Chapter 1053
Chapter 1053
A thunderous roar tore across the heavens as the very foundation of the earth shook with fury. Unbridled mana rippled outward in every direction, carrying the violent promise of cataclysm.
“Truly an impressive blade…”
Derus Robert tightened his fingers around his weapon, sensing the bitter chill in the atmosphere, as though the entire world had turned hostile toward him.
“Had anyone else dared utter such words, I would have ripped their lips from their face. Yet you have legitimately earned that privilege.”
Back during the era of the Six Kings and Five Demons, Darkan had undeniably reigned as a terrifying entity among Transcendents, yet Derus had always believed he could subdue him without significant strain.
‘In those days, his thoughts were an open book to me, and the full extent of his martial capability was transparent.’
Now, however, he could decipher absolutely nothing from the man. A mysterious, unfathomable might emanated from Darkan, defying all prediction. This went beyond a simple elevation in technique; the distinct presence he radiated proved that even at full strength, defeating him would be an arduous endeavor.
Both the visual transformation and the altered aura of his opponent were so deeply unsettling that Derus found his teeth grinding together without his realization.
“You appear genuinely unsettled.”
Darkan offered a faint smirk, clearly anticipating such a reaction.
“Very well. Striking you down in this state would yield little satisfaction, so take a moment to pull yourself together.”
He lightly brought his palms together, as though urging Derus to swiftly clear his muddled thoughts.
“What drives you to stand in my way here?”
Derus knitted his brows, studying the amused expression on Darkan’s face.
“Has the Holy Sword Alliance chosen to betray the Five Demons?”
“The Holy Sword Alliance? Treachery? You speak in riddles that only amuse me.”
Lightly tapping his temple with one finger, Darkan curled his mouth into a wry sneer.
“As I stated from the outset, I am neither the commander of the Holy Sword Alliance nor the Dark Night Sword God. This entity known as Darkan proceeds solely along whatever path captures his interest, completely detached from the Five Kings and Five Demons. I arrived here for one purpose alone: to witness your blade firsthand.”
He tilted his head slightly, indicating that nothing further motivated his presence.
“Did you truly surrender authority over the Holy Sword Alliance to the Sword Demon, then?”
“Rather than a deliberate handover, he simply claimed it as his own. To be frank, it matters not to me in the slightest. I merely maintained the guise of leading the Holy Sword Alliance because it afforded me an endless view of diverse swordsmanship.”
Darkan discarded the concept of the Holy Sword Alliance—one of the nine ruling powers across the continent—as though it were nothing more than a worthless pebble tossed to the roadside.
“Surely those sockets as well…”
“Indeed. I gouged them out with my very own fingers.”
A broad grin spread across his face as he recounted the self-inflicted blinding.
“You have completely lost your sanity…”
A dry, incredulous chuckle slipped from Derus as he took in the unruffled posture of his adversary.
‘I understood well that Darkan was possessed by the way of the blade, but never imagined it reached such extremes…’
He had always recognized that the Dark Night Sword God held an obsession with the sword bordering on intoxication. Even so, he had never envisioned the man discarding the mighty Holy Sword Alliance and mutilating his own eyes merely to elevate his personal comprehension.
‘An absolute lunatic.’
A completely unpredictable madman. Until this point, merely two individuals had ever managed to elude the grasp of his foresight, and now Darkan seemed destined to join their ranks.
“There remains another matter I must clarify.”
Exhaling a long, burdened breath, Derus raised his chin.
“What reason brings you to stand beside Ogram? And far from the Beast Union’s principal territory… wait!”
A sharp intake of air caught in his throat as his eyes landed on his leather-clad fingers.
“Do not tell me the youth you spoke of…”
Derus focused his gaze intently on the dark crimson drops slowly bleeding through the seams of his glove.
“Is it Raon Zieghart?”
“Spot on.”
Darkan offered a firm, measured nod.
“In truth, he explicitly foretold that you would speak Raon’s name aloud.”
A faint, knowing twist touched his lips as he recalled how the youth had calculated the unfolding of this very confrontation.
“Seeing your face twisted in shock brings me endless joy!”
Ogram gave a mocking cackle as he observed the rigid posture of Derus.
“You are nothing more than a puppet prancing atop the palm of Raon! Derus Robert!”
Planting his foot firmly against the dirt, he roared that all of Derus’s elaborate stratagems could never even match the heels of Raon.
“Kuk. Kahahahaha!”
Brushing his blood-smeared fingers through his hair, Derus let loose a booming laughter. The stark contrast of vivid crimson running through his pale silver locks painted an utterly chilling image.
“I find myself torn between sheer amusement and towering wrath.”
Not a single soul among his most devoted retainers had been privy to his journey toward the Beast Union—much less this isolated settlement where Ogram was taking refuge. Yet Raon Zieghart had thoroughly dissected his psyche and positioned Darkan directly in his path. Part of him felt a strange delight that another entity grasped his inner nature with such perfection, while another part burned with fury that the architect of this scheme was none other than Raon.
“Have you gathered your wits sufficiently by now?”
Darkan tilted his head, wordlessly suggesting that the clash resume.
“Haaa…”
Rolling his wrist to loosen the joint, Derus released a pale vapor into the chill air.
“My temper is exceptionally foul at this hour, you understand.”
Even as he declared the darkness of his mood, an icy composure settled over him as his fingers clamped tight around the grip of his blade.
“This purifying stroke shall bite far deeper than you anticipate.”
The instant Derus unsheathed his steel, the vast aura of bloodlust crushing down from the sky and soil warped violently, beginning to push back against Darkan’s own tide.
“Splendid!”
Wrinkling his brow in exhilaration, Darkan hoisted his weapon. The earth vibrated with ferocity, sending forth massive tremors that bolstered his footing. With an ear-splitting crash, the firmament blazed with blinding brilliance aligning with Derus, while surging black torrents erupted from the ground to empower Darkan.
“Even should it rip the palate from my mouth…”
Watching Derus’s overwhelming pressure collide directly against his domain, Darkan smiled with raw delight.
“Hold nothing back!”
He inclined his head, signaling that death in this clash would bring no regret.
“You shall choke on that boast.”
Both Derus and Darkan brought their weapons high at the exact same heartbeat. The pair of Transcendents remained utterly frozen like stone carvings for an extended breath, yet the instant the biting winter gale cut across their intersecting murderous intent, they drove their points straight toward the other’s throat. When the obsidian edge met the silver steel in a direct collision, a gigantic rupture tore open across the expanse separating earth and heaven. An overwhelming blast shook the entire world.
With an incandescent arc of fire, Raon drove his Crimson Slash directly into the swarm of Blood Demons hurling themselves forward in suicide charges. The blade of pure flame sliced through the fabric of space, severing both the charging abominations and the very rift pulsing behind them. Nevertheless, the Blood Demons tore open fresh planar rifts, pouring outward in droves and detonating their sanguine essence without hesitation.
‘Are they truly willing to pay any price just to seal the path forward?’
Even though the self-immolating Blood Demons of the White Blood Religion were reinforcing the protective enchantments upon the bulwarks and halting the advance, their death toll reached staggering heights. Even in these fleeting seconds, hundreds were perishing, yet the pale dimensional tears relentlessly disgorged more horrors.
Their absolute resolve to secure the ramparts was unmistakable—they appeared ready to bleed dry every last Blood Demon remaining across the continent if it bought them time.
‘Could she truly be weaving an entirely unprecedented spell?’
Given that the Supreme Leader of the White Blood Religion had yet to reveal herself amid such devastation, she was undoubtedly concealed deep within the sanctuary, preparing some catastrophic design.
“No defiled essence shall cross into the sanctum of our god!”
“Perish, wretched heretics!”
“Even should my very spirit burn to ash, I will cleanse you!”
“Praise the Blood God!”
The zealots of the White Blood Religion hurled themselves forward, their gazes consumed by sheer fanaticism as though their very bodies were steered by vengeful ghosts.
‘I must cut through this sea of flesh first.’
Just as Raon carved down the encroaching Blood Demons and moved to seal the dimensional fracture behind their lines, an overwhelming surge of crimson essence unlike any before cascaded from the crest of the rampart. A barrage of crescent-shaped sanguine blades rained downward upon him with a high-pitched shriek.
Erecting a solid Fire Wall to deflect the devastating crimson assault, Raon raised his eyes toward the parapet.
“Are you that Raon Zieghart?”
A blue-tressed apostle, casually resting an enormous scythe across his shoulder, cast his gaze downward with an arrogant twist of his lips.
“You certainly carry an aura distinct from the rabble.”
He maintained a mocking, easygoing smirk despite standing atop a charnel ground where thousands were being slaughtered.
“So, an apostle stands before me.”
“Indeed. I hold the twelfth seat. As for my name…”
“Keep your name to yourself.”
Raon lifted an open palm, bluntly cutting off the 12th Apostle’s introduction.
“It will merely be cast into oblivion once your life ends here today.”
Despite the biting retort, he deliberately quieted his pulse.
‘He ranks beneath me, yet carelessness would be fatal.’
The 12th Apostle was undeniably an established Transcendent who had stabilized his foundation. Though perhaps lacking when measured directly against him, anyone who had breached the threshold of Transcendence through their own forged Willpower commanded respect and caution.
‘Martial artists who wield such peculiar implements demand even sharper vigilance.’
Unlike practitioners reliant on standard armaments such as longswords, sabers, or lances, warriors who mastered unwieldy weapons like that massive scythe inevitably harbored lethal, clandestine techniques meant to turn the tide.
‘I must preserve as much stamina as possible for the confrontation against the Supreme Leader of the White Blood Religion. Before committing fully, I need to discern the nature of his abilities…’
Just as Raon gathered his strength to scale the stone barricade, a violent concussive wave detonated from the area surrounding the fifth passage.
Denier and the forces of the Wise Martial Palace had successfully shattered the lines of the Blood Demons, launching Martha directly toward the 10th Apostle.
“I have breathed every breath until this day solely to rip your life away, and that wretched woman’s as well!”
Martha unleashed a ferocious battle cry, swinging her blade straight toward the 10th Apostle’s throat.
Recognizing that he could no longer brush aside Martha’s assault as he had in the past, the 10th Apostle manifested a spear to parry the strike.
“You have grown considerably.”
He stroked his chin with composed indifference, locking eyes with Martha’s blazing, furious stare.
“Save your breath!”
Martha drove her weapon forward, the steel shimmering with an intense amber radiance as it forced back the 10th Apostle’s spear. The surrounding Blood Demons and swordsmen could only stare in disbelief as her raw might began to overwhelm an apostle.
“Ah, so it is you. Martha Zieghart.”
The 12th Apostle sneered, his gaze sweeping over Martha’s features with mock recognition.
“I see the memory of how our elder claimed your mother still burns bright. But tell me…”
He slowly brought up a finger, gesturing in a blatantly provocative manner.
“Have you forgotten that I participated in that affair as well?”
He twirled his raised finger before pressing it against his own chest.
“What did you say…?”
Martha halted her relentless assault against the 10th Apostle, her gaze snapping furiously toward the 12th Apostle.
“Has your memory truly failed you? I was the one who seized your mother by her tresses and moved to rip her throat out. It was this elder of mine who stayed my hand.”
The 12th Apostle smirked broadly, as if baffled that she was aiming her blade at her mother’s protector rather than the true assailant.
“You filthy cur!”
Grinding her molars until they nearly cracked, Martha spun on her heel. She bolted toward the 12th Apostle without a single backward glance.
“Where do you think you are running?”
Yet the 10th Apostle had no intention of allowing her an unobstructed path.
With a bone-jarring crash, he angled the shaft of his spear to divert Martha’s incoming strike and whipped the haft against her ribs.
“Kuhek…”
Martha gasped for breath, her knuckles white around her hilt as she was hammered back against the rampart’s stone edge.
“Never look past the foe standing directly before you.”
The 10th Apostle drove his gleaming, pale spear forward, intending to end Martha’s existence with a single piercing thrust.
“Martha!”
Denier leaped onto the wall in an instant, swinging his blade to parry the lethal spear point just before it could pierce her throat.
“You demonic wretches…”
Spitting blood from her bruised lips, Martha dragged herself back onto her feet.
“I will butcher every last one of you!”
The sheer intensity of the bloodlust pouring from her form was terrifying enough to daunt even her own senses, as she vowed to slaughter not merely the apostles, but every single Blood Demon currently walking the earth.
“I cannot fathom why this stirs such outrage in you.”
The 12th Apostle gave a lighthearted shrug, casting an amused glance at her trembling form.
“Is it not an infinitely greater honor for that vessel to serve as our supreme leader—to walk as a living deity—rather than remain your common, insignificant mother? It was a blessing for all involved!”
He laughed mockingly, his words aimed at inflaming not just Martha, but the entirety of House Zieghart. His voice carried an unnatural resonance that vibrated directly against their minds, hinting at the subtle infusion of psychological sorcery. A hollow thrum reverberated through the air.
Caught in the snare of the 12th Apostle’s taunts, the Zieghart swordsmen shifted their murderous gaze toward him, their attention wavering from the foes directly in their path.
“You bastard spawn of a dog!”
Predictably, Martha succumbed to the provocation faster and more violently than anyone, launching herself toward him anew. A heavy, booming shockwave rattled the stone.
The 10th Apostle parried Denier’s counterattack and shifted his footing to intercept Martha before she could reach the 12th Apostle.
“So the truth finally dawns on you? What a pity.”
Lurking safely behind the 10th Apostle’s guard, the 12th Apostle clicked his tongue in mockery.
“Yet nothing I said is false. Your mother’s soul was merely one worthless grub among millions, while our supreme leader stands solitary and divine.”
He pressed a finger to his lips, making a show of his supposed honesty.
“Kuaaagh!”
Martha bellowed in raw agony, driving her blade with absolute abandon to carve through to the 12th Apostle, yet the combined barrier of the 10th Apostle and the surrounding archbishops rendered her advance impossible.
A deep, mournful hum suddenly vibrated through the air as Raon took hold of the Blade of Requiem. The weapon resonated with an agonizing dirge, as though it were synchronizing directly with Martha’s inner turmoil.
‘Is it echoing Martha’s grief?’
The countless vengeful entities bound within the Blade of Requiem were souls harvested by the cruelty of the White Blood Religion. Recognizing Martha’s agony and heartbreak as their own, they flared with unrestrained animosity toward the Blood Demons. Even the refreshing breeze of Rimmer, which typically calmed these restless phantoms, transformed into an icy, biting tempest today, crying out in shared vengeance.
“You claimed to be the 12th Apostle, did you not?”
Raon returned the Heavenly Drive to its scabbard and fully unsheathed the Blade of Requiem.
“I shall begin by severing that foul tongue from your jaw.”
Having walked the path of an assassin in his past, his foundational doctrine was to act only after thoroughly comprehending an enemy’s combat methods and boundaries.
In this battle as well, he had intended to patiently dissect the 12th Apostle’s tactical traits while conserving his stamina for the confrontation against the Supreme Leader of the White Blood Religion, yet he could no longer rein in his temper.
“You intend to face me head-on?”
The 12th Apostle tilted his head backward with an arrogant smirk, projecting utter confidence in his latent might.
“With a dagger that pitifully short, you will fail to even scratch the masonry of this rampart, let alone reach my flesh. Do you truly believe you can touch me?”
His lips parted in a smug grimace, clearly anchored in the supreme warding magic of the wall and his personal martial supremacy.
“Do you truly view it as short?”
Raon let out a cold snort as he channeled the Ten Thousand Flames Cultivation. Scorching crimson flames surged along the edge of the Blade of Requiem, erupting into a towering column of fire that seemed poised to pierce the very vault of the sky.
“What kind of power is…”
The 12th Apostle’s eyes widened in sheer shock as he felt the unfathomable resentment seething inside the Blade of Requiem, paired with the immaculate, overwhelming energy of the Ten Thousand Flames Cultivation. Hastily raising a dense barrier of sanguine aura, he began weaving complex, high-tier defensive incantations.
A dreadful, curse-laden miasma coalesced over his frame, the thick shield of blood rippling as though it possessed the power to turn any incoming strike back upon the attacker.
“No trick shall deliver you from this.”
Raon hoisted the Blade of Requiem and strode forward toward the fortification. Yielding to the momentum guided by the restless spirits, he brought the blazing red blade down, unleashing the accumulated mysteries of the Ten Thousand Swords. A shattering explosion tore through the atmosphere.
The Heavy Sword descended with crushing weight, the Quick Sword streaked with blinding velocity, and the edge cut with peerless sharpness. Infused with the vengeful entities’ burning desire to erase every Blood Demon from reality, the summit of the Ten Thousand Swords ascended into a realm far beyond its previous limits.
The supreme warding spell cast by the Supreme Leader of the White Blood Religion fractured into dust, the pale masonry of the rampart collapsed, and a clean, crimson fissure split across the frame of the 12th Apostle standing atop the crest.
“Im-impossible… The ultimate warding, the reflection spell…”
The 12th Apostle’s jaw shook violently as he looked down to see his massive scythe crumbling to pieces, his own torso neatly severed in two.
“Kuaaaa…”
Failing to maintain cohesion, his bisected form tumbled down amidst the collapsing blocks of stone, pale ichor gushing outward in violent sprays.
“The malice and torment sealed within this weapon stretch longer and run deeper than any common blade forged beneath the sky. It carries a profound weight that an insect like you could never hope to withstand. And yet…”
Raon stepped over the ground drenched in the dying apostle’s fluids, calmly clearing the ruins of the breached wall.
“You met your end babbling meaningless boasts simply because you were too ignorant to see it.”
Tightening his hand into a firm fist, he turned toward Martha, who stood frozen in stunned silence nearby.
“Now, the stage is yours to prove your worth.”
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