Chapter 1002
The Reincarnated Assassin Is a Genius Swordsman
Chapter 1002
Larian scowled as she parried the surge of shadow discharged by the Fallen.
‘His might has clearly shifted.’
Before his transformation, repelling the Fallen’s sorcery required merely five flying blades, but ever since wings burst from his back, fending off his assaults proved taxing even while maneuvering seven daggers.
‘Regardless, this falls within my projections.’
She had foreseen his evolution from the onset. Provided the engagement persisted along this trajectory, she maintained unshakeable certainty of her ultimate triumph. Channeling mana through her fingertips, Larian guided eight daggers at once, sending them streaking directly toward the Fallen’s fatal points.
Yet, despite carrying concentrated mana, the blades failed to bite into his flesh, halting dead in the air before a shimmering barrier of luminescence he had erected.
“Is their lack of weight due to their small size?”
The Fallen tapped a finger against the flat of one suspended blade with a clear clink.
“They feel entirely hollow, don’t they?”
“You shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”
With a sharp roll of her wrist, Larian set the daggers into a furious spin, boring straight through the defensive radiance he had cast.
“What?”
The Fallen sharply drew in a breath, seeking to unfurl a tide of gloom, but the blades had already released the compressed energy dormant within their steel. The arcane charges held inside each dagger uncoiled in rapid chain reactions, erupting with concussive force so tremendous it seemed poised to scour both the Fallen and the surrounding coordinates from the face of the land.
When the column of pitch-black haze stretching toward the firmament began to thin, the Fallen’s form became visible once more. Crimson fluids drenched the right half of his torso and coated his left leg.
“That certainly carried a sharp bite.”
A grin crossed the Fallen’s face as he glanced at the gouged flesh on his right shoulder and torn muscle along his left thigh. They were horrific lacerations that ought to have crippled anyone’s capacity to wage war, yet with an effortless sweep of his palm, the severe injuries vanished entirely, as though time itself had wound backward over his flesh.
“Still, it hardly touches my core.”
He gave a slight shrug, dismissing the strike as little more than a momentary sting on his tongue.
“Then I’ll just keep driving blades into you until your core turns to ash.”
With glacial focus in her gaze, Larian aligned nine daggers before her breast. As their sharp points met in a tight cluster, an intense radiance ignited at the center and lanced directly toward the adversary. The Fallen cast outward dual ramparts woven of radiance and gloom, moving to intercept the dazzling beam she had unleashed.
As the opposing torrents ground against each other with neither side yielding an inch, jagged fractures splintered across the firmament and the dirt below.
‘If I maintain this pressure…’
Just as Larian prepared to divert her remaining daggers to strike the Fallen’s exposed back, an uncanny pulsation began to seep upward from the soil beneath her feet.
‘What is that?’
Without moving her head, she shifted her pupils downward.
‘So her breath has finally ended…’
Merlin lay completely still without a heartbeat, and Raon appeared paralyzed by the shock of the outcome, frozen like sculpted stone.
‘If so, what was that sensation just now…? Hold on.’
Larian’s eyes widened in realization as she scrutinized Raon clutching Merlin’s form.
‘There is no trace of Raon’s spirit.’
A vacant void was radiating from his flesh. Not a sliver of consciousness or spiritual presence lingered within the youth’s frame at this moment.
‘His life has not ended, yet how can this be…?’
Given the steady vitality continuing to circulate through his frame, he was unequivocally alive. For a soul to vanish into nothingness while merely tending to an invalid was a phenomenon unheard of in all her years. The sheer impossibility of it caused a cold dread to grip her heart.
‘He must not realize this.’
Larian pressed her teeth into her lower lip as the Fallen steadily advanced, tearing through the lingering enchantments of her weapons.
‘That fiend will deliberately target Raon even in the midst of engaging me.’
The Fallen was an abhorrent entity who stopped at nothing to secure his ends. Merlin was deceased, Raon had been reduced to an empty vessel devoid of spirit, and the retainers lacked the stamina to wage battle; none among them possessed the capacity to survive a single casual strike from him.
‘His focus must remain locked on me.’
Snapping her fingers, Larian launched a golden blade to ensure his gaze did not wander from her position.
“Let us see if this stings your palate.”
Enveloped in dense lightning, the dagger tore through the air straight toward the nape of the Fallen’s neck, only for a foul, shadowy mist to suddenly billow upward. The electrified steel struck the murky barrier and stalled, discharging violently into the empty sky without grazing him. Clicking her tongue in annoyance, Larian pulled the golden blade back into her grip.
“Did you summon reinforcements?”
She fixed a cold, mocking gaze upon the dark-cloaked figure who had emerged behind the Fallen. The shadowy haze that neutralised her strike was not a technique belonging to the Fallen, but rather the craft of this newcomer.
‘A Transcendent…’
While not situated at the absolute peak of the realm, the way he intercepted her blade confirmed he was undeniably an arcane practitioner who had stepped past the threshold of transcendence. The dark-robed figure turned his head smoothly toward her.
‘A cranium?’
Larian pulled her brows together tightly.
‘Could another Specter have already been appointed?’
She was well aware that the prior Specter had been brought down below by the combined efforts of Raon and Merlin. Even considering the unique properties of a lich’s relic, such an immediate resurrection was unthinkable.
‘Wait, no…’
That was not the visage of a lich. Upon closer inspection, the hollows for the eyes and jaw upon the mask worn by the robed figure were unnaturally vast. Its countenance mirrored that of an apparition rather than dry bone.
‘I see.’
It was unmistakably a wraith. A breed of spectral monster drifting through the ether, consuming the vital force and essence of living beings as thoughtlessly as insects. The majority of malevolent phantoms spoken of in common folklore were, in reality, entities of this nature.
Tearing open a fissure in the murky dimension, the bearer of the wraith mask drew forth a massive scythe glistening with an obsidian sheen. His silhouette mirrored the legendary reaper descending from the underworld to harvest lingering souls.
‘He is far from an ordinary foe.’
Beyond possessing power at the transcendent tier, the ominous energy radiating from that enormous weapon was profoundly distorted. He posed a lethal hazard.
‘Yet the far graver danger lies elsewhere…’
He had not arrived unaccompanied. The Fallen had not merely brought this masked wraith to the field; ranking members of Eden were currently assembling upon the earth below.
‘This bodes ill…’
She could endure the onslaught of whatever arrived, but the defenseless boy on the ground could not. Stripped of his spirit, Raon was an exposed target whom even a toddler could dispatch without resistance.
‘It goes against my instincts, but I have to draw every eye onto myself.’
Releasing a sharp breath, Larian raised her chin haughtily.
“When exactly did you gather this pack of hounds?”
She leveled her daggers toward the apparition in the wraith visage and the surrounding officers of Eden.
“I called for no one,” the Fallen replied, shaking his head with unruffled calm.
“Once our position was compromised by your intrusion, withdrawing became mandatory to prevent unnecessary losses.”
A faint curve formed on his lips as he clarified the necessity of their gathering.
“Naturally, our retreat from the primary stronghold is not due to your efforts or Lady Chamber’s presence.”
He gave a slight shrug, clarifying that the sole catalyst was the looming threat of Glenn Zieghart.
‘Did he fail to notice the state below?’
Relieved that his attention seemed centered entirely upon her, Larian hoisted ten daggers into the air at once.
“The three of you…”
The Fallen raised a pale, tapered finger, aiming it straight down toward Raon and Merlin.
“Extinguish them.”
He issued the directive to eliminate Raon directly to the subordinates holding Master and Grandmaster rank. Spurred by his command, the Eden officers surged toward the fallen youth, their killing intent freezing the very air.
‘Curse it!’
Larian bit down hard on her lip as she caught the cruel amusement dancing in the Fallen’s eyes.
‘The wretch was aware of his state all along!’
He had perceived Raon’s vulnerability from the very start, deliberately lulling her into a false sense of security before unleashing his underlings. He was ruthless to the core.
“Step forward if you dare!”
Planting himself before Raon and Merlin, Mark Goetun gripped his blade with both hands. Even with his frame trembling violently from the complete depletion of his reserves and physical strength, he refused to yield an inch of ground.
Tsking under her breath, Larian cast four daggers straight downward. The weapons embedded themselves at the four cardinal points of the earth, instantly manifesting a protective ward of arcane geometry that enveloped Raon, Merlin, and Mark Goetun.
An Eden Grandmaster brought his massive war hammer crashing down, but the impact failed to leave even a hairline fracture upon the barrier formed by her weapons. The other Eden phantoms poured forth a relentless barrage of martial will, incantations, and hexes, yet Larian’s defense stood firm as an iron citadel, shielding the figures within without a single tremor.
Just as Larian prepared to steady her breath, a flash of the Fallen’s light magic erupted right before her face. She intercepted the blinding burst using the six daggers remaining around her, yet the sheer velocity of the assault grazed her, tearing away flesh from her left shoulder.
“Relying on just six blades? Can they truly suffice?”
The Fallen wore a subdued smirk, remarking on the visible loss in her mobility. Bringing his palms together, towering orbs of pure light and abyssal darkness manifested from the heavens and the earth, closing in from above and below to crush her between them.
“Blades are merely instruments at the end of the day.”
Larian gave a dismissive scoff as she slotted the six daggers between her knuckles. Channeling the core energy pumping from her heart directly into the steel, she ripped through the encroaching spheres of light and shadow he had conjured.
“Tch…”
Larian’s face tightened as she noted the subtle tremor running through her fingers.
‘This is getting heavy.’
Sustaining the four daggers safeguarding Raon below while simultaneously repelling the Fallen’s offensive was placing an enormous strain on her reserves and focus.
‘Yet there is no alternative.’
She had to endure and await a single opening. Her deepest arsenal had not yet been exposed. Her task was to hold the line until the Fallen lowered his guard, at which point she would execute him with one decisive thrust.
In contrast, the Fallen appeared intent on concluding the matter swiftly, saturating the space with interwoven spells of luminance and shadow. Even while unleashing such unrelenting fury, he maintained the unyielding discipline of a high-ranking Transcendent, yielding no exploitable flaws in his stance.
Larian expelled a ragged breath as she watched the heavy wave of darkness roll toward her.
‘Retaliation is out of the question for now.’
The immense density of the oncoming shadow dictated that surviving it unscathed would demand the entirety of her focus and power. Just as Larian activated the mana dormant within her six daggers to form an impenetrable bulwark, her magical barrier abruptly splintered, and a deep, agonizing rupture tore through the left side of her abdomen.
“This…”
Pressing her hand to the torn flesh as dark blood welled through her fingers, Larian grimaced in pain.
“This was not your doing.”
Grinding her teeth, she directed her glare past the Fallen, locking eyes with the figure in the wraith mask stationed directly behind him.
“Indeed,” the Fallen acknowledged with an untroubled nod.
“The mask worn by this servant carries the authority of Pelin, sovereign of wraiths. He is presently recognized as the Soul Devourer.”
He rested a palm upon the shoulder of the Soul Devourer, who stood brandishing the pitch-black scythe, commending her sharp perception.
“The Soul Devourer…”
Larian bit her lip fiercely, her gaze fixed on the masked entity.
“Even if he holds the essence of their king, a wraith cannot digest constructed magic.”
While such undead could drink in pure mana and spirit forms, weaving through structural spells was impossible for their kind. She could not comprehend how her carefully fortified ward had been dismantled so seamlessly.
“The secret lies in the blade he wields.”
The Fallen gestured with his chin toward the jagged dark scythe held aloft by the figure.
“That instrument possesses the inherent property to sever invocations. When an entity that consumes mana pairs with an implement that shatters spellcraft, defensive arrays are destined to collapse.”
He offered a calm nod, treating the outcome as an immutable law.
“In your current state, he represents your absolute counter. Rather, he is the natural doom of every practitioner of the arcane arts.”
A slight, taunting grin played on his lips, as if admiring the elegance of the trap.
“You certainly enjoy the sound of your own voice.”
“What does it matter? None of this will ever leave this place.”
His demeanor betrayed total assurance that neither she nor Raon would survive the encounter.
“Ha. So the exalted master of Eden requires a two-on-one advantage to secure victory?”
Larian let out a cold laugh while attempting to stem the bleeding at her side.
“Naturally. I have never placed value on such empty concepts as fair competition. Is not the outcome the sole truth that endures?”
The Fallen tilted his head, displaying complete pride rather than shame over relying on the power of the Soul Devourer.
“Yes. That sounds precisely like the rat you are.”
Larian bared her teeth in a venomous smirk.
“Come together, then. I will bury both of you.”
Levitating her six daggers into the surrounding space, she drew in a deep, measured breath. The metal edges of the six blades rang out as they struck one another, drawing together a massive concentration of power before her chest. The brilliant radiance she discharged by distilling the energy of the six weapons forcefully cleaved through the tides of light and dark summoned by the Fallen, surging directly toward his chest.
However, the moment the Soul Devourer swept the obsidian scythe through the air, her compressed spellcraft dissipated as if scrubbed from existence. The wraith’s innate hunger for mana, aligned with the scythe’s spell-breaking nature, truly rendered the combination a living nightmare for magicians.
Simultaneously, an offensive spell from the Fallen bypassed her fractured guard and tore into her thigh.
‘My awareness is fragmenting.’
Contending with both the Fallen and the Soul Devourer was an overwhelming burden on its own, yet maintaining the perimeter below divided her attention past its limits. The barrier shielding Raon and Mark Goetun remained intact, but the relentless barrage striking the dome was burning through her reserves at a frightening pace, leaving her vision spinning.
Ultimately, her concentration slipped entirely. She failed to evade a brilliant white beam cast by the Fallen, and the blast impaled the right side of her chest.
“Ugh…”
Clutching the grievous puncture wound as blood seeped through her fingers, she clamped down on her lip.
‘This is lethal.’
Unlike strikes to the limb or flank, a piercing trauma to the chest could snuff out life in moments. The predicament had deteriorated to the point of catastrophe.
‘I allowed haste to dictate my pace.’
There was little choice; between the combatants, she was the one racing against the hourglass, not the Fallen.
‘Must I play that card after all?’
Just as Larian prepared to channel the inner reserves of her heart to unleash her final, hidden technique, a vibrant and commanding crimson brilliance flared from Merlin’s motionless form. The heart that had ceased its rhythm began to pound with the force of a grand war drum, and the vitality that had abandoned her flesh surged back like a subterranean magma flow breaking the surface.
‘Could this be resurrection?’
Such a reality should not exist within the laws of this world. Yet an impossible miracle was unfolding before their very eyes. Merlin’s shattered and dispersed arcane pathways were knitting themselves back together of their own volition, consolidating into a brand-new construct that radiated blistering heat through her chest. A tenth circle. The unquestioned pinnacle of transcendence.
“What is the meaning of this…?”
Even the Fallen’s composure shattered, his jaw slack as he stared down at the sight of Merlin and Raon. Amidst the unfathomable aura and surging temperature that brought the clash of Transcendents to a standstill, both Raon and Merlin drew open their eyes in unison.
Evelyn rose smoothly to her feet, lifting her hands to cast aside the fractured mask of the crone. The countenance unveiled beneath the disguise was that of an ethereal beauty whose violet gaze rendered the notion of unrivaled grace utterly pale by comparison. Her expression carried an exquisite balance of alluring charm and pristine purity.
“How are you feeling?”
Raon extended his hand toward Evelyn, who momentarily kept her eyes shut as if taking in the reality of the realm around them.
“Flawless.”
Slowly parting her lids, Evelyn absorbed the rhythmic surge of the ten circles revolving within her core.
“This is entirely your doing.”
Offering her gratitude with effortless simplicity, she grasped Raon’s palm and stood tall.
“You have returned? From the threshold of finality?”
The Fallen’s amber eyes stretched wide, utterly blindsided by the impossible resurgence before him.
“It has been quite some time.”
Looking directly up at the Fallen, Evelyn let her lips curve into a lingering, amused smile.
“Fallen. Or perhaps I should address you as Sage, shouldn’t I?”
She raised her chin in blatant derision of the figure above.
“…It appears your past has returned to you.”
The Fallen’s eyes thinned to narrow slits as he observed the profound transformation within Merlin.
“Indeed. All through Raon’s effort.”
Her gaze softened with genuine warmth as she turned toward Raon.
“I have reclaimed my true self, and I was granted the chance to reunite with my mother.”
She gave a nod of deep contentment, acknowledging the peace she had attained.
“Even so, nothing has shifted. Attaining transcendence does not alter how this conflict must conclude.”
The Fallen roared that the final outcome remained absolute as he drew together currents of brightness and pitch-black energy, but the fabric of the local mana suddenly warped. The opposing elements pooling within his grasp destabilized, rupturing violently within his own palms.
“Argh!”
The Fallen gasped in disbelief, staring down at his mangled flesh.
“How could nothing have shifted?”
Evelyn’s smile deepened as she gazed upon his shattered composure.
“You tasted defeat at my hands five centuries ago, did you not?”
She snapped her fingers with cold derision.
“I will see you brought to your knees beneath my feet once more.”
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