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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Kiteretsu]
[Proofreader - Kyros]
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Chapter 183
It's over. The outcome has been decided.
No matter how much divine favor he had received, healing a wound of that magnitude would require a priest of saintly caliber.
It wasn't just a simple puncture; the attack had melted and scorched the surrounding area as it pierced through.
Unless his body had been altered to survive without vital internal organs, which seemed unlikely, the result remained unchanged as long as he retained a human form.
“…Kgh.”
Petel couldn't suppress the pain, his face contorting as he looked down at his wound.
Battles to the death between superhumans usually ended in an instant.
It was rare for both sides to expend their full strength in an extended fight. But it was too soon to celebrate.
A unique domain didn’t vanish immediately like an illusion just because its caster was defeated.
Like an imprint struggling to leave its mark on the world, it persisted until it gradually faded away.
That woman, Laniche, would be no exception.
“No… No, no, no.”
“Ra…niche.”
Had anyone else been present, they would have easily labeled Ian the villain in this tragic scene.
A woman drowning in sorrow and despair. A man dying, clutching his wounds.
Yet Ian remained indifferent as he watched. He felt no pity.
Not because his emotions had dulled, but because he was certain they had already aligned with an Outer God and sacrificed others in the process.
Even if they hadn't directly taken part, how many atrocities had they turned a blind eye to in their pursuit of the rank of Cardinal? Sympathy was wasted on them.
Ian simply looked on as he gathered his magic.
[Bane of Evil]
[Infernal Prison, Multiple Deployment]
Dozens of fireballs burst into existence in the air like blooming flowers.
The brilliant flames devoured the surrounding darkness, radiating scorching heat and blinding light.
The fire flickered and writhed as if alive.
“…You.”
With that single word, the woman released Petel's now lifeless hand.
Her fingertips trembled, and her face twisted with rage and despair.
Her venomous gaze locked onto Ian. It wouldn’t have been surprising if she shed tears of blood.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Ian tilted his head, as if truly unable to comprehend, his cold voice sending a faint tremor through the woman's eyes.
“Because you killed the one I cherished.”
“If you remember anything from his lifetime, you should know this. A mercenary’s companion can die at any moment without warning. And if he followed an Outer God, it was all the more inevitable.”
“So you expect me to just accept this death? Sorry, but I can’t do that.”
Her voice cracked.
“If it were my death, maybe. But I can’t let Petel’s death pass like this.”
Ian silently gazed at her.
“You stole my hope.”
She clenched her teeth, her voice shaking as moisture welled in her eyes.
The moment Ian saw her expression, he felt a strange sense of awe.
This was what a unique domain truly was.
Had she not just resurrected a life within the world shaped by her own will?
Even if only temporarily, it was nothing short of a miracle.
“I thought… we could finally talk again. That I could hold him once more.”
Her voice grew quieter until it was barely audible, before ultimately fading as she swallowed her words.
Then, releasing Petel, she slowly rose to her feet.
She hung her head low, letting her sword droop. But she had not given up. She was gathering what little mana she had left.
It was clear that she was shutting out any unnecessary background noise and the presence of monsters, focusing solely on extending her life for even a moment longer.
“You wanted to buy time, didn’t you? Just a little longer, and I’ll disappear along with this space.”
Ian stretched out his hand. The platinum sword that had flown away with his spear throw returned. The blade vibrated with a low hum, as if asking why he had only now called for it.
Fwoosh—
The flames that had ignited simultaneously grew fiercer. It was the ability of the platinum sword, which had once been called the queen of magic weapons.
Even in the face of such a threat, the woman did not waver. Slowly, she spoke.
“…What a shame.”
Ian nodded.
“I think so too. I gave you time to say your farewells so you wouldn’t have any regrets.”
“You could at least coat your lies with a little spit first. Who wouldn’t see through your words?”
“And if you do? What can you do about it?”
“I’ll do my best.”
Ian let out a short laugh.
“There’s no need for that.”
Fire-based abilities weren’t just about igniting flames.
Their defining trait was the ability to cause continuous damage and seize control of a wide area. Depending on the situation, they could even be compressed to melt everything in their path.
And at this very moment, their sheer firepower was on full display.
It was a waste of firepower to unleash against a single individual rather than an army, but Ian still rained down every fireball he had conjured upon Laniche.
“Tsk!”
Even if the corpse had grown cold, she still wanted to protect the body of the one she loved. Rather than focusing entirely on evasion, Laniche stood her ground.
She unleashed slashes from the sword in her hand.
Slice—
She managed to cut through some of the fireballs, but the moment their form was distorted, Ian’s flames erupted into violent explosions.
Kwoooooom!
As soon as the unleashed fire struck other fireballs, a chain reaction of explosions occurred. The atmosphere trembled, and the ground rumbled.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Could she protect not only herself but also the corpse amidst such overwhelming firepower? A mage might be able to.
But for an ordinary swordswoman, such means were scarce, making her method of enduring all the more unwise.
She would only be forced to watch as the body was torn apart by the explosions right before her eyes.
“Aaaaaaaaah!”
A scream filled with agony echoed. The surging flames filled her vision.
The heat swept forward with the wind. It was practically a supernatural force akin to magic.
The raging fire did not just rise high and spread outward—it was also surging back inward.
From within, slashes came flying toward Ian, but they posed no real threat.
They were being swung wildly without proper aim, likely because she couldn’t even see properly.
Whizz—
Amidst the blinding flames, a sharp blade shot toward him.
It was the sword that the woman called Laniche had been holding.
Cutting through the air, it aimed straight for Ian’s heart. But he did not simply stand there and watch.
He didn’t evade. If anything, this was something that ought to be destroyed.
Ian extended the platinum sword, tracing a circle in the air.
Following the clean arc drawn in the void, Laniche's blade shifted its direction, veering upward instead of striking forward.
The hilt, now defenseless, pointed toward Ian.
Without hesitation, he reached out and grabbed it.
Woooom—!
It was as if the sword resented his filthy touch, struggling violently in resistance.
If it could speak, would it not have begged him to let go? Yet Ian ignored it completely.
Though it seemed like it might drag him along, he held firm, suppressing it with flames.
Fwoooosh!
Woooom—!
The sword trembled, filling the space with a sound that resembled agonized wailing.
"Rendering a sword unusable like this..."
Ian chuckled softly.
"This is the second time."
Once at the Gray Temple—and now, the same as before.
The blade’s durability hardly mattered. Heated to an extreme, the metal glowed red-hot, and the embellishments melted away, unable to withstand the heat.
The sword trembled more violently, but there was no way to escape his grasp. In the end, it fell silent.
Ian released the now grotesquely melted weapon.
It hit the ground with a dull thud, motionless. The faint magic he had sensed within it had completely vanished.
'Is it over?'
Setting aside the still-open passage to the Outer Sea in the sky, there were no surviving cultists nearby.
Petel was certainly dead. The manifested mental world, the domain unique to him, had also completely disappeared.
Ian took a deep breath, letting the heated air fill his lungs before exhaling slowly.
'That was difficult.'
It was his first battle against a true superhuman.
The fights he had experienced before were on an entirely different level.
Looking back now, when he had been stuck at Level 5, unable to reach the higher ranks, his past battles seemed no more than child's play.
Attacks arrived in less than a fraction of a second. The ability to read and react to them was only the bare minimum.
Even amidst a relentless storm of strikes, maintaining composure and making near-prophetic decisions about the next move was essential.
And that was not all. One had to assess the surroundings at all times, manipulating the environment to turn it into an advantage, disrupting the opponent’s flow and exploiting their weaknesses.
To do that, it wasn’t just about one's own abilities. Artifacts and relics capable of introducing new variables were crucial.
Now, he finally understood why higher-level warriors required even better equipment.
If anything were lacking, then the next one to collapse onto the cold, hard ground…
'Would be me.'
Ian lifted his head.
Regardless, it had been a valuable experience.
He had survived.
He had won.
And he had not even suffered a single injury.
Now, all that remained was closing the passage the fanatics had opened.
"……!"
But just as he allowed himself a moment of relief, Ian’s expression abruptly stiffened.
His brows furrowed as he lifted his head, uncertain.
Fwoooosh—
The flames where Petel and Laniche had burned still remained, concentrated in a single place.
Though they surged outward, they remained confined within a fixed boundary, restrained under Ian’s control.
Yet—something moved inside.
"What...?"
A silhouette emerged from the heart of the searing heat.
It was impossible.
No one should have survived in there.
Unless the dead were coming back to life, there was no other explanation.
Ian’s breath caught in his throat.
Doubt creeping into his mind, he waved his hand, questioning his own senses.
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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Kiteretsu]
[Proofreader - Kyros]
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