The release of one's world means engraving one's inner imagery onto reality.
Therefore, gazing upon a released world reveals, in plain sight, what one has yearned for throughout life.
“....”
Gilliot looked around at his surroundings.
Nothing had changed.
Explosions were still bursting incessantly beneath his feet, and the plain remained strewn with corpses.
“....”
What had he yearned for?
In that moment when he had forgotten his own name, the ones he had to protect, and the place he was supposed to return to.
Even as his mind crumbled away, what was the will he had clung to until the very end?
“Hmm. No matter how much I think about it.”
Gilliot muttered softly under his breath.
“From the very beginning, there was only ever one thing.”
To protect.
Back then, even who or what he had to protect had been a blur.
Yet he vividly remembered only this: that there was something he must protect at all costs.
At the same time, he had been burdened by the weight that he must never fall.
“....”
Getting hurt was fine.
Pain was something he could endure.
So, if only he could snap the opponent's bones even as his own flesh was torn apart.
If only he could strike down the opponent first before he himself collapsed.
Then he would be able to protect the things he rightfully ought to defend.
That sheer desperation had taken the place of his shattered sanity, engraving his yearning onto the world.
‘Now I know.’
What he had sought to protect were the things his master left behind.
The places and the people that were worth trading his very life for.
At the same time, he felt he understood.
“Flesh for bone....”
Just what kind of power was held within this drab world, which had failed to alter its surrounding landscape by even the width of a fingernail.
Kwaaaaaaa!
Above the blackened earth, a wind of the same dark hue spun like a waterspout.
Diving into its center, Gilliot's speed surged steeply, and—
Silgrim's four eyes darted in all directions, striving to locate Gilliot.
Yet, even through the enhanced vision of a demon, all that could be seen was a jet-black flash lingering like an afterimage.
Clicking his tongue lightly, Silgrim took on a disappointed expression.
—Hmph, whatever. It seems all you have up your sleeve is speed anyway.
High speed was a weapon in and of itself.
One could close in before the opponent could react, and strike before they could raise a guard.
Even with the exact same punch, the difference in destructive power varied drastically depending on how swiftly it was thrown.
Double the speed, and kinetic energy quadrupled.
In Gilliot's case, the speed that multiplied explosively every time he passed through a wind ring was dangerous in its own right.
‘However, that carries a fatal flaw.’
The recoil and shock would strike Gilliot just the same.
The moment he shattered an opponent's bones, that very impact would tear into his own fist.
All the more so if the opponent happened to be harder than he was.
The one breaking apart could very well end up being Gilliot.
Even if one fortified their body with mana, there were inherent limits.
In short: no matter how swiftly one moved, it was utterly meaningless if the body could not withstand the shock.
‘The world release... is it an integration type, not a deployment type?’
Just a moment ago, Silgrim had sensed a faint rift in the world.
That was the hallmark of an opponent unleashing their world.
Yet, nowhere within his deployed Convergence of All Things had any change occurred.
Hence, the conclusion drawn was that the opponent's world was an integration type, grafted directly onto the physical body.
‘It is likely a world that fortifies the body, or one that enhances the destructive force of his strikes.’
Either way, it did not matter.
For he himself held thousands of chances.
Even if he suffered a loss in this clash, he was certain that the one laughing in the very end would be himself.
Just as a smile began to spread across the corners of Silgrim’s mouth at the thought of that future—
“Smiling, are you?”
A voice came out of nowhere from behind.
Instead of answering, Silgrim spun his body around, stirring his demonic energy.
Chwaaaaaak!
Unfurling like a blade, the demonic energy severed dozens of meters behind him, leaving not a trace in its wake.
‘He’s not here?’
Yet, at the very moment Silgrim's brow furrowed, finding no sign of his opponent anywhere—
“Oscar-style Physical Arts, Secret Technique: Chapter One.”
From behind his back.
A technique learned from his master in his youth was reproduced through Gilliot's fist.
“Sound of the Waves.”
A punch unleashed at an unfathomable speed that even his master could never imitate.
The moment the fist, infused with the subtle mastery of explosive force emission, made contact with Silgrim's armor—
The recoil surged up Gilliot’s wrist, and the bones of his arm screamed out.
Normally, it should have ended right then and there.
Losing his own arm as the price for shattering the armor.
For that would be the natural consequence of converting a speed his flesh could not endure into raw power.
“Heh.”
Gilliot chuckled unconsciously.
For the world he had clad himself in, Flesh for Bone, did not divide the toll of that collision equally.
It shoved the vast majority of the recoil meant for him onto the opponent.
Though he had to bear the pain of tearing skin and bursting flesh—
An impact several times heavier became the opponent’s burden.
Jjeo-e-e-e-eong!
Silgrim's back caved in hollow.
His armor was pulverized, and the spine beneath it shattered into fragments.
An unimaginable, piercing agony that did not even permit a scream.
Yet the shock did not stop there.
‘Explosive force...!’
The esoteric principle of transmitting power inward, penetrating far beyond the point of contact.
The kinetic shock, accelerated by the wind rings and pawned off through Flesh for Bone, stampeded through Silgrim's body.
Peo-e-e-e-ong!
His flesh burst apart, scattering into thousands of pieces.
“Phew.”
Gilliot let his arm droop.
From his fingertips, drops of blood fell steadily.
As he moved his wrist, a numbing pain flared up all the way to his elbow.
Though he had inflicted massive damage upon his opponent, he had not escaped unscathed either.
“Still....”
Gilliot clenched his bloodstained hand tightly.
“At this rate, it's doable.”
Squirm, wriggle.
Silgrim's scattered flesh clumped back together, reconstructing his form.
Yet his reaction as he stood there dumbfounded was entirely different from before.
‘...Ah?’
It hurts.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.
Only the thought of sheer, agonizing pain drifted through his mind.
Though his torn flesh had regenerated, the sensation he had felt remained vividly etched within him.
‘Did I... regenerate?’
An agony so immense it was hard to believe he had returned to life.
A primal fear he had never felt since becoming the Master of Death, since drinking the blood of demons—
The fear of pain itself sprouted like a fledgling bud.
—You bastard....
The opponent's yearning had not been some mere physical fortification.
It was an absurd world that redirected a portion of the damage wrought by impact onto the enemy.
—You are out of your mind. That world will not protect you indefinitely.
“I know.”
With a smirk, Gilliot's figure vanished once more.
Silgrim hurriedly wrapped himself in bone and demonic energy.
Harder, so that he would never have to feel that same pain a second time.
“And you're slow.”
Kwa-a-ang!
Before the armor could completely encase his entire body, Gilliot’s instep struck his flank a step ahead.
Kwadedeuk!
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
Crushed ribs shot out like daggers, piercing through his internal organs.
—Guh-urk.
Distant, unfathomable agony.
And before his body could even properly regenerate once more, the opponent's elbow slammed into his temple.
Diiing—
For an instant, he fell under the illusion that the inside of his head had been bleached stark white.
Resurrection, death, resurrection, death, resurrection, death.
In the blink of an eye, having killed Silgrim thirty-seven times, Gilliot leaped far back.
“Whew, your lifespan really is stubbornly tough.”
—Koff, ku-huff!
Silgrim, barely wheezing out a breath through his reconstructed flesh, looked down at his own hands.
Gazing at his trembling hands, murderous intent gleamed within his eyes.
—How dare a wretched piece of trash like you...!
First Oscar, and now even his pitiful excuse for a disciple dared to mock him.
With rage boiling to the crown of his head, streams of demonic energy erupted from Silgrim’s body.
—Kraaaaah!
“Whoa.”
Faced with such overwhelming power, even Gilliot did not dare attempt to close in.
Furthermore, he was slowly reaching his own limits as well.
Flesh for Bone was by no means a world that granted its caster invincibility.
Just then, noticing the gate of the sub-dimension closing, Gilliot parted his lips.
“I'll beat you up again next time. Bye until then.”
Confirming that Gilliot had vanished from sight, Silgrim was struck dumb for a moment.
—Graaagh! Come back! I'll kill you! I'll tear you to shreds ten times, a hundred times more painfully than what I felt! I'll obliterate your very soul without leaving a trace! So come back, I say!
After pouring out curses for a long while, his gaze soon turned toward the fortress.
“....”
From atop the ramparts, Oscar watched the clash between Silgrim and Gilliot.
Right when worry began to mount alongside an anxious heart over having left only Gilliot behind—
—Aaaaaaah!
A colossal roar of fury reverberated, shaking the entire plain.
Immediately following, demonic energy surged forward like a tidal wave, swallowing the city whole.
“....”
Oscar furrowed his brow and surveyed his surroundings.
“Whoa, startled me.”
“What was that?”
“He sure sounds furious, but....”
The soldiers exposed to the demonic energy did not appear to suffer any immediate harm to their bodies.
It was right as Oscar was pondering the intent behind the demonic energy that had just showered down.
“Wow, look at that old geezer's temper. He really is no joke, huh?”
Right beside him, the voice of Gilli, who had been fighting Silgrim just moments ago, rang out.
“Gilli! Are you alright?”
“Yep, well. I think the trade-off wasn't half bad for this much... or was it?”
Gilliot chuckled sheepishly, showing his dangling, limp arm.
“You foolish brat!”
“Ouch!”
Thwack!
Gathering a gust of wind, Oscar smacked him on the forehead, making Gilli blink his eyes rapidly.
“M-Master hit me! What was that for?!”
“You said you were only buying time! Why did you fight until your body ended up like that?”
“Well... thinking about how that old geezer picked on Master and the uncles just got me heated up.”
Scratching the back of his head, Gilliot constantly watched Oscar’s expression.
He looked just like a large dog walking on eggshells around its owner after making a huge mess.
Watching him, Oscar let out a sigh as if he lacked the strength even to stay angry.
“I'm telling you to take care of your own body. Worrying about others always comes second.”
“Ayy, alright, so stop being mad, Master, huh? I'll keep it in mind.”
Even after receiving a harsh scolding, acting so affectionate and sly was just as it had been during his childhood.
Despite now standing taller than Oscar himself, seeing him walk on eggshells made Oscar's heart ache again for no good reason.
“...Don't ever do that again.”
“Okay, I won't do it again. I want to return in one piece too, you know.”
Gilliot smiled awkwardly.
“I want to see for myself how much that punk Sasha has grown, and Lloyd... I heard that guy came back too, right? I heard Master talking.”
At those words, a faint smile graced Oscar’s lips as well.
With Gilliot's return, all of his disciples could truly gather together in one place at last.
“Yes, let’s have a delicious meal while chatting together, just like old times.”
“Naturally. I'm going to make Sasha do the dishes.”
“That kid is a Magic Tower Master now.”
“Ahem, come now, Master. Once a senior disciple, always a senior disciple. If I tell her to jump, she'd better ask how high.”
Only then did Oscar slowly take in the sight of Gilliot chattering away with excitement.
Though his outward appearance was identical to when he had been the Mad Fiend, merely having clarity in his eyes and expressions on his face made him look like a completely different person.
‘He really has returned.’
Only now did that reality feel entirely tangible.
Oscar lightly patted Gilliot's uninjured arm.
“Let's get you treated first.”
“Master is coming along too, right?”
“I....”
Gilliot's eyes narrowed.
If Oscar said he would go later, he looked ready to throw back the exact words used to scold him just moments ago.
“Alright, let's go together.”
“Of course we should! How is Uncle Maxim doing?”
“He's receiving treatment. They say his life isn't in danger.”
“That's a relief.”
Right as Gilliot, smiling with satisfaction at last, was about to step down from the fortress walls—
“Kyaaaaaah!”
A piercing scream rang in their ears.
This was not a sound coming from the direction of the plains.
“What is the matter!”
Sir Gerud, who had been surveying the battlefield during the lull, rushed forward with a shout.
Then, a woman came stumbling toward them from the direction of the city streets, bleeding.
“C-Corpses! Sob... The corpses are walking around!”
“What did you say?”
Looking at Gerud's grim expression, Oscar stepped closer and asked.
“Weren't all the corpses that entered the city supposed to have been burned?”
“They were certainly burned. I even verified it with my own eyes....”
The siege golems had been slain.
The heaps of corpses they had thrown were all burned as well.
Yet, for corpses to be roaming inside the city meant....
—Aaaaaaaah!
Silgrim's wrath-filled roar continued to echo even now.
Fixating on that sound, which sounded almost like a mournful wail, Oscar suddenly spoke.
“What about the cemetery?”
“...What?”
“Did you burn the bones and bodies buried there as well?”
“No, going so far as that is....”
Seeing Gerud's reaction, Oscar's face darkened severely.
The demonic energy Silgrim had released a moment ago, the incantation-like chanting voice, and the corpses appearing within the city.
Connecting all the pieces together, Oscar opened his mouth.
“Which direction is the cemetery located?”
“It is near the South Gate.”
The moment he heard that answer, Oscar squeezed his eyes shut.
“...Issue an evacuation order to the entire city.”
“What are you talking about? The battle lines are still intact, and we can fight further!”
“It is too late.”
For the corpses in the southern cemetery to have risen and for a victim to reach all the way to the North Gate—
It meant that places unseen throughout the entire city were already teeming with corpses.
Defending the fortress walls held no meaning any longer.
“Gather the surviving citizens in one place. We will evacuate southward using my spatial magic.”
“...Understood.”
Only then did Gerud, having grasped the situation, nod heavily.
If they could only join forces with the Central Army marching north, they would at least be able to shake off the pursuit.
Oscar let out a heavy sigh.
Despite their desperate struggle on this front, Ferbache would soon fall to the legion of the dead.

Comments

Loading...