Chapter 175

Ihan had done his job perfectly.

He had drawn Turr’s attention to himself until the very end, allowing Raq to secretly reach his position. He demonstrated what it truly meant to be the [ultimate tank].

So now, it wasn’t Raq’s job to worry about the one who had brought him here—it was his job to fulfill the [damage dealer] role and deliver the killing blow.

Huff.

Huff!

Huuuff!

The spear extended forward.

Each thrust grew faster, so rapid that though it was a single man wielding a single spear, it created the illusion of multiple warriors attacking at once.

Such was the speed, precision, and ferocity of Raq de Duron’s spear.

—The One-Man Phalanx.

He had single-handedly achieved what an entire formation of spearmen could do.

Swish!

Swooosh!

“…Afterimages?”

Raq’s form began to split. His movements were so fast that his afterimages lingered, and those afterimages gradually became so distinct they appeared as five separate figures. He hadn’t used any duplication magic—just pure speed to create clones.

“Magnificent…!”

Turr couldn’t help but applaud.

The knight who had been defending against everything moments ago was impressive, but the skill and mastery Raq displayed were equally extraordinary.

Grind!

But the one receiving praise wasn’t pleased. Raq grit his teeth hard.

Despite launching dozens of spear strikes per second, he couldn’t pierce through Turr’s magic barrier.

Using the [Third Eye], a technique that transformed mystical insight into skill, Raq relentlessly targeted the barrier’s weak points. Yet, his spear felt as though it was chasing phantoms.

‘…I see. The barrier repairs itself the instant it’s pierced.’

Even when the barrier was breached, it regenerated so quickly that there wasn’t even time to realize the damage. Realizing this, Raq instinctively knew he needed a powerful, decisive strike.

Huff!

In the blink of an eye, he drew his spear back and condensed a massive killing intent into it.

In less than 0.2 seconds, he compressed his Red Aura and converted it into raw energy.

—The Fangs of the Wild Wolf.

Fwoooom!

The spearhead, now imbued with a massive amount of energy, gleamed like a colossal drill. If Ihan’s skill was Sword Aura, Raq’s was Red Spear Aura, a concentrated crimson force.

With the power to obliterate everything in its path, Raq’s ultimate strike collided with Turr’s barrier.

Fwooosh!

The impact was so intense it erased the flow of air in the area, turning it into a vacuum.

The spear pierced the atmosphere, burning away oxygen in its wake.

Even for a transcendent, such a strike was not something to take lightly.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Thooom—!

But a foreboding resonance echoed, and Raq’s brow furrowed deeply.

Rather than striking a thin, fragile barrier, the sensation was as though he’d struck a massive mountain of rock.

And what Raq’s spear hit was indeed—

“—Impressive, but you were too slow. You needed to finish preparing in 0.05 seconds instead of 0.2. Otherwise, you’ll never catch me.”

—a colossal ice wall.

Turr’s magic had summoned a vast wall of ice, thick and towering, large enough to be called a fortress.

Crack… Crack!

Though the ice wall was shattered by Raq’s spear strike, he didn’t feel pride in it.

He hadn’t been aiming for a wall—he’d been aiming for the monster’s neck.

“…Memorize.”

“Exactly. Mages always have their spells prepared in advance. Though I don’t usually need to, I have about 41,514 defensive spells surrounding me just in case. Unlucky for you, huh? Hehe.”

“……”

“That’s why I told you to give up. What you’re doing is just an exercise in futility.”

Like eggs thrown against a rock.

The outcome had been clear from the start.

Yet they persisted in fighting. How foolish, Turr thought, shaking his head.

Whoosh!

“Still trying?”

It was meaningless.

Swish.

Even at close range, Turr’s Perspective Manipulation allowed him to strike. With a casual motion, he swung his hand and struck Raq.

Thud!

“…That hurts.”

But perhaps Turr had shown too much of himself.

A larger wound appeared on his hand than before, and Turr’s expression soured.

Even while being thrown back, the knight had managed to strike. What a stubborn opponent.

However—

Shhh.

“Not that it matters.”

The wound on Turr’s hand healed almost instantly.

“A flawless victory.”

No matter how much they struggled, it was pointless. That’s what Turr’s expression seemed to convey. He wished they would stop their futile resistance.

But—

“……”

“…You’re getting up again?”

…Raq was rising to his feet.

Even after being flung far away.

“Why is he doing this?”

Turr tilted his head, genuinely puzzled.

They were up against an unbeatable opponent, with no chance of escape. Wouldn’t it make sense to give up?

And yet they continued to burn with determination.

To Turr, it seemed utterly useless.

“Knights’ psychology has always baffled me, no matter the era.”

He shrugged, as if to say it was beyond his understanding.

“—Of course, someone like you could never understand.”

“…Huh?”

For the first time, the knight who had ignored all of Turr’s chatter spoke.

Drip.

Even as blood streamed down his body, Raq’s calm eyes were unwavering as he said,

“To someone like you, who sees the world as nothing but toys, who treats life as utterly worthless, what could you possibly understand?”

“??”

“You don’t understand now, and you’ll never understand. Why we fight. Why we despise you.”

“…Is there a reason?”

Genuine curiosity flickered in Turr’s eyes as Raq glared at him with pure contempt and hatred.

How could someone be so utterly devoid of guilt?

Suppressing his revulsion, Raq finally spoke the crime of Turr—and the Magic Tower.

“—I heard you’re deliberately maintaining the [Ten-Year Winter].”

The wrath of the fairies.

The public believed that the Magic Tower and the empire had earned the fairies’ ire, resulting in this prolonged, deadly winter. But the truth was entirely different.

Because—

“The fairies didn’t curse us, did they?”

…The fairies had never cursed them in the first place.

Which meant this winter was being perpetuated by none other than—

“Oh, that? Yeah, it’s true. But how’d you hear about it? Not many people know, you know.”

It was their doing.

Even after they had brought about the Ten-Year Winter, leading to the deaths of one-third of the empire’s population through freezing and starvation, Turr appeared completely unfazed. The same was true for the other mages.

If anything, their expressions seemed to question what was so wrong with it.

“We built colonies for them, didn’t we? That’s good enough, right?”

Turr laughed without a hint of shame.

“……”

For the first time, Raq felt he truly understood.

He understood why the brute—why Ihan—called mages “spell-slingers” with such disdain.

‘How could anyone not hate them?’

They were despicable beings.

No, not just beings—monsters.

They lacked even a shred of guilt, believing with unshakable certainty that everything they did was righteous.

‘These bastards are nothing but monsters!’

They were humanity’s natural predators, creatures incapable of coexistence.

And knights existed to slay such monsters and protect the powerless.

Thus, he—no, they—

“We’re knights. Isn’t that right?”

…warriors who raised their weapons for the weak.

Boom!

The earth trembled.

The rumbling grew louder, and the shaking more intense, until—

Fwoooosh!

A hand shot out from beneath the ground.

“Haa…!”

Buried under the earth, the beast-like man emerged, gasping for air as if roaring.

“Almost died there….”

“You’re late.”

“…I was the one almost dying. Why do you look like you’re the one on death’s door?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“…Sure.”

It didn’t seem fine at all.

Muttering under his breath, Ihan rose to his feet, assessing the situation.

“Still the worst possible scenario, huh.”

The psychopathic spell-slinger was still standing there, unharmed, looking mildly surprised at Ihan’s dramatic reappearance.

What a ridiculous bastard.

As if something like this could actually kill him.

‘I’ve sparred with that old man countless times.’

Ihan had sparred with a transcendent over a hundred times. Of course, he’d never won, but he had survived every single time.

Compared to those battles, this fight was almost easy.

After all, this spell-slinger bastard…

“Hey, did you notice?”

“…To some extent.”

“Yeah? So I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

A cryptic exchange, yet they understood each other perfectly.

“That bastard’s weaker than the old monsters back in our kingdom.”

Compared to the transcendents they knew, Turr was a step behind.

“…Does that include the king?”

“Of course.”

“…Blasphemous.”

“You’re thinking it too.”

“……”

Sure, Turr was incredibly strong, a transcendent monster, but something was missing.

He was overwhelming and extraordinary, yet…

It was a predictable level of strength. Neither excessive nor lacking—exactly what one would expect of a "typical" transcendent.

That was still monstrous, but the two knights understood how vast the gap could be between an average transcendent and a true outlier.

“So, he can be killed.”

Of course, that would require—

“Not just small strikes. We need one massive blow.”

“…That’s easier said than done.”

Raq had just delivered a powerful strike moments ago, only for it to be easily blocked. No matter how strong an attack they prepared, if it couldn’t pierce the barriers and defensive spells surrounding the monster, it was meaningless.

They needed an attack powerful enough to tear through everything in its path. Unfortunately, they lacked such a technique.

Even if they had one, they didn’t have the time to prepare it.

“…While I was digging my way out of the ground, I came up with something.”

“What is it?”

“A way to beat him.”

“…You have one?”

“It’s not foolproof, but… it’s worth a shot.”

“What do I need to do?”

That was the thing about working with someone sharp—they always understood immediately. Raq knew Ihan wouldn’t ask unless it required his help.

So, he asked what needed to be done.

“How far can you go?”

Ihan countered with his own question: how far was Raq willing to push himself?

“All the way.”

Raq answered without hesitation.

“…Damn, that’s romantic.”

It would have been the perfect moment to light up a cigarette, but unfortunately, neither man smoked, and they had no time for such luxuries anyway.

Instead, they silently grabbed their weapons—blade, axe, spear—and stepped forward.

Their condition was at its worst. Their injuries were severe.

But the reason they kept moving forward was—

Thud! Boom!

—the fierce rhythm of their pounding hearts.

Their hearts, attuned to their masters’ wills, beat loudly as if shouting:

Fight.