novelraw Chapter 70 : Chapter 70
Chapter 70 : Chapter 70
Chapter 70: A Hymn for the Avenger (2)
Strong.
Osmond instinctively sensed it.
Abel, who was swinging his beloved sword in front of him, was an absurdly strong opponent.
Clang, clang, clang! A feast of blades, raging as if dancing a sword dance. Osmond could only parry. He could only repeat a clumsy backward step. Osmond’s reddish-gray hair billowed, pushed by the force. Like a prude who couldn't mix in with the dance.
‘Holding my breath…’
Osmond’s chest swelled.
He put strength into the hand gripping the hilt.
That was the signal. ‘Hesitation Mark’ was an artifact that strengthened its owner’s body. The spell engraved on the sword penetrated Osmond’s body. And so, the moment he was about to supplement his strength, speed, and stamina,
“──That looks like an expensive sword.”
Squeeze.
Abel’s hand, snatching Osmond’s blade.
A stream of blood flowed from the palm cut by the single edge, and
“Was I mistaken? Looking at it again, it’s a piece of junk.”
Swoosh…!
A whitish aura enveloped Abel’s hand.
Aura. Osmond stared at Abel’s aura.
As if mesmerized, standing blankly, he watched the process of his artifact being destroyed. The ominously glinting ‘Hesitation Mark’ was reduced to scrap metal. It became covered in cracks as if cut by the empty air, then,
Crack, thud──,
it soon poured down.
Shattered into pieces, towards Osmond’s feet.
“What will you do? You have no weapon.”
Abel extended his arm without delay.
He grabbed Osmond’s breastplate and pulled.
Osmond’s eyes became thoughtful.
From afar, a voice amplified by a spell was heard.
“Surrender obediently. Depending on the circumstances, I won’t kill you.”
A woman’s voice and a man’s voice.
Osmond was busy between the two sounds. He listened to both, his eyes rolling.
“Answer.”
“Will you surrender?”
“Or will you resist?”
Osmond did not answer.
He just kept looking into Abel’s eyes.
It would have been useless to move his lips. Abel would not have heard Osmond’s voice.
Because the audience was cheering loudly.
Because fireworks enhanced by a spell were soaring above Osmond and Abel’s heads. Because the multicolored flames were burning, forming the crests of the five Main Gods.
“Abel.”
And so, Osmond asked.
Between the gaps of the scattered sparks.
“Do you believe in gods?”
“I do not.”
Is it a question to create an opening? A shallow trick.
Thinking so, Abel answered. He could have bound him right away, but a faint doubt had taken root in Abel’s mind.
“Why? The Main Gods actually exist.”
Is it really a trick?
“Existing and trusting are different matters. If the Main Gods have been identified, the meaning of faith must be expanded.”
“Abel, you don’t trust the Main Gods? They say they created this world.”
Random, vague, and even rambling.
Is a question like this really a trick?
“I do not trust them.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t you say it? That the Main Gods created this world. That is the basis. If only upright trust was needed, there would have been no need for free will to be created in the first place.”
“It’s difficult. I don’t know what you mean.”
Isn't he like a child?
Abel thought, staring into Osmond’s eyes.
It was too trivial for a Q&A with an adversary. Osmond’s question was, so to speak, that of a boy. Why is the sky blue? Why do morning and night switch? Why, why, why. It was like a question a child asks, unable to hold back.
“Abel, I’m sorry.”
Suddenly, Osmond whispered.
At the same time, his armor glinted.
“I’m not going to let myself be caught.”
It was beginning to activate.
The numerous patterns scrawled on the jet-black armor.
The roughly scrawled bundle of curves held a gloomy radiance.
“Because the Saint-Pierre family still exists.”
He knew it was a magic circle. Although crudely written, it would have an effect. It was just that what had deviated from Abel’s expectations was…
“Because I couldn’t kill them all!”
Boom──.
Spells enveloping Osmond’s body.
Abel’s eyes widened. A wave forged from mana repelled Abel. Abel, pushed far away, righted his posture. As he put strength into the hilt and looked at Osmond,
‘It was a misjudgment.’
he could easily concede.
The magic circles scrawled on Osmond’s heavy armor were not crude. They were concealed to appear crude. Through a meticulous work that would confuse even Abel.
Spells classified as 5th-tier assisted Osmond.
He concealed his presence through ‘A Thief’s Shadow-Stepping Game’, and reduced the weight of his armor using ‘An Incomplete Astral Projection’. ‘Mist Bite’ made Osmond’s form faint, and with the effect of ‘A Raindrop Without a Ripple’, he glided shallowly.
He must have been erasing his traces with such spells until now.
“I’m going to fight seriously from now on.”
Ahaha.
Osmond declared brightly, as if playing, and
<──Full Bloom.>
Pazit──!
Weapons, raining down with streaks of light.
Roughly twenty swords? The swords positioned around Osmond were brilliant. Their shapes were all different. Their effects were also all different. But they were all artifacts.
‘It’s like looking at toys.’
Osmond, rushing in with two swords in hand.
Abel thought, glaring at Osmond.
‘His body is that of a young man, but…’
Abel also moved.
He ran in a straight line. With his left hand, he caressed the empty air. A small subspace opened. Abel gripped Maurice de Olfrange’s Sword Breaker.
‘everything except his body…’
is like looking at a child.
He is a perfect boy.
With that diagnosis, Abel wielded two swords.
‘Even the rare weapons…’
──Screech!
Osmond’s blade, scraping the flooring.
Flames from the right, and frost from the left, raged.
It was the effect of the artifacts. The one in his right hand was ‘The Flame that Soothed Weeping’, and the one in his left was ‘Frost Breath’? Abel calmly considered and moved his feet.
‘Even the clumsy swordsmanship…’
Thud.
A single stomp.
The distance closed rapidly.
Abel’s and Osmond’s gazes met.
Whoosh──! Osmond glided and raised both arms. He used the moment to add acceleration. And so, the raging blades. The flames and frost that had been enveloping the blades merged. The fire and cold became a sword wind and surrounded Abel, and at the same time,
‘Even the immature killing intent…’
a blade, extending in a random direction.
It was one of those moves. Abel dodged the blow by arching his upper body.
The sword strike grazed his jawline. The full moon revealed beyond it was faint. It was because it had been obscured by smoke and cold wind.
‘is all ridiculously childish.’
And so, he cut it down.
──Screech! The Sword Breaker, cutting through the air that had become a sword wind. The saw-toothed blade moved swiftly, and at the same time, the raging flames and frost were shaved off along the path of the sword. They were cut, mana and all, and nullified. Becoming sparks, becoming moisture.
‘...He doesn’t seem human.’
Osmond was shocked.
Inside the mask, his expression was crumbling.
Ahat, ahat. The laughter that was ultimately uttered was just a seizure. Although his lips drew a smile, his eyes held bewilderment.
It’s not working. Nothing is working.
The sword wind shattered as if the day was clearing. At the same time, a sword tip pierced Osmond’s front. To the eye, it would be just a lump of iron. Abel’s beloved sword.
‘...I erased my presence.’
Clang, clang, clang!
But it was like an iron wall.
It was like facing an iron fortress with a sword.
It was useless no matter which direction he extended his sword. Abel’s beloved sword was already there. He continued his offensive in eight directions, but it was futile. His repeated attacks had at some point become a defense. It was because they were shaved off every time they met the beloved sword. The blade of the artifact, by Abel’s aura. As if it had been a shield.
‘...The weight of the armor has disappeared.’
Clang──!
It soon shattered.
Osmond’s two artifacts, scattering as pieces of iron.
The fragments that shot out cheerfully flew as if to touch the full moon. Abel swung his arm and cut through them. His swamp-like dark blue eyes swooped down on Osmond.
‘...The shape should be faint.’
Hmph.
A raw sound, interrupting the laughter.
Osmond quickly retreated. He stepped on the shadow that had been trailing behind him. That was why he knew. That it would ultimately be a self-defeating move. That the more he retreated, the more disadvantageous his position became.
Thud…! He gripped the hilt as if grabbing a lifeline. Swords were once again in his right and left hands. What were the names of these artifacts? What effects did they have? He didn't even have time to calculate that.
‘...If only there was an opening, I could glide.’
Then let’s close our eyes.
It is because of sight that one is mistaken. Even though he had reached a dead end, it was as if he was standing in the middle of a dazzling festival.
Osmond judged so. It was the result of a simple calculation. He pushed himself by firmly shutting his eyelids. A rich blackness spread before his eyes, and he honed only his sound, smell, and along with that, his instincts.
As if beginning a prayer.
‘Yes. That’s exactly why…’
──Clang!
A cheerful sound of metal.
Screech, screech. A discord that followed the sound of metal.
Osmond opened his eyes. Abel’s sword strike was blocked.
‘Not bad.’
Abel nodded his head once.
The two crossed blades. It was the result of a move Osmond had instinctively unleashed. Abel’s beloved sword struggled between the blades. It was stuck too deep to get out.
‘Unripe, but strong.’
Abel stored the Sword Breaker in his subspace.
At the same time, he judged. That Osmond Epanoui was lacking in all aspects. He would not have learned swordsmanship, and he was unskilled in controlling his emotions. He was absurdly young to handle the finest weapons.
That was why it became certain. That Osmond Epanoui was a natural-born swordsman. He did not know swordsmanship, but he was skilled in swordplay, and he could not control his emotions, but his instincts were sharp. Numerous artifacts, heavy armor combined with spells. He was a young genius who could handle all of that with ease.
‘The reason he can be so strong…’
Abel’s expression hardened indifferently.
At the same time, he let go of the hilt. He extended his empty hand towards Osmond, and
he chanted in a monotone voice, and
‘is it because he doesn’t know his own heart?’
──Thud!
Osmond’s body, soaring futilely.
It was the result of ‘The War Cry of the Battlefield’ being chanted. An invisible force pushed Osmond.
The time until he hit the ground would be but a moment. Abel did not miss the opportunity. That child does not know his own heart. Because he does not know his own heart, he could hide his moves. With that assertion, he grabbed his beloved sword. Since he could not predict Osmond’s actions, he had to subdue him at once.
‘How can he be so strong?’
On the other hand, Osmond took the opportunity of the moment to wonder.
He could not understand. He wanted to ask right away. But he didn't even have time to open his mouth. He was just shocked, floating in the air.
The feeling of ascent that had been enveloping his whole body disappeared. As the curiosity that had been in his mind scattered. And so, Osmond put strength into his two hands. He gripped the hilts and concluded for himself.
‘It’s because he killed his own heart.’
Abel Argento had killed his own heart.
That was why not a single waver could be found. Look. Look over there. Osmond urged himself, tilting his eyes downwards. Far away, Abel’s stance was being honed. Without a single opening. As if he had been cut out of this world for a moment.
There wouldn't be many seconds left.
The time until he hit the ground.
‘I have to think of a way.’
In the center of Osmond’s vision, Abel stood.
A stance preparing for a blow. A whitish aura surrounded Abel’s beloved sword. I won’t be able to dodge it. I won’t be able to parry it. Osmond saw through it based on his instincts. That that was the decisive blow.
‘Then what should I do?’
Abel Argento’s style of crushing, ‘Chasing Butterflies’.
There was no time for Osmond to devise an answer. All he could do was follow it with his eyes. The figure of Abel, rushing towards him.
That’s right. That was really all. It was because he couldn't hear a sound. Only once, along with Abel taking a step, the commotion stopped. The roar of the audience disappeared, and Abel’s presence also vanished.
And so, one footstep.
Abel had cut the sound, and
‘I don’t know.’
Osmond hit the ground.
He crossed his blades and protected his body. He estimated Abel’s speed and his own, and concluded that he could at least try to receive it.
‘No, that’s wrong.’
And so, two footsteps.
Abel had cut the space, and
‘He’s gone.’
Osmond thought, with wide-open eyes.
For a moment, Abel had disappeared.
It was a misconception. It was not difficult to accept a mere error. Because Abel was faster than a moment. He had appeared before his thoughts could form. After cutting the space between spaces to nullify the distance, he stamped his third footstep.
‘No.’
A thrust like a period.
The moment the tip of the beloved sword was about to touch Osmond,
‘No, no, no!’
Osmond held his breath and sensed it.
He did not sense his own death. He sensed the death of others.
His body began to move, relying on instinct. It would be impossible to block Abel’s attack. Therefore, he drove the two artifacts into his feet. He then put strength into his hands and activated the spells engraved on the swords, and
a moment of silence.
- What is it?
- Wait, that’s…
- Everyone run!
A small commotion.
‘──No!’
Boom──!
A roar that shook the ground. But it was trivial.
Compared to the historicity inherent in the Dawn Leaf Theater.
‘...Damn it!’
Abel gritted his teeth.
The audience that had gathered in front of the theater screamed. Fear invaded and spread through the cheers that had been filled with joy.
There’s no time. Abel grabbed his beloved sword, mixed in with the collapsing stones. Spells are meaningless. It would be too late to recite a shortened chant. After checking the radius by rolling his eyes, Abel cut through the fragments of the building and reached the ground.
Billowing silver hair.
Abel’s dark blue eyes glinted.
‘It’s collapsing…’
Behind Abel, Penelope’s eyes widened.
She blankly lifted her head and stared only at the empty air. The debris of the building, scattering like flower seeds. One of them, a large fragment, became a shadow and covered Penelope’s vision.
And so, there was no time to notice. The figure of Abel, pulling her arm. Holding her with one arm, and swinging his beloved sword with the other, a series of movements.
Silence.
But a blooming streak of light.
A purely white aura soared high, and
‘...It’s gone?’
Penelope thought with a blank expression.
It was so unreal that she couldn't be sure. But not being sure made it feel empty. Not only the collapsing debris of the building, but also half of the Dawn Leaf Theater, which had been barely standing firm, was cut off.
As if cut by the God of War, cleanly.
“Thank… thank goodness.”
Suddenly, a young voice reached Penelope.
Only then did Penelope look around. After glancing at Abel once, she turned her gaze. Osmond was approaching Penelope, but Penelope did not know Osmond’s name.
“It was a truly beautiful song. I’m glad you’re safe.”
That was why she thought.
That he was a skeleton wearing a mask. To Penelope, Osmond was a living skeleton. And for good reason, because in Osmond’s half-broken heavy armor, only a skeleton existed. A futilely weak skeleton was barely linked together and moving.
“I’m sorry, for making you go through this…”
Osmond whispered to Penelope.
Penelope had nothing else to say. She just stood with her mouth shut, staring at the gradually becoming transparent Osmond.
‘A transfer spell?’
Abel thought with a stoic expression.
At the same time, he was certain. That everything had become clear. He had estimated it within the range of calculation, but the hypothesis he had regarded most indifferently was confirmed.
‘So that’s what it was.’
Osmond was alive and at the same time, dead.
Half of his body was alive, but half of his body was destroyed.
Normally, he would not have been able to move. There was no human who could move normally after losing half of their body. To transplant the bones that made up the lost half of the body into the body and make it move. Furthermore, to make it grow, bones and all. There were few in the Empire who could conceive of such a thing. And in the capital, there was only one.
If you excluded the saintess, Iris.
‘It’s not a matter of achievement.’
Elemental magic cannot breathe life into a skeleton, and black magic cannot implant free will. Even with divine magic, the limit is restoration. The skeleton that made up Osmond was perfectly transplanted into his body.
Not by magic, but by authority.
‘Was all of this your intention?’
Abel’s lips parted.
A long sigh flowed from them.
The dust, pushed by his breath, scattered into the night sky.
‘...Fleur de Saint-Pierre.’
Abel recalled, wiping his blank expression.
The name of the young lady of the Marquis of Saint-Pierre, the evangelist of the God of the Underworld, the girl who had been granted the resuscitation ceremony.