Chapter 222

Chapter 222
## Chapter 222: Insects, Bow Your Heads

Whoosh!

A radiance of snow-white blade energy enveloped Serengeti’s frame.

In sharp contrast to that luminous display, her breathing was labored and heavy.

‘He is powerful.’

She had successfully overcome four of the knights; now, only the final opponent remained.

Yajam, the King Slayer!

His strength was every bit as formidable as the stories claimed.

In fact, he surpassed his own legends.

The tales whispered of how he had claimed the lives of three monarchs, presenting their severed heads to King Friedrich as trophies. To have pierced through the protective circles of countless guardians alone to execute a king was absolute confirmation that his mastery of the sword had reached its zenith.

“From whom did you receive your training?”

“……”

Much like Serengeti, Yajam the King Slayer found himself genuinely astonished.

He had not anticipated meeting anyone in the mortal lands capable of parrying his strikes to such a degree.

This assessment didn’t even account for the celestial stars she had absorbed.

It was Serengeti’s fundamental swordsmanship that moved him.

It was leagues beyond the mediocre fighters he had cut down on various battlefronts until now.

Yajam was a perfectionist who had polished his craft without a moment’s reprieve. Even the most celebrated swordmasters had failed to provide him with true satisfaction.

“Your mentor must have been exceptionally gifted with the steel, it seems. However, your education was flawed.”

“……”

“You are mimicking a style, but it is unrefined. Is it the fault of the teacher for imparting a technique impossible to grasp, or the failing of the pupil who cannot keep pace despite the lessons?”

Yajam cocked his head to the side.

The swordsmanship was undeniably divine in origin, yet its execution and framework were strangely rudimentary.

It appeared as though it had been only partially absorbed.

A commoner would naturally struggle to even process it, but a practitioner of his caliber could detect the inconsistencies instantly.

‘In these circumstances, the instructor is usually the source of the issue.’

It seemed evident that the teacher was either overly ambitious or had failed to provide proper guidance.

Tsk tsk.

Yajam gave a soft click of his tongue.

“I am unaware of who your master might be, but……”

“I was never taught.”

“Then how?”

“I simply copied it through my own efforts.”

Serengeti spoke with total honesty.

The blade she danced with and the strikes she unleashed were not born of her own creation.

She was merely a mimic, recreating the “Heaven-Earth Rending” technique utilized by Wilhelm.

“You cannot defeat me through the imitation of others, girl.”

Yajam’s voice carried a hint of genuine pity.

He could sense it through the vibration of their clashing steel.

Serengeti’s ceiling was far higher than this.

She possessed the capacity for immense growth.

With the right guidance to unlock her potential, she would ascend to the heavens like a soaring raptor.

She represented a brand of natural talent Yajam had never encountered.

For a self-taught imitation, her grasp of the foundational logic and physical forms was staggering.

‘A prodigy of this level requires a peer of equal standing to truly evolve.’

Not a man like him, and certainly not her original inspiration.

A genius who could deconstruct a system and manifest the entire structure just by watching—such a person shouldn’t exist in this realm.

If she had been paired with an adequate mentor from the beginning… considering her innate brilliance, she might have already eclipsed him by this point.

“Nevertheless, let us provide our full effort. We shall struggle until the breath leaves one of us.”

Yajam shifted his grip on his hilt.

Her wasted potential was a tragedy, but as they stood on opposite sides of a conflict, he was obligated to end her life.

Such was the nature of combat.

“……”

“……”

The assembled masses were paralyzed in silence.

Even with ten thousand souls gathered, not even the rustle of a cloak or the sound of a breath disturbed the air.

They were captivated as never before.

By the duel between Serengeti and Yajam.

By the collision of those two radiating lights.

It did not appear to be a contest between mortals.

It felt more akin to…

“A war between deities……”

Should gods go to war, the spectacle would surely look like this.

Serengeti stood as the champion of triumph.

The maiden who would restore optimism to the Kingdom of Ballan after a long string of losses!

“…… Marquis Wyzer.”

King Ballan’s voice was a low murmur.

He was equally stunned, yet he found he could not remain quiet.

“…… Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Forgive me. I lacked the wisdom to recognize true talent.”

King Ballan confessed his failing.

The mightiest warrior within the borders of the Kingdom of Ballan was not Batus, the champion of Duke Saiyen, nor was it his personal defender, Abdullah.

It was Serengeti.

What might have happened had he deployed Serengeti from the very start?

Perhaps Batus would still be drawing breath, and Abdullah would not have been maimed.

Remorse surged through him, but the moment had passed.

He had no one to criticize but himself.

It was a failure of his own perception.

“No, Your Majesty.”

Marquis Wyzer quickly shook his head in protest.

However, King Ballan was not the only one who had miscalculated.

Ever since Serengeti unveiled her true strength, the young Duke Saiyen had become as silent as a stone.

He kept his gaze fixed on the ground, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

A warrior of a level that made the likes of Batus look like a child.

Even a legion of Batuses could not weigh against the value of a single Serengeti.

But the Duke could not find the words to speak.

Marquis Wyzer himself had been just as blind to the capabilities of his own child.

“If there is still time…… the Kingdom of Ballan shall pivot its position regarding the Knight King. We will formally announce that the Great Expedition was not a disaster, and that the Tower of Magic and its so-called heroes are nothing but frauds.”

“…… Is that a prudent path, Your Majesty?”

Marquis Wyzer inquired, his face etched with deep apprehension.

The Tower of Magic and its scholars.

The Hero Association, who draped themselves in the mantle of justice.

And it didn’t end there.

Countless factions had flourished by using the alleged failure of the Great Expedition as their foundation.

If the Kingdom of Ballan chose to expose the truth of that campaign, they would be inviting the wrath of the entire world.

Yet King Ballan’s expression remained set in granite.

“They circulated lies and dragged the prestige of the Great Expedition and the Knight King through the mud. Is it not our duty to set the record straight?”

“Your Majesty, the path ahead will be a brutal struggle.”

“The conflicts of the Knight King were always thus. He was never granted an easy road.”

Nothing came without a price.

King Ballan would see his obligations through.

Vindicating the Knight King’s legacy was his burden to bear as well.

……Even if it necessitated an all-out war with King Friedrich.

“Ah!”

“Did she… lose?!”

In that instant, cries of horror erupted from the crowd.

Looking back toward the arena, they witnessed Serengeti standing with a shattered blade in her hand.

“What is happening……?”

But Serengeti had not been defeated.

She had clearly decapitated Yajam.

However, in the very second his head left his shoulders.

-Stunning. A conflict you were never destined to win.

Squish.

Squish.

A dark, viscous substance resembling black oil began to leak from the open wound of the neck.

Shortly after, a multitude of hands pushed their way out from the center of that black sludge, rearranging themselves to form a new face where the head had been.

-I am the ‘Hand of the Imprisoned God.’ Warrior of the Goddess, let us resume our dance.

That was the Hand of the Imprisoned God?

By any metric of appearance, it was far more demonic than divine.

The magical pressure was suffocating.

Its mere presence caused the onlookers to tremble as if infected by a lethal toxin!

“Everyone, retreat!”

Serengeti’s warning was sharp and desperate.

Whoosh!

Following her shout, she tapped into the essence of the stars to form a bulwark against the spreading miasma.

The Hand of the Imprisoned God.

As soon as she identified the creature’s true form, Serengeti felt a chill of pure dread.

‘The limbs of deities who once held holy power…… every single one!’

She couldn’t even begin to calculate the number of hands coiled within that form.

What was undeniable was that these were the appendages of former gods.

A staggering number of stars had been forced into Yajam’s physical vessel.

Consequently, Yajam had been transformed into an entirely different entity—the ‘Hand of the Imprisoned God.’

‘King Friedrich.’

Serengeti cast a freezing stare toward King Friedrich.

What twisted motive could lead to the creation of such an abomination?

From the beginning, King Friedrich’s goal was the total annihilation of the Kingdom of Ballan.

The ending had been written before the first strike.

He had simply been treating the Kingdom of Ballan’s desperate attempts at survival as a source of amusement.

‘Wait, what is he doing?’

But something was amiss.

For a man supposedly enjoying a spectacle, his posture was unnaturally rigid.

Had he not foreseen the manifestation of the Hand of the Imprisoned God?

‘A new element has entered the fray.’

What could it be?

What force could cause King Friedrich to be paralyzed in such a way?

She had no leisure to ponder it.

“Urgh……!”

Yajam.

No, the ‘Hand of the Imprisoned God’ was terrifyingly potent.

The creature was exhaling a blight that drained the very life from anything it touched.

If it wasn’t contained, every soul within the royal fortress would perish.

Simply attempting to wall off the toxin was pushing Serengeti to her absolute breaking point.

“That’s enough.”

……At that moment.

A youth with hair the color of flames appeared in her field of vision.

The boy stood with an air of nonchalance before the ‘Hand of the Imprisoned God,’ his hands clasped behind his back.

For a heartbeat, Serengeti’s mind stalled.

Where had this child originated?

She should have detected the arrival of such a striking figure among the crowd.

Yet, she hadn’t felt even a whisper of his presence.

‘I’m so… tired…!’

Just as the confusion hit its peak, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion crashed over her.

Seconds later, Serengeti’s eyes fluttered shut, and she drifted into unconsciousness.

After a brief look at the slumbering Serengeti, the crimson-haired boy looked back at the ‘Hand of the Imprisoned God’ and commanded,

“Lower your heads this instant.”

-What manner of thing are you?

“Tsk. To think a common parasite would dare to hold its gaze before a deity.”

-A deity?

“We are the Scales of the World. Dragon Gods tasked with the removal of pests like yourself.”

Ahem.

Isara, placing her hands on her hips, stood tall with a confident grin.

The Demon of Pride.

King Friedrich surveyed the field of combat.

He had been certain from the start that Serengeti was incapable of besting Yajam.

Destroying Yajam would only trigger the arrival of the ‘Hand of the Imprisoned God.’

No mortal could hope to withstand a nightmare constructed from the remains of multiple gods.

‘A fusion of elements that are neither of man nor of beast.’

However, upon spotting the two children, King Friedrich’s amusement vanished.

He had been observing the Kingdom of Ballan’s futile efforts to savor their collapse.

‘Divinity.’

It was only then that he grasped the truth: the two children were cloaked in ‘divinity.’

The only entities a demon of his status could fail to perceive were those possessing divine essence.

Still, it was baffling.

‘I have no record of this specific divinity.’

His arrogance told him he was familiar with every divine spark in Pangeniar.

But he had never encountered, nor even heard of, divinity manifesting in the shape of those two youngsters.

There were gods who chose juvenile forms, but they were distinct from these two.

So what were they?

One fact was absolute: gods and demons were fundamental opposites.

In the ancient eras, during the height of the gods’ reign, demons lacked the courage to even look toward the sky.

But those days were gone.

The deities capable of suppressing them had either faded away or been stripped of their might.

Even the final goddess had passed.

Furthermore, the strength of the demons had only intensified in the intervening years.

‘Realistically, the only ones capable of challenging me are Karas, the War God, and Ainharsar, the Dragon God. But even they are likely struggling just to maintain their own borders.’

They had reclaimed their status, but surely lacked the freedom to wander beyond their lands.

They had regained their holy spark, but everything else they once commanded was lost.

Then who were these two?

Confused, King Friedrich locked eyes with the children.

“…… Dragon Gods?”

Then the realization struck him.

An unidentified divinity.

The reality that those two children were indeed Dragon Gods.

But they were not the Dragon Gods belonging to this world.

He was well acquainted with the Dragon Gods who watched over Pangeniar.

Which meant.

‘Could they be the Heavenly Guardians?’

King Friedrich’s face grew increasingly grim.

If those Dragon Gods were indeed Heavenly Guardians, the situation had shifted from a game to a crisis.

‘Regardless of their origin, they won’t find it simple to erase the Hand of the Imprisoned God……’

-Roaaaar!!!

“…………….”