Chapter 38: Last Will (7)

Flames roared to life. A blaze, fierce enough to devour the world, surged with violent intensity. Gray ash spiraled in the air around the searing fire, caught in its furious winds.

Astaroth stared in disbelief at the fire raging toward him. “What the hell?”

He hastily invoked the Blessing of Distortion. Violet dark mana spread like a web, overtaking the space around him. The warped dimension formed a massive barrier, shielding him from the incoming inferno.

Crack! Crunch! Crackle!

Then, the twisted space clashed with Dale’s sword. Just moments ago, his sword had been helplessly repelled by the distorted space, but now, it pushed through with brute magical force, overwhelming the very dimension itself.

The more power Dale poured into the sword, the fiercer the flames burned.

The sword, wrapped in the roaring blaze, cleaved the distorted space clean in two.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Astaroth said, shocked.

But there was no time for him to process that. Dale’s sword shot forward like a streak of light, piercing through the ruptured space.

Agony erupted from Astaroth as his left forearm was sliced clean off. Blood gushed from the wound as he staggered back, clutching the severed stump. “Damn it! Son of a...”

The demon Archbishop was no longer arrogant and smug. He cursed and spat, baring his teeth like a cornered beast. Then he flared his aura, dark mana exploding from his body as he glared furiously at Dale, who stood engulfed in flames.

“This is getting tiresome!” Astaroth had anticipated some resistance. No plan ever went exactly as expected. But this? This was far beyond acceptable.

Astaroth gritted his teeth.

He tore through the Veil of Illusion, a spell fueled by the sacrifice of two hundred demons, in an instant. He fights like a monster, wielding power that outclasses most professors, despite being just a cadet. And even though I killed him, the bastard keeps coming back! He’s completely out of mana, too. There’s no way he should still be fighting!

Yet, Dale stood before him, his body blazing with fire and spewing streams of mana that should’ve been long exhausted.

What kind of freak is this guy?

Astaroth stared at Dale in disbelief, wondering if the world itself was conspiring against him.

While Astaroth clutched his missing arm in shock, Dale stared at himself with a similar look of confusion. Though his body was wrapped in fire, there was no pain. His clothes weren’t burning to ash. His skin wasn’t blistering. He felt nothing.

What the hell is this? Is this... the Primordial Flame?

he wondered.

The flames surrounding him, the power that had suddenly ignited around his body, could only be that. But why now? The Primordial Flame had never once stirred, no matter how desperately he had tried to awaken it. However, this wasn’t the time to question it. Pushing away those thoughts, he turned toward Iris.

Iris gasped, eyes wide at the sight of him wreathed in fire. “D-Dale? “H-how is this happening?”

Dale strode toward her, unfazed, and gave her a light smack on the head with his fist.

Iris clutched her head, teary-eyed. “

Ack

!

Ow

! What was that for?”

“I told you to stay put earlier, didn’t I?”

“B-but I...”

He let out a deep sigh, stepping protectively in front of her. “No buts. This time, don’t interfere. Stay here.”

She pouted slightly, but nodded. “Okay.”

With Iris safely behind him, Dale turned to face Astaroth again. Something rolled under his foot, the severed left arm of Astaroth, and still clutched in its hand was a twisted, spoon-like tool. Dale’s boiling anger turned ice-cold.

That’s the instrument he was going to use to gouge out Iris’s eyes. If the Primordial Flame hadn’t awakened, she would’ve lost her eyes by now,

he thought.

The fire swirling around him seeped deeper into his heart. Crackling, roaring, the flames within him became a monstrous inferno, a blazing force that could consume the world. He then called out to the demon, who was watching him with wary eyes. “Astaroth, you said earlier, let’s see which one of us is more beloved by the gods.”

According to records, the Primordial Flame was a power created by the Demon God. But a god was still a god, whether divine or demonic.

With a thunderous step, Dale unleashed the torrent of mana now overflowing from his soul stigmata. “Well? Don’t just stand there. Let’s finish this test.”

The energy coursed through him so violently, as though his blood vessels would burst. For someone like Dale, who had suffered from chronic mana deficiency even in his past life, this sensation was entirely foreign; it was unbelievable.

He didn’t know why the Primordial Flame had suddenly woken up, but he had a theory about where this overwhelming mana was coming from

.

They said the Primordial Flame creates mana by burning the Tree of Creation. In other words, it has the power to generate mana by burning something. So what exactly is it burning right now?

he wondered.

The answer was obvious. Dale looked down at his flame-wrapped body and let out a bitter laugh. The Primordial Flame was burning his body to generate mana. The proof was in the absence of the gray ash usually created by the Blessing of Resurrection. “Never thought I’d end up as firewood.”

He reckoned that if the flame was using his life force as fuel, then theoretically, as long as the Primordial Flame burned, he could create near-infinite mana.

A tingling surge of omnipotence ran down his spine. He felt light, as though the heavy shackles that had bound him all his life had finally fallen away. Instinctively, he knew. All those techniques he had barely scratched the surface of, the countless hours spent training in the endless white snowfields, he could finally wield each of them in all their glory.

He stared at Astaroth. “Not coming. I’ll come to you instead.”

With just a single step he took, the ground trembled as if struck by an earthquake. The distance between them vanished in a heartbeat. As Astaroth stumbled backward with wide, terrified eyes, Dale slammed his fist toward him. Then the cadet used the Berald Combat Style: Mountain Breaker, and an earth-shattering roar exploded outward as the terrifying shockwave of his punch tore through the air.

“You crazy bastard!” Astaroth yelled in panic, invoking the Blessing of Distortion once again. The space around him warped violently, managing to block the shockwave, but only for a fleeting moment. Then, Dale’s strike tore straight through the distortion.

The blow hurled Astaroth backward, completely overwhelming him. He crashed to the ground, coughing up blood. Gasping for air, he forced his battered body to rise, trembling. His eyes darted to the distant figure of Iris, then narrowed in rage. He bit down hard on his lip. “God damn it!”

If even his illusions and spatial distortion were useless, then there was no way to stop that undying monster. He decided to give up on the Seven Eyes. Whether another opportunity to seize them would come again, he had no idea, but at this rate, he wouldn’t be gaining any power; he would end up dying like a dog in the dirt.

Astaroth glared at the cadet before him, his expression twisting into something vicious and desperate. “Dale Han. I’ll remember your name. I swear it.”

With the one hand he had left, Astaroth snapped his fingers, and the violet barrier that cloaked the area dissolved. Cool night air swept in as the dark sky stretched out above them once again. Astaroth turned to flee toward the edge of the academy.

However, Dale stomped lightly. “Where do you think you’re going?”

The flames swirling around Dale surged outward, forming a massive wall of fire that encircled the entire area like a dome.

Astaroth’s jaw dropped as he stared at the flaming boundary. “A barrier? You’re kidding me!”

Wondering how the cadet could use barrier magic too, he asked, “You. Weren’t you a cadet from the Warrior Division?”

“Yeah? So what? There’s no rule saying that Warrior Division cadets can’t use magic.”

Astaroth shut his mouth tight, as if he’d run out of things to say. “Not only do you have the Blessing of Immortality, but you also know swordsmanship, hand-to-hand combat, and magic?”

The demon’s teeth ground together audibly. He clutched at his head, spewing curses under his breath. “No. Fuck this. This is ridiculous. Do you even know the meaning of limits? Huh? How the hell is any of this supposed to make sense?”

His voice cracked into a scream, bordering on madness. Honestly, who could blame him? He was an Archbishop, a demon who had reigned over thousands, tens of thousands of subordinates. He had never even considered the possibility that he would ever be backed into a corner like this, not by a professor or even multiple professors, much less a lowly cadet. In fact, with the sheer power the demon held, even if he faced off against the entire faculty, he wouldn’t necessarily lose.

In a low and calm voice, Dale said, “When I arrived at this place, just before I broke through your Veil of Illusion, I heard you say something. You said the orphanage kids didn’t need a reason to die, just that they were unlucky enough to be there that day.”

Dale remembered those words clearly, even through the haze of rage. He raised his sword, the tip pointed squarely at Astaroth. “Well, guess what? You were unlucky enough to meet me today.”

That was more than reason enough for him to cut down Astaroth.

Astaroth immediately pleaded. “W-wait! If you kill me—”

However, whatever desperate bargain Astaroth was about to offer, Dale didn’t let him finish. He channeled the overwhelming torrent of mana surging through his body into his sword. The fire enveloping him burned even fiercer, roaring up the length of his blade. He had wielded swords for what felt like an eternity, but this feeling was brand new. It was electric and exhilarating. A chill ran down his spine from awe, not fear.

A dry laugh escaped his lips, and a memory flickered through his mind, something his old friend Yuren had once said to him in a past life.

“Hey, Dale, did you know? When you reach the pinnacle of swordsmanship, you can cut through the sky without using a drop of mana.”

Dale tightened his grip on the sword. “You were wrong, Yuren.”

Back when Dale was starving for even a scrap of mana, this sensation, this power, was something he never once knew. Now, it was like he had grown wings. He could see it all clearly, things he had never been able to do before.

He unleashed the Sun Sword Style Ninth Form: Twilight, and the blazing sword tore through the sky.