Chapter 819

Fanatics and Hunters.

The battle between two forces, waged around the canyon, could be summed up in four characters:

Advance and retreat.

The fighting was that fierce, and everyone on both sides had put their lives on the line.

Some fought for a faith they had held all their lives, one they could not even imagine was false. Others fought for convictions just as firm.

And so they fought.

It was a clash of faith and conviction, and at the same time, a holy war.

But amid so much blood and death, whether anyone was religious no longer mattered.

Demons.

They were human beings with the same appearance, but each held a different standard for good and evil. Their eyes met between the blades lunging toward one another, burning with murderous intent.

“Die!”

Clang!

Sword met saber. Blue sparks flew with a sharp screech. Blood spurted amid ragged shouts, impossible to tell who had cried out.

Slice—shaaak!

No scream followed. The fanatic, his throat cut, glared at the Hunter before him with venom in his eyes, then collapsed.

Blue light flashed above the fallen body.

“Watch out!”

Whoosh! Boom!

A warning shout mingled with the roar of impact. A tank stared at the arrowhead protruding halfway through his enormous tower shield, inches from his face, and swallowed.

If he’d raised his shield just a fraction later, he would have died.

But Hunters lived closer to death than anyone. Everyone here had survived countless brushes with it.

The tank grabbed the arrow and snapped it in two, then shouted in a hoarse voice.

“They’re coming! Hold formation!”

Rumble!

Countless flashes rained down. Sharp blades and heavy clubs struck, and even fanatics on the verge of death forced themselves upright and charged.

The impacts hammered the shields so hard that even veteran tanks, hardened by years of combat, thought they might die.

“Arrrgh!”

Grit.

They shouted to wring out the last of their strength and clenched their teeth until they felt ready to break. Their feet slid backward under the pressure, carving deep furrows in the ground.

“Hold the line! If we break, it’s over!”

Even the commanders’ shouts seemed distant.

The enemy had an overwhelming advantage in numbers.

Less than three hours had passed since the battle against the monster army. That fight had drained them in body and mind, and the fanatics were the worst opponents they could have faced now.

Ten thousand of them.

They kept charging even after their chests were cut open or their limbs were severed.

Decades ago, the Doppelganger had raised these fanatics somewhere in this barren desert, hidden from the world, under the name of the Prophet. They were monsters of another kind.

Thrust!

A sword bearing a faint aura pierced a fanatic’s chest and emerged from his back.

It was a grievous wound. Even if he used a potion right away, there was no telling whether he’d live or die. Yet the fanatic whose chest had been pierced bared his blood-soaked teeth and smiled.

“I-Inshallah¹…”

“……!”

The madness in that fading voice made the Hunter freeze.

A chill swept over him. By the time he came to his senses, it was too late.

Whoosh!

A sharp whistle cut past his ear. At the same instant, his vision went dark.

Slump. Thud.

“Hans! Hans!”

The Hunter who caught his falling comrade bit his lip.

But the man who had saved his life time and again—and whose life he had saved in turn—did not answer.

The dagger lodged squarely between Hans’s eyes had taken his voice and his life.

Goddammit.

The Hunter laid down the body, his gaze darkening.

The canyon was an ideal battlefield for facing a larger force, but no matter how efficiently they fought, casualties were unavoidable.

Especially against madmen who saw death as martyrdom.

It was just as their ranks were about to crumble before the wave of fanatics charging without regard for their lives—

Fwoosh.

A fierce heat washed over everyone’s heads.

Before anyone could look up, fire came pouring down like a meteor shower with a fierce whistle.

Whoooooosh!

Dozens of fireballs appeared above the Hunters and fell toward the battlefield, toward the fanatics who charged without end.

As everyone stared, mouths open, one name flashed through their minds.

Magic Johnson.

The Grand Mage said to have been blessed by mana. The world’s greatest War Mage, whose power had been proven during the Great Cataclysm, was finally showing what he could do.

A powerful area spell that could turn the tide of battle.

That’s it. With that…

Every Hunter thought the same thing. No—they were certain.

With Jin Taekyung nowhere to be seen, Magic Johnson was their surest bet to lead them to victory.

At least, they were certain until blue waves surged up from parched land that held nothing but sand and stone in every direction.

“Aqua Storm!”

“Aqua Storm!”

“Aqua Storm!”

Fwoooooosh!

Dozens of voices rang as one. Spheres of water piled upon spheres of water and rose into an enormous tidal wave.

And then…

BOOM!

A roar like the sky splitting apart shook the air.

Water and fire. Fire and water.

The opposing forces met and mingled. Then they collided.

With a shockwave that shook everything within a radius of hundreds of meters², they exploded above the heads of the Hunters and fanatics.

Fwoosh! Boom-boom!

“Gyaaaah!”

“M-My God!”

Someone screamed from beyond the steam that swept through the area on the wind.

The thick steam blinded everyone to what had happened. But Magic Johnson, who had cast the spell, knew better than anyone.

His magic had been canceled out.

Blocked. Almost completely.

Only almost because part of his Fire Storm had engulfed some fanatics. Even so, he could tell the damage was far less than he had expected.

They were ready for it.

Magic Johnson had seen them clearly: thirty mages emerging under heavy guard.

Their turbans were pulled low. Every last one was A-rank and, like him, a War Mage specialized in combat.

The Doppelganger…

Magic Johnson swallowed a groan.

He didn’t need to wonder who had built the force before him.

The Great Cataclysm had been a time of immense chaos. Thirty years was long enough for nature itself to change, and the desert must have been the perfect place to hide something.

How the Doppelganger had gathered and trained them was not what Magic Johnson wanted to know.

His question went to the beginning and end of it all.

What do you want badly enough to have prepared all this?

But his question reached no one. Even if the Doppelganger had known what he was thinking, it would not have answered.

No—it would not even have had time.

At that very moment, the Doppelganger was leaving the battlefield with a small escort.

I have to chase it. I can’t let it get away.

But despite his determination, Magic Johnson couldn’t move easily.

Unlike monsters, the fanatics were thoroughly trained. They knew what mattered most in this battle.

They had more than ten times the Hunters’ numbers and used them to attack in rotating waves.

And…

“Stop them! Those two must not get through!”

“Open fire!”

Magic Johnson and the Skeleton King.

The fanatics concentrated their attacks on the two strongest members of the Hunters’ force—the two who could also be called its commanders.

Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh!

Boom-boom!

Arrows and magic rained down. Even a Grand Mage like Magic Johnson could not afford to ignore the attacks coming without pause from every direction.

He had already spent a great deal of his stamina and mana. The fanatics, by contrast, kept drawing on their strength as they cried out for a holy war.

The Skeleton King was in much the same position.

Slice. Slice. Slice!

His Bone Sword swept in smooth arcs.

But before the bodies crumpling in sprays of blood could hit the ground, dazzling flashes cut through them and shot toward him.

“This is insane…!”

The Skeleton King was aghast. Since coming into this world, he had never encountered people this crazy.

Much less ten thousand of them.

They’re insane. Completely insane.

He wielded the power of death, yet the endless wave of fanatics was nearly enough to overwhelm even him.

Every human feared death. Even he, an Undead Monster, feared Erasure. That fear seemed as inevitable as being born.

So why weren’t these humans afraid to die?

No—what had made them this way?

They’re the real monsters…

Thrust-thrust-thrust!

Swallowing a groan, he swung his Bone Sword and cut through a human body.

When he took one down, three more came. When he took down three, ten came. And when he felled those, fanatics rushed in from every direction, swinging their weapons.

“Die, demon!”

Crunch!

A blade cut through him with a chilling sound. Naturally, he felt no pain.

The Skeleton King sighed at the sword piercing his chest.

“Who are you calling a demon?”

Whoosh—thrust!

He turned his wrist. A bone shard shot out and pierced his attacker’s throat.

With a gurgling sound, the fanatic fell. The Skeleton King kicked him hard, clearing some space. At that moment—

Whoom.

A dark shape came flying toward him with a heavy whistle. He caught it in a hurry.

It coughed up blood. A human, still alive.

And one he knew.

Goddammit. This guy…

There was no mistaking him, even covered head to toe in blood.

The Skeleton King raised an Undead Monster with what little magical power he had left, then tapped the man’s cheek.

“Hey. Human with a fine-looking build. Can you hear me?”

Cough. Choi Minwoo spat up blood again, then answered in a voice on the verge of fading.

“Yes. Very clearly.”

“Good. We’re short on time, so listen carefully. You’re not going to die, so don’t worry. And even if you do, I’ll bring you back as an undead, so don’t—dammit. He passed out.”

The Skeleton King clicked his tongue and stood. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “Still, he held out remarkably well, all things considered. Don’t you think?”

Whoooosh! Slice!

An aura swept past the Skeleton King’s head in place of an answer.

He watched blond hair flutter through the air, muttered a string of curses, then faced forward. Through the thick steam, he saw a man.

“Not at all. That bastard is trash.”

His hair was disheveled, and a wound crossed his cheek.

The Skeleton King gave a quiet laugh at the fury in the man’s eyes.

“No matter how I look at it, he fought well. When he wakes up, I’ll have to praise him myself.”

“Shut your filthy mouth, cursed demon.”

“When you die, you’ll find out which of us was the demon.”

The Skeleton King pulled the hilt of the sword from Choi Minwoo’s hand. Sacred light spread along the blade of the [Hero’s Sword].

“Get in here, quick. Before someone scarier than me shows up.”