Chapter 305
The air on the eighteenth floor crackled with raw power and the scent of scorched ozone.
Fire, wind and steel, three forces, converged on Alfia from different angles, a relentless storm of fury.
Yet, the witch moved with an ethereal grace, her form a mere whisper in the turbulent currents, a solitary leaf dancing in a gale as she dodged and parried every blow.
“Brave of you to come so close, children,” Alfia’s voice, calm amidst the chaos, carried over the din of battle.
“Do you truly believe speed and recklessness alone will secure your victory?”
“No, but what choice do we have?!” Clair retorted, her spear a blur as she lunged.
“Your magic strikes us at any range, so we might as well be where we can strike back!”
“It’s our only chance to win!” Ryuu affirmed, her movements a fluid extension of Clair’s, forming a dynamic duo.
“A long-range battle favors none but you!” Alise added, sweeping in with Ryuu to unleash a devastating combo.
Their synchronized assault was a masterpiece of martial art.
Yet, Alfia remained utterly unperturbed.
Her lips parted, a silent omen of an impending spell, preparing to obliterate the pair.
“Besides, mixing close- and long-range combat is a vital skill for any adventurer!” Clair declared, her spear thrusting forward, a perfectly timed intervention that shattered Alfia’s burgeoning incantation.
The witch merely tilted her head, a minuscule movement that effortlessly avoided the spear, yet it created the merest flicker of an opening….a window for their mages.
“Celty, now!” Ryana’s command cut through the fray.
“Yes, Miss Ryana!” Celty responded, her voice tight with focus.
An immense fireball erupted, followed by a roaring torrent of flames, weaving an inescapable prison of fire.
But Alfia merely uttered a single word, a whisper that reverberated with absolute authority: “Ataraxia.”
Her barrier materialized, a veil of serene power that devoured both spells whole, leaving not even a wisp of magical residue in its wake.
“Eeeek, she put her enchantment back up!” Noin shrieked, pausing just long enough to down a restorative draught.
“Well, of course, she would!” Nikolaos bellowed, his frustration palpable.
“She only needs a single word to activate it, and she can drop it whenever she pleases! While not instantaneous, her switch between offense and defense is practically a blink!”
Neze’s concern was a stark counterpoint to his irritation.
“I know, but… doesn’t that make her unbeatable?! She doesn’t have any weaknesses at all!”
‘No, she has to have some’ Alise thought, her mind racing.
‘Otherwise, she would have wiped the floor with us by now! She’s a Level 7, and we’re Level 3 at best! There’s no doubt about it… her power level is dropping!’
The chasm between two adjacent levels was an order of magnitude; a rank up was basically an ascension of body and soul, akin to reaching for godhood.
The very notion of a Level 3 challenging a Level 7 was laughable, an impossibility under normal circumstances.
But this, Alise realized, was anything but normal.
“We are on the right path!” Alise’s voice rang out, imbued with newfound conviction.
“Braver’s plan to wear her out is working! Frontliner’s, commence Operation Hit and Run! It’s not exactly heroic, but we have to keep her busy!”
“Right, Alise!” the frontline fighters echoed, their attack patterns shifting instantly.
They no longer charged head-on, instead striking from the flanks, from behind, even using feints to create openings from above.
“Taking turns to keep me on my toes, are you?” Alfia mused, her expression unreadable.
“I suppose you won’t grant me a moment to cast my spells… No matter. Against you, I hardly need them.”
The strategy was undeniably sound… against any conventional foe.
Against Alfia, with her prodigious talent and innate mastery, it fell woefully short.
As Clair and Ryuu moved to cover Alise, closing the distance, Alfia deftly brushed aside the spear and sword tips with one palm.
Her other hand, swift and merciless as a guillotine blade, arced towards Ryuu’s exposed neck. Alise was too far to intervene, and Clair’s skill duration had just elapsed, momentarily hindering her reaction.
Then, a sudden blur.
“Out of the way, greenhorns!”
A lightning-fast blade flashed, repelling Alfia’s devastating chop.
“I step out of the fight for two seconds, and this happens! I just can’t leave you all alone, can I?”
“Kaguya!” Ryuu gasped, still reeling from the brush with death.
Alfia took a measured step back, conceding ground to avoid the blade, allowing the Far Eastern girl to land gracefully beside Ryuu.
“Sorry,” Clair muttered to Ryuu, falling back as she clutched her aching eyes, a consequence of pushing her perception to its limit.
Alise, however, was surprisingly cheerful.
“I was wondering where you went off to!” she chirped.
“I didn’t believe for one second you’d just leave us all behind and run! Honest!”
“You’re as bad at lying as the elf, Captain,” Kaguya retorted, not sparing her leader a glance. “Best you keep your mouth shut… and leave this old hag to me!”
With a snarl that bared her pearly teeth, her wicked eyes fixed on Alfia.
“I’ve rid us of that meddling pest,” she spat, referring to something unseen.
“Now it’s time to settle the score!”
“You have an impressive fire, child,” Alfia observed, unflustered.
“However, I should correct you, for I am merely twenty-five.”
“Whoa! You are actually that young?! I thought for sure you were, like, forty or something, and it was just your Falna making you look pretty! Color me shocked!” Alise exclaimed, her focus momentarily overshadowed by her surprise.
“Alise! I know we’re fighting her, but you don’t have to be so rude!” Ryuu admonished, a weary gaze from the adventurers at the formation's center converging on the pair.
“What are they doing over there…?” Lyra sighed, rubbing her temples.
“Oh, pardon my rudeness!” Kaguya said, a smirk playing on her lips.
“It’s just, all old women look the same when you’re just seventeen!”
“If you mean to provoke me,” Alfia responded, her tone devoid of malice, “you’ll have to try a little harder than that. Your youth is nothing to be proud of.”
Without a sound, Alfia vanished, instantly closing the distance with Kaguya.
The Far Eastern girl’s eyes flew wide as she beheld the terrifying speed and power of the witch’s bare hand—flesh as durable as any first-tier equipment.
“People age faster than you could ever know,” Alfia murmured as a deadly storm of blows commenced.
The entire team watched in disbelief: not only did Alfia’s hand remain utterly unharmed, but her bare-handed parries actually wore down their enchanted weapons.
‘She’s still going?’ Kaguya thought, her muscles screaming as she struggled to keep pace.
‘She’s even faster than before,’ Alise realized, her earlier theory momentarily forgotten in the face of this renewed onslaught.
‘She’s a monster’ Clair’s mind screamed, her resolve wavering.
“We grow old,” Alfia continued, her voice carrying a haunting quality over the clash of steel on bare skin, “every time we think of what could have been. To regret our actions is to curse ourselves. Even I no longer know my heart’s true age.”
Her gentle looks betrayed no outward emotion, yet her words were laced with an unmistakable sorrow.
“We cannot fix our past mistakes. They are what make us who we are today… Zald, Mors, and I are of one mind in this regard.”
……………………………………………………………………………………………………… The roar of a thousand voices, a collective scream of adventurers, tore through the ash-laden sky above the city.
Ottar lifted his gaze to the churning heavens, absorbing the city's cacophony, before his eyes settled on the figure before him.
“Zald…”
In Central Park, just south of Babel’s gates, the defeated conqueror lay sprawled on the ground. All around, the scars of their colossal battle were etched into the land.
Flagstones had been violently uprooted, revealing the raw earth beneath.
By now, the sparks of war were fewer, and the hell this man had unleashed was beginning to fade.
Ottar’s right hand still gripped his sword, though his strength was utterly depleted.
With unsteady movements, he made his way to Zald’s side.
“…You bested me, Huh.”
“Yes… I did.”
Zald stared into the abyss of death.
His armor, a mangled ruin, revealed flesh beneath blackened by dried blood.
His ailing state was obvious, a condition perhaps that had plagued him long before this final conflict.
“Hah. To think this… brat…” Zald paused, his voice catching.
Blood slicked his face, and the light in his eyes rapidly dimmed.
He tried to laugh, but most facial muscles failed him, twisting his lips into a grimace rather than a true smile.
There was no trace of the imposing figure who had blocked Ottar’s path for so many years…..only a dying hero nearing his end.
“Things would have been different ten years ago,” Ottar mused, his mind drifting back through time.
“Besting you now means very little to me.”
“Spare me your pity…” Zald grunted, his labored breath a raw rasp.
“Before this war, I feasted well… Never have I felt as strong as I did today…”
The last thing Zald wanted was for the Boaz to downplay his own achievements.
“You bested me regardless,” he insisted.
“Take pride in that… and never forget it…”
“…As you wish.” Even on his deathbed, the warrior imparted wisdom.
Ottar fell silent, his mind swarmed by a tumult of unnecessary thoughts and feelings.
His keen nose picked out a trace of rot amid the stench of blackened blood, bringing to mind a memory….a time prior to the Black Dragon’s onslaught, when Ottar stood with Finn on a plain of black sand.
Thinking back to that moment, he posed a question.
“Zald, do you regret slaying the Behemoth?”
“…I do not.”
The man’s denial was absolute.
“I only played my part. For the good of this world… and for my fellow men. What… is there… to regret…? If there is one thing I regret, it is… Cough! Hack!”
As he tried to speak, Zald retched horrifically, spluttering black ooze that washed away the crimson.
“…Sleep now, Zald,” came the soft voice of Freya, standing silently by her champions side.
“I may not be your god, but I shall be here for you in the end regardless.”
“Heh. What spirit of fortune I should thank… to behold you in my final moments… instead of that boorish old man…”
Zald managed a faint, knowing crack of a smile, taking one last parting shot at his familia’s god. “…Ottar,” he rasped.
It took Ottar a moment to realize what sounded so odd.
The man had called him by name for the very first time.
“…What is it?” he asked.
“Do not… rest easy. You have far… to go. Greater heights still… await…”
“…I know.”
“Good…” With his receding gaze fixed on the ashen skies above, the old hero left his final words.
“Never stop… fighting. Never stop… growing… and beware of…..”
The final warning caught in his throat, lost to his last breath.
There was no funeral song; instead, the hymn of war resonated in the background.
Yet, for a moment, it seemed to swell in intensity, as if fulfilling his final wish.
A gentle smile remained on Zald’s lips even after he passed.
The goddess kneeled, reaching out her hand, and softly closed his eyelids.
“I know…” Freya whispered, her voice so low that even Ottar couldn't discern it, but he didn’t press his goddess for answers, his mind occupied with something else entirely.
“The final remnant of Zeus Familia is no more,” Freya said aloud.
“At last.” she added after a pause.
“Yes…” Ottar straightened, half-listening to his goddess’s words as a thousand years of history crumbled in his presence.
He craned his neck upward, beholding the same ash-laden sky Zald saw in his final moments. “Zald…” he murmured.
“I will always be grateful to you.”...
............................................................................................................................................
A chorus of cheers cut through the battle smoke, fueled by the confirmation that Zald had fallen. “Zald confirmed dead! Almost all the enhanced species have been wiped out, and the stronghold defenses are all under control!”
The news streamed in ceaselessly, an unstoppable wave of success washing over the weary adventurers.
Ottar’s decisive victory, coupled with the sacrifice of the veterans, had finally allowed hope to eclipse the despair of horrific losses.
They had dealt a crushing blow to the evilus and their monstrous allies.
“This is the home stretch!” Asfi declared, her faith in ultimate victory returning.
“The foe won’t be able to hang on much longer! But still…”
Behind her spectacles, her eyes narrowed.
She tracked the routed evilus forces, then shifted her gaze southwest.
The immense, silent expanse in that direction was unsettling.
“Master Zald has fallen…? This cannot be… You’ll pay for this!!”
Asfi heard the desperate vows of the retreating enemy.
“Come back here! …Damn!” Falgar watched in frustration as Olivas and the other lieutenants peeled away, using their remaining forces as mere shields for their escape.
If only we had the manpower to pursue them, Asfi thought, biting her lip.
Their strength was critically depleted.
They had taken heavy losses merely defending the battlements.
The evilus still commanded a substantial number of suicide bombers and dangerous monsters.
‘At this rate, we’ll have no choice but to let their leaders escape, she conceded. And worse, we can’t reinforce the southwestern flank. I was certain I saw Draco hovering there earlier, but now the silence is deafening.’
At that moment, a runner from the Loki familia erupted from the northwest……the direction of the Guild HQ.
“Perseus! A message!”
The use of a runner instead of a signal flare informed Asfi that the message was too complex, or too sensitive, for a sequence of flashing lights.
A knot of cold dread formed in her stomach.
“You are to join up with Ankusha and assume overall command!” the envoy relayed breathlessly.
“What?! Me?” Asfi shrieked, shock overriding her composure.
“What happened to the Braver?!”
Standard disaster protocols existed for the worst-case scenario.
In the case of Finn’s potential assassination or incapacitation…..but those orders mandated independent operations among the strongholds, not the elevation of a new general to the pallum’s position.
The messenger stammered, struggling to find the appropriate phrasing before a forced clarity settled in his tone.
“…The captain has, erm…opted to take independent action, ma’am…”
“…You’re kidding me…” Asfi’s eyes flew wide as the full, horrifying scope of Finn’s intent crystallized in her mind.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………….
In a dilapidated trading house southwest of the central fighting…
“Morale on all fronts is dropping fast! We don’t know how long we can sustain the attack on the defenses! Heavy casualties among the tamers, too!”
“The Apate and Alecto have both taken heavy damage from the Freya Familia! I’m getting unconfirmed reports that the Dis sisters and Master Basram have all been killed in action! The remaining spirit warriors are retreating alongside the rest of our troops!”
Despair thickened the air, clinging to the voices of the evilus messengers.
Each word they spoke only stoked Valletta’s furious rage.
“Dammit, dammit, dammit!! Order those losers to hold the line and tell our lieutenants to get their asses back to Knossos!”
Valletta was a capable commander; she rarely allowed fury to cloud her strategy.
Suppressing the white-hot fire in her chest, she focused strictly on withdrawal.
She had briefly considered heading toward Mors, intending to rally their shattered forces around him, but Mors was trapped between the south and southwestern adventurer strongholds. Reinforcements were undoubtedly closing in from other areas too.
Retreat was the only logical course.
“And don’t let Finn’s lot find out about our secret entrance!” she roared.
“Stay off Daedalus Street and use the one outside the city! Make them think we’re running away in absolute panic!”
“B-but, ma’am, even if we retreat from here, what about Master Mors? Without him, we might no longer have the strength to launch another offensive! The day is lost!”
“No, it isn’t! Listen!” Valletta cried, just as the ground beneath her feet shuddered violently.
“Hear that? Erebus and Alfia are still alive down there! That means the war isn't over yet! We just have to use Mors as bait, make it back to Knossos, regroup with that woman, and then…”
But then a sound cut through the chaos.
A voice Valletta had sincerely hoped she would never hear again.
“Spear of magic, I offer my blood! Bore within this brow….”
“…Gh?!”
Whether through a strange auditory fluke or a primal, sinking dread, Valletta heard an incantation that should have been too distant to register.
“Hell Finegas!”
Her eyes were immediately drawn to the source….the west main street.
There, standing impossibly alone atop a mound of fresh evilus corpses, was a lone pallum.
He slowly opened his eyes, already glowing with the destructive light of his magic.
“…There’s no escape,” he said, his voice carrying the finality of a closing door.
“This is checkmate.”
A/N: Feel free to read ahead on pat3on, donate and read 1 extra chapter as a free member.