Chapter 723 - The Explosion of the Dot
His mouth dropped open in spite of himself, but he simply couldn’t help it.
He was trapped in a curse, forced to relive today over and over.
By now, he had repeated the same day hundreds of times; if he added it all up, it would be in the thousands, not the hundreds.
So of course he ended up saying "only."
Anyone who knew the circumstances—someone like the ferryman, for example—would have nodded in understanding.
That makes sense.
But to an outsider who knew nothing of his predicament, it would have sounded completely different.
Provoking someone at a time like this?
Wouldn’t it look that way?
To Enkrid, the single word "only" was only natural, but to everyone else, it sent out a different sort of ripple.
Just a moment ago, Dmule’s overlapping voices were so commanding that even the falling rain itself seemed compelled to worship, making him seem like a being from another world, not this one.
There had been an overwhelming sense of majesty, as if nothing could ever reach him—hands outstretched would never touch him.
But with that one word, "only," he was once again reduced to a wretched soul bound by a decaying corpse, a monster sustained only by spells and potions.
What’s more, he revealed a kind of narrow-mindedness, showing that even mere words could get a rise out of him.
"...I’ll give you this, creature—you’re talented at getting under someone’s skin."
He spoke to Enkrid.
"I’m just a mere swordsman."
Enkrid replied, raising Samcheol. His arm lifted slowly, pointing to one side.
He continued,
"And together with that guy, that makes just two swordsmen."
Shhhhhh.
No one spoke except for the sound of the wind and rain.
The fact that he could make such a provocation in the midst of all this proved just how truly extraordinary he was.
CRACK!
As if impressed by Enkrid, the sky spat out a bolt of lightning. The white flash lit up the surroundings before fading away. The shadows stretching out from his body in four directions returned to their original form, absorbed once more as darkness filled the space left by the departing light. Throughout it all, Enkrid’s posture did not waver in the slightest.
"No wonder they call them the madmen."
Rhinox murmured in admiration.
Enkrid wanted to protest.
That wasn’t something you said as a man who’d just lost an arm but was joking about now only wielding three swords.
But before he could, the House Head spoke up first.
"Now it’s my turn, Enkrid of the Border Guard."
The House Head stood face-to-face with the monster who, through a bizarre cosmetic technique, now had skin like black rock.
Though his entire body was covered in wounds, he still radiated an overwhelming presence.
He looked less like a human and more like a sword forged into the shape of a man—a greatsword brought to life, brimming with the will to fight, blade sharpened and ready.
You didn’t need to ask where the tip of that blade was pointing.
"Don’t worry. We’ve got Rhinox the meat shield right here."
Rhinox chimed in.
"Didn’t that guy once say that one day for others is like ten todays for himseself?"
Enkrid interjected, asking the question, but continued before the other could answer, firing off another in rapid succession.
"Is that why you look so old for your age?"
Risking your life just to taunt someone—at this point, that was hardly an exaggeration.
He was speaking as if reciting some epic poem, but the words themselves were pure mockery.
His talent for provocation was impressive enough to inspire admiration.
Did he really just comment on his old appearance right now?
"I, for one, am blessed with a youthful look."
With every quip from Enkrid, Rhinox couldn’t help but click his tongue.
"What an insufferable bastard—you make me want to tear you apart."
In the tone of the monster Dmule, his anger was palpable.
In all his decades of life, there probably hadn’t been a complete lack of people who looked down on him.
Still, it had been a very long time since he’d heard such words.
Or was this the first time?
He wouldn’t go on and on about his history, but for decades he had lived as if in slumber.
Even before he fell asleep, and after he awoke, he’d been surrounded only by those who praised him.
"Oh, my god!"
"Oh, master, who will become the new god of the Demonic Realm!"
Hescal was the sole one who showed not a trace of fear. Hescal hadn’t approached out of fear, but out of self-interest. Yet even Hescal chose not Yohan, but rather stayed near Dmule, trying to gather a new group around himself. That twisted something inside Dmule. Just because you aspire to godhood doesn’t mean you’re open-hearted. That was Dmule’s nature. He had never spared anyone who had fallen out of his favor. He couldn’t fully trust Hescal either, so he’d placed a restriction on his heart—but in the end, Hescal made a choice Dmule simply couldn’t understand. Words like trust and faith had never existed in his life. He was a narrow-minded man who had never offered trust to anyone. Now, he had become a narrow-minded monster.
"I’ll kill you. No matter what."
Dmule pointed a finger at Enkrid as he spoke.
The patches of skin, rotting in places and elsewhere hardened into black stone, looked hideous.
"What did I ever do to you?"
Enkrid denied Dmule’s accusation.
Well, it wasn’t like it was unusual for someone to show murderous intent toward him, so he wasn’t genuinely offended.
That calm tone he used, even while protesting his innocence, was especially grating.
"Let’s make sure we never meet as enemies."
Rhinox remarked, sounding genuinely impressed.
The House Head drew his sword, his expression void of any trace of a smile.
It hadn’t always been this way over the last twenty years, but Yohan had been forced to split his loyalties within.
For a long time, he had needed to doubt, to cast out, to put people to the test.
The House Head was furious about that fact.
And now, the very bastard who had made everyone within his Family turn against each other was standing right before him. The real source of all these manipulations wasn’t Hescal, but the monster before his eyes. The House Head knew that.
"I should have found you and killed you long ago."
He murmured quietly, and Dmule’s gaze shifted to the House Head as he heard it.
"How arrogant. You bastard."
After all these years searching for the one who had spread curses and disease, they finally stood face to face.
Dmule’s actual period of activity had been extremely short. During that time, his disciples had acted in his stead. If Hescal hadn’t helped him, he would probably still be hiding somewhere, stuck in a vegetative state.
’I woke up a hundred years earlier than originally planned.’
Of course, it didn’t really matter—a little earlier didn’t make a difference. After all, he was glimpsing divinity now. No matter how big the fish swimming in this lake called Yohan got, they were never going to be a real match for him.
That’s why, even knowing things weren’t perfect, he’d chosen to set everything in motion. There was no need for Dmule to teach anymore. It was time for punishment. As he moved his hand, black smoke billowed forth, and worms began to swarm across the ground. Each one was the size of a palm. To call their bite just a sting would be an understatement. Enkrid readied his sword. Rhinox stood, too, supporting himself with his one good arm. Then, from behind everyone, they started to sense someone approaching. No one needed to turn around. It wasn’t the presence of a beast, and right away, a voice rang out.
"Ana Hera is here."
It was the most beautiful woman of Yohan, limping toward them, her helmet missing.
"I tempered my blade for moments like this. Let me help too."
Behind her, a man with a limp joined in as well.
It was Anahera of the Giants, and limping Riley.
"Is that the guy?"
"Hescal was cut down?"
"Is Ragna dead? He can’t die yet. He needs to wait until I surpass him."
Then the other swords of Yohan gathered as well.
"If you lose, I’ll be next up."
Alexandra appeared too, half leaning on Odincar’s shoulder as she placed her arm around him.
"Don’t worry. I’m here, Alex."
Odincar managed to calm the rage that had surged all the way to the top of his head.
It had been a brief time, but he’d grown too.
He used to cross the line during sparring matches—that was his bad habit. But after his time with the Border Guard, he’d lost that tendency. The swords of Yohan gathered. It was to defend the place where they all lived. Their strength had also far exceeded Dmule’s expectations. Even though Medusa and the Cursed Serpent were gone, he never imagined that not a single one of Yohan’s people would die—and that they’d stubbornly stand in his way like this. But Dmule believed that even this didn’t matter. He was alone now, but that wasn’t a problem. Hescal, his so-called disciples—they were all just expendable pieces. He would become a god, the one to open a new Demonic Realm here. All the creatures living across the continent and the empire would praise him for it. As a god, he would establish new laws.
"Protect the House Head."
Enkrid spoke, following his instincts, and then, without even pausing for breath, gave more commands.
"Move to Ana Hera’s side! Karl, cover the rear. Riley, lead your group. Kill every last one of those bugs."
With just a few flicks of Dmule’s hand, insects rained down from the air, and on the ground, golems made of black soil rose up.
Each black mud golem’s fist was as large as a human head. Would they be in for another long, drawn-out fight?
No, it wouldn’t be like that this time. The House Head grabbed a vial, poured the medicine into his mouth, swallowed it, then gripped his sword loosely as he steadied his breathing.
’He’s taking the medicine now?’
It was the medicine Anne had given him He’d heard that the medicine would reduce his pain, even if only for a moment. The House Head had just taken it. That meant he’d been fighting all this time with his body in shambles. Why?
’For this very moment.’
All for this one instant. The House Head, gifted in strategy, had been waiting for this opportunity. Enkrid could sense a different energy in him now, something that went beyond logical understanding. Meanwhile, Dmule summoned insects, golems, and evil spirits flying through the sky, then unleashed disease. The black smoke he spread was itself both a deadly toxin and a plague. Inhaling that smoke would cause tumors to form inside the body, or even blindness. All of Yohan’s swordsmen fell back slightly, starting a battle of attrition.
They dodged the black smoke, cut down the insects, and circled the golems, slicing off their legs to disable them—and if the legs grew back, they cut them off again. So the fight began, and the House Head stood as still as if dead, his sword hanging loose until he suddenly raised it alongside his face. Seeing this, Dmule swept both hands through the air and hurled clumps of black liquid. Each was the size of a human head, and no one wanted to imagine what might happen if those things burst.
"Block them."
The House Head spoke. Enkrid had no idea what knowledge backed that order, but he obeyed without hesitation. Enkrid could sense the shapes of the spells themselves.
That was how he had been able to cut through the walking fire. He’d continued to refine that sense through training with Esther.
’Spells.’
Watching the flow, he gripped his sword and swung.
As Samcheol stepped forward, pulling his left foot back, he slashed through one of the black clumps with a sharp "phwak," splitting it in two.
Splut.
The two halves hit the ground and instantly blended into the dirt, leaving no trace.
The power was borrowed from the master of sulfur, who could dissolve anything it touched. But it was useless now—the core of the spell, the transformation of mana, was disrupted.
"You cut through a spell?"
Dmule was shocked.
Anyone would be.
The cords of mana were being sliced right through.
Was it really possible for a mere swordsman to do something like this?
"How dare you?"
Dmule hurled five more black clumps at him, one after another, and then black smoke gathered behind him, forming into chains that shot out in every direction. Those chains slithered across the ground like nimble, silent snakes, wrapping around Enkrid’s ankles.
Enkrid cut through all five clumps in order. Aside from the fact that they were spells, cutting them itself wasn’t all that difficult. They weren’t fast, and their trajectories never changed. Honestly, they were even easier to cut than the pumpkins Rem threw barehanded.
The chains were much the same.
He could see all the key points where force was concentrated, so he kept moving and sliced through them. He lifted his feet, kicked to buy time, then pulled Samcheol and slashed along the ground.
All his muscles ached, and his head throbbed–
"Keep it light and long."
After trying out an explosion once, he realized he could now draw out Will as thin as threads by restraining himself.
Controlling his Will had become twice as easy as before.
Watching what Ragna did made him want to try those techniques too, but right now, all that mattered was managing to keep swinging his sword.
"Hup!"
Dmule glared at Enkrid.
Nothing was going right because of this bastard.
Enkrid mouthed something, as if he was trying to speak. Was he finally saying he couldn’t hold out anymore?
That he’d reached his limit?
Blood was streaming steadily from his nose—there was no way he was in normal condition.
As he fired off spells, Dmule kept his eyes fixed on Enkrid’s mouth.
Enkrid swallowed the blood that kept welling up and spoke.
A good speaker always makes sure their words are heard clearly by their audience. In that regard, Enkrid was excellent.
He spoke just loudly enough for Dmule to hear.
"What do you think of the fact that it was just two mere swordsmen and a single girl who managed all this?"
He’s saying that here?
"Kiyaaah!"
Dmule let out a furious scream.
Rage surged through him.
As a result, the variety of spells flying his way increased.
Black masses, chains, shadowy hands suddenly shooting up from below.
Some of the raindrops even turned black and morphed into dog-like creatures.
Lightning crackled here and there, but Enkrid dodged deftly and sliced through every spell that could threaten the House Head.
Amidst it all, he was sometimes forced to roll on the ground, soaking his entire body in muddy water; from the fierce movements, shards of fractured Fairy Tribe underwear within him slipped out. Drenched, caked in mud from tumbling, he looked like a half-drowned rat, but even then, Enkrid’s blue eyes never lost their brightness in the darkness.
Just when it seemed he’d reached his limit, the House Head leapt out in front of Dmule.
In that moment, what was Dmule relying on?
The protective spell wrapped around his body?
But one of the universal truths is that faith can betray you at any time.
Isn’t that written in the Holy Scripture too?
There’s a saying in the Holy Scripture: take on hundreds of disciples, and sure enough, one will end up betraying you and selling out their master.
For reference, stories about disciples betraying their masters appear in every Holy Scripture.
They’re frequent in old fables passed down by word of mouth, too.
"Ah."
At some point, Ragna came to his senses and let out a short gasp.
Enkrid focused on what lay ahead as well. He had no strength left to move, his Samcheol planted firmly in the ground.
Rainwater pelted his eyelids, but he couldn’t afford even a single blink.
The House Head—Tempest Yohan—charged forward and swung his sword.
Just once.
He staked everything on that single swing—his past experiences, all his training, even his future.
Light burst from his sword.
Unlike Audin’s holy power, this was a pure embodiment of will.
The light that wrapped around his blade warped and severed the world itself.
This was a sword that could cut through anything.
You could tell the instant you saw it.
And so, the House Head’s sword smashed through every protective spell and struck Dmule, slicing down from his shoulder on a slant, cleaving his body in two.
To the eye, it looked simply as if the flash of light had split apart a hideous monster.
Throughout it all, Enkrid could feel the will within the House Head surging and exploding.
It wasn’t because his senses were anything special.
Will is formless, invisible yet palpable.
But just now, they could literally see it.
Beyond simply making his will visible, the House Head projected its effects outward—like an invisible wind that suddenly tosses your hair, everyone nearby could feel the shift as it swept through.
’Explosion.’
He had detonated his will, too.
The method was just different from Alexandra’s, that’s all.
Experience, instinct, and all the theory honed through training blended together, allowing him to grasp exactly what the House Head had done.
’Point explosion.’
Alexandra, when fighting, always paces herself to some degree—what you might call a "line explosion."
In contrast, the House Head risked everything on a single sword strike.
In other words, it was a style of swordsmanship designed to pour all his strength into one blow.
That must have been his secret technique.
And with it, the House Head slashed apart Yohan’s long-standing nightmare.
Black blood soaked the ground.
The rain fell thinner and thinner, and now even the wind had died down.
Dmule looked down at his own body, half-severed.
Half-rotted organs spilled out onto the ground.
"Why?"
He voiced his question.
The madman who had called himself a god was nowhere to be seen—only an ugly human being in denial of death remained.
At the same time, Enkrid recalled the sword strike the House Head had just delivered, and a shiver ran through his entire body.
To be honest, he’d thought he could win if he fought with everything he had.
’I can’t stop that.’
Watching that sword technique just now, a flash of fear slammed into his mind.
’The continent is vast.’
And that made it exciting.
Enkrid grinned as he watched the House Head’s will and sword, and by chance, Dmule turned and saw Enkrid smiling like that.
Hatred surged up within Dmule’s heart.

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