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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Yuziro
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Valian evaded again by hurling his body sideways, but this time Gio’s gaze and hand tracked his movement—there was no escaping the flames.
In that instant, the few years Valian had spent in this medieval land flashed through his mind. If he was to die, he had expected it would be at the hands of some unspeakable monstrosity, not by the likes of this amateur mage.
Yet his body continued moving, regardless of his thoughts. Even if death seemed imminent, he could not surrender. As a barbarian warrior, Valian had to persevere. It felt as though he must.
In that critical moment, Valian’s body reacted instinctively. If evasion was impossible? Valian charged straight at Gio, his movements were incredibly swift as the distance of some ten meters closed in an instant. Still, no matter how fast, he was slower than Gio’s flicking wrist.
Valian gritted his teeth, anticipating the agony his body was about to endure. He raised the ancient holy sword overhead. Before the flames could fully consume him, he would cleave that fiend. Then at least he would take a companion with him—not the worst outcome. Since learning its name, Valian had unconsciously invoked the deity he had always called upon, befitting his barbarian roots.
“Val-tazha!”
With superhuman might and speed, Valian brought the sword crashing down, the blade moving faster than the whistle of the wind it cut. And then the flames engulfed Valian.
Valian’s ancient holy sword and Gio’s signet ring collided.
A resounding boom echoed out, followed by an explosive burst of light as Gio was flung backwards as if yanked by an invisible tether.
The next moment, Valian gazed down at his own body in bewilderment. The white flames had failed to pierce some transparent barrier surrounding him, instead swirling around its periphery. Glancing at the ancient sword, he saw the overlapping pair of runes were glowing as if ablaze.
“Well now…”
So this was the power befitting a holy sword. Valian gazed admiringly at the protective barrier encasing him. He had shattered such defenses raised by mages, but never been the subject of one himself. The flames seemed determined to incinerate the barrier, relentlessly licking at its surface.
Yet the white flames merely circled the exterior for a while before gradually dying down.
As they faded, the white embers suddenly whipped away towards Gio, who was staggering upright.
His condition, somewhat improved by the healing white flames, was once again a ghastly sight—his right arm severed at the elbow, his torso lacerated and bleeding profusely, even his remaining eye leaking bloody tears.
The white flames soared towards him, adhering to the stump of his vanished right arm.
“Wha…what? Ughh! Gahh!”
The dwindling flames burrowed into his forearm as Gio screamed in agony. After a brief moment, his severed right arm regenerated from the white fire.
“Hff—uhh.”
Gio’s deep, ragged breaths seemed charged with heat. His crimson eyes had faded to white, his skin gradually withering and cracking apart, a sinister black essence seeping from the fissures.
Gio’s bleached, lone eye fixed upon Valian with an unsettling gaze.
Though but a fleeting instant, Valian’s eyes lost track of Gio’s movements. Gio then struck at Valian’s barrier with his newly regenerated right hand, a dull thud resounded as the veil wavered opaquely.
‘So now this fiend wants to engage me in close combat?’
Valian welcomed the prospect. The smoldering runes returned to their original state as the barrier dissipated. The white flame-hand lashed out at Valian.
It was a coarse, rapid motion, Gio’s footfalls leaving deep imprints in the earth. Valian met the oncoming flames with his blade. This was originally a holy sword, further blessed by his ancestral deity—it should be capable of repelling such an amorphous force, just as it had impaled that flame knight.
And indeed, the holy sword deflected the white flames, not with a piercing shriek but a dull, hammering clang. The impact was tremendous—enough to shatter bones and send ordinary humans or fairies tumbling, had they been struck.
Yet Valian’s monstrous strength allowed him to endure, his sword trembling but remaining firmly gripped.
However, Gio himself could not withstand his own force, stumbling backwards before quickly regaining his footing and charging again with a guttural roar.
“Gwaaahh!”
Like a wretched crow, the fiend lashed out with his right arm, whipping it about like a flail. The flame-hand dissipated into a churning mass that collided against Valian’s blade, percussive shockwaves ringing out. Valian held his ground, deflecting each wild strike from a low stance.
Despite his overwhelming power, Gio’s condition rapidly deteriorated. His skin withered further into an ashen hue, the dark essence seeping from the cracks intensifying as his bleached eyes clouded into a murky gray. His breathing grew more labored, degenerating into a rasping, retching wheeze.
“Guhh… Ahh… Uhh…”
Conversely, the white flames seemed to thrive, growing larger and more vibrant. Just what were they?
There were ample openings in Gio’s ragged onslaught, yet his strikes came too swiftly to counter. The fallen fairy waned while Valian defended, the flames continually swelling in stature.
Even as he reeled from the relentless, savage attacks, Valian realized—the entity before him was no longer Gio, but those white flames. At some point, rather than wielding them, he had become subjugated, a mere conduit for their essence.
Valian’s movements shifted accordingly, adjusting his stance to engage this new opponent.
Originally, he had adopted a low guard, looking to deflect while exploiting Gio’s openings. Now, with the white flames as his true adversary, that approach sufficed. Gripping the sword’s hilt tightly, Valian wove his blade through the air.
The ancient holy sword Roebane no longer simply deflected the white flames but retaliated, parrying and striking, batting aside and striking, disrupting their cadence with strategically angled blows, meeting their onslaught head-on.
The swelling white flames began shedding tattered embers, reshaping themselves from Gio’s severed arm into a triangular, serpentine form, undulating with snake-like motions.
“Guhhh…”
Gio could no longer speak. For Valian , this represented an improvement over battling an enspelled combat mage endlessly chanting incantations – a formless, physical combatant was far more straightforward.
“Sshhaaahh!”
At last, the white flames fully manifested as a searing, hissing serpent, rearing its smoldering fangs to strike at Valian. Yet the outcome remained unaltered—it could only endure his relentless counterattacks, its form steadily sundering.
The ringing clangs gradually transmuted into a cleaving rasp as the shrunken, white serpent no longer deflected Roebane’s blade but was carved asunder by it. The end was near.
Sensing its imminent demise, Valian backpedaled a step, evading its weakening strikes before inhaling deeply. Without exhaling, he tensed his abdominal muscles, his entire body straining tautly into a unified motion—Roebane’s arc cleaving through the space in a sweeping plane.
Gio’s arm detached at the shoulder in a spray of embers.
“Sshhaahh!”
The severed, white serpent landed flickering on the ground.
In the next instant, it whipped towards the motionless Gio. Of course, Valian did not permit this.
The force from his earlier inhalation still lingered. As his tensed muscles coiled again, his sword’s movements became an unrestrained flurry, thrashing and dismembering the white serpent.
The tattered, severed streamers briefly writhed individually before sputtering out, leaving only scattered remnants of ash.
“Phuhh—whew.”
Valian exhaled a deep breath.
Truth be told, he had somewhat underestimated these Armenian mages. For ordinary spells had proven incapable of harming him, and when more potent incantations seemed imminent, a well-timed thrown axe had cloven their casters’ skulls.
It was not that he dismissed the versatility of their powers or unique spellcasting abilities. Had he not just considered how he might live comfortably by creating a mage character? Merely that in one-on-one combat, he believed himself the undisputed master—by the time they finished chanting, his blade would have already pierced their flesh.
Valian approached the seemingly deceased Gio.
“Hey. Still alive?”
“Yes, I’m alive.”
Valian was mildly surprised. Gio could barely stand, his condition akin to a mangled corpse, his remaining eye appearing to have lost its function. Yet his tone remained remarkably composed.
“Oh? More resilient than you look?”
“No. My body will soon crumble to dust.”
Gio’s trembling jaw shifted slightly towards the direction of Valian’s voice.
“You’ve bested me, barbarian warrior.”
“…Yes, I have.”
Gio’s shaking chin tilted skyward, as if gazing distantly with his sightless eyes.
“This was a battle I lost the moment I inscribed those runes. For even had I slain you, I could no longer be myself. Truly formidable skill you possess.”
‘What’s with this attitude? Why is he acting so honorably defeated?’
“…Yes, you were nearly the first to withstand my thrown axe. You weren’t half bad yourself.”
The corner of Gio’s mouth twitched upwards, a semblance of a smile.
“I had taken you for a blundering fool, recklessly relying on that holy sword’s power. Without it, you still would have been nigh unbeatable. Whatever bloodline grants you such immense strength, your name is sure to be remembered in times to come.”
Gio sighed deeply.
“…Ah, I was a fool. That demon, boasting of shadow spells and summoning incantations, yet teaching me not a single true spell in the end—the wretched bastard. I should have driven a blade through his back while I could. That’s why I sought out those ancient relics for so long. Five years, to finally unearth a genuine one…”
His cracked skin began crumbling away like flaking ash. His head lolled back towards Valian, the aim slightly askew.
“You, the warrior who calls himself a barbarian. Having faced your prowess and that blade, I can see you are truly a formidable warrior.
Master the full extent of that holy sword’s power, and you will become several times mightier still. So I beg of you—seek out and slay Rimo Artus, that accursed bastard. Whether you emerge victorious or fall, I believe you can challenge him. When you do, speak my name and leave him one final scar.”
“…Are you insane? Asking me such a favor now?”
Nearly all of Gio’s skin had shed away, the remaining muscle and sinew gradually dissipating.
“Promise me, and I shall grant you a treasure—the hidden heirloom of my lineage. I will reveal its location.”
Gio’s legs, no longer able to support his weight, crumpled into powder. Even as his collapsing form tumbled to the ground, he strained to face Valian’s direction.
“And if I promise but do not follow through?”
“…I will trust in your honor.”
Valian gave a reluctant nod, swayed more by curiosity about this supposed treasure than any mournful sentimentality.
“Very well. I promise.”
Gio nodded as well.
“…My name is Muellarzio Elkunsys. The treasure lies in the Cobilai Fens. Seek out the Crow Witch there—she is the keeper of my lineage’s heirloom. Speak my name, and she will relinquish it to you.”
Before his body fully crumbled, he added one final remark:
“And when you scar that demon, be sure to speak my name.”
“I will.”
Though he agreed, Valian had no genuine intention of seeking out and slaying this supposed demon lord. His confidence in his own abilities and the allure of accumulating experience were insufficient to embolden him against such a supreme evil.
Valian closed his eyes, a surging sense of exaltation washing over his being—he had leveled up. Immersing his consciousness inwardly, he saw the familiar array of ability scores, this time opting to raise his endurance along with his strength, as he had debated previously. Opening his eyes and rolling his neck, he felt no fatigue.
This level up had come remarkably swiftly, courtesy of the immense experience gained from the werewolf Amelia and fallen fairy Gio. Not that he wished to continually engage in such lethal battles for the sake of experience and levels—the prospect of risking death held little appeal, despite the rewards.
Valian’s campsite had transformed into a sizable clearing, littered with splintered trees, drifting black ash, and charred detritus.
Retrieving the discarded scabbard, he sheathed the ancient holy sword Roebane. He had yet to fully grasp how to wield this blade, only that the combined blessings of his ancestral deity and the relic’s innate power had manifested a protective barrier in that dire moment. Otherwise, it seemed simply an exceptionally sturdy, keen-edged sword.
His pack lay nearby, which he shouldered before setting off. Though night remained, he felt disinclined to linger. His stamina was plentiful—better to continue trekking until he reached the next village.
Along the way, he recovered the battered hand-axe. It had become utterly useless as a weapon, more practical to melt down for farming tools than attempt re-edging the head. Thus, he simply discarded it upon the ground. He would need to purchase a new one in the next town or city.
Suddenly recalling Gio’s mention of the Cobilai Fens, he tried to envision their location—a considerable distance to the southwest, if his sense of geography was accurate.
Were Gio’s words truthful? Could some genuine treasure await there? Or would he arrive only to find Rimo Artus lying in ambush?
Though harboring rational skepticism, Valian nevertheless continued his westward stride into the setting sun.
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