Chapter 298

The Hero Party in their prime couldn’t exactly be called war heroes.

What they did was slightly different from war.

But you couldn’t belittle them as mere assassins either.

No assassin in the world would draw their sword in broad daylight, appear openly, and engage their target in a full-frontal battle. So, what they did was also slightly different from assassination.

The tales of generals who swept through battlefields alone without reinforcements were much closer to the Hero Party. Until Harmail unified the Demon Race and it grew too large, the Hero Party was the strongest sword of the Church, making demons tremble whenever they appeared.

They did exploit moments of the enemy’s carelessness to identify weaknesses and strategize, but though they called it assassination, the final showdown was always a fair duel of strength, not underhanded tactics. Of course, it was one against four.

But the enemy had the home-ground advantage and countless minions. Meanwhile, the Hero Party was just a small group. By those standards, it was a clean enough victory that no one could call them dishonorable.

*Crack!*

That strongest sword, now restored to its prime glory, charged toward the Death God. The Death God, who had been fighting, was struck by an unexpected whip and fell, showing a look of shock for the first time. It wasn’t because the attack was sudden or unexpected.

‘Huh…?’

He knew. He saw the woman holding the whip, perhaps suppressing her fear, swinging it toward him.

But he ignored it. Compared to the blazing Flame Energy, he thought it was nothing. He underestimated it, thinking the whip wouldn’t even hurt.

Though a Death God, he was fundamentally a child. He lacked worldly experience. Born from intense resentment, his power was immense, and he could toy with ordinary people.

But when faced with an opponent of comparable strength, he could only fight instinctively, like a child, unable to use his power properly. Ignoring the Demon Killer was a mistake he realized the moment he was hit.

“It hurts…!”

The Death God, flung back as if struck by a mace, grimaced and shed a tear. For the first time, his very essence was wounded.

The Demon Killer, a weapon woven by the ancestors of the Western Family using only human power without any divine aid, was a type of magical weapon created to combat evil.

What dwelled within it was resentment akin to the Death God’s—hatred and anger toward evil beings that torment humans. That resentment, being of the same nature as the Death God’s, could naturally harm him.

It was a kind of self-loathing. The suddenly struck child vented his anger, spewing curses. With each blasphemous word, black ink-like symbols formed in the air, drawing a curse.

“Too late!”

But just as the curse was about to complete, a brilliant light like a radiant blade split the spell in two, falling like a guillotine.

Seeing that radiant sword light, the boy’s heart sank. Unlike the Demon Killer, this was his absolute opposite.

“You who should not exist in this world, perish here and now.”

Though in the form of a sword, its essence was pure divinity. A divine artifact woven by the Three Divine Gods, far beyond his comparison, from the faith directed toward them.

Why do people worship the Three Divine Gods? Of course, for a better life. To hope for divine intervention in their lives.

No one worships gods for a worse life. They pray for a better tomorrow, hoping and believing.

The incense rising from that—the wish for a better future.

In other words, hope itself is the source of the Three Divine Gods’ power.

That Sacred Sword, born from that power, was more opposed to beings like the Death God than even demons. In a way, it had finally regained its true purpose.

“Why, why…!”

So, while that light was a bright lamp illuminating darkness for humans,

to the Death God, it was a hypocritical, nauseating, hateful thing unworthy of calling itself light.

“You never showed me that light! Why only me?!”

When I longed for light, you were nowhere to be seen, and now you show up to flaunt your power? When it’s already too late? When I’ve already become a child of darkness?!

Every time the sacred light touched his skin, it stung and caused rashes. But the Death God, ignoring the pain, raised his small hands and glared.

He clasped his hands together like a beast’s maw, trying to catch the descending sword. Each time his hands were wounded, darkness flowed instead of blood, desperately trying to infiltrate the Sacred Sword.

‘This Death God seems to have no experience in real combat.’

But what gods lack and humans have—the difference in fierce battle experience decided the moment. Yurinel Larkponsia was no delicate flower raised in a greenhouse; she had faced crises in her life.

If the sword were stuck like a rock, an ordinary person might panic. But the Hero smirked and tightened her grip on the sword.

At this point, it was a contest of strength, and the stance and situation favored her. There was no reason to let go and retreat.

*Whoosh!*

Moreover,

she wasn’t alone.

“Yurinel, use some strength. You weren’t this weak before. Are you going easy because he’s a kid?”

A whip suddenly flew from behind, binding the Death God’s legs and yanking him. Staggering from the unexpected attack, he barely kept his balance.

His face flushed with anger and shame, but the Demon Killer gave him no respite, tightening around his ankle. His palm burned, and rashes appeared on his ankle.

“He may look young, but he’s no human child. No need to go easy on a Death God. Though you don’t seem to be winning the strength contest either.”

“I thought he’d fall if I pulled, but I guess gods are gods. He doesn’t move like common sense would dictate.”

“Both of you, hold on a bit. I’m preparing a big move.”

Now, the child, on the verge of tears, looked like he’d burst into crying at the slightest touch. It hurt. It hurt so much. He hadn’t felt pain like this since his rebirth.

Seeing the Death God on the verge of tears, Kisea and Leon glanced at each other and shrugged. Feeling a sudden sense of betrayal, they stopped fighting and started chatting.

“He’s… fighting pretty well. No wonder he didn’t run and just watched us fight. I thought they were reckless girls who didn’t value their lives, but humans really have numbers. One of the party members must be a master, huh?”

“If you were going to help, you should’ve done it earlier instead of making us fight so hard.”

Is talent proportional to numbers? Humans have a much larger population pool than beastmen, so even a random girl in a party wielding a sword might be a sword master. Feeling his pride wounded, the gray wolf snorted and turned his head.

“If Roka were here, she’d show the pride of a wolf.”

“Of course, fighting one against three and winning isn’t something to brag about. If our Beast King were here, he’d have ended it alone in one strike. Beastmen have their share of talents too.”

And then, finally, the mage finished her preparations and began casting her spell. Parnell could use most mid-level spells instantly without preparation, but to prepare a spell strong enough to affect a Death God, she needed time.

But if others bought her that time, and she could focus solely on the spell’s calculations without interruption, her one strike could rival anyone in the Hero Party.

“Elemental Finish.”

The strongest spell, passed down through the Citadel royal family, Parnell’s pride.

Not one, but five elemental forces simultaneously reached their peak, harmonizing and resonating to amplify their power.

Fire, ice, wind, earth, and lightning swirled in a vortex, mixing cold and heat, with the earth’s energy seeping in. Dozens of lightning bolts formed and struck the ground.

It was as if nature itself had gone mad with rage. In the past, the Primal Demon King Grimudo had extinguished this spell like stomping out a cigarette, but the Death God was a child. He couldn’t even think of doing the same, pale-faced as he watched the massive spell approach.

“All that chanting for this? I expected an earthquake or something. You got my hopes up for nothing.”

“I thought the weather would change or something. I’m not a mage, so I can’t say much, but it seems like the mage is the weakest here.”

The lion and wolf, having traveled with a dragon, had high standards and whispered among themselves. Hearing this, the Death God’s eyes widened.

Even as a god, he could tell when someone was serious or not.

‘Really…?’

Were humans so strong that they could mock a mage summoning such a spell?

Lacking worldly experience, he couldn’t tell if it was true or not. The Death God trembled. Not because his palms burned from the Sacred Sword or the wounds from the Demon Killer.

Not because of the storm trying to tear him apart, the lightning grazing his body, or the alternating fire and ice burning and freezing him.

“Why… why…”

He thought he had become a being who could toy with the world from above as a Death God,

but in the face of this terrifying world, he realized he was still just a helpless child.

Realizing it,

accepting it,

“Why only me… only us… why do you treat us so harshly? Why?!”

The Death God, who should have been the most fearsome being,

instead felt fear himself.

His very existence was negated.

“I’ll curse you. I’ll curse you! Forever, and ever…”

If these guys appearing just from attacking one party is humanity’s potential,

even if I escape this battlefield, I’ll be hunted down someday.

So, his curse lacked power. It was misdirected. Cursing fire, ice, wind, earth, and lightning—what effect would that have? It was just a dying gasp.

“So, please…”

No matter how strong those elements were, they could only weaken a Death God, not harm his essence.

Conversely, no matter how strong the Death God’s resentment, it couldn’t affect the elements that make up nature itself.

So, he knew. He was cursing the wrong thing. What was cutting him down wasn’t this great spell, but himself.

“I want… to live.”

Having lost his reason for existence, he was self-destructing.

But no one, no matter where he looked, showed pity. He was no longer a human child but a mere Death God. Just a malevolent spirit cursing the world.

“Help me. Anyone…”

And even if someone wanted to pity him, to reach out and save him,

no one could stop a Death God from self-destructing.

A god losing their reason for existence and disappearing cannot be stopped or prevented.

It’s a natural order, something beyond human power to alter.

“I don’t want to die…!”

Struggling against fate, desperately resisting with all his might,

he could only flee from the approaching moment for a little while.

In the end, it was a fight destined to be caught.