**Chapter One Hundred Fifty-Five: Disaster**
In the sky above the Holy City, black smoke swirled ominously.
Dead smoke crawled out from the giant pit that once imprisoned the church, slow and steady like a lazy cat that just didn’t want to get out of bed.
Outside the crumbled high walls of the church, not far away, Sword Demon Anacelis set down her bundle with a huff. Tarlasya was sharpening his sword on the side, and up ahead stood Carlos and Sword Saint Ryan—note the very serious manly postures. The old man, having somehow managed to switch weapons in a dramatic flourish, said, “You tall one, and that Sword Demon little girl over there, let me confirm one last time—are you planning to leave now, or is it still okay?”
The two glanced at him, looked up, and then at the looming black smoke, before shaking their heads vigorously.
“You are Tarlasya, right?”
The old man coughed, an impressive deep throated sound given his age. Tarlasya nodded, giving the old man a look that communicated a mix of respect and sadness.
He knew that this “strongest” figure rumored through the ages, a mountain his teacher couldn’t surpass, was on a one-way ticket to the great beyond.
He couldn’t fathom how the old man was suppressing the spread of corruption—it might have something to do with the power of the wind, but clearly, it wasn’t nearly as effective as some of those fabled miracles—at least not enough to completely fend off the creeping doom.
The old man’s chest wound had expanded even more than it had just ten minutes ago.
He could hardly stand without wobbling like a freshly hatched duckling.
“You’re that Meteor Shower’s disciple?” the old man inquired.
Tarlasya replied respectfully, “Yes.”
“Is your teacher settled?”
“Earlier… I already sent her away.”
“Good.”
The old man nodded slightly. “It would be a shame for that battle-hungry successor to d*e here; alive, she could accomplish so much more.”
Tarlasya bit his lip, remaining silent.
The old man didn’t know that Magipanny was in terrible condition. After losing to her own disciple, it seemed her last shred of determination faded like mist at dawn.
When Tarlasya helped her back to the garden, the woman who had terrified countless souls and had only ever lost to the Sword Saint said nothing. She simply gazed at Tarlasya until her breathing gradually ceased.
At that moment, Tarlasya felt an unsettling void.
“Miss Sword Demon.”
Oblivious to the earlier events, the old man turned back to Anacelis. “Have you resolved your matters?”
“Uh-huh.” Anacelis nodded absently.
“Is there anything else you need to do?”
Taking a moment to think, the Sword Demon replied, “I want to learn swordsmanship from you.”
The old man had shattered Michel’s will with just two sword strokes, and it was only then that Anacelis learned of her mother’s fate from his lips.
Her mother had already been turned into an experimental “patient” by the church, dead somewhere in a clinic in Silgaya—her body discarded, along with other deceased patients, tossed onto a mountain filled with hungry wolves. She feared she’d never find even a bone of her mother.
After killing Michel, she felt no ties left.
“Ha ha.”
Upon hearing her words, the Sword Saint burst into a loud laugh. “Good!”
“With this battle ending, whether I’m here or not, you will be my final disciple. If I can’t teach you swordsmanship in person, then head to the Royal City, to the chapel at the Royal Academy. Find that old nun guarding the teachings; she will impart my sword techniques to you without holding back!”
Anacelis’s eyes lit up like fireworks on a summer night.
“Carlos!”
Finally, he called out the man’s name, eyes glimmering with determination as he looked upon Carlos’s sturdy face.
“Master, I’m here.”
“Leah is waiting for you to return, correct?”
“…Yes.” Carlos lowered his head slightly.
The old man observed him for a moment. “So, you must live.”
“Live, then return, doing what you can. Punish the wicked and uphold virtue, but respect the rules. Should you encounter something beyond your capacity, something you know you cannot handle, don’t be reckless; retreat when necessary and protect Leah.”
“This is my final request as your teacher.”
As the old man spoke, Carlos stared down, his eyes once again turning red.
“Carlos.”
“Yes?”
“Can you… cough, cough, do it?”
“…Yes, Master.”
He choked up, lifting his reddened eyes to meet the old man’s gaze.
The old man smiled approvingly.
“Good, good, good.”
He repeated the word thrice as his clear gaze swept across the faces of the three, before turning towards the billowing dead smoke.
“Do you see that ominous black smoke rolling across the sky?”
The old man held his sword with one hand, back toward everyone, solemnly announcing, “The seal of the underground prison can no longer restrain that Mad God. Once the Fire Seed reaches him, whether it leads to a dead end or a glimmer of hope, we will wait together right here.”
“But you cannot just sit here and wait with me. When it’s time for you to leave, if any of you hesitate, I shall become your enemy.”
“Got it?”
The old man glanced back, and all three, including Carlos, nodded solemnly.
A smile crept across the old man’s face.
But the next moment, he took a deep breath, his expression turning grave. “Then it’s settled; let’s brace ourselves for the impending disaster.”
…………
Time seemed to fly, yet crawl like a snail.
They watched the smoke spiral into a denser haze, the sky darkening as if night had fallen early. Thunder churned in the rolling clouds, each peal tightening the already frayed nerves of everyone present.
Unbeknownst to them how much time had passed.
Suddenly, a roar erupted from the distant ground, the yellow earth cracked open like a can of soda gone awry, the fissures twisting and crawling like some bizarre insect invasion while the solid ground began to sink abruptly.
Boom!
Then came a deafening sound, like the world’s worst pop concert, and black flames surged from below, engulfing the ground entirely as a half-decayed skeletal hand exploded forth.
Carlos and the others shuddered, their expressions growing serious as they slowly drew their swords alongside the old man.
“Roar—!!”
Accompanied by an ancient, graceful cry tinged with fury, the next moment, a second skeletal hand clawed its way out. Then came another thunderous boom, dust erupting wildly into the air. Before anyone could grasp what was happening, the black dead body shot up from underground, ablaze with fiery white light, soaring toward the clouds above like a cannonball.
In the blink of an eye, it vanished into the tumultuous billowing above.
Carlos, Sword Saint Ryan, Tarlasya, and Anacelis gawked at the scene, each in tense silence, united in a solemn wait as if expecting something monumental.
Boom, boom, boom…
Thunder rolled once more, and within the black clouds, something appeared to writher.
In less than half a minute, that terrifying, flaming body surged downward through the swarming black clouds!
“ROAR—!!”
With a shriek that felt like it could pierce eardrums, the black monstrosity thrashed in the air. This time, everyone could see it clearly: a creature flying through the air, sporting tattered white wings that looked like they’d been through a hedge backward, colossal enough that even the legendary ogres seemed like mere ankle-biters by comparison—a human skeleton rotting like a mountain, that was the visage of the Mad God.
Atop its head, a ball of scarlet flames crackled ominously.
The Mad God seemed troubled, enraged.
It thrashed in midair, its head shaking violently as if trying to shake off the crimson fire, yet it couldn’t do so. Soon, it crashed to the ground, dirt exploding upward once again, the impact rolling forth a mere two hundred meters from the group. From that direction, they heard a young girl’s voice scream, “Ahhh—!!”
Meanwhile, Ryan’s eyes widened suddenly.
“Active route!”
He shouted in excitement, his previously pallid face flushing a deep crimson as he raised his ordinary sword high. “Then let’s fight!”
With that declaration, without hesitation, he soared into the air, slicing through the wind toward the Mad God and the inferno.
