Chapter 215: A Dying Belief
Marcaron hastily stepped back. Simultaneously, he withdrew the ‘Domain’ he had built up with the Mana of Darkness. The sensation that had been controlling the entire battlefield vanished in an instant.
The Corrupted split into two groups.
Those close to Calix charged forward with even greater ferocity, while those farther away collapsed like wooden puppets with severed strings. The limbs that had been crawling across the ground and the headless bodies that had been moving crumbled into dust and scattered.
Marcaron's presence still permeated every corner of the battlefield, but he could no longer control the monsters. The moment he sensed a threat to his life, The Corrupted became an army without a center.
"Marik! Cover the rear!"
At that moment, Royce drove his horse forward, charging straight into the fray.
The Corrupted, determined to protect Marcaron's life, threw aside their own survival and swarmed him. He cut them down, and cut them down again.
Black blood splattered across his cheek.
Royce felt his neural accelerator heating up. True to its nature as a device implanted during his mercenary days, its output was exceptional but unstable.
He swept a Corrupted body aside and thought, ‘There isn't much I can do’.
At some point, the battlefield had come to rest on Calix's shoulders. Reading the battlefield, devising plans, standing at the vanguard—all of it. And so now, it was his turn to prove himself.
Fierce flames burst from his sword's tip. It was an ability somewhere between Falling Fire and Geomhwa. Raging flames melted the enemy's armor and flesh.
Where the sword grazed, the torsos and legs of those who had been standing split apart.
"Left side! We're being pushed!"
Volga threw himself forward even as the shout rang out.
His greatsword came crashing down, crushing a monster's skull whole. He ground the rite-stone axe underfoot, pulverizing flesh as he went.
"Hold formation!"
At Zahira's signal, the Mountain Rabbits naturally fell into line. Who would lead and who would guard the rear needed no discussion. It was a movement they had repeated dozens of times.
What mattered now was guarding Calix's back.
"We only move forward! The soft one……leave him to Cook Comrade!"
Gregor drove through the enemy lines with his shield leading the way.
Thanks to this, the near-desperate actions of the monsters lost all meaning. They had attempted to use their own bodies as shields, but the Mountain Rabbits turned even that against them. The moment enemies fell, they used them as stepping stones and vaulted over; those charging recklessly forward had only their center of gravity broken before being shoved into the enemies around them.
And when enemies crowded in too tightly—light erupted. Divinity exploded from within Ella, scattering fragments of the curse outward. As The Corrupted flinched and covered their eyes, the Mountain Rabbits finally completed the isolated enclosure.
Calix's gaze turned straight ahead.
Marcaron—Marcaron, Who Twists The Natural Order—stopped retreating. He had instinctively recognized that there was nowhere left to go.
[You…….]
"There is no place to run."
The Chaotic Mana pushed the neural accelerator's output to its absolute limit, and Calix's body fractured into afterimages.
The time for words was over. All that remained was to prove one's conviction with steel and life.
***
Marcaron did not look back. He already knew. There was nowhere left to retreat, and a single human had reached the domain he had built.
The air had changed.
The dark waves that had spread in every direction until moments ago now gathered into a single point. The things that had been churning irregularly were compressed into a confined space.
In that instant, Calix moved.
Within a flash of a moment, the sword's trajectory was redrawn. This time it was neither large nor flashy. A simple, straight path—stripped of all unnecessary movement.
A gray line stretched directly toward Marcaron.
Marcaron barely managed to react. He was nearly a full beat late, yet he managed to block the blade with his wing feathers. Then his fingertips swept through the air as if scratching at nothing, folding space itself. The very spot where Calix had stood was crumpled inward.
But that place was already empty.
He launched himself off the edge of the twisted space and leaped forward again. As though he had anticipated the distortion entirely.
[……!]
For the first time, the monster let out a hollow gasp.
Marcaron frantically drew upon his power. An innate ability born from his standing as a legion commander. Dozens of eyes abruptly bulged across the surface of his wings.
And then—space warped at random.
An irregularity that defied the providence ordained by heaven. Even a Master would find it impossible to predict and evade. And so Calix personally cut down that divine authority.
Crack—crackle!
The Chaotic Mana split apart the force crushing space and pressed forward. It shattered the structure darkness had built and bored deep inside.
[No! That can't be possible…….]
This time it was no shallow wound. The robe split open, exposing the blue flesh beneath. Blood evaporated, and smoke rose.
Marcaron tried to clutch the wound, but it was beyond him. His upper body hung in dangerous tatters. Had the blade gone a single hand's width deeper, he would have been cleaved in two.
But that was not the true problem.
The core had been damaged.
Shwoooosh!!
The instant the sword tip grazed the polyhedral core, a massive storm of mana erupted from the small gap. The minor wound instead triggered an explosive surge of pressure. Black vapor poured out, blanketing both ground and sky.
Marcaron struggled to seal the opening, scattering his wing feathers in every direction. He was thrashing about, desperately trying to cling to life.
He turned his head—and saw the humans bearing the Mountain Rabbits' name. He was encircled. He could no longer deny it. The calculation had gone wrong. He had not anticipated that the humans would reach this point.
No. They should never have been able to come this far.
[Gromchi! You foolish thing!]
Calix closed the distance once more.
Even as the enemy cried out in bitter resentment, there was no hesitation. Every current converged on the sword's tip. He could clearly sense the precise location of the core—vibrating faintly at Marcaron's chest, where it connected to the wings.
‘I can see it.’
Both feet pushed off the ground.
Marcaron's eyes went wide. He hurriedly folded his wing joints to shield his body. Even so, it meant little.
The blade Calix thrust forward carried within it the Apex of Annihilation. That power resembled the quiet of winter that arrives after the flames have died down.
Like thick snowflakes falling—resistance was futile no matter how hard one tried.
***
It did not take long for the outcome of the clash to reveal itself.
Marcaron could no longer stand. His black wings were torn, barely maintaining half their shape, and the body beneath the robe had long since lost any semblance of human structure. The blue flesh was split and running, and where the mana had drained away, dark patches lay bare.
He knelt on one knee, head bowed. The core still held its form. Yet the body that had encased it could no longer fulfill its role.
Marcaron's breathing broke apart in ragged gasps. With every exhale, the Mana of Darkness leaked out in fine wisps. There was no sign of self-recovery.
Only then did Calix take a step back.
The gray energy coiled at the sword's tip slowly settled. The neural accelerator's trembling gradually faded. The world began returning, once more, to its normal pace.
‘So this—is the full extent of my power.’
He had confirmed his own strength, and with it came a wave of exhaustion.
As the pressure lifted, his lungs—belatedly—gulped down air until they ached. A faint ringing echoed in his ears, but at least it advanced no further.
The Mountain Rabbits, too, had stilled.
Royce lowered his sword, watching the fleeing Corrupted. Basim drove his axe into the ground and steadied his breathing. Ella was still reciting her prayer.
The Great Gromchi continued to exert its presence elsewhere, but at the very least, the space around Calix had gone completely silent.
"……Is it over?"
Volga murmured quietly.
It was a voice poised somewhere between certainty and wariness.
Zahira nodded in confirmation. Marcaron could not raise his head. It seemed no strength to resist remained. Or perhaps the great shock had taken hold of him. His fingertips trembled continuously, and the unstable waves leaking from the core scorched the ground.
Calix gripped his sword and stepped toward him. He did not rush. What mattered was finishing this with certainty.
It was then.
[Heh heh heh.]
Marcaron let out a laugh.
"……What? Bitter about losing? He's completely lost it."
Volga clicked his tongue. At first it seemed like a self-deprecating laugh, but what followed made Calix's expression harden.
[Do not become intoxicated by victory. It is nothing but a fleeting moment.]
The air of the battlefield shifted ever so slightly. Only Calix noticed the change and lifted his gaze. It was the most trivial of differences.
Calix's eyes wavered.
It was unlike any presence he had experienced until now. Not the waves of a legion commander, not the pressure of a giant. Far deeper, far older—
[He has arrived.]
Something undeniable had come.
***
A stillness descended upon the heart of the battlefield.
Calix had not noticed the anomaly long ago. The wind was blowing, yet the sound arrived a beat too late. A drop of blood fell to the ground but did not splatter.
Within that stillness, someone stood.
Without any forewarning, with no way of knowing when they had come to be there. They had simply walked calmly through the midst of the Mountain Rabbits.
It was a knight draped in a black cloak. In the heart of a battlefield soaked in blood, not a speck of dust clung to his garments. A tall frame, limbs no different from a human's. Only the face was hidden behind a helmet.
"……!"
Royce belatedly noticed the intruder and raised his sword. The Mountain Rabbits scattered and formed a surrounding perimeter.
But the figure had no intention of playing along.
Then, Marcaron raised his head.
In an instant, his body convulsed as though seized by spasms. The core that had barely quieted began pulsing erratically, and the bones of his wings scraped against the ground.
[Ah…….]
Complex emotions were contained in Marcaron's voice. Relief and fear tangled together, leaving him unable to continue. Neither excuse, nor rage, nor the dignity of a legion commander remained.
Only fear—ruled what was left of his body.
The intruder looked down at Marcaron.
"You fought well."
A composed voice. Not praise, not consolation—a confirmation of fact. He did not extend his hand. He merely took one step forward.
And then the core seated at Marcaron's heart—went out.
No light, no explosion. Cracks formed in the polyhedron that composed the core, and it scattered into dust. The body collapsed next. Flesh turned to ash, and the wings crumbled entirely, leaving only fragments of bone behind.
Marcaron could not even scream. He disappeared as though he had never existed from the very beginning.
Gulp.
The sound of someone swallowing spread through the Mountain Rabbits. Calix, too, did not move carelessly. His neural accelerator hummed faintly.
A feeling of resonance.
He already knew why.
"……The Corrupted Lord, De Generitum."
The figure's head rose.
Calix continued without concern.
"Or is the old name more familiar to you?"
"……Old name?"
"Ashapel Raimund."
That gaze grazed Calix for just an instant. That alone was enough for the battlefield's air to sink one degree further. And soon, an answer came back.
"It is a name already forgotten."
Indeed. He was De Generitum—the most terrible lord to exist upon the earth.
Only then did everyone understand.
The belief that this war could be ended by human hands—had just died.