition Officers could not escape this space of madness filled with death. They were the beacons illuminating the deepest abyss, the self-consuming flames that vowed to protect human civilization.

But Fernandez shook his head.

“This was my mission from the start, brothers. Stop further casualties and eradicate the heresy. Too many brothers have gone to the hall today; the last drop of blood is enough for me alone.”

“Can you do it?”

“If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t have tried. All that’s left is to pray at the lighthouse of the hall.”

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Brother Angelo, I will trust you.”

Zephis forced his dry lips to speak. To a saint declaring he would sacrifice himself entirely to complete a mission that seemed certain to end in death, he had no more words to offer.

The weight of the mission, the possibility of it being the beginning of doom if failed, was… familiar. What demonic incident would occur in a light situation? Dealing solely with demonic incidents was no different from being a firefighter extinguishing the last flame before destruction.

Therefore, Zephis nodded. Even if they failed, they couldn’t be annihilated. Someone had to report this incident to headquarters, and now only three remained who could do so.

Therefore, they had to trust their brother and resolve the situation. Their vow was to save humanity, not self-destruction disguised as martyrdom.

“Your name will shine eternally in the hall of the Temple of the Gods.”

“Our paths are the same; we will meet again someday.”

The Diemonica murmured and nodded. Their deliberation was long, but their action was immediate. They never rested more than necessary, so these brief five minutes were more than enough vacation for them.

Preparing to leave, Zephis took out a shield from behind and handed it over.

“You left it behind. The brothers at headquarters will grieve.”

“It’s an honor.”

Fernandez smiled as he slung Marco’s shield over his back. A brief smile crossed their faces. Instead of other farewells and blessings, they turned and disappeared.

– Loft’s soldiers are forming the frontline.

‘Good, worth the soul’s price.’

– More useful than I thought. Suspicious, though…

‘Gods of death usually have suspicious aspects.’

Fernandez chuckled briefly and gripped the sword hilt. The gateway was slowly opening. From now on, the path ahead must be cleared by him alone.

The corruption of hellish magic gnawed at his body, making it feel light, as if injected with morphine before death. Yet, it was a familiar sensation.

– Welcome… very sweet.

Faijashi shuddered momentarily and looked around. Decaying yellow, pale corpse-like blue, hardened blood-like red… colorful steam swirled in the sky.

On this toxic land, a turquoise gateway opened… then closed.

“Hmm…?”

[Come, adversary.]

A booming voice struck his mind. Just hearing it sent shivers; it was a low voice. Fernandez narrowed his eyes and looked ahead.

On that hilltop, at the edge of the ridge. With the shining gateway as a halo. A boy looked down at him and smiled.

Quite arrogant. Fernandez smirked and loosened his shoulders. Alright, let’s have a captain’s duel, shall we?

*

The blizzard stopped, and only the wind blew. Neither the refreshing night breeze nor the northern east wind. A lukewarm, sticky wind. Fernandez walked slowly up the hill against the headwind.

He couldn’t face the enemy with ragged breath and twisted energy. For Diemonica, walking was synonymous with rest. Unless sprinting, stamina would surely recover.

“Impressive.”

[Do I have any reason to be afraid?]

“Well, at least some shame and self-reflection would be appropriate. Erik the Black.”

[You seem to know me. I don’t know you, southern stranger. Reveal your name and honor this duel.]

“Not a very good decoration, I suppose. Your head, I mean.”

Fernandez looked at the scaled boy. Now his figure was clearly visible. Yellow glowing eyes with a serpent’s image biting its tail, and skin covered in white scales.

His black hair… rather than a physical entity, it flowed like black ink scattered in water. The Black, that epithet suited him eerily well.

“Call me Angelo. At this moment, no other name holds meaning for you or me.”

[Very poetic.]

“Rituals are usually conducted in verses.”

– Swoosh.

Fernandez slowly drew his greatsword and took a stance. The distance between them was now about ten meters. For a swordsman of Erik’s caliber, that was practically point-blank.

“For the crime of slaughtering your own people as the clan leader, death.”

Adjusting the distance, focusing. Blood blurred his vision, difficult but not impossible. As he shook off the blood from his eyes, Fernandez carefully gauged the distance.

“For the crime of abusing your power to oppress your kin, sacrificing them for power, and ultimately submitting to a demon, death.”

[You dare question my crimes? You haven’t proven yourself worthy.]

His posture straightened. It wasn’t the poised stance of a mammal but resembled a reptile’s attack posture. Like a viper raising its head before striking. He gripped the axe stiffly.

Creak, the sound of tendons straining in their grips seemed audible.

“And for the crime of coercing your father to slaughter his own child, death!”

[Boring, clichéd, and vile. Enough of this play. This is a duel, Angelo!]

– Thud.

His figure blurred. Like a snake biting its prey’s throat, he darted forward with an eerie movement.

– Clang!

And Fernandez charged too. They crossed at a point, greatsword and axe clashing. A near-instantaneous clash, breaths mingling at close range. Fernandez glared into his venomous yellow eyes.

“The defendant’s repentance has expired; the defendant shall not pray. This court sentences you to death!”

[Bullshi…!]

– Bang!!

With a loud noise, his head seemed to vanish in an instant. Fernandez clicked the empty chamber and blew smoke from the Thunder Thrower’s barrel.

-Did it work?

Faijashi muttered in confusion. No, a warrior blessed by Sadarkelisa, taken down by just one shot? Faijashi recalled the humans blessed by the Demon’s Blessing, even Erik at his peak who had once devastated the central continent.

At that, Fernandez frowned.

‘Every time we said that in our past lives, heroes came back alive…’

– Crack.

Before the thought even finished, his body twisted and staggered back, then began to contort strangely.

‘Because of what you just said, it’s starting again. Be careful next time.’

It was a joke, but Faijashi didn’t laugh.