Chapter 293: The Final Battle (3)
Raphilem.
The malevolent god of plague and distortion.
Some called him the god of jealousy and resentment, a more refined title, but that didn’t change his true nature.
The grotesque tumors, the size of small hills, spewed pus and writhing masses, leaving no doubt about his essence.
A sea of pus, reeking beyond stench, delivered fragments of flora and fauna to the shore, a testament to his corruption.
Raphilem’s illusory palace was nothing more than a hellscape of endless mutation.
Jealousy and resentment, though elegantly phrased, were mere shadows hinting at the motives behind his transformations.
His extreme envy drove him to mutate himself, unable to bear the sight of anything seemingly more perfect.
And yet, he resented his own imperfection and the unattainable perfection he yearned for.
They say that evil gods and demons, save for the dragon gods, are born from human malice.
Standing in the heart of this great hell, I finally begin to understand what once seemed incomprehensible.
“…”
Breathing in the toxic air that burned and purified his lungs, Dalen lifted his gaze to the distant horizon.
This place, fixed to resemble the original great hell using the power of twenty-six halls, was a hellscape.
Yet, even with the combined power of five or six halls, it wasn’t truly infinite like the original.
‘There it is.’
Dalen’s keen senses had already detected the presence of an exit within the flow of magical winds.
Somewhere beyond the horizon lay the hidden exit, a gateway to other connected halls.
Finding it wasn’t the issue; it was the inevitable clashes along the way that would consume time.
Already, he could sense the hellish entities converging on their group from all directions.
“Heh… This place feels oddly familiar,” Felber chuckled softly, stroking his beard. Lucia nodded in agreement.
“The shadow of hell that the fallen knight Everlock Glastan cast over the Estra Fortress originated from Raphilem’s illusory palace.”
“Indeed. Had we been any slower in dealing with the former vice-captain, he would have posed a significant threat.”
It was a tale from the days when they quelled a rebellion within the Holy Knights.
The vice-captain Everlock, who had conspired with the Witch of Ashes, had seized the knights’ fortresses.
After his initial plan failed, he fled, only to return with the backing of the Blue Scales, launching a massive assault on the knights.
The decisive battle took place at the Estra Fortress, which had been overrun and ruined by demonic forces.
Everlock, who had sold his soul to the evil god Raphilem, had overlaid the outer regions of Raphilem’s illusory palace onto the fortress.
‘If the old man hadn’t helped, it would have been a real headache.’
Even as a mere shadow, it had been a formidable threat to their party at the time.
Experience, no matter what kind, always turns to one’s advantage, making it easier to face again.
Besides, Raphilem’s illusory palace was the one place among the five great hells that Dalen was most confident in dismantling.
In a previous life as the dark sorcerer Dallum Jaivro, he had even taken control of the entire hell.
The challenge wasn’t in confronting the hell itself.
‘How much time do we have left?’
Time was running short.
The twenty-six halls, transformed into the visage of a great hell, were the sixth district of the labyrinthine city.
Enaxagus was now seizing the seventh district, aiming to fully harness its power.
If his plan succeeded, the entire city would become a hell within the encompassing barrier.
A catastrophe beyond comparison to the city’s previous corruption before the miracle of resurrection cleansed it.
‘The nobles of the Golden Palace are rescuing citizens, but… there’s only so much they can do.’
Falcion, a vast city that housed millions even before the influx of refugees, now had a population several times its normal size.
Even transcendents didn’t possess infinite power, and if Enaxagus achieved his goal, there would be no stopping the slaughter.
Millions of souls and bodies would be trapped alive in a hell manifesting in the mortal realm.
Even if the miracle of resurrection could be used again, there would be no saving the city and its people once they became one with hell.
The only option would be to completely incinerate and obliterate it.
“…With something like this in the heart of the city, no wonder it became so horribly corrupted.”
The sound of a sword being drawn pierced through his thoughts.
Dalen turned his gaze. The young man, Parn, was looking at him.
“Dalen, go on ahead. I’ll handle things here.”
“Parn!”
It was Lucia. She grabbed Parn’s shoulder roughly, shouting.
“Are you insane? You think you can face a great hell alone?”
“No, Inquisitor. I’m just buying time.”
“Buying time? Even for you…”
“Lucia Castachald, Inquisitor.”
Parn’s deep, steady voice.
His tone resembled that of Commander Edgar.
“…”
Lucia, momentarily at a loss for words, watched as Parn gently brushed off her hand and stepped back.
His empty sleeve fluttered quietly. With a serene smile, he spoke.
“Inquisitor Lucia, thank you for saving and raising me. Please continue to look after the past me.”
“…”
“But now, I am a Sword Saint. Regardless of the odds or the state of the battle, I must not avoid the battlefield where I belong.”
Step.
He took another step back, distancing himself from the group, and turned toward the sea of pus.
A bright light began to stream from his back.
It was a divine power beyond the scope of holy tattoos.
A power so intense it was visible to the naked eye, purging the toxic air of the illusory palace with its mere presence.
“Dalen.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll hold out as long as I can. Break the neck of that vile god and burn his hell to the ground.”
Parn paused, then spoke again.
“For the downfall of evil and the preservation of humanity. And for your two lives as well.”
“…”
Two lives.
Come to think of it, the young man was from the future.
The grown boy was not much shorter than Dalen. His frame and the density of his strength were far more solid than when he was a boy.
The young mercenary boy, saved from the witch’s sacrifices, had grown to stand shoulder to shoulder with his benefactors.
How many years had passed to produce such a result?
And what had the young man seen, heard, and experienced in that time?
“…Alright.”
There were questions he wanted to ask.
Though he had chosen one path at the crossroads, his desire for the other remained unchanged.
Felber’s spell temporarily anchored the future version of Parn onto the present boy.
The spell that reversed the timeline brought more than just swordsmanship and divine power.
“Don’t overdo it this time. As I said, I can’t save you twice.”
But now wasn’t the time for questions.
Dalen placed a hand on the young man’s head.
Unlike when he was a boy, he had to lift his hand slightly to tousle the glossy blond hair.
The young man laughed, his hair now a mess. His dimples were unchanged from his days as a mercenary boy.
“Don’t worry. When the magic in the spell runs out, I’ll be the first to flee.”
Boom─!
The ground trembled. It was the signal for their parting.
Without a word, Dalen turned his back on Parn and ran. The rest of the group followed, with Lucia bringing up the rear.
“…”
The young man, watching them fade into the distance, loosened his shoulders and raised his sword.
The army of hell was closing in.
Demons and monsters swarmed from all directions like a horde of black ants.
Massive flesh rose from the bubbling sea of pus.
The cyst-covered ground sizzled, spewing out large and small mutants, while the sky was filled with grotesque creatures that seemed to be a mix of all manner of hideous insects.
Even with one eye, it was clear that no matter how many he cut down, they would never end.
“O god of war.”
Facing the endless army, Parn slowly lifted his gaze to the sky.
The divine power that had been swirling within him suddenly cascaded out like a waterfall.
「Domain Fully Unleashed: The Blade of the War God Born from Scars」
Divine power overflowed.
It burned the tainted ground, scorched the air, and distorted the very space around it.
Surrounded by light, the young man appeared like a small sun descended upon the earth.
In response, something rose from the sea of pus.
━!━!━!━!
It roared.
The ground cracked like a spider’s web, and the yellow sea of pus surged like waves, sweeping across the land.
Parn looked up at the massive form that seemed to have been carved from a mountain range and allowed himself a slight smile.
As he raised his sword above his head, he murmured to himself, “It’s been years since I last took down a demon.”
The sword in his single hand sliced effortlessly through the air.
“The Blade That Cleaves Hell.”
It was the light of a sword master, capable of splitting the sea of hell in two.
Finding the exit didn’t take long.
The real problem came after.
The foundation of the hell that had descended into reality was, in fact, the twenty-six halls of the Golden Palace.
What they thought was an exit was merely a bridge leading to another hall.
“This place is…”
[The Great Dragon Hall.]
Naturally, the other halls they crossed into were also swallowed by hell.
Enaxagous had fortified the depths of the Golden Palace by anchoring hell onto clusters of five or six halls.
Before them stretched a crimson sky that once loomed over the Holy Knights.
The cries of hundreds of dragons echoed between the jagged peaks and clouds. Dalen scratched his chin and said, “Didn’t this place vanish when the Dragon God died?”
[Killing a dark god doesn’t completely erase a great hell. It merely weakens it significantly. Left alone, it might fade away or a new dark god might emerge, but this time, Enaxagous seems to have devoured what remained.]
Damn it. Does that mean we have to fight those lizard bastards again?
The silver lining was that, unlike with the Dragon God, they wouldn’t have to face a combined force of thirteen dragon robots.
The dragon army here was just a ragtag group of survivors who had fled or weren’t present during the last battle, hastily reassembled by Enaxagous.
[I’ll handle this. You all move quietly through the valley and find the exit.]
A pair of vertically slit, greenish-brown eyes flashed. Bourbon continued, [For those who have lost even the consciousness of an independent being, there’s no longer a need for the chance of repentance that should be afforded to sentient creatures.]