Surviving without God

It was probably all because of the unusually savage northern wind. It was because of that wind that the hood of the robe slipped from the approaching Raymond.

Flap—

The face revealed in the moonlight no longer belonged to a human being. The skin had cracked and turned ash-gray, while swollen black veins spread across it like rotten roots. The eyes, once clear and resolute, had gone cloudy and were covered in a whitish film, their focus lost.

“Uuuh...”

Along with the sticky groan, dried blood and saliva dripped from the corners of his mouth. His half-open jaw never stopped trembling in spasms. Gunther looked at him in silence, tightening his grip on the sword.

...It might have been possible to preserve his sanity and keep him alive, the way it had happened with Audrey. But from the look of it, almost nothing was left in Raymond.

His convictions, his fury, his memories—all of it had been erased and crushed. Only the flesh remained, with the instinct to fight burned into it beyond removal.

Whoosh—

In the instant when the wind howled with renewed force, Raymond’s silhouette blurred.

Whistle—!

With the illusion that his arm had unnaturally lengthened, a powerful straight punch shot directly at Gunther’s head.

Bam—!

There was no time to dodge or parry. Gunther had no choice but to block.

First the shockwave struck his palms, then his forearms, and then the tremor echoed through his shoulders and spine. Gunther gritted his teeth and stepped back. He held his breathing together with the last of his strength, trying not to lose his footing.

“As expected... he’s monstrously strong.”

Raymond’s attacks were simple. But simplicity did not mean weakness. It was concentrated violence, with every unnecessary movement burned out of it.

“Even after becoming undead and losing part of his physical ability, this much power...”

It was probably also because of the support from that priest standing behind him, feeding him with spells. Gunther focused on defense, trying to feel out the limits of Raymond’s current stats.

Whoosh—

A fist grinding toward vital points, and a heavy sword cutting across its path.

Bam—!

The exchange of blows did not stop.

Bam—!

But at some point, the rhythm changed so subtly it was hard to notice. Raymond stopped pressing the attack and limited himself to only occasional powerful thrusts. His movements became minimal. It was as if he had taken root in the earth. Gunther narrowed his eyes.

“...He’s waiting for me to attack first.”

A rational choice. Time was pressing only on Gunther. If the fight dragged on, there was a high chance the Hierarch of Justice would appear. He had no support.

His comrades were isolated in Sector 7. The reinforcements from Border City were probably galloping across the plains of Valloren at full speed, but they would not arrive for a long time yet.

...Then he had to finish this quickly. Gunther concentrated his mana.

Whoooosh—!

A long, sharp wave of sword energy tore toward Raymond. As if he had been waiting for it, Raymond let it pass with a slight movement of his body and instantly lunged into attack. From the force of his burst, the ground sank beneath his feet, and the air exploded with a deafening roar.

In an ordinary situation, Gunther would have dodged. But right now, he had no right to do that.

He had to meet it head-on.

[Scarlet Flame activated]

[Eyes of the Tyrant Lv. 2 activated]

Blue fire surged along the blade of the greatsword. The next stage after Scarlet Flame—the blue fire of the Flame of Eternal Torment. That undead were vulnerable to fire was a basic truth. On top of that, the Flame of Eternal Torment had the property of purifying all corruption. He had enough firepower to push back. However...

[The Ruler of the Oceans opens her eyes wide]

[She warns that using Eyes of the Tyrant and blue flame at the same time is not merely an overload of the magic circuits, but a path to self-destruction]

Rahenia, who had given no sign of herself for a long time, was warning him against recklessness. Gunther’s vision darkened from the violent drain of mana, but he only accelerated.

Bam-ba-ba-bam—!

Flame and steel, fists and sword tangled in a ferocious clash.

The priest watching from the side merely smirked. To choose a battle of attrition against undead? It looked like the height of stupidity.

But...

Fwoom—!

The moment the blue flame began to devour Raymond’s flesh, the priest’s face twisted.

“No, how is that possible?”

The effect of Eyes of the Tyrant was not limited to accelerated thought. The skill revealed the enemy’s vulnerabilities as “red threads.”

Uuuuun—

Right now, in Gunther’s eyes, Raymond’s body looked completely different. The divine power of Seren Mayra flowing through the dead flesh was visible in the form of those very red threads. Streams of “disease,” ignoring muscle, bone, and veins.

Gunther was aiming precisely at them. He was not cutting useless dead flesh—he was severing the connections holding Raymond’s body together.

Crunch—!

Naturally, it was impossible to completely neutralize such resilient undead in just a few swings. But one thing became obvious: Raymond’s body had begun to fail, slowly moving toward the final stoppage of all functions.

Crunch—!

Gunther himself, having thrown himself into this close-quarters fight, was in a wretched state as well. His mana was running out, and after every counterattack from Raymond it felt as though [N O V E L I G H T] his insides were being torn apart. Even so...

“If this keeps going, I’ll win.”

Gunther was certain—he would be able to grant Raymond peace.

.

.

.

Ding—!

[Vanguard of the Dark Night snaps his fingers]

The moment that name appeared, Gunther’s eyes twitched slightly.

[He cannot hide his disappointment that you ignored his request to come to the temple]

[In the darkness wavers a gaze mixed with disappointment and anticipation]

At the same instant, Gunther’s instincts screamed danger. A blue-black light flared behind Raymond’s back.

“That’s...?”

The very center of the back. The exact place where, back in those days when he had been possessing Raymond, a stigma had been inscribed after the contract with Vanguard of the Dark Night.

Crack—

Raymond’s feet bit deep into the ground. Gunther frantically turned over his memories. The ability Vanguard of the Dark Night had granted him was definitely...

Whoosh—!

The shadow beneath his feet folded like a sheet of paper, and in an instant Raymond was right in front of him.

“Shadow Leap!”

Gunther’s face turned pale. Shadow Leap was not a simple movement technique.

Its essence was not in shortening distance, but in allowing you to begin the fight at exactly the point you desired. The attack starts from the position from which the most devastating strike can be delivered.

An entry into close combat bordering on teleportation. Speed and mass compressed into a single point...

Whoosh—!

A strike.

A truly fraudulent combination with Raymond’s martial arts. Gunther knew the power of that combination better than anyone—because once, back in Audrey House, he himself had used those techniques to butcher the teachers one after another.

“I’m finished...”

Bam—!

The world flipped in Gunther’s eyes. His body was hurled into the air and thrown downward, toward the foot of Sword Hill. The wind shrieked savagely in his ears.

[She Who Flies Ahead of the Wind cries out]

[She grumbles that everyone is too busy here and there, but still flaps her wings to soften as much of the impact from the fall as possible]

His body bounced hard several times as it rolled down the slope, where stones, mud, half-melted snow, and grass flew together in a jumble. If not for She Who Flies Ahead of the Wind, Gunther would most likely have died on the spot. All he could do was instinctively curl up and let the main impact slip past. Enduring it until the very end, he raised his head as consciousness began to return.

“This is...”

The very beginning of Sword Hill. The zone where the trial stones stood.

Flap—!

The cloth covering one of the stones was ripped away by the gust of wind caused by She Who Flies Ahead of the Wind as she tried to kill the momentum of the fall. But there was no time to think.

...Whistle—!

An alien sound cut through the noise of the flapping cloth. The whistle of split air.

[The King of Knights of Ninety-Nine Defeats lets out a cry that shakes the whole hill, ordering you to raise your sword and stand!]

At that moment, old memories surfaced. The days when he had been a third-rate mercenary without a shred of power. Every single moment when death breathed down his neck, the King of Knights always shouted the same thing.

“Raise your sword and stand.”

Gunther’s mind cleared as if by magic. His hand unconsciously tightened around the hilt.

Whoosh—!

The heavy sword came crashing down on the charging Raymond without a hint of hesitation.

[Knight Swordsmanship Lv. 5 (Max.) activated]

It was the best strike he had delivered in a long time. A pure line of the sword, stripped of vanity and tricks.

Eyes of the Tyrant had already gone out. His mana was at zero. Even so, the trajectory of the sword was unbelievably precise.

Bam—!

But it was not enough. ...Something was missing.

After the exchange of blows, Gunther staggered back, choking on blood.

Bam—!

Once more. His body was thrown back almost to the stone itself. Death had come within arm’s reach.

And yet it was strange. His consciousness was not dimming. On the contrary, it was becoming clearer and clearer. The pain receded, and his breathing calmed.

“I cannot fall here.”

At the very least, he could not die by Raymond’s hand. How could he allow the name of a hero who had already died to be stained by such filthy sin? Gunther bore the responsibility. Granting him peace was his duty, just as ending the calamity that had descended upon the capital was.

Because he was the one person with the greatest chance of correcting the horror Luthien had created.

[The King of Knights of Ninety-Nine Defeats looks at you]

Gunther raised his gaze. Raymond was approaching. But it was not that threatening silhouette that drew the hero’s attention.

“...Ha.”

Moonlight was breaking against the mythril stone. It scattered in silver sparks as it slid over the countless sword marks covering the surface. The moon made no distinction between deep and shallow cuts, clumsy strikes and confident ones. It illuminated crooked trajectories and straight, killing lines alike.

...Right now he was standing in the very place where the Founding King had once stood, raising his sword.

And in that instant.

In a state of ultimate concentration on the boundary between life and death, Gunther realized, like a lightning strike, the one trait they all had in common.

“...Ah.”

The harsh north. Blizzards, hunger, and endless enemies. There were never enough troops, and there was nowhere to retreat. In such a place, a king could only have one style of swordsmanship.

It could not be elegant. It could not be drawn out. One mistake meant the death of the people standing behind him.

That was why the traces on the stone were not attack lines meant to defeat an enemy. They were lines of defense. Trajectories meant to block the way, cut off threats from the flanks, and break the endless waves of danger.

...The moment he understood that, Gunther’s hand began to move on its own.

“That’s right...”

Until now, there had been advanced technique in his Knight Swordsmanship. But there had been no purpose in it.

For the art of the sword to take a step forward... yes, he had to understand what he was drawing it for.

A sword to endure. A sword not to fall. A sword to stand before someone until the very end. The sword of a man who, in a harsh and barren land, had to become a beacon for his people, who believed in him and followed him.

Whoosh—!

Raymond charged again. The shadow folded, and distance itself vanished. Gunther no longer thought. The hand gripping the sword swayed lightly.

Whoosh—

Before the countless traces left by the Founding King, one more quiet line of the sword was laid down.

.

.

.

Ding—!

[Enlightenment obtained]

The battle on Sword Hill has granted you enlightenment. The sword bound by formalities and etiquette has finally realized how to bear the burden of the battlefield. A royal art of swordsmanship awakens, one capable of holding a collapsing front alone.

[Skill evolution]

Current skill: Knight Swordsmanship Lv. 5 (Max.)

Evolution result: Northern Swordsmanship Lv. 1

[Northern Swordsmanship]

The sword of a king who does not retreat even in the middle of a snowstorm. This is the art of one who remains the last on the battlefield for the sake of his people, when the shields are broken and the army is scattered. Formalities and ornament have been cast aside, but responsibility and resolve have grown even heavier.

Gunther did not look at the status window that had risen before him, nor at the healing priest who had collapsed behind, coughing up blood. His gaze was fixed on Raymond, who had sunk to his knees before him. Raymond was no longer moving.

[Vanguard of the Dark Night applauds with a satisfied face]

[He says he prepared a small gift for you, who passed the trial]

...A small gift? It did not take Gunther long to understand what those words meant.

“...Wait.”

That viscous divine power of Seren Mayra could no longer be felt inside Raymond’s body. The thing that had entangled him like rotten roots had vanished without a trace, as though it had never existed. The reason was obvious.

At the moment Gunther pierced the weakness with Eyes of the Tyrant and burned away the impurity with the blue flame of the Flame of Eternal Torment, Seren Mayra’s influence had been completely severed. And into that gap, Vanguard of the Dark Night had poured his own power to fully neutralize the remnants of corruption.

Thud—

Gunther watched in stunned silence as Raymond’s head, which had been hanging down, slowly rose. Clear focus returned to the eyes that had been clouded with a murky film. The face that had been hideously twisted returned to its former appearance. The very same appearance Gunther remembered.

Their eyes met. It was the gaze of men who burned their “today” so that others could have a “tomorrow.” Raymond blinked quietly, and for an instant an almost boyish smile crossed his lips.

“Rely on me.”

A short phrase. But it contained everything that needed no further explanation.

Gunther did not answer. He only bowed his head deeply.

The cold wind swept over Sword Hill once again. And beneath that gust, Raymond slowly closed his eyes.