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Translator: CinderTL
"Three transcendent assassins... A truly meticulous arrangement."
Gloria's gaze swept across the three assailants who had completely sealed off her escape routes from different directions. She bit her lip.
In the next moment, the deadly coordinated attack struck again.
Gloria swung her longsword violently, and scorching golden patterns erupted along the blade, radiating blinding light.
A force not her own surged forth, reinforcing the blade and allowing her to barely parry the vicious frontal strike.
The light then coalesced into a semi-transparent golden screen over her left arm, barely blocking the attack from her left flank.
The massive impact numbed her arm, forcing her to stagger backward. A metallic tang rose in her throat, but the sacred, searing power had also momentarily repelled the two assailants.
"Your Highness! Don't worry about me! Run!" Maid Mel cried out, struggling to speak.
Her hand pressed tightly against the ghastly wound in her abdomen, where blood seeped continuously. Her face was as pale as paper.
Gloria didn't reply, nor did she even glance back at Mel.
Instead, she gripped her longsword tighter, her steps unwavering as she once again positioned herself between Mel and the attackers, using her body and blade as the final bulwark for her loyal subordinate.
"The stigmata..."
Gloria gritted her teeth, enduring the searing pain in her arms and neck and the vibrations that surged through the hilt of her longsword.
"The divine blessing grants me temporary strength to contend with transcendents, but..."
She knew better than anyone that she was not a true transcendent.
The stigmata, imperfectly inscribed and not fully fused with her soul, drained her physical and spiritual reserves with each activation. It was a double-edged sword, its power backfiring against her mortal body.
Every surge of strength brought with it excruciating pain, like her muscles tearing apart, and waves of dizziness that made her longsword feel increasingly heavy.
The three assassins lurking in the shadows had clearly sensed her weakening state.
Abandoning direct assaults, they began to circle Gloria like phantoms, darting through the dense grove to constantly shift their positions, launching repeated ambushes and feints.
Their attacks grew more cunning, often targeting Mel, whom Gloria couldn't fully protect. This forced her into constant parrying and blocking, passively depleting the power that wasn't truly hers.
Under this relentless, cunning assault, Gloria's movements inevitably slowed, her breath coming in ragged, burning gasps.
The stigmata's glow flickered erratically, like a candle flame in the wind.
The edges of her vision began to darken, and the arm wielding her longsword felt as heavy as lead.
Just as she barely managed to parry a strike from the shadows on her right, her body, weakened by exhaustion, left a massive opening.
The final assassin, as if anticipating this moment, materialized silently from the canopy's shadow directly above her, precisely in her blind spot.
The light-devouring dagger in his hand fell soundlessly, aimed straight at her unprotected head.
The icy breath of death descended upon her.
But just as the light-devouring dagger was about to graze Gloria's hair,
a figure suddenly intervened, blocking with perfect precision between Gloria and death.
His movements were utterly efficient, his longsword transforming into a swift silver lightning bolt that pierced upward with unerring accuracy.
Thwack!
The muffled sound of the blade tearing through flesh was starkly clear.
The longsword pierced the assassin's chest with pinpoint accuracy, the force of the strike even causing the assassin's body to arch backward.
Scalding blood erupted from the wound.
The assassin's eyes froze in mid-shock, the shadow energy coiling around him shattered like shattered glass, and he crashed heavily to the ground, lifeless.
The two remaining assassins froze mid-charge, their eyes beneath their hoods flashing with surprise and suspicion at the sudden appearance of this powerful interloper.
Yet their hesitation lasted only a moment.
As highly trained killers, they abandoned their attack without a second thought.
Their figures melted into the shadows like ink dissolving in water, retreating swiftly and vanishing once more into the dense forest, as if they had never been there at all.
Gloria, who had narrowly escaped death, gasped for breath. She stared at the tall, unfamiliar figure before her, at his sharply defined profile, and paused in confusion.
"Y-you are...?" she stammered, her voice hoarse with exhaustion and lingering fear.
Roland didn't turn. He simply raised a hand, gesturing for silence and vigilance, his sharp gaze sweeping across the seemingly calm forest as he murmured, "They haven't left."
As if to confirm his words, before his voice had even faded, two deadly killing intents erupted from completely different directions.
Like molten darkness, their figures materialized from two impossibly sharp angles, their light-devouring daggers radiating bone-chilling cold as they struck simultaneously at Roland's throat and back.
Their speed was so great, they left only two blurred afterimages in the air.
Roland's reaction far exceeded their expectations.
Without even turning fully, he merely shifted his body with precise economy, swinging his sword in a steady, efficient motion.
Clang! Clang!
Two crisp metallic clashes rang out almost simultaneously, sparks flying in all directions.
A surge of immense force erupted from Roland's blade, effortlessly deflecting the assassins' lethal coordinated strike.
The massive recoil numbed the assassins' wrists, sending them sliding backward uncontrollably, their eyes flashing with terror.
They realized that in terms of raw strength, an insurmountable chasm separated them from their opponent.
Their initial strike thwarted, the assassins didn't hesitate. Using the momentum of their retreat, they immediately melted back into the shadows, attempting to regroup and launch a new assault using their mastery of stealth and agility.
But this was precisely what Roland had been waiting for.
The moment the surrounding light began to distort and the assassins' presence was about to vanish completely from his senses, Roland's Shadow Perception activated silently.
In his perception, the two assassins attempting to merge with the shadows appeared as distinct ripples swimming through a pool of ink.
Their positions, movement trajectories, and even the precise angle of their next strike were as clear to him as if he possessed precognitive abilities.
Just as the assassin on the left, confident in his complete concealment, prepared to launch another thunderbolt strike from Roland's blind spot, Roland suddenly twisted his body as if guided by an oracle. His longsword, whistling through the air with razor-sharp precision, slashed exactly where the assassin would emerge.
The assassin's pupils constricted in shock, utterly unprepared for his movements to be so completely anticipated. He twisted his body awkwardly, desperately trying to evade the predicted strike.
But Roland's sword was too fast and too accurate. Though the assassin avoided a fatal blow, the blade still tore through his shoulder armor, drawing a spray of blood. He let out a stifled groan of pain and staggered backward.
Almost simultaneously, without even turning his head, Roland thrust his sword backward into the seemingly empty shadows behind him.
The other assassin, poised to strike from behind, was forced to reveal himself prematurely. He barely managed to parry the sudden, precise thrust, but the tremendous force of the blow numbed his arm, forcing him to stumble backward in disarray.
These two perfect predictions and counterattacks completely disrupted the assassins' rhythm.
The assassins' vaunted shadow concealment and swift strikes proved utterly futile against Roland's Shadow Perception.
Roland gave them no quarter.
He surged forward like an arrow loosed from a bow, his longsword transforming into a silver tempest as he unleashed a relentless offensive.
Under Roland's furious and precise swordplay, the two assassins found themselves in dire straits.
They could only rely on their superior agility, dodging and weaving in a desperate attempt to evade his attacks.
Their daggers struggled to parry the heavy, crushing blows, each clash numbing their hands and weakening their arms, leaving them completely overwhelmed.
Realizing they stood no chance in direct combat, both assassins simultaneously decided to retreat. They feinted, preparing to vanish into the shadows behind them.
But just as one assassin was about to merge with the darkness,
a razor-sharp, icy glint, like a viper striking from its lair, emerged silently yet with lightning speed from his blind spot, piercing straight for his heart.
Sensing the mortal danger, the attacked assassin instinctively rolled sideways to evade the strike, relying on his transcendent agility.
In that split-second, a strange yet melodious piano note seemed to resonate directly within his mind, causing an imperceptible delay in his focused spirit and coordinated movements.
This delay, though perhaps less than a breath, proved fatal in the life-or-death struggle.
The sharp, cold light that had been lying in wait seized this fleeting opening without hesitation.
Thwack!
With a soft sound, the rapier's tip pierced through his forehead, drawing out a crimson-white, foul-smelling fluid.
Simultaneously, another assassin, fully engaged in parrying Roland's relentless assault, was also mentally disrupted by the sudden, eerie melody. His movements faltered into a fatal distortion.
Seeing this, Roland flicked his wrist, and the sword's blade slashed diagonally across.
A crisp crack rang out, followed by a brief, agonized scream as the assassin's right arm, still clutching his dagger, flew through the air.
Before the man could react to the searing pain of his severed limb, Roland's sword tip darted out with blinding speed.
With unerring precision, he severed the remaining tendons in the assassin's hands and feet, completely crippling his mobility.
The assassin collapsed to the ground like a lump of mud.
Without hesitation, Roland strode forward, gripped the assassin's cheek with precision, and yanked downward with a swift motion.
With a sickening crack, the assassin's jaw dislocated, rendering him utterly incapable of biting.
Roland's fingers probed into the assassin's mouth, swiftly extracting a deadly poison sac wrapped in thin wax from between his teeth. He tossed it aside casually.
But the moment the poison sac was removed, a sudden, horrifying transformation occurred.
The assassin's pupils, previously constricted by agony and despair, dilated abruptly, instantly flooding with an unnatural, murky, deathly white.
All signs of life seemed to drain away in an instant. After a brief spasm of rigidity, the body went completely limp.
Then, a faint, scalp-tingling rustling sound emerged from the assassin's ear canal.
Under the horrified gaze of Roland and the others, a slender, greasy, dark purple worm—as if condensed from shadow itself—struggled out of the assassin's ear.
Its body was covered in indescribably fine lines, emitting a faint, nauseatingly fishy odor identical to that of the abyss hole.
However, the moment this bizarre creature came into contact with the outside air, it convulsed violently and curled up as if burned by intense light.
It ultimately transformed into a small, shriveled, and stiff black mass, completely devoid of all vitality.
(End of the Chapter)
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