It was only six Point Explosions, based on the change in Will that was fast and heavy.
My lips split and blood flowed. Thanks to moving at high speed, the blood that ran off vaporized and disappeared without a trace.
The grip that had roughly closed up tore open again, and because of the flesh-fragment whip that had lashed my abdomen, it felt like all my ribs were about to break.
'Should I be thanking Balrog?'
The thought came to me on its own. The flesh-fragment whip was heavier than the steel fragments, and sometimes its tip even changed into a sharp awl.
'A whip that changes freely and moves like it has a self of its own.'
It was truly a pain to deal with. That was why, in the end, I took one hit in the gut.
Still, even that hit couldn't pierce the armor made from Balrog's hide. The demon's hide that symbolized struggle took in part of the impact and scattered it away. I endured what was left with a body that had been tempered.
'And I should thank Esther, too.'
If Cypress had stored up stamina thanks to Audin, then Enkrid caught his breath thanks to the spell he'd received from Esther before coming. When the cutting stopped, my arms and legs trembled.
'Uske.'
The Will that didn't run dry ran dry, and my breathing turned rough.
"Hoo, hoo."
While I was catching my breath, I saw Cypress right beside me, gripping his sword and kneeling.
"Is he dead?"
As Enkrid asked, he replayed the High Pontiff's last moment.
We swung our swords as if crossing them at exactly the same timing, perfectly symmetrical left and right. Dawn and Cypress's resolve meshed, and they passed by the High Pontiff's neck as if brushing it.
Do I really need to thank Balrog?
Now I could tell just how fierce that fight with Balrog had been. This opponent was worse than Balrog.
'If I hadn't fought Balrog.'
I would've died dozens of times here. If I'd been alone, it would've been hundreds.
'…Or maybe not.'
If the situation changed, that's something you only know after you try it. So I'll never know the result of the option of fighting alone for the rest of my life. I already passed it.
Chewing on the past and reciting "what if" was a stupid thing to do. Enkrid knew that truth.
And there was something else I'd realized just now.
'The reason I believed I'd win even if it wasn't Balrog.'
That was because of the knight kneeling on one knee in front of me. Cypress proved the achievements he had piled up.
When he slapped away the High Pontiff's steel fragments, he used a soft sword. In the leg that closed the distance, he put sturdiness. And in the sword that pierced at the same time, he put speed.
His Will changed from moment to moment, and he changed his motions to match. He held different Will in his body and used it.
'That last move was really…'
Even the High Pontiff's eyes had gone round.
"Y-you, that leg!"
If there'd been time to trade words, wouldn't I have said something like that?
Cypress limped on his left leg. That wasn't a lie. His left thigh was slashed deeply. The only reason it was "lucky" was that blood wasn't gushing out.
But being hurt didn't mean he couldn't move. Cypress worked "magic" with Will.
'With a patterned Will, he replaced the leg bone.'
Only for a single instant, but with that, he kicked off the ground with both legs. By doing that at the most decisive moment, he cut the High Pontiff's neck. He had endured with one leg, then accelerated with both legs and slipped outside the opponent's expectations.
He did something that might leave him crippled for life, just for a single instant. With that one leap, the muscles in Cypress's left leg would have torn and burst. The remaining bone would have been shattered too.
'Tactical insight, intuition, technique, and seasoned experience.'
On top of that, a will like the sun that wouldn't go out no matter what.
Without that kind of resolve, you can't throw everything into a single hit while discarding your left leg.
All of it seemed to prove he was a knight on a different plane.
And on top of that, he even had a Will that resembled Uske.
Now I understood. What he had wasn't Uske.
'A tower stacked up through oaths.'
A tower where if it collapses even once, it's over.
A knight who got here by succeeding at walking that tightrope countless times.
Was it because he enjoyed gambling? No—something that small couldn't produce that.
His spirit is real. Countless oaths prove him.
He was a knight who truly didn't waste the name Guardian God of Naurillia.
'There's a lot to learn.'
Enkrid thought that sincerely.
And there were plenty of things he'd realized while fighting the High Pontiff, too. Enough that he was even looking forward to having time to go over them and sort them out.
At that thought, Enkrid's eyes sparkled.
"We barely lived."
Cypress's answer came back. With his head bowed to the ground, he spat blood a few times, then raised his head.
He didn't look refreshed. If anything, his gaze was blurred. It was because he'd poured out everything he had to fight.
Enkrid himself was at the point where even Uske was going to run dry. Of course, in less than half a day, it would fill back up.
The feeling of exhaustion was there, but he'd already experienced it a few times while sparring with madmen.
The result was obvious, but nobody could laugh.
"Don't you think it's a bit disgusting?"
Cypress said, looking ahead. The High Pontiff's head was on the ground, rolling around. But the demon that had been writhing behind it was still there.
The demon's hand grabbed the High Pontiff's head. Only the hand reached out from the hazy form.
Heat radiated from it, like its body was made out of mirage. It wasn't the blazing heat of a roaring flame, but a nasty, clinging warmth.
"I agree."
From now on, would the word "south" become "immortality"?
No matter how many times you killed it, it just didn't end. Cypress looked at Enkrid and started to speak, then stopped.
What he'd been about to say was: don't panic, and instead of giving up, don't stop thinking.
But wasn't Enkrid already doing that?
'Handing over the title of Guardian God wouldn't be a problem.'
He'd placed expectations on Ingis, but Ingis was still a sapling that had a long way to grow. On the other hand, this one was already a fully grown tree.
'And it looks like he'll grow even more than me.'
With a plain smile, Cypress stood up on one leg. Now it was truly time to burn his life away.
"Oaths and vows are basically built on constraints."
"Is this suddenly a lesson?"
If it wasn't now, it felt like he wouldn't be able to say it.
He didn't need to say something like that out loud. Some things get conveyed just with your eyes.
"That's why, if you prove your will by placing only a 'constraint,' Will will answer."
Cypress was the one who had become a shield on his own.
The one who had proven himself as a knight of the kingdom.
A man who wasn't lacking to be called "master" by everyone.
"My name is Cypress Everhold, the Guardian God of Naurillia."
He had lived in a way that fit that epithet, and he would keep doing so.
Determination became light, and resolve became strength. Cypress raised his sword. The High Pontiff's head was floating, and beneath it, the Parasite Horse of Heat was forming its body.
It wasn't much different from the body that had been made out of flesh earlier. Chunks of flesh and blood vessels connected and took shape.
"I don't intend to let you do it alone."
Enkrid stood beside him. If possible, Cypress wanted to knock this bastard out with a hit to the back of the head and send him to the rear.
'Well, not everything is going to go the way I want.'
And it was because he'd lived with that kind of nature and stubbornness that a knight like Enkrid was at his side right now.
The one who had been playing tricks behind the High Pontiff's back was the Parasite Horse of Heat. It collected its anger and reached its hand toward the finest host it had raised.
It would swallow the High Pontiff's body and make the south its own.
It was a plan that had existed for a very long time. The demon held that intent and helped the High Pontiff. If the pure-white destroyer had been an ally, then it had been the High Pontiff's companion. At least, it let the High Pontiff think so. Even if they would fight at the end, up until now, it had been together like that.
'Your death will become my beginning.'
The demon didn't help the High Pontiff right before he died. Hadn't it been waiting for a moment like this, too?
This way, all it needed was time to take a single breath. It was a moment you couldn't stop with mere sword swings.
The Parasite Horse of Heat couldn't do anything without a host. That was the contract. It was right on the verge of digesting the High Pontiff's body through that contract.
"Stop."
It was only a single word. The moment it was heard, the Parasite Horse's core shook. It felt like it couldn't not listen to this.
Why?
"Found you."
A voice followed right after. The owner of that voice was a Dragonkin.
Temares had been watching Enkrid fight. He hadn't stepped in after getting swept up in Luagarne's words. He could have fought together, but he didn't.
'Not now.'
Relying on instinct, he stayed as a spectator. And then he sensed the presence that had interfered with the Dragonkin's duty. He found that thread-thin feeling and captured the bastard's aura.
Then, waiting for the moment it was weakest, he gathered his word of command.
The "Stop" he spat out wasn't the same word of command he'd used on Enkrid.
It was a word spoken to the one who had interfered with duty, a word he spoke while pouring out a mockery of all the will he possessed.
A Dragonkin's word of command had coercive force that varied based on resolve and will.
—Why?
The demon couldn't shake off the Dragonkin's word of command.
"Confirmed the one who interfered with the Dragonkin's duty."
The Parasite Horse of Heat remembered Temares. The one who, when he was playing with the salamander, had told him his memory was complete.
Back then, it had thought the Dragonkin wouldn't dare do anything to it.
It was a companion that held heat. It parasitized the host's body, but it would never be annihilated, and if there was only a trigger, it was a being that could become a god.
If it wasn't a moment like now, where it was staking everything to swallow the host, the Dragonkin couldn't harm it.
"Ahh, how delightful."
Temares felt satisfaction in this moment—killing the one who interfered with duty. A Dragonkin's duty isn't a simple life goal.
It's one of the devices that lets a Dragonkin keep living. Right now was the time of punishment for the bastard that had touched it.
Now, Temares felt that he was alive. For a Dragonkin, it was an emotion that was hard to feel, so it was delightful.
His lemon-colored hair fluttered. Before anyone knew it, the white longsword he had drawn passed behind the High Pontiff's back.
A dragon's eyes aren't limited to reading will. Even something formless, including evil spirits, couldn't escape his eyes.
Their joy and sorrow crossed.
If it had only taken the host's body, it would have been enough to birth a new demon of struggle on this land.
The High Pontiff's body was excellent material, and the Parasite Horse had the authority for it.
—Why.
The demon resented god.
A Dragonkin's eyes didn't let it go, and even if it endured the side effects and tried to forcibly suppress the Dragonkin's mind and make him a host, his core was firm enough that it couldn't covet him. He was a natural enemy.
The Parasite Horse used its last resort. Because mind control didn't work, it mobilized physical means.
The Parasite Horse moved the High Pontiff's steel fragments. The dead High Pontiff, standing without a head, swung the steel fragments.
Boom!
The steel fragments smashed straight into Temares.
The Dragonkin raised his left arm and blocked the steel fragments. His clothes tore open and his skin was exposed.
They were a similar shape, but they didn't call reptiles to mind—golden scales covered his shoulder, arm, and the back of his hand. The Parasite Horse didn't get what it wanted. It was the Dragonkin technique called dragon scales. Ordinary sword cuts couldn't even leave a scratch.
And "ordinary sword cuts" here included blades that held Will. The Parasite Horse's last struggle didn't become an effective hit.
—I was right on the verge of becoming a god.
The Parasite Horse murmured.
"Regret it?"
Temares enjoyed even that. The companion of heat—what the dead High Pontiff had called one of the six lords of the Demon-lands, and what the continent called one of the six demons.
—Arrogance is the shortcut to mortality.
The Parasite Horse recalled words it had heard decades ago. The one who had said that was probably coiled up inside the Demon-lands, just watching.
Temares swung his sword and split the mirage-form mass.
—Your turn will come too.
The Parasite Horse scattered as it hurled a curse. It wasn't clear who the curse was aimed at. The mirage vanished into empty air. As the heat that had been warming the surroundings dispersed, several hundred Rihinstetten soldiers fainted.
They were people who, without realizing it, had carried fragments of the Parasite Horse inside their bodies.
Because the main body had died while trying to eat the High Pontiff, it died without even being able to transfer its mind, and the fragments were annihilated too.
Temares chased the demon's traces with his own eyes.
Even if it fled through mind transfer, he was resolved to chase it down and kill it. Feeling that resolve, oath, and persistence, the Parasite Horse gave up its life.
—What a shame.
Only a fragment of emotion it left behind made the air tremble.
Cypress turned his body into something like a bowstring pulled taut, then released it.
"You won't need to be resolved to die."
Enkrid said.
"Is that Dragonkin also from your order?"
Enkrid looked at the lemon-haired man standing ahead. The wind fluttered and shook his torn collar.
The Dragonkin walked toward them. Based on what he'd learned from fairies and Frogs until now, Temares opened his mouth.
"Did you fall for me? Want me to turn into a woman?"
Wasn't that what you said at times like this?
"He's from the order."
Cypress already knew the answer before he even heard Enkrid's reply.
"Who did you learn that nonsense from—no. Forget it."
Enkrid answered roughly, caught his breath, and stood up. Dawn felt like it was creaking. It had been that fierce a fight.
The High Pontiff was worse than Balrog, but the crowd he had was more troublesome than that. Either way, Rihinstetten lost.
For a moment, they enjoyed that silence. Everyone was frozen in shock, to the point nobody could even shout in triumph.
And before the allies' cheers, the enemy's movement was a step faster.
Clop, clop.
With the sound of hoofbeats, a single rider on horseback approached from within the southern army. A middle-aged man with an angular jaw and eyes that strongly resembled the High Pontiff. He wasn't a knight. You could tell that at a glance. He came up and dismounted.
Clop, clop.
At the same time he approached, someone from the allied side also rode up on horseback.
This side wasn't alone. It was a king, with an escort unit in tow.
Neigh—!
When he grabbed the reins and brought the horse to a stop, the horse lifted its front legs, then set them down. From atop the horse, Crang asked.
"More?"
The other man—the middle-aged man—lifted his head, looked at Crang, and said.
"The war is over."
He spat out that single sentence, then answered once more, precisely.
"We lost."