Chapter 292: The Footprint of the God of the Land (6)

Edmund's physical vessel was gradually succumbing to destruction. Consumed by overwhelming desperation, he fervently scoured his surroundings, yearning for an escape route from this grim predicament. Yet, even with his consciousness elevated to a state of partial transcendence, Edmund was unable to unearth any means to persevere amidst the harrowing circumstances that engulfed him.

However, if he were to ask for help and were granted assistance, then….

‘Your Majesty, the Demon King.’

Edmund begged desperately. Wouldn’t the Demon King of Incarceration hate to lose an outstanding subordinate?

Edmund held an unwavering conviction in his own worthiness. Rather than being collected as a soul after death, he preferred to live his life for the Demon King to fulfill his loyalty.

‘Please, please…,’

Edmond begged.

Unfortunately, his plea went unanswered, and the harsh reality he faced caused Edmund to become even more desperate. The Demon King of Incarceration had allowed Edmund to pursue a transformation into becoming a Demon King. In fact, the Demon King had fulfilled Edmund’s request and granted him Dark Power.

Nonetheless, the Demon King of Incarceration maintained a peculiar stance, refraining from any direct assistance or interference in Edmund's endeavors. Even if Edmund had succeeded in becoming a Demon King, the Demon King of Incarceration would not have interfered. However, if Edmund failed and died… the Demon King of Incarceration would still remain entirely unaffected, devoid of even the slightest trace of regret.

That was what the Demon King of Incarceration was like, and despite wanting to tell himself otherwise, Edmund knew this truth as well.

Edmund clung to the fervent desire to perceive himself as exceptional, fostering the hope that the Demon King of Incarceration would extend a guiding hand to him in his time of need. Yet, his desperate plea echoed through the void and was met with nothing but a deafening silence.

As the final assault of the Moonlight Sword crashed upon him, Edmund's cherished physical form was utterly obliterated, reduced to naught. However, amidst the wreckage, Vladmir was left behind.

Vladmir, a being birthed by the very hands of the Demon King of Incarceration, ascended in solitary grandeur in the scattering moonlight. Eugene swung his sword once more to destroy the terrible object.

Yet, in a breathtaking turn of events, moments before the moonlight's radiant touch could envelop the staff, an unsettling phenomenon unfurled. Crimson-hued Dark Power surged forth from its very core, the dragon heart. The sinister energy materialized into intricate chains that coiled around Vladmir, forming an impregnable barrier that defied the moonlight's destructive intent.

In an instant, the chains enshrouding Vladmir vanished into thin air, whisking away the enigmatic entity along with them. Frustration etched deep lines upon Eugene's visage as he touched down on the solid ground, his teeth grinding in vexation. Despite withholding intervention in Edmund's demise, the Demon King of Incarceration had managed to reclaim Vladmir.

“Fucking bastard,” Eugene spat while taking out a dagger from his cloak. Edmund had shouted Balzac’s name before his death. It was clear that the ritual had failed because of Balzac’s gimmick.

Eugene remained shrouded in uncertainty regarding Balzac's actions, yet an underlying wariness persisted within him. Suspicion cast its shadow upon his thoughts, contemplating the possibility that Balzac had cunningly sought to usurp the coveted position of the Demon King by depriving Edmund of his ritual.

‘But I don’t think that’s true….’

If Balzac had succeeded in becoming the Demon King, the Dark Power channeling Blind would have undergone a change. However, Balzac’s Signature remained the same as before.

Eugene raised the dagger while looking around his surroundings.

“Please let me live.”

Eugene heard a voice coming from behind him. He found Balzac raising himself up from the ground. “I haven’t done anything for you to be wary of.”

Balzac appeared genuinely wronged. Eugene peered at his face without loosening his grip on the dagger.

“Since when have you been here?” he asked.

“I’ve been here since you started attacking Edmund,” responded Balzac.

“Why were you lying down without saying anything?” Eugene asked.

“Because I knew Edmund would become impatient if he didn’t know where I was,” answered Balzac.

“You should have still said you were here,” retorted Eugene.

“I couldn’t have done that with how I was hiding myself,” Balzac responded with a bitter smile.

“What did you do?” asked Eugene.

“I diverted a portion of the sacrifices that were being sourced externally and interfered with a part of the ritual as well,” Balzac answered.

“Interfered?”

“It wasn’t anything big. I just changed the ritual slightly so Edmund would make a mistake after losing his cool,” Balzac said while bowing toward Eugene. “It was all thanks to you pushing him so hard, Sir Eugene.”

“You didn’t have to interfere with the ritual,” Eugene said, pointing the dagger at Balzac. “If your aim was to disturb the ritual, then it would have been sufficient to divert the sacrifices, right? In any case, it would have delayed the ritual, and I could have killed Edmund.”

“Perhaps so,” Balzac agreed with a bow, despite Eugene’s words being too far-fetched.

Eugene stared at Balzac with a sullen expression, then withdrew his dagger. “…Can you withdraw Blind now?”

His gaze swept across the battlefield, taking in the somber scene as the war neared its bitter conclusion. With Edmund's demise, the wellspring of Dark Power that fueled the Kochilla Tribe’s warriors had been extinguished, leaving them bereft of their formidable strength. The surviving warriors, wearied to their very cores, struggled to stay upright, their bodies wracked with exhaustion and torment, their anguished cries silenced by their overwhelming suffering.

“Kyahahahahah!”

Eugene could see Melkith shrieking with laughter in the distance. She displayed an overwhelming presence on the battlefield, launching bolts of lightning and clouds of fire all around her. Behind her followed the summons of Lovellian, and on the other side, Ivatar swung his axe without any hint of exhaustion.

Eugene withdrew his gaze, then searched for Cyan.

***

Hector possessed unparalleled swiftness, his colossal form exuding power and might, while his multitude of arms bestowed upon him a distinct advantage over the limitations of the human physique. It was undeniable that Hector surpassed Cyan in strength and prowess in every aspect.

The undeniable truth of Hector's overwhelming superiority was not lost on Cyan; he, too, acknowledged the vast gap that separated them. Nevertheless, despite the difference in power, Cyan found himself unable to yield. He understood that to retreat would mean surrendering something of profound significance to him as Cyan Lionheart.

That something, he thought, was probably pride.

Hector stood among the ranks of the ignominious traitors who had betrayed the Lionheart lineage, tarnishing their honor. Yet, Cyan had not brought any of these traitors to justice with his own hands.

Eward and Dominic had met their demise at the hands of Eugene, while Cyan, rendered unconscious and defenseless during that fateful moment, had been utterly powerless to intervene.

He could not allow a repeat of the past. Even if he were forced into defeat because of his weakness, Cyan did not want to turn his back on Hector, a traitor to the family.

Undeterred, Cyan pressed onward, each step charged with a profound purpose. Pride, unwavering belief, a sacred mission, and a myriad of other crucial elements propelled him forward. Gripping his sword with a fierce determination, he unleashed its might with all the strength and seething malice coursing through his veins.

In a profound sense, the battle before him became a crucible through which Cyan sought to validate himself. The significance lay not in the eyes of others but in the act of personally vanquishing Hector. By ending the formidable adversary's life with his own hands, Cyan yearned to witness a tangible realization of his progress.

His memories slipped away like a fleeting breeze, leaving him unable to recollect the precise manner in which he countered Hector's relentless onslaught. The specifics of his defense, the art of parrying, deflecting, launching counterattacks, thrusting his blade, evading with agile grace, leaping with precision, and executing seamless maneuvers — all remained shrouded in the fog of forgotten recollection. Nonetheless, he persisted in the fierce combat, his actions driven by instinct alone, no longer conscious of his own fluid motions in the heat of battle.

At a certain point, a fiery heat surged from the depths of Cyan's being, suffusing his body with renewed vitality. Remarkably, despite the ceaseless movement devoid of respite, weariness eluded him. On the contrary, his form grew increasingly weightless with each motion, buoyed by a surge of invigorating energy. In an extraordinary moment, it appeared as though time itself had decelerated, bestowing upon him the ability to anticipate and narrowly evade Hector's imminent strike, the threat to his very throat narrowly averted.

No matter how many times Cyan's blade cleaved through Hector's flesh, the traitorous foe remained impervious to death's grip. His wounds closed instantly, allowing him to persist in an unyielding onslaught, relentless and unceasing. Hector's shouts reverberated through the air, yet Cyan found himself deaf to his words. The utterances of a turncoat, a wretched creature who had forsaken his very humanity, held no value or significance to Cyan.

In stark contrast to Hector's enduring resilience, Cyan, bound by his human limitations, bore the burden of mortality. Each strike inflicted upon him drew forth crimson blood, and his limbs gradually faltered in their function. Though he skillfully employed his shield to avert fatal blows, a multitude of minor wounds accumulated, their weight burdening him.

Yet, at a pivotal juncture, he perceived a remarkable phenomenon — his injuries miraculously mended, as if washed away by the benevolent touch of divine magic. It became evident that Kristina had bestowed her healing powers upon him. Overwhelmed by gratitude, Cyan's heart swelled with appreciation for this divine intervention.

His sword broke.

He replaced his blade with sword-force, but the destruction of his weapon caused his attacks to become shallow. Hector’s Dark Power offset and weakened Cyan’s sword-force.

There were many swords in his surroundings, once belonging to warriors who were now deceased. However, Cyan did not have time to fetch a new weapon.

To his astonishment, the need for aid dissipated as if by a stroke of fate. Swiftly, a sword materialized before him, its gleaming presence undeniable. It was none other than Wynnyd, the Storm Sword — the very weapon Eugene had wielded for the first time within the confines of the Lionheart mansion. Without a moment's hesitation, Cyan's hand instinctively closed around the hilt of the sword.

“Hey,” Cyan spoke while standing still like a statue, bewildered.

Hector was dead.

The details of Hector's demise eluded Cyan's recollection, obscured by a veil of uncertainty. From the moment his hand clasped the hilt of Wynnyd, his memories grew hazy.

He just knew that he had fought

well

. Even prior to Wynnyd's unexpected arrival, his combat skills had shown remarkable improvement. However, when the moment arrived, when he dealt the fatal blow to Hector, a peculiar sensation enveloped him. It was as if… he had not been himself at the end.

He was still faintly in touch with reality. Although his memory was faint, he had been the one to kill Hector. Cyan thought that he had broken past his limits during the fight.

He had become stronger.

He could become even stronger.

Cyan looked down at Hector’s corpse. Hector had shouted something at the moment of death, but as before, his words had fallen deaf on Cyan’s ears. He had no intention of listening to a monster’s will.

After a moment, Cyan redirected his gaze to Wynnyd, which was still in his grasp. He attempted to hide the smile that threatened to surface and turned his head.

“Did you see that?”

However, his attempt was futile. The moment he turned his head, he ended up smiling immediately. Cyan continued with a grin while staring at Eugene. “You saw it, right? That’s why you sent me Wynnyd because you saw it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” responded Eugene.

“You know, it’s a little embarrassing to say, but I fought really well. Really. I felt like I wasn’t myself when I was swinging my sword…. That bastard Hector was swinging his arms like this, but none of it touched me,” continued Cyan.

“I think they touched you quite a bit,” responded Eugene. Cyan’s uniform was covered in blood. After hearing Eugene’s comment, Cyan flailed his arms.

“It’s not my blood. It’s Hector’s and…. Uh…. It’s the blood of the other guys I killed. Look, I don’t have a scratch on my body,” said Cyan.

“There were, but you were treated,” Eugene pointed out.

“Whatever the case, there aren’t any wounds now, right? So, how was it?” asked Cyan.

“You fought well,” responded Eugene.

“That’s all? Can’t you say something more? Look here; I killed Hector!” shouted Cyan.

“Well done.”

“I think something’s changed about the White Flame Formula as well…. How can I put it…? It feels like I’m right in the middle of four and five Stars… No, I feel like I’m closer to five Stars…. I can feel it. I think I’ll reach five Stars if I go just a bit further,” Cyan said with great excitement.

Eugene nodded, feeling a little satisfied with what he saw. “You’ve grown a lot.”

“…What are you saying? I was always grown up.” Cyan cleared his throat before responding. He felt rather embarrassed after hearing Eugene’s compliment.

The two were the same age, and technically, Cyan was slightly older than Eugene by a few months. Even so, there were moments when Eugene acted like an old man. Usually, it was when he acted old-fashioned and nagging, but… it didn’t feel all too bad to hear compliments like this.

“Here.” Cyan smacked his lips with regret while returning Wynnyd. “It was a good sword. The winds… would shoot out like sword-force.”

“I’m not giving it to you,” Eugene said flatly.

“Did I ask?” Although Cyan was inwardly hoping to wield the sword once more in the future, he made sure to hide his thoughts.

[…I can’t believe you allowed someone without a contract to wield Wynnyd.]

As soon as Eugene received Wynnyd, he heard Tempest complaining.

‘Considering that, you helped him quite a bit.’

[Cyan might have died if I didn’t. Had he died, Hamel, do you think you would’ve left me alone?]

‘Of course not.’

He didn’t want to think about it, but if Cyan had died… Eugene would have made it his priority to snap Wynnyd in two. As if reading Eugene’s thoughts, Wynnyd quivered minutely.

[Ehem…. Still…. I don’t think it was half-bad. He falls short of you or Vermouth, but I could feel some potential in Cyan.]

‘It’s like he’s molted, right?’

[It’s not enough to call an awakening, but yes, he’s grown strong enough to shatter the wall. If he can embody the state of trance he’s reached in the battle, then I think he will gain dignity and power befitting the name of the family’s next head.]

Tempest muttered, then suddenly sighed. It was because of Melkith. She was continuing to rampage, despite the curtain of darkness slowly lifting. Kochilla Tribe’s warriors were no longer putting up any resistance, but her flames and lightning destroyed them without any mercy.

[…I can’t believe that the human who’s signed a contract with three Spirit Kings is… someone like that…]

‘Aren’t you the weird one by now?’

[What did you say?]

‘You detest her, but look. The Spirit King of Fire, Lightning, and Earth all signed a contract with her.’

[Are you saying that they are right and I am wrong?] Tempest exclaimed in a fury. [How could someone who interacts with spirits naked be sound in mind!? Flame, Lightning, and Earth are out of their minds to sign a contract with such a crazy human!]

It wasn’t any of Eugene’s business, but teasing Tempest with Melkith always gave him a good laugh.

“Are you going to stay here?” asked Cyan. He stole glances at the battlefield while caressing his chest. It appeared as if he wasn’t completely placated from the heat of the battle. “I think it’s almost over, but it’s not completely finished yet.”

“What would I do here? You can stay if you want,” Eugene responded.

“Hmm….” Cyan contemplated for a moment without answering.

It wasn’t that he was attracted to the notion of killing people. However, he wanted to experience what he felt in his battle against Hector once more.

"When you're faced with a difficult decision, sometimes it's best to go through it firsthand rather than overthinking it. Delaying it without any valid reason might cause you to lose touch with the true essence of the experience," Eugene advised.

“Hmmm….” Cyan nodded, then picked up a sword. Eugene smirked as he watched Cyan walk away. He had been worried about bringing Cyan, but now, he felt convinced he had made the right choice. Cyan’s back looked slightly wider than before.

‘I’m the problem.’

Eugene sat down while massaging his stiff wrist. He had not used Ignition, but that did not mean he wasn’t tired.

‘This is the important part.’

He had stopped the ritual, and Edmund was dead. The war would soon end as well.

However, for Eugene, nothing was done yet. Instead, he was about to be faced with a critical, desperate situation.

‘Sienna.’

Her name surfaced in his mind as he grabbed his necklace.