Chapter 1133: Showdown (4)
The wreckage of an airship, completely shattered as it crashed into the center of the performance hall.
The ground heaved like waves, violently shaking and collapsing the audience seats.
Sirens blared overhead. Red warning lights flickered on in corridors and across the ceiling.
No one who witnessed this could remain in the venue.
“Pandemonium has committed an act of terror!!”
“Th-that’s a bomb attack!! They’re trying to blow up the stadium!!”
“Help me!! Let me out, I’m getting out!!!”
“Aaaaargh!!!”
Tens of thousands of spectators screamed from all directions, scrambling towards the emergency exits in a desperate rush to escape.
An innumerable throng surged into the corridors, pushing and trampling each other.
“Don’t push!! I said don’t push!!”
“Move! I’m getting out first!!”
Fear, chaos, and the primal urge to survive drove people to lose all reason, creating a scene of pandemonium.
Screams echoed from every corner, and countless people stumbled and fell.
Under normal circumstances, such chaos would have resulted in a massive number of casualties, crushed or trampled to death.
But astonishingly, no one among those pushed or trampled died.
“Huh, what?”
“Why… why am I alive?”
A middle-aged man who had fallen headfirst from the stands tilted his head, a bewildered expression on his face.
A woman who had been fiercely trampled by the crowd trembled, struggling to stand.
“I-I’m alive, that’s what matters.”
“It doesn’t even hurt much? Since it’s like this, maybe I’ll stay and watch…”
“You idiot, run! Don’t you want to live?!”
Those who should have died began to escape the stadium, a moment too late.
A strange sight: the casualties that should have occurred immediately after the attack seemed suppressed by an invisible hand.
“How astonishing.”
The Clown, watching the scene from the VIP section, chuckled and turned his gaze.
Looking at Antares, who was sitting with his arms crossed at the back of the seats, the Clown asked.
“Did you perhaps foresee this and request a blessing from Freya?”
Antares’s first condition for participating as a diviner in this operation.
It was to be allowed to personally choose the types of Musical Scale Spellcraft Freya would use in her performance.
That was why Antares, who had left his seat just before the concert began, had met with Lennok.
“Freya sings five songs from the start of the concert until the first intermission.”
Antares replied.
“If all five songs are sung with the buffs of Musical Scale Spellcraft, it’s possible to dramatically boost physical durability for a short time, even for civilians.”
“Oh?”
“Casualties occurring during the evacuation process can be completely suppressed.”
Antares quietly said, watching the backs of the people fleeing the stadium.
“All I asked Freya for was to also apply a mental buff to prevent trauma during the process.”
“Oh, I see.”
The reason Freya embedded Musical Scale Spellcraft in all five songs she sang at the start of the concert was simple.
To grant enhanced physical abilities and a mental barrier to all spectators gathered in the stadium before the incident occurred.
Care was taken to prevent meaningless casualties or trauma during the evacuation process.
Once a terrorist attack occurs and evacuation is advised, it’s almost impossible for the audience not to fall into chaos.
That’s why Antares recommended from the start that Freya fully deploy Musical Scale Spellcraft to protect the people.
And Freya readily accepted the request for the sake of those who came to see her performance.
Leaning his chin on his hand, the Clown listened to Antares, then tilted his head.
“The more I hear, the less I understand. Were you really comrades with Croken Asylus?”
“…”
“It doesn’t seem like such a dull, lukewarm person would get along with him.”
Antares was one of the war mercenaries who embarked on the Pilgrimage Path with Croken Asylus.
It was well-known that they gave up their adventure and eventually parted ways at the end of that journey.
But few knew what kind of relationship the two, who had been closer than anyone, maintained.
How could Antares, who cared about civilian lives even in such a situation, and that monster, who distinguished no good from evil, have been together?
“Atren Kizart.”
But instead of answering, Antares softly called the Clown’s name.
He looked at the smiling Clown with a calm gaze and said,
“A heretic who wields the Illusions of Myriad Changes should understand.”
“…”
“They delight in the same nature as me, but conversely, they yearn for the deficiencies I lack. They wish for the same things but are drawn to different ones.”
Antares raised his eyes.
“Which is the right answer, one cannot know. Even setting such a standard is meaningless. For everything differs, and must differ, according to time and circumstance.”
Why did Antares part ways with Croken at the end of the Pilgrimage Path?
Why did he fail in that journey and gain the power of precognition?
Many stories circulated, but at least Antares did not seem to resent Croken.
“Hmm, how uninteresting.”
The Clown leaned back in his chair, speaking indifferently.
“Don’t you think you answer differently every time, yet ultimately say the same thing?”
“Perhaps. All diviners, though different in kind, are people who have already seen the outcome of failure.”
Antares conceded.
“That’s why I desire a future I have not foreseen. Even if it means participating in a false destruction–”
Antares said, his cold gaze fixed on the Apostle rampaging in the distance.
“–it would not compare to the salvation the Cult seeks.”
“…Heh.”
Antares’s pronouncement, delivered with conviction, using words that were hard to grasp at first listen.
But the Clown, hearing his words, grinned broadly and tilted his head.
“Well? To me, your method seems even more dangerous.”
“…”
“But, well, fine. I, too, love gambles that wager the future. Wouldn’t the moment this star plunges into hell be quite a sight?”
Chuckling, the Clown slowly gripped the armrest and rose from his seat.
Stumbling to regain his balance, the Clown walked out of the VIP section.
“Hsssh, let’s see.”
Wiping his chalk-white face, the Clown shifted his gaze.
Spectators fleeing the venue, gathered at the stadium’s periphery.
Victor and the Fifth Apostle clashing, moving through the center of the shattered stage.
CRACKLE!!!
And dozens of spatial rifts, opening like zippers all around the performance hall.
Beyond the rifts, hundreds of Cult disciples in priestly robes descended.
“It seems the newly appointed Priestess of the Cult is quite competent.”
Seeing the priests beginning to pray all over the stadium, the Clown smirked.
“If she has already restored the intricate Scale Spellcraft of the Tenth Apostle, things will get a bit troublesome.”
[Revere]
[Obey]
[Pray]
[Worship]
The mouths and jaws of the solemnly praying priests grotesquely split and writhed like octopus tentacles.
A forbidden art, using the power of the Cult’s Eighth Apostle, Camlodal, to boost the priests’ faith and the output of their prayer spellcraft.
As a result, the priests’ bodies were already transforming into monstrous, aberrant forms.
Even as they offered their prayers in low voices, the priests’ gazes, devoid of emotion, turned towards the Clown.
“I roughly understand what you’re trying to do.”
The Clown nodded, staring intently at the prayer spellcraft the priests were using.
Walking towards the priests, the Clown said to Antares,
“It seems I’ll need to use ‘that’ once, so please prepare. You can do it, right?”
“As I said, the moments I can intervene are limited.”
Antares replied quietly.
“But if it must be now, I will cooperate.”
“Of course. Don’t you know the saying, ‘If you’re too stingy, you’ll get screwed’?”
CLICK!!
As his hand rotated, a twisted dagger was reverse-gripped in the Clown’s right hand.
SHWING…!!
The Clown, slowly raising the dagger, tilted his head back, drawing forth his magic.
“Ha, to have to smell so much blood in broad daylight like this…”
The Clown sighed softly, his eyes sparkling like a child’s.
“That’s why I can’t quit this job. Shall we go?”
Stadium center. Beyond the stage, half-destroyed by the airship’s crash.
Lennok and the old man’s figures rapidly crisscrossed between the broken lighting trusses.
WHOOSH!!!
Lennok’s figure accelerated low, streaming mana threads between the facility wreckage and pulling on them.
Each pull of the mana threads generated speed, emitting shockwaves as if flying close to the ground.
BOOOOM!!!
A sonic boom erupted, as if a fighter jet had swept across the ground.
The shockwave grazed the audience seats, shattering them and scattering fragments everywhere.
Lennok increased his speed, accelerating through the outer staircases solely by manipulating mana threads.
The old man pursued Lennok, catching up using only the strength of his two legs.
DU-DU-DU-DU!!!
He ran vertically up the wall, swinging his iron sword.
Each flash of the old man’s hand produced a curving sword light, slicing diagonally through the surroundings.
The Fifth Apostle’s body accelerated, using the force of the sword strikes as recoil.
Amidst the pouring sounds of cutting air, Lennok glanced back.
‘Tricky. He knows how to adjust to prevent the distance from widening.’
The Cult’s Fifth Apostle. And a swordsman, even, from the Knights of Kabahim.
Despite his aged appearance, he must undoubtedly be a high-level physical superhuman.
Lennok had sped up to create distance, but his opponent, wielding a single sword, was freely accelerating and keeping pace.
‘No choice, I guess.’
Already, the Clown and the Cult priests had begun their engagement in the distance.
Without Antares’s intervention, stalling was meaningless. It would be better to take action and twist the current situation.
Thinking so, Lennok flew down towards the audience seats and sharply veered his body.
SCREEEEECH!!!
His semicircular canals and internal sense of balance were paralyzed by drugs.
The recoil on his body was absorbed by barriers and protective spellcraft, and he maneuvered by manipulating mana threads.
CRACK!!
A signboard hanging between the trusses split in half, and Lennok landed on it.
The moment his black robe spun, the surrounding mana threads tautened, following his movement.
All sorts of equipment, including speakers and amplifiers placed around the stage, were ripped away and rotated like a storm.
WHOOOOOOSH!!!!
The tension and elasticity of the mana threads tore away the amplifiers, accelerating them to subsonic speeds.
As Lennok clenched his fist, the trajectories of the speakers and amplifiers changed, slamming down like artillery shells towards the old man.
CRASH-CRASH-CRASH!!!
Explosive impacts, like repeated bombardments, pounded the spot where the old man stood.
“The precision of your mana manipulation and spellcraft operation is astounding. Of all the spellcasters I’ve faced, you are undoubtedly the best.”
Eldrich, walking out from the center of the blast, smiled at Lennok.
“But no matter how keen your senses, these objects cannot contend with me. Have you chosen the wrong means?”
“…”
“If you can only handle the tricky medium of mana threads in such a way, I don’t think there’s anything more to see.”
Saying so, the old man slowly raised his sword.
“First, I’ll sever those two hands to prevent you from using them–”
At that moment, the old man realized his hand wasn’t moving and stopped speaking.
Mana threads, surging from between the debris of the broken equipment, had already tightly bound the old man’s arm…
“I’ve dealt with Kabahim knights and royalty a few times.”
Lennok said from behind his mask.
“Perhaps because they’re so confident in their senses and martial prowess, they surprisingly fall for these kinds of tricks easily.”
CREAK…!!!
Strands of mana threads, woven like ropes, bound the old man’s arm, wrapped multiple times around the debris.
An art that used the surrounding wreckage as anchors, suppressing movement with the powerful tension unique to mana threads.
Such manipulation was executed so subtly that even Eldrich, an Apostle of the Cult, hadn’t perceived it.
The moment the old man, who instantly understood it all, was about to say something with an impressed expression.
A thick rebar, flying from behind the old man, slammed into him with immense speed like a thrown spear.
CRASH!!!
CRACK!!!
“…!!!”
A powerful impact, enough to instantly bend Eldrich’s waist in the opposite direction.
Lennok tilted his head, watching.
“And when you mix the high and low points of spellcraft output to create confusion, it’s hard to accurately gauge its power.”
Increasing the weight or durability of an object manipulated by mana threads was not particularly difficult for Lennok.
The reason he hadn’t done so until now was to observe the fighting style of the Fifth Apostle before him.
“…Indeed. One should not carelessly analyze a Manipulation Spellcaster, then.”
The benevolent smile that had been on the old man’s face was gone.
Eldrich, gripping his sword with a serious expression, slowly adjusted his fedora.
“My apologies. It has been too long since I was on a battlefield; I seem to have forgotten my senses.”
“…”
“From now on, let’s get serious.”
BOOOM!!!
The old man’s figure moved with astonishing speed, as if torn from the spot.
A grotesque sight: one arm still bound by Lennok’s mana threads, and a broken rebar shard impaled in his back.
But the speed he reached from a standstill to maximum acceleration was unbelievably fast.
CRASH-CRASH-CRASH-CRASH!!!
Broken machine debris scattered everywhere.
In a storm of screws and rebar, the shadows of Lennok and Eldrich moved simultaneously.
CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!!!
Black mana threads, sharply whipping like a whip, sliced at Eldrich’s collar.
The mana thread rope binding Eldrich’s right arm tightened, squeezing his muscles.
Rebar fragments rained down from above. Speakers and other stage equipment exploded repeatedly underfoot.
But Eldrich, gripping his sword with his left hand, cut through all distractions and advanced.
BANG!
Instead of cutting the mana threads that squeezed his right arm, he strongly gripped and pulled them.
Slicing through falling rebar and mana threads, he instantly closed the distance and spun his sword.
[Sword Reversal Weave [태회검련]]
[Third Form: Battle Encirclement [전위]]
[Flower Within the Sword [검중화]]
WOOOOSH…!!
With a strange resonant hum, a dazzling sword light blossomed before Lennok’s eyes like petals.
The moment the sharply rotating sword-flower cut and repelled all encroaching matter and mana.
A blade extended from the center of the petals, shooting towards Lennok’s solar plexus with immense speed.
FLASH!!
A sensory blind spot Lennok couldn’t react to, even with his naked eyes.
But even if his body couldn’t react, Lennok’s consciousness and mana threads did.
SHWING-SHWING-SHWING!!!
Thousands of mana threads spread out in all directions, spiraling around the blade and pulling it in the opposite direction.
Even as they were cut by the sharp edge, the mana threads entangled and gripped each other.
Right in front of Lennok’s chest, the blade twisted strangely and stopped.
SCREEECH!!!
“Oh dear.”
The old man smiled wryly behind the fading sword-flower.
“Was I a step short? How regrettable.”
“No, it was excellent.”
Lennok said, raising his hand.
A single screw, fluttering overhead, flew into Lennok’s hand and was caught.
“For an Apostle who only recently regained his reason, it was more than enough.”
“…”
“Now, shall we confirm the true nature of your Apostle Spellcraft that made such a feat possible?”
WHIZZ!!
The screw caught in Lennok’s hand shot out. It accurately pierced the old man’s glabella.
The old man’s head recoiled from the impact, and the fedora he wore fell off.
The moment the fedora, which hadn’t fallen off once during the intense combat, was removed.
“…I see.”
Lennok, having confirmed what was hidden inside the fedora, gave a wry smile.
“If you’re growing something like that in your head, it must be hard to hide with a hat.”
“It is a bit inconvenient.”
There was no scalp or hair on the old man’s head.
Instead, another human face was embedded upside down on his head, staring down at Lennok.
The grotesquely distorted second face was gripping the screw Lennok had shot with its teeth.
The old man, with two faces on one head, looked at Lennok and smiled.
“But it’s fine. If I can buy time with this body, it will be enough.”
“…”
“If I can eliminate the biggest competitor in acquiring the [Gate] of the Royal Capital, that won’t be a bad thing.”
Lennok also understood the meaning of those words.
At this very moment, the Clown and the Cult priests were deeply engaged in combat in the VIP section of the stadium.
The Clown’s body, wielding a dagger and slitting the priests’ throats, was soaked in blood.
SPLAT!!
As he twisted and sliced a priest’s neck, sticky blood gushed from the dagger.
narrowly dodging the pouring light of prayer spellcraft, he plunged his dagger into a priest’s crown.
Each time he dashed through the shattered audience seats with a single twisted dagger, blood mist erupted everywhere.
CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!!!
Ducking and running to avoid the barrage of pale flashes, he grabbed the corpse of a dead priest as a shield.
Each time, the flesh of the Clown’s forearm and shoulder split, blood seeping through his clothes.
“Ouch, ouch.”
STAB!!
He was being wounded not only by the priests’ attacks but also by his own movements.
The recoil from the luck manipulation that had been painstakingly restored in the Bathtub of Fresh Blood was still corroding the Clown’s body.
His muscles and flesh tore and snapped, and the Clown’s entire body was stained as if drenched in blood.
At this rate, it wouldn’t be strange if even his newly healed wounds reopened, leading to self-destruction.
“Haa…”
But the Clown, looking down at his blood-soaked body, sighed with satisfaction.
“I just love this dizziness that comes right before exsanguination. From my experience, it’s much better than any drug.”
“Madman…”
One of the priests couldn’t help but mutter.
The grotesque forms of the transformed Cult priests slowly surrounded him.
Their mouths and jaws wriggled like octopus tentacles, their bizarre gazes fixed on him.
Trapped with nowhere to go in the inner corridors of the stadium.
“Excuse me, I think I’ve waited long enough.”
But the Clown, running his blood-soaked hand through his hair, turned his gaze towards the VIP section.
He tilted his head, looking at Antares, who was deep in thought with his eyes closed.
“You know why I brought you here, right? Isn’t it about time you did your part?”
“Luck always comes closer when you least expect it.”
Antares, leaning back in his seat, said.
“It takes more time to forcibly twist it and bring it forward… but it’s done.”
Antares slowly opened his eyes and briefly looked at the Clown.
“Throw them.”
“Haha!!”
At that moment, the Clown plunged his non-dagger hand into his pocket.
Holding seven dice between his five fingers, the Clown twisted his body without hesitation.
CLATTER!!!
Before the priests could react, the seven dice instantly fell to the ground.
As the seven blood-stained cubic dice scattered in all directions, they all landed on the same number as if by promise.
[6] [6] [6] [6] [6] [6] [6]
BOOOOOM!!!!
Amidst shimmering heat haze, a powerful burst of light exploded from the Clown’s entire body.
“AAAAARGH!!!”
Screaming, the priests’ bodies were torn like paper in mid-air.
Severed flesh and limbs scattered blood, raining down like a hot downpour from above.
Amidst the torrential rain of blood, the Clown stood with his eyes closed and arms outstretched.
“Hmm, the numbers are a bit disappointing, but today isn’t the only day, so shall we be satisfied with this?”
SPLASH!!
The moment he stepped into a pool of blood, the wounds all over the Clown’s body began to heal as if by magic.
No, the wounds weren’t actually healed.
It was merely that the Clown had used his illusion to make it appear so.
But that illusion deceived not only others but also the Clown himself, and ultimately, even this reality.
Slowly opening his eyes, the Clown took a step forward towards the priests, letting out an eerie laugh.
“This body, resurrected.”