He takes his stance. Pulling the sword to mid-level. With a force that could tear the sky in one go. The King’s Greatsword, its dark steel shimmering as if absorbing light.
A strange sensation courses through his veins.
Divinity rejects magic. A priest, especially Diemonica, cannot harbor magic within his body. Therefore. Even if his skill and karma have reached their peak, a priest can never match the power of a perfected warrior.
But—
– Sssss!!
His veins bulge as the divinity within fiercely resists. Yet, he suppresses it. Every moment, he regathers the dissipating magic and channels it anew. One full cycle.
A thread-like flow of magic courses through his entire body.
– Swoosh.
His hair rises on its own. A phenomenon that occurs when a swordsman at the pinnacle prepares for battle. Carefully stepping over a boundary, he takes one step forward.
[Parallel lines.]
Lavirata’s lament echoes. Through the heat of his burning head, faint tinnitus mingles with his hearing.
– Use magic.
Having not cast a single spell today, the reserves of the bronze throne were ample, and Lavirata was weakened from using Great Magic. If he used magic, he could easily defeat her.
But he won’t. Call it arrogance, call him a fool—he won’t use magic.
It’s his conviction.
Faijashi’s life was a gallows. A tragic tale filled with regret. And this moment is another tragedy born from the deeds he carried on. So never… never. Even if there’s an easy, quick, and simple way, never.
This is penance, devotion, and…
[I will oppose you, Savior. Even if our fate leads only to ruin, I will stand against it. Even if you tell me to scoop water with bare hands, I will do so.]
It’s pity.
[I… can never die. My death is not like the deaths of the past. My death would mean the death of all of them. Death? No, if our souls are mere imitations of the past, our end is not death but annihilation. Never… I will never let my people… never… remain as dust beneath the soil, forgotten and decaying for eternity!!]
Pity for those pitiful beings.
“So be it.”
Every moment, his blood rages. Divinity-infused blood boils fiercely, and a heat haze rises from his entire body. Without his extremely precise control of magic, the magic within his body would have already dissipated.
A thread-like magic runs along his veins. Consumed every moment, replenished every moment. Beyond the burning divinity, magic races like lightning.
Fernandez grips the sword hilt, steadies his stance… and charges.
The blade cuts through the air. Straight from the sky above to the ground below.
Immediately, the maids standing on either side of Lavirata leap forward. Lavirata takes a step back, clutching her beastman.
– Screech!
The hawk perched on Lavirata’s throne lets out a sharp cry and spreads its wings. The hawk ascends into the sky, and magic begins to swirl and move.
– Clang!
Fernandez strikes back, pushing away the simultaneous attacks from both sides. The maids’ sword energy was no ordinary force. Two of them cross their arms and draw curved swords, swinging them.
– Clang! Crack!
This is a stalling tactic. Their swordsmanship, flowing with intent, is undeniably refined… but there’s no soul in their blade’s path. In their eyes, glowing beneath their masks, only spirit remains—no soul.
– Clang!
He deflects the blade and pushes back. The light body soars through the air. Simultaneously, he spins, blocking with his sword. Another maid thrusts her curved sword, but it clashes against the greatsword’s blade and is pushed back. He draws a half-circle, pushes forward, and advances.
Three steps to Lavirata. In that time, the maids unleash a flurry of thirty strikes. He deflects them all and takes another step!
[My people will not be forgotten!]
Lavirata’s cry echoes. Fernandez’s blade races toward her neck. Just before it reaches her, in that split second—
Her beastman completes its form, and a powerful magic descends from the sky, piercing into her body.
In that moment.
Everything seems to freeze, in a moment of hyper-extended perception. Fernandez ‘understands’ Lavirata’s beastman.
‘Construction, formation, creation, sacrifice…’
– And illusion. Damn it. Such power…?
‘She formed five seals in that short time?’
The difficulty of magic increases exponentially with each additional seal. Seals are diagrams that combat mages draw with their hands, replacing magical formations. They regulate the flow of magic by substituting the equations of magic circuits with the intertwining of fingers.
Using multiple seals simultaneously means that with each additional seal, the variables of magic passing through the circuits increase arithmetically. From the perspective of controlling all variables, the computational difficulty increases exponentially.
Thus, five seals.
Even taking time to form them, it’s an unstable, high-level spell. To form five in the time it takes to swing a sword once… What she’s doing now…
‘She’s staking her life.’
Regardless of whether the spell succeeds. Spells above a certain difficulty force backlash. Normally, it results in the loss of magical ability due to circuit overload or internal injuries from reversed blood flow. But such a violent spell would burn the soul.
A desperate act with a higher chance of death than success.
Yes. It’s desperation. A refusal to die easily. Lavirata, casting a spell to destroy the city walls, accepting the side effects for a single strike. How vicious must her desperation be…!
– Must stop it.
‘No. Break through.’
But, break through. It’s not confidence or arrogance. It’s karma.
Fernandez pulls back his sword, steadies his stance, and faces forward.
Lavirata’s spell is complete.
And the world turns upside down.
A sandstorm sweeps over the altar like a tidal wave. Fernandez drives his greatsword into the ground, gritting his teeth and holding on. If his grip on the sword weakens even for a moment, he’ll be swept away by the torrent.
– Whoosh…
Sand grains clatter against his armor. The friction is intense enough to spark. His exposed hands and cheeks are already scratched and torn, blood oozing thickly. And soon.
– Whoosh…
The sand stops. Fernandez shakes his blurry vision and raises his head.
The blue sky and vast land come into view.
– It’s an illusion.
‘I know.’
It’s not just a spell. To implant an illusion in him with just a spell would require at least Mumto’s level of power.
Lavirata’s spell is more intricate and cunning, weaving sound, light, magic, and touch.
