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Translator: CinderTL
"Oh, radiant star fallen to mortal earth! Shield of protection descending in our hour of despair! Your might compels dragons to bow, your radiance..."
Bard Galvis, witnessing this miraculous scene, nearly forgot the surrounding danger. He couldn't resist plucking his lute strings and launching into an extravagant aria of praise, as if the bloody battlefield were a stage for epic verse.
Roland, however, paid no heed to the flowery words.
He swiftly and carefully transferred the gravely wounded, unconscious Reggie from his arms to Theresa's, his instructions rapid yet clear.
"Take care of him. Retreat. Get far away from this precinct."
In that brief exchange, the pitch-black tentaclesâwhich had been repelled and partially annihilated by the psychic storm moments earlierâerupted anew from the monster's body.
Twisting and writhing, they launched a fresh assault with even greater ferocity, like an undying tide.
Roland's eyes narrowed, ready to confront them again, when a cold, trembling hand gripped his arm.
He turned to meet Theresa's usually impassive gaze, now reflecting an unprecedented worry.
Roland paused briefly, then a reassuringly faint smile curved his lips. He gently patted the back of Theresa's hand.
"Don't worry. I never take risks without being prepared."
Before the words had fully left his mouth, several grotesque tentacles tore through the air, lunging at him once more.
Without even turning his head, Roland swung his sword in a backhanded arc, the razor-sharp blade once again slicing through the tentacles, causing them to dissipate.
Yet, as expected, the dark energy began to rapidly coalesce again.
This time, however, Roland's expression remained completely unfazed, as if he had anticipated this all along.
Instead of retreating, he took a step forward, actively charging into the relentless, regenerating tide of darkness.
He sprinted forward, his figure blurring across the shattered battlefield, deftly evading a sweeping, heavy tentacle.
Simultaneously, a deep, ancient incantation flowed steadily from his lips, each syllable crystal clear, forming a peculiar harmony with his swift, fluid movements.
"By the essence of wind as guide..."
He sidestepped another lunge, his Mithril Longsword arcing diagonally in a counter-strike.
The blade hummed, the surrounding air stirred, and pale blue-white currents of energy converged around him, as if drawn by an invisible hand.
His footsteps never faltered, and with each powerful stride, he surged forward. More tentacles closed in around him, yet he evaded them by mere fractions of an inch. The second line of the incantation followed:
"Shake the mountains, roar through the silence."
The swirling wind around the sword intensified, emitting a piercing shriek as if truly imbued with the power to shake mountains.
The faint golden glow along the blade suddenly flared like a flame fed with kindling, becoming intensely bright and concentrated.
Roland abruptly shifted direction, the sword's arc temporarily forcing back the encroaching darkness from his flank. The rhythm of the incantation remained unbroken, growing even more fervent.
"In the hour when stars and moon fade."
Wind element surged violently inward, the golden light now as thick and viscous as liquid gold, flowing and surging wildly along the blade.
An indescribable aura of sharpness and destruction radiated outward from him, even scattering the dust and smoke in his wake.
With a final, earth-shattering step, he shattered the ground beneath him, his body shooting toward the massive shadow's core like an arrow. The final line of the incantation struck with the force of a hurled spear, resounding with power:
"Tear asunder the ancient pact!"
The final syllable of the incantation perfectly synchronized with his explosive forward lunge.
The entire Mithril Longsword was suddenly enveloped by a roaring vortex and an intense, yet unstable, golden radiance.
The light flickered violently, like an ancient storm spirit forcibly awakened but still bound by countless shackles, yearning for freedom yet unable to fully break free.
This was the limit of Roland's current ability to channel such power.
Complete liberation remained far beyond his reach, and the incantation itself was far from complete.
Yet even this preliminary activation far surpassed the ordinary. The radiant glow flowing from the blade's edge and the howling vortex already radiated a terrifying power.
The pitch-black figure seemed to sense the gathering force on the Mithril Longswordâa power it instinctively loathed yet feared.
It had no face, so no expression could betray its terror.
But its sudden halt, followed by a frantic retreat, and the chaotic surge of dark energy boiling around it, unmistakably revealed its inner dread.
To counter this unprecedented threat, it emitted a silent shriek, and its massive upper body swelled violently once more.
The already terrifying silhouette, several times the height of a man, swelled even further, its shadow engulfing nearly all the light around Roland.
Its scale rivaled that of a small, mobile fortress, radiating a suffocating, almost tangible pressure from the abyss.
Before this colossal entity, Roland charging forward with his sword seemed utterly insignificant, as if he would be crushed by its sheer darkness and overwhelming mass in the next instant.
Simultaneously, its attack pattern abruptly shifted.
No longer did it conjure those relatively slender tentacles.
Instead, all the surging dark energy converged with unprecedented speed toward the front of its "torso," rapidly coalescing into an enormous, crudely shaped yet impossibly solid fist.
The fist dwarfed Roland's entire body. Imbued with a savage, crushing force, it descended like a black meteor, slamming down on Roland's head with brutal force.
The wind pressure from the fist cracked the ground inch by inch, as if the very air had been sucked away. It was a strike meant to obliterate the shimmering golden light before itâand its wielderâwith the purest, most primal strength.
Facing the colossal fist that crashed down like a black meteor, the molten gold light in Roland's eyes blazed to its peak, transforming into inhuman, vertical pupils like liquid gold.
Without a trace of retreat, he instead bent his knees slightly, the ground beneath his feet exploding in a thunderous roar.
His entire being shot upward like a golden arrow fired against the heavens.
His figure soared instantly, rising until he stood level with the top of the pitch-black figure's massive, swollen upper body.
The gale whipped his black hair back from his forehead, revealing the pair of ice-cold, burning eyes beneath.
Gripping the Mithril Longswordânow the core of a storm of wind and lightâRoland raised it high above his head.
Everything around him seemed to peel away under an invisible force.
The deafening roars, the shattering debris, even the crushing pressure of the fistâall faded rapidly from Roland's perception, receding into the distance.
His world, his entire being, coalesced in his hands, focused within the Mithril Longsword that thrummed ceaselessly, yearning for release.
The Focus trait activated with unprecedented intensity, forcibly channeling and purifying his mental power like a hundred rivers converging into the sea.
In his mind, the characters from the scroll he had just learned lit up like burning runes, one by one.
Each syllable, each diagram illustrating the flow of energy, was being analyzed, reconstructed, and imprinted into his instincts at an astonishing speed.
Simultaneously, his mental power surged in an unprecedented manner, violently scouring his limbs and bones before converging on his heart, where it fused with a deeper, more fervent strength.
This was the power born of will and conviction.
The immense strain caused veins to bulge on his forehead and temples to throb violently. He could even feel capillaries bursting under the pressure, a warm trickle sliding down his cheek.
Yet his grip on the sword remained as steady as bedrock.
In the next instant, a vast, boundless surge of positive energyâlike liquid sunlightâpoured forth from the Mithril Longsword, flowed through his body, and was channeled back into the blade.
Holy Strike!
The sword's radiance transformed from pure gold into a blindingly white, holy glow that was impossible to look at directly.
The space around the blade began to distort, as if unable to withstand such extreme light and divinity.
At that very moment, the colossal fist of darkness crashed down!
Boom!
Light and darkness.
Two absolutely opposing forces collided with savage, direct violence.
The deafening roar threatened to shatter everyone's eardrums.
A terrifying shockwave of energy erupted in a circular blast, tearing away several feet of earth. Smoke, holy light, and fragments of darkness scattered wildly.
At the epicenter of the collision, a brief stalemate formed.
The colossal dark fist attempted to crush the tiny point of light with sheer force, but the incandescent sword-light remained steadfast, like a nail driven into the heart of darkness.
Yet this equilibrium lasted only an instant.
The pitch-black figure's fist, condensed with vast abyssal energy, hissed like ice thrown into a furnace the moment it touched the Holy Strike's overwhelming positive energy.
The extremely condensed dark energy composing the fist began to rapidly dissolve and evaporate before this supreme light and divinity, as if encountering its natural nemesis.
The darkness tried to retaliate, but its efforts were futile.
The holy, incandescent sword-light surged upward along the massive fist with unstoppable momentum, purifying everything in its path.
Roland channeled all his strength into his arms, unleashing a thunderous roar that shattered the heavens. The Mithril Longsword, radiating boundless light, descended with unstoppable force.
Shriiiip!
There was no violent clash this time, only a chillingly sharp sound, like fabric being forcibly torn apart.
The incandescent blade sliced through the massive, fortress-like black body as effortlessly as a hot knife through butter, cleaving it in two with a single strike.
The severed edges showed no signs of dark regeneration. Instead, they were utterly purified by holy energy, leaving behind only ash-like remnants that scattered in the wind.
The colossal upper half of the dark figure froze mid-motion. Then, as if its support had vanished, it collapsed into two crumbling masses of rapidly dissipating black smoke, crashing to the ground.
Roland descended slowly through the swirling dark ashes, landing lightly on the ground.
The incandescent glow of the Mithril Longsword gradually receded, leaving behind a faint golden aura that still pulsed faintly.
A brief, deathly silence fell over the chaotic battlefield.
(End of the Chapter)
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