1085. Talent and Moderate Effort
The succubus saw the witch’s inner self through dreamwalking.
But something was strange. Surely, desire—that is, something like a primal wind—should have been visible, but strangely, something like a ball of fire appeared.
It was a blazing flame. However, fire is amorphous, so shouldn’t it be shapeless?
Why was it clumped together to form a shape? Upon closer inspection, a circular boundary could be seen swaying and blazing, but at first glance, it looked like a round rock made of fire. The
ones targeting Esther were the three shortest members of the succubus group. As they silently watched the rock of fire, the witch’s voice was heard from above.
“It’s ridiculous.”
What? I mean, it was that they dared to try to peer into my inner self by casting a spell.
The moment they used the spell, Esther dug into it in reverse. Although what the succubi used was closer to a supernatural ability, it was fundamentally about drawing the opponent’s mind into an inner world—that is, facing the opponent’s mind within an inner world advantageous to themselves, similar to the spell world.
After realizing that this was the form, Esther looked into the structure and conversely manifested a small inner world to trap the three of them.
Three idiots.
Esther looked at them that way. The ones that crossed over before? No, their true forms are spirits. So, killing them here is the only way to truly kill them.
That was all she had aimed for.
With that, she placed a star in the world she had created. It was a world where something she had recently seen with great impression in many ways had taken center stage.
Then, something sprouted with a crunch next to the fireball. It was shaped like a bird’s wing.
A beak appeared, and its body grew larger. The bird of flames glared and pecked at what had entered the mental world.
“Oh, it’s not a rock.”
One of the succubi spoke. Indeed. It was not a rock, but a bird made entirely of fire.
Bang! Whoosh!
The flames quickly consumed the three succubi. There was absolutely no room for resistance. Suddenly, a phoenix spread its wings, enveloped them, and burned them; there was nothing to dodge and no chance to escape. Their spiritual bodies burned to ashes, and a terrible scream erupted.
Screeeeeee! The screams of the three were truly identical.
That’s fun.
Esther muttered as she woke up. Sinar had just woken up beside her as well.
If the witch had, in turn, carried three succubi, the remaining four were even more bewildered.
They had entered the fairy’s inner self and glimpsed her desires. However, those desires were peculiar.
They were human. Men with black hair and blue eyes. That was the fairy’s desire; fairies live their lives through training from childhood to never reveal their emotions outwardly.
Consequently, the feelings that were not outwardly expressed had simply accumulated inside.
Among them, Sinar was a particularly special being.
The succubus blinked at the sight of the man’s form.
“This is desire? What is this?”
The four questioned, but no answer came back.
“You said you missed me?”
Sinar, having awakened in her inner world, asked, “This is my own desire.”
A shadow, having grown for as long as she had called herself someone’s fiancée, had trapped the four of them.
The reality of the story she had dismissed as a joke was pressing down on them.
Sinar opened her eyes, pulled out the spirits, held them at a suitable height, and took a few steps forward. Since their spirit bodies were captured, it would be the end if they died. She walked steadily forward and swung her sword, striking their necks.
In the meantime, the three standing beside her suddenly burst into flames and vanished. It was not spontaneous combustion, so one might wonder why their bodies suddenly caught fire, but it was, of course, the work of Esther’s touch.
Spells are sometimes called miracles, and this was indeed a miracle, if you could call it one. For the succubus, however, it was misfortune, bad luck, and a catastrophe.
It felt futile, yet in a way, it was inevitable.
A succubus is a being that preys on the gaps in one’s will. However, thanks to the mad knight who had been with them until now, the willpower of the other two was formidable as well.
Therefore, this result was only natural. Even the Pure White Destroyer would have nodded in agreement. One
could say it was just as Rem had guessed and predicted. His insight was indeed extraordinary. The Witch and the Fairy easily subdued the Nightmare.
However, it could not be said that there were absolutely no losses. Esther’s flow of magical energy wavered slightly as she cast the spell to summon the Bird of Flame, and Sinar, having spent his entire life concealing his emotions, felt a bit awkward as he confronted his inner desires.
In a way, neither was a big deal, but in battles between high-level fighters, such minor details often played a significant role.
It was similar to how a skilled swordsman’s ability diminishes just because a fingernail is slightly chipped.
Yet, neither of them showed it outwardly. After all, the Seven Nightmare was dead.
Coincidentally, the battle at Dunbakel had just ended.
The four of them, including Rem, looked at each other before turning their gaze back forward. The Fairy crossed her arms, her cloak fluttering, while Esther cast an invisible veil, finding the rain unpleasant.
That was the end of it. The seven succubi could not wear down the two’s mental or physical strength, nor could they plant seeds of misfortune to torment them. They merely made them slightly uncomfortable.
* * *
Ragnar judged that his opponent was a truly formidable fighter. But was that a problem?
In terms of agility and strength alone, he was slightly better than him.
The strange thing was, even so, he didn’t feel like he would lose.
‘why?’
It wasn’t something to agonize over deeply. The answer came easily. It was entirely thanks to Encred. No, to be honest, it was because of Encred and the entire Knights, but Ragnar had absolutely no intention of admitting that himself.
He thought that if that were the case, dying might be better.
Whatever the case, his opponent was confident of victory, but to Ragnar, that seemed a bit ridiculous.
Being a little faster and a little stronger meant little, and his opponent didn’t realize that.
Ragnar had already learned this from countless battles against opponents faster and stronger than himself.
However, in a way, this moment was an opportunity. Ragnar observed his opponent’s swordsmanship and, going even deeper, identified even their habits.
Being ill-mannered is a habit.
He is someone who seeks the best path in everything. Should I say he certainly has reason to be confident?
It was a talent where defeat was hard to imagine in ordinary circumstances. And that is especially true when combined with a moderate amount of effort.
My nickname was “Undefeated.”
The opponent spoke. Ragnar did not show his expression, but inwardly he thought differently.
After all, wasn’t that before they met?
If there was a singularity, perhaps it was the way the True Silver Armor moved on its own as if alive, creating another blade to stab. Just as
the True Silver Armor—or more precisely, the blade rising from its abdomen—pierced Ragnar’s stomach, Ragnar struck down Ilchul instead of dodging.
The relatively slower one dies. No, the one with less resolve dies.
Ragnar showed not the slightest hesitation, and Skar, unwilling to lose again here, pulled his body back slightly.
That decided the outcome.
The blade split Skar’s head open.
Whoaah!
The rainwater, which had been constantly repelled by the collision of the two, was pushed in all directions once again. The heat and light radiating from the sunrise split the guy’s helmet.
“……you.”
The guy with the head split in half vertically muttered.
It was a remark filled with meaning. Why did the guy who had been constantly losing become faster and tougher at the last moment?
That must have been the most crucial question.
“what.”
Ragnar didn’t kindly tell me the answer.
What would I need to know? He’s a guy who’s going to die anyway.
Moderate effort.
Talent and moderate effort.
Those are the characteristics my opponent has demonstrated. Then what about me? I did not merely do moderately; I combined it with bone-cutting training. I will not stop just because I won today, and I will continue to do so in the future.
How could I possibly be idle and lazy when the fellow who surpassed me is swinging his sword like a madman right beside me?
“Ah. Father.”
Skar muttered and closed his eyes. In truth, he was already half-dead; it was merely a corpse that the Father of the Dead had stitched together to barely make it move. As
it was cut by the sunrise, flames erupted and it burned.
Whoosh.
Flames rise from his entire body. He burns. The flames of sunrise burn away evil. For
the flames born in the east are inherently voracious enough to devour darkness and burn even the blue light of dawn.
Hiss.
Steam rose from the falling rain.
Ragnar kept his pure Will hidden until the very end, using it only for the final move. Strictly speaking of the technical and tactical aspects, he won by concealing a power that defied his opponent’s expectations and then revealing it. So, was this fight difficult?
It’s not that bad.
He was sincere. Although the dead Skar’s body was completely burned, parts of his armor remained. They
were the gauntlets, shoulder pads, breastplate, and greaves.
Ragnar picked up the armor pieces, which had cooled with a hissing sound in the rainwater. Perhaps because the rainwater was lukewarm, the armor was still warm.
However, it wasn’t enough to cause burns. He couldn’t just leave them behind, as they looked like valuable items at first glance, so he took them. It wasn’t because he felt it was a waste or was weighing the reasons; it was a reflexive action. After
all, good weapons and armor are important even for a knight. As he
gathered the armor pieces, Ragnar thought, “
It’s going to be a lot of work to carry these one by one.”
He stacked the four armor pieces over each other, took off his cloak, placed it on top, and tied the four corners of the cloak like a bundle.
Brushing back the clattering bundle and his hair falling down due to the rain, he returned to where the captain had been earlier to find everyone finished fighting and watching. In the center of it all, the captain, who was clearly thrilled, was fighting a demon.
Bang!
The glaive slammed the ground, and the scythe cut and tore through everything around them.
Only Encred was cut, not torn.
Black lightning struck intermittently between the two, though it had been happening for some time, and it was all aimed at Encred.
Strangely, the thought of helping didn’t cross my mind at all.
Ragnar roughly covered his stomach with his hand. There was a little blood, but it wasn’t a fatal injury. His internal organs weren’t damaged.
Even if he wanted to apply the medicine Anne had given him, the rain would have to stop first. He wouldn’t collapse from something like this, so he felt fine right now.
Just as he was becoming a spectator, Saxen approached from the side.
He was limping on one leg, as if he had also been in quite a rough fight.
Are you hurt?
Ragnar asked. Saxon, who had been looking at him as if to say “what does it matter?”, turned his gaze toward his stomach.
It was a look that seemed to say he was better off than having a hole in his stomach.
It is Gyeongsang.
It was an answer that came out without a breath after Ragnar spoke. Saxony answered just as unhesitatingly.
“me too.”
The two turned their gaze straight ahead.
While the others fought, Saxon did his job. In other words, he killed the enemy. To be precise, he mixed his will with the air and rainwater and dispersed it. It was more exhausting than expected, but all he had to do was pinpoint the enemy’s location.
The assassins were ten fairies and humans, completely naked. He also saw a man with his genitals exposed but with nothing to run, and a woman who had cut off her own breasts.
It was a common practice in the world of assassins.
Those who sacrifice parts of their own bodies to erase their presence and kill.
Those who do not hesitate to die after killing their opponent.
It may be gruesome, but Saxon had already fought against such individuals many times. After all, raising assassins is not much different whether in the demon realm or among humans.
There is no God in this world.
Nine died silently, but one man died muttering those words.
The fight itself was brutal, but the process was simple. He sought them out, chased them, and either beheaded them or stabbed them in the heart.
In the process, three of his well-used daggers broke, and his thigh, struck by paralyzing poison, was slashed once.
That was all. However, Saxon fought openly rather than concealing his presence with the intention of dealing with them quickly, and he attributed the majority of his victory this time to the experience he had accumulated in the Order of the Mad Knights.
Still, like Ragnar or Rem, he was not the type to say those words himself.
“this guy!”
The demon let out a scream filled with rage right in front of us.
Anyone with eyes could have seen it, and the fight was going in one direction.
The one with the advantage was not the demon who had reigned over everyone in terror until now, but Encred.
Let’s do more.
He parried the enemy’s chain sickle today, caught his breath, and spoke. The gleaming blue blade sliced through everything that approached, sending a vivid sensation just by looking at it.
He was truly a formidable captain bastard. Rem, Ragnar, Saxen, Sinar, Esther, and Dunbakel all shared this sentiment.
After all, he was already overwhelming the demon even while fighting it.
