Demon Slayer (1)
Buildings that had been precariously standing began to collapse into the street with a thunderous crash.
Amidst the rising flames and falling debris, the elder of the First Prince’s faction grimaced.
It wasn’t the pain from his severed left arm that bothered him. With his regenerative abilities, a single potion could easily restore even a lost limb.
No, it was the identity of the one who had thrown the axe that caught him off guard.
“So, he was an acquaintance of Craig’s.”
He had been completely deceived. Only when they were face-to-face did he realize.
A man a head taller than most, with the muscular build of a northern barbarian. His black eyes and hair matched the description of that warrior perfectly.
And the way he wielded a holy sword and hand axe in battle.
There was no doubt. This was the warrior who had killed the elders of the Third and Fifth Prince’s factions and disrupted the grand plan to summon Kalkas.
“Dalen, the Platinum Mercenary.”
Whoosh—!
A sudden gust of wind cut through his thoughts, clearing the smoke and flames to reveal a spear thrusting toward him.
Clang!
The elder instinctively raised his sword to deflect it. Even though he didn’t block it head-on but rather parried it, his hand tingled from the impact.
“What strength…!”
He was naturally strong due to his lineage, and with the power of the evil god enhancing his physical abilities, he could wield a nearly two-meter-long greatsword with one hand effortlessly.
Yet, he was clearly outmatched in strength.
The man, having withdrawn his spear, raised an eyebrow and asked, “You’re holding up well. Are you an elder?”
“I am Papasha Karimov, elder of the First Prince’s faction.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell. I don’t remember all the NPCs’ faces and names.”
The man spoke with a smirk, mixing in words that made no sense to the elder, before charging again.
Crash!
In the blink of an eye, their weapons clashed repeatedly, intertwining in a dance of steel.
They attacked boldly, parried skillfully, and mixed in feints and counters, each aiming for the other’s throat.
The gap in skill became apparent in less than a minute.
“What… physical abilities…!”
The man’s spear skills weren’t particularly refined, as if he hadn’t been practicing for long.
Yet his strength, speed, and instincts more than compensated for it, allowing him to surpass the original techniques he was mimicking.
Boom!
The elder was struck in the chest by the spear shaft and sent flying. He barely regained his balance, landing on all fours like a beast.
“Ugh…!”
He coughed up dark, clotted blood, unable to even wipe his mouth as he looked up at the warrior.
“You’re tough. Even before receiving Suum’s blessing, you weren’t an ordinary human. Judging by your instinctive stance and quick swordplay when off-balance… a werewolf, perhaps?”
The man’s emotionless words hit the mark, causing the elder to curse internally.
‘Damn, this is a mess.’
Information about the man before him flashed through the elder’s mind.
A Platinum Mercenary, rare even across the continent. But his true reputation far exceeded that of a mere mercenary.
He had slain demons, thwarted a rebellion within the Holy Knights, executed witches, and even beheaded a true dragon.
He was revered by the Holy Knights and the Tsar’s special forces, and rumored to have close ties with the Golden Palace.
Rumors said he had broken through the third rank within months of establishing his domain, and his abilities had already surpassed the threshold of the fourth rank.
‘Can I win?’
In the brief moment of respite afforded by the man’s nonchalance, the elder questioned himself.
His regenerative abilities were such that his broken ribs were already healing, and in his werewolf form, his physical prowess would increase by half again.
His swordsmanship rivaled that of the Tsarina’s personal guard, and his mental fortitude had long reached the fourth rank.
He was confident he wouldn’t easily fall to a low-ranking demon, yet he couldn’t be sure against the man before him.
‘But…’
The elder recalled his vow.
The First Prince, exiled from the Eclahim Palace, was the rightful heir to the throne.
The elder had sworn to protect him at all costs, even if it meant sacrificing his body and soul, or half the population of the Tsar’s kingdom.
‘Even if my soul is damned and this land becomes a demon’s domain, the rightful throne must be reclaimed.’
Crack! Snap!
With his resolve, his body began to transform. His limbs elongated unnaturally, muscles bulged, and sharp fur sprouted all over his body.
But that wasn’t all. The elder, who had sold his soul to a demon, had eyes that burned with a dark crimson flame.
‘I can win. At the very least, I can hold him off!’
Howling—
He signaled the elite soldiers surrounding the area with a long howl and charged at the man in his werewolf form.
The space around them began to ripple with an otherworldly energy.
“So, he is a werewolf.”
Watching the werewolf charge with a sword in hand, Dalen grinned fiercely.
Standing nearly three meters tall, with ash-gray fur as tough as metal.
Though it had been nearly three years since he had fallen into this world, this was the first time he had encountered a true werewolf.
The masculine form of a werewolf had always impressed him from behind a monitor. Even as he reminisced about the past, Dalen’s mind naturally devised dozens of strategies against his opponent.
He instinctively drew upon his mental energy and extended his spear. The first step was to gauge the amplified strength of his foe.
Boom!
The sword and spear collided. This clash was different from before.
Where Dalen had previously overpowered the elder with strength and the elder had deflected with skill, now they exchanged seemingly equal force, pressing against each other.
‘The strength of a werewolf. And he sold his soul to an evil god. The power flowing from Suum’s hell drastically enhances physical abilities.’
It wasn’t just strength that was amplified. Regeneration, agility, reflexes, and senses were all significantly improved from just moments ago.
The regeneration, in particular, was not quite at the level of dragon’s blood, but it surpassed the Dalen of the past, who had only a fraction of that power.
Rip! Crack!
Torn skin and dislocated bones healed quickly, and even the left arm severed by the hand axe’s explosion regenerated with ease.
“Raaah! You cannot stop the rightful heir to the throne!”
The creature howled like a beast, its roar causing the surrounding space to visibly ripple.
A massive, invisible wall seemed to enclose Dalen and the werewolf, isolating them.
It didn’t take long for Dalen to realize what was happening.
By offering his soul to the evil god, the creature had imperfectly opened a domain.
“Domain Unleashed: The Final Duel of Twisted Loyalty”
Rumble—
The wide street fell under the creature’s domain. Dalen instinctively fired a flame arrow, but it was blocked by the invisible wall and dissipated.
It wasn’t a clash of power but rather a conceptual isolation of space itself.
The werewolf, breathing heavily, spoke.
“Grrr, my domain embodies the duel with a nemesis! You will fight only me!”
As soon as the creature finished speaking, grotesquely twisted soldiers emerged from the alleys, surrounding the hall.
The soldiers, clad in armor that seemed fused to their bodies, with thick horns and hard shells protruding from various parts, wielded serrated weapons and closed in on the survivors, including Bjorn and Akasha.
Even for Bjorn and Akasha, protecting all the survivors while facing over three hundred abominations and monsters was a daunting task.
The werewolf smirked, baring its long teeth.
“Your comrades and the filthy Tsarina’s lackeys will not escape this place!”
There was no need to respond to the creature’s mocking laughter.
Dalen briefly released his grip on the spear with his left hand and formed a seal in the air.
The concept of a domain that limited the scope of battle was intriguing, but ultimately, that was all it was—intriguing.
Compared to the Witch of Vines or the Ever-Changing Face, or even the domain he had temporarily opened himself, its power and scope were lacking.
It was a narrow-minded domain, a power unworthy of its wielder.
“So, killing you solves everything.”
With those words, he casually waved his hand, twisting the wind of magic.
“Ice Crystal”
It began, as always, with a bloom of ice.
But this time, he layered a new spell on top.
“Living Roots”
The spell Dalen had learned from the introductory magic book on plant-based sorcery began to take root, seamlessly blending into his consciousness.
“White Root.”
With a crackling sound, the roots of white crystals rapidly spread across the ground. They climbed the walls of the isolated space, filling the ceiling and forming a massive dome that trapped the two of them inside a white prison. The werewolf’s jaw dropped in disbelief.
“Isolating your most dangerous enemy was a smart move, but you should have known that the more confident a decision, the more likely it is to backfire.”
Normally, Dalen wouldn’t have used such a wide-range spell for fear of involving the survivors behind him. But with the space now isolated, he could unleash his magic without restraint.
The werewolf realized too late that the trap he had set to prolong the fight against a formidable opponent had instead ensnared him, hastening his defeat. In a battle where every second counted, a wrong decision could have catastrophic consequences.
“Bind.”
With a simple command, not even a chant or gesture, the roots began to dance. They shot out like arrows from all directions, even from the ground and sky.
“Raaaargh!”
The werewolf resisted, his eyes blazing with fury, but each time he shook off the encroaching roots, more wounds accumulated on his body. The sharp crystals scraped his skin, and the cold seeped into his flesh, slowing him down. Despite his overwhelming strength, his once-precise swordsmanship devolved into wild, desperate swings.
Dalen moved in, his spear imbued with icy energy, extending its shaft as he maneuvered through the writhing roots. He struck with precision, weaving through the chaos.
“Argh!”
Amidst the barrage of attacks, the werewolf couldn’t distinguish the disguised strike. He had no time to clutch his bleeding side before he was forced to swing his sword again in a relentless defense.
Thud!
A follow-up strike pierced his back, impossible to block or evade. Dalen continued to weave through the living roots, exploiting every opening.
Realizing he couldn’t continue like this, the werewolf tried to protect his vital areas with a hardened shell. But he couldn’t cover his entire body, and his slowed movements only invited more injuries.
Thud.
Eventually, the werewolf, battered and torn, fell to his knees.
“Grrr, grrr…”
As the werewolf was completely subdued, the walls of the space began to dissolve, and the roots that had adorned them collapsed without support.
The werewolf looked up at the now open view and managed a strained smile.
“Heh, but… your comrades are already facing the elite soldiers and monsters blessed by the gods…”
His lips trembled as he spoke, for the scene before him was not what he had expected. The survivors and Dalen’s group had been herded into the town hall, surrounded. Even a fortified hall was no match for the might of the giant monsters.
Yet, the elite soldiers and giant monsters were all facing the opposite direction, towards the darkened street where dozens of radiant paladins stood.
“What about the monsters?”
Dalen chuckled, waving lightly at the paladins. The lead paladin, a blonde woman, hesitated at his gesture but soon composed herself and raised her sword.
“Brothers—”
Her voice, amplified by divine power, echoed through the village, causing the monsters to instinctively recoil.
“Annihilate the evil before you!”
With a command filled with resolve, the paladins spurred their horses forward.
Thundering hooves shook the ground, and the light of divine power intensified. The heavily armored cavalry, a devastating force in this era, charged with the added might of divine power, a wave of light erasing all shadows.
Screeches and roars filled the air as the darkness surrounding the town hall was swept away. The rebels and monsters were trampled under the hooves, reduced to mere flesh.
Witnessing his plan unravel before his eyes, the werewolf let out a cry of despair.
“No, it can’t be! The rightful Tsar’s…”
“Justifying murder of your own people, what a joke.”
Before he could finish, a silver spear severed his head.