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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Kiteretsu]
[Proofreader - Kyros]
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Chapter 180
Siiing!
Ian momentarily halted his movement and tilted his head to the side.
He narrowly avoided the sword that shot toward him with lightning speed, but the guard attached to the hilt struck his right shoulder with a dull impact as it passed.
With a thud, his body was pushed backward. The pain was sharp, but it was only temporary—not enough to hinder the battle.
‘An artifact? A relic?’
He considered whether it was connected to Cardinal Petel, but that wasn’t the case.
That sword was moving of its own will.
It nearly crashed into the ground before correcting its balance, and Ian could sense the blade pointing at him again from behind.
Meanwhile, Petel was swiftly closing the distance from the front.
Sweeaaak!
The sword behind him was poised to strike. An ordinary person would have focused on the opponent in front, failing to react in time.
But Ian possessed Clairvoyance. He could perceive every movement within a certain radius.
Fwoosh!
The flames blanketing the area surged, rushing toward the sword targeting his back.
Multiple streaks of fire extended like whips, wrapping around the blade and yanking it down with force.
He wouldn’t be able to restrain it for long. It wasn’t an ordinary sword. But even a brief restraint was enough.
Seeing this, Petel looked at him in astonishment.
"Do you have eyes in the back of your head!?"
His voice rang with disbelief.
Ian swung his sword, and Petel abruptly stopped in place, leaning his upper body backward to evade.
Agile.
Even before Ian could retract his sword, Petel had already regained his stance. A fist, clad in Dark Mana, shot toward Ian’s chin.
Pang!
It was incredibly fast. Instead of dodging, Ian extended his hand.
Fwoosh.
Flames ignited in his palm, coating his fingers before solidifying into a metallic gauntlet.
He caught the incoming fist with his palm.
Pak!
He tried to hold on, but the instant impact slipped away.
The force behind the punch wasn’t weak—the gauntlet of flames shattered upon contact.
He quickly restored it, but the sting lingered.
"Hmph!"
The punches didn’t stop at just one. A relentless barrage followed, preventing any chance to swing his sword.
Petel stayed on him, ensuring he had no room to retreat.
As Ian dodged the fierce attacks, Petel grinned and said,
"How long do you plan to just dodge!?"
It sounded almost like a challenge to abandon weapons and fight with fists. That would be a foolish choice.
There was no reason to entertain him. His opponent could recall his sword at any moment.
Though Ian had bound it with flames of chains, he instinctively knew it wouldn’t hold for long.
[Bane of Evil: Third Form—Blazing Horn.]
Ian withdrew, spinning his body. His toes brushed against the ground, igniting flames that coiled around his legs.
The fire, dazzling and eye-catching, traced his movements, then shot toward his opponent’s face.
Thud!
Perhaps he hadn’t expected a kick in this manner—Petel raised his arms to block, but he couldn’t absorb the full impact and was forced back.
Seeing him stagger, Ian lifted his sword.
Fwoosh!.
The flames surged from the hilt, engulfing the platinum blade and transforming it into the shape of a massive axe. With a powerful swing, it came crashing down like splitting firewood.
Kwaang!
The axe blade struck the ground with a heavy impact, causing the earth to cave in. As if that weren’t enough, mana seeped into the fissures, and flames erupted in reverse.
Fwoooosh!
The fire lashed out like tentacles toward Petel, who was retreating. But he didn’t take the attack lying down.
He extended his fist, wrapped in dark mana, and deflected them all.
Papapapak!
It was an eerie sight. Upon impact, the flames should have exploded violently, but instead, they burst and scattered in midair.
Not only that, but an unusual rotational force swirled around his fist, absorbing the flames.
‘Gravity?’
Hwoooong—
The flames, tainted by dark mana, lost their red hue and turned violet, surging back toward Ian.
His figure flickered momentarily, then boldly reappeared—not at the side or behind, but directly in front—lowering his stance and driving a punch toward Ian’s abdomen.
Ian conjured a shield from the flames coiling around one of his arms to intercept the attack.
Zzeooong!
The fiery shield couldn’t withstand Petel’s strike and shattered on the spot.
It wasn’t that the durability was poor. Rather, it was remarkable that it had managed to block the attack even once.
Petel scowled and shouted,
“La Niche!”
At that moment, the sword shot toward Ian’s back. It had only pretended to be restrained, now thrusting forward to stab him.
Tuuung—!
A triple-layered barrier materialized in midair to block the blade. Two layers were pierced, but the final one held firm.
The sword trembled like an arrow embedded in its target.
It was a technique mimicking the one used by Eor, the Adjudicator of Hellfire.
Though not perfected, Ian had grasped its mechanism simply by witnessing it once and was able to replicate it in a similar fashion.
His practice in stolen moments hadn’t been in vain.
As their attacks and defenses continued, the surroundings were reduced to chaos.
Kwakwakakakak!
Ian maintained a steady distance, while Petel pushed forward, trying to close the gap.
The sword, called La Niche, constantly sought openings to strike Ian, but not a single attack landed.
Fwooosh!
As Petel swung his fist through empty air, he used the recoil to spin his body.
Shiiik!
A pair of wings sprouted from his back, slashing toward Ian like blades in succession.
Ian’s eyes gleamed as he watched.
[Bane of Evil: Fifth Form]
His grip on the platinum sword tightened. Sensing the sudden pressure, Petel’s body stiffened.
He must have realized the danger, but unless he could teleport, he had no way to evade it.
Woom—
Ian had already settled into position. By the time Petel registered the follow-up movement, the sword had already been swung.
[Judgment: Execution]
The blade moved at a speed several times greater than before, cleaving through the wings.
Though reinforced by dark mana, they weren’t sturdy enough to withstand the strike of Ian, who had ascended in rank.
Fwooosshh!
Like wings severed in a flash, the black magic detached from his body was instantly devoured by the flames of Bane of Evil, vanishing without a trace before even touching the ground.
“!?”
Startled, Petel instinctively retreated, widening the distance in an instant.
He had been determined not to yield, yet that single strike was enough to send chills down his spine.
He turned his head.
“…Damn.”
Petel’s eye twitched, his face naturally contorting into a grimace.
The wings he had obtained through the grace of the Outer Gods were composed of black magic, but their durability surpassed that of most metals. And yet, they had been cleanly severed.
Regenerating them was not difficult, but he had still suffered an irretrievable loss—faith and black magic accumulated through the sacrifice of his followers had been wasted in vain.
“I didn’t take this lightly, but still…”
Petel muttered quietly. Though their clash had not lasted long, this was the first damage he had sustained in the relentless exchange, where neither had a moment to breathe.
If he had taken that blow to his fist instead of his wings… Even with black magic reinforcing his arm, it would have been severed.
“It’s far worse than I thought… Hm?”
When he looked ahead again, Ian was gazing up at the sky.
Seeing him seemingly indifferent to his presence, Petel felt a surge of irritation.
“…Where exactly are you looking right now?”
Ian did not answer.
All across the forest, pillars of purple light shot up in circular formations, linking the heavens and the earth like threads.
Above the ruins, at the heart of this mysterious ritual, a brilliant star shone, surrounded by swirling black clouds, twisting and writhing as if alive.
Rumble—
A thunderous roar, like that of a massive beast, echoed repeatedly.
Lightning carved through the clouds, illuminating the surroundings for brief moments. Each time, faint cracks seemed to form at the center of the vortex.
Though no sound came from within, there was an ominous sensation—as if something was on the verge of shattering through and emerging.
Observing this, Ian murmured,
“I thought this was the core of the ritual… but it seems I was wrong. Isn’t that right?”
Ian turned his gaze back to Petel and posed the question. Petel tilted his head slightly.
“Hm.”
Whoosh—!
By now, the entire area was engulfed in flames.
Raging fire consumed the ground, and the ancient trees that had stood for centuries were reduced to fuel, crackling and burning as if screaming.
Though the ritual sigils inscribed here had been erased, the ritual itself showed no sign of stopping.
If anything, it seemed to be accelerating.
Petel, still displeased by Ian’s momentary distraction, stared at him with a sour expression before finally speaking.
“…Did I ever say that? I don’t recall telling you this was the ritual’s focal point. You simply decided to come to me, and I let you.”
“……”
“What’s with that look? If you let your own misunderstanding turn into resentment toward me, that’s hardly fair.”
“…So, if I want to stop the ritual, killing you is the only way?”
Petel chuckled.
“Haha… Are you seriously asking me that? Unfortunately for you, the ritual cannot be stopped once it has begun. Killing me won’t change anything. I’m no mage, so I can’t explain the exact mechanics, but I was told that once it activates, that’s it.”
From the way he spoke, it seemed even he had only heard this from someone else.
Ian swallowed his frustration. He had thought eliminating the gathered fanatics would be enough to put an end to this, but reality was proving far less simple.
“You don’t believe me? Then why not test it for yourself? You’ll soon see if I’m lying or not. That is… if you even can.”
At that moment, black magic surged from Cardinal Petel, painting ominous patterns across the ground.
“A Domain?”
Ian’s brows furrowed as he leaped forward.
The sword once called Lanice flew in to intercept him, shielding Petel.
Clang—!
Sparks erupted as metal clashed against metal.
Ian had swung with enough force to send it flying, yet the blade held firm.
It resisted desperately, moving as though an invisible hand was gripping and wielding it.
It wasn’t just blocking his strikes—it was actively working to disrupt his balance, countering his movements.
“…Tch.”
Annoying.
Ian’s lips curled in irritation. He raised his left hand, channeling mana.
At his fingertips, flames began to spark—
But before they could ignite, Petel called the sword back.
Like a child seeking refuge behind a parent, the blade instantly withdrew to his side, floating idly with its edge lowered.
“Well then… now that the warm-up is over, shall we begin in earnest?”
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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Kiteretsu]
[Proofreader - Kyros]
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