Chapter 820

Everything alive is born into a struggle.

Humans, monsters, animals in the wild or behind fences, even green plants—all of them.

Even when survival itself wasn’t the reason to struggle, you had to fight and take what you wanted.

And under this absolute law, I was no exception.

Crunch!

Minimum force. Minimum speed.

That was enough. I twisted aside, leaving behind a fanatic who collapsed with his brains spilling out.

Whoosh!

The air split. A flash dropped from empty space and skimmed past me by half a handspan.¹

Between the pitch-black robe and turban that covered him completely, I saw his eyes widen. The White Flame’s spearhead was reflected in them.

Thump. Splurt!

His head flew up. More enemies and their auras surged through the spraying blood.

As blades came at me from every direction, I tightened my grip on the blood-slick spear shaft.

Hoo.

I breathed out. The world slowed. My muscles loosened, and the flames coiling around my spearhead flickered.

Like a tail fluttering in the wind.

Fire Dragon’s Single Tail.

Flames surged. The enemies’ auras flashing from every direction drove away the darkness racing toward the dim dawn.

I turned, my whole body moving in one smooth motion.

Shiiiiing!

Blue-white flames swept across the space between us. They were faster than any aura bearing down on me, their edge too sharp for anyone to stop.

Slice.

With a clean, cold sound, a sword tilted in its wielder’s hand.

No—faint lines had already appeared across the bodies of dozens of fanatics, frozen in place.

“Ghk. Ghrk…”

Trembling pupils. A fading voice.

But no words or actions could stop death from bearing down without mercy.

Fwoooooosh!

Flames raced along the faint lines, devouring their lives.

Thick sprays of blood mist blanketed the steam hanging low over the battlefield.

Thud-thud-thud!

Blood rained down on my head.

At the same time, flesh, bones, and organs—torn apart by a single horizontal strike—tumbled across the ground. Hundreds of fanatics had already fallen the same way.

“De…mon…”

Someone’s voice reached my ears. Of course, it belonged to one of the fanatics, someone whose face and name I didn’t know—and an enemy I had to kill.

Pfft!

I thrust out a hand without looking. Finger Qi shot from it, and a familiar bell rang.

Ding.

Another notification of death.

The fanatics surrounding me stopped moving.

Most of them probably couldn’t understand even a quarter of what they’d just seen.

How their comrades had died. Why they couldn’t wound me, even with so many fighters.

They would die with those questions unanswered.

All except one.

Whoom. Boom!

My spearhead struck the crescent curve of a saber.

The impact made my ears ring. I’d blocked the attack before I heard it coming. Now I stared past the white scimitar’s blade at the old man holding it.

“You lousy old bastard. Finally crawled out, did you?”

“I was waiting for my prey to tire.”

The old man with the long name, Yahya Muhammad Ahmad Bedouin, twisted his scimitar as he answered.

Ka-ga-gak!

Auras of different colors collided, sparking like lightning. A small explosion waited at their tips.

Boom!

The impact roared like cannon fire and traveled down my spear.

Its force drove me backward. The old man hadn’t moved an inch, and the sight made me realize something.

“Don’t tell me…”

“You’ve finally understood, King of the heathens.”

A smile formed on his wrinkled lips.

Two entirely different energies, neither of which he’d revealed until now, coexisted along the scimitar’s blade pointed at me.

Mana. And magical power.

As those two words crossed my mind, the old man continued.

“I, Yahya Muhammad Ahmad Bedouin, am a warrior chosen by God.”

“Huh.”

A hollow laugh escaped me.

The Doppelganger hadn’t raised only Michael Silbert. It had chosen its most loyal, most insane fanatic and taught him to wield magical power.

If more fanatics had been capable of accepting those two opposing energies, the Doppelganger would’ve churned out half-human, half-demon monsters like they were coming off an assembly line.

“I knew you were out of your mind from the start…but you’re no ordinary crazy old bastard.”

“If that is what you wish to believe, then believe it.”

The old man shook his head and looked at me with gray eyes.

“You know nothing. Dozens, hundreds died trying to be chosen by God. But I alone survived.”

“So being ‘chosen by God’ just means mixing a human and a monster half and half? Does that make a half-and-half order of black-bean noodles and spicy seafood noodles a warrior of God too?”

“The great Prophet said that monsters, too, are God’s creations—calamities sent to punish the fallen humans of this world.”

“Bullshit. Anyone listening would think you lived in some other world, not this one. By your logic, you’re one of those fallen humans too, you crazy old bastard.”

“Though fallen, I was given a chance at salvation. I inherited two powers that can never coexist. That is who I am: a warrior and a punisher chosen by God.”

The madness in his faith came through with every word.

But a madman doesn’t know he’s talking crazy.

Even if the Doppelganger gathered every fanatic in one place and made a public apology to the entire nation, they wouldn’t believe it.

Their faith was their whole life, their reason for living. It was even bound up with what they believed awaited them after death.

In the end, there was only one thing I could say to fanatics like them.

“You fucking lunatics. Talking to you is a waste of time.”

“Remember one thing.”

Step.

The old man came toward me. The fanatics who had faltered found their fighting spirit again.

“Your steps will never reach the Prophet.”

“Fuck off.”

Whoosh.

I shot forward like the wind as I answered.

Our brief exchange had given my body time to recover from the strain of battle. It had also given me time to assess the situation.

It’s even. Fierce, but we’re holding our own.

The Hunters’ shouts, which had been distant, were drawing closer.

But to overcome odds of more than ten to one and win, we had to cut off the head.

It was the best thing I could do before chasing the Doppelganger, which was still fleeing.

Thwack! Crunch!

My spear drove through three fanatics and came free.

Without hesitation, the old man threw his subordinates in as bait and swung his scimitar at my neck.

Whoosh! Slice!

I bent at the waist. The slash missed me and cut apart the fanatics charging from behind.

The old man sprang back, ready for my counterattack, and shouted in a cold voice.

“That demon means to harm the great Prophet! Give your lives to stop him!”

Damn old bastard.

He might’ve been the most fanatical of the fanatics, but the experience he’d gained over the years was no joke.

He knew exactly what his job was, and he kept his head even in the heat of battle.

If this drags on any longer…I’ll really lose him for good.

As I cut down the fanatics rushing in from every direction like moths to a flame, I thought. No—I calculated.

How much strength I could muster right now.

How to end this fight as quickly as possible.

And how much I’d have left when I could finally chase the Doppelganger again.

Then, amid the unending blood and screams, I realized I’d been thinking about something stupid.

Fuck. When did I start calculating every little thing?

When had it started? Every moment had become a struggle.

Each time, I’d had to forget the past and put the future out of my mind.

That was how you survived. Only by betting everything on the present could you think about the past and move toward the future.

Slice!

Hot pain ran down my back. My exhausted body felt as heavy as waterlogged cotton. Weapons came at me like gears turning together, large and small, opening wounds all over me.

But because of that, my hesitant body and mind woke up completely.

Grit.

I clenched my teeth against the pain and hurled the spear I held in a reverse grip at the fanatics charging straight at me.

The space was too tight for a proper throw, but one step was all I needed.

Cr-r-runch!

Flesh and blood were crushed. They screamed with pain enough to make them forget their faith.

The old man’s command rang out through their cries.

“Now!”

Now? Now what?

Oh. My weapon?

“So what?”

I spat out the blood running between my lips and reached out. The Flame Divine Palm I’d held back for the sake of an efficient fight erupted.

The fanatics packed around me went down in flames.

At the sight of their comrades writhing in agony, the others faltered.

One more.

Fwoosh—BOOM!

Blue-white flames lit the darkness. They burned flesh and turned the blood and bones within it to ash.

“Aaaaaagh!”

“Hng…!”

That was when it happened.

One fanatic, who had unconsciously stepped backward before that cruel, dazzling sight of a mass execution by fire, suddenly had his head fly into the air.

Slice!

The sound of the cut came a moment later. The old man, who had slipped out of my sight, gave a cold command.

“Fire.”

Whooooosh!

Dozens of arrows whistled through the air, one after another.

By the time I spotted the archers and their dark bows through the thinning ranks of fanatics, it was too late.

Thud-thud-thud!

“Guh!”

“Ghk.”

The arrows rained down without regard for friend or foe.

The fanatics hesitating around me fell like straw. Mana-laden arrows pierced their bodies and kept coming toward me.

Whoosh.

The whistle of their flight seemed to stretch on and on.

Dark arrowheads wrapped in blood and mana.

As the world slowed, one thought came to me with absolute certainty.

I can’t dodge this.

Of course, I could knock aside half of them. Of the rest, I could somehow twist my body to evade half.

But the Fire Dragon Armor hadn’t finished repairing itself. I would still have to take some damage.

But why?

A strange feeling came over me.

My instincts seemed to reject the judgment my mind had made.

A strange sense of déjà vu ran through me, as though every part of me were taking another step into an unknown realm.

I can do this.

A strange certainty, like a conviction, took over my body and mind. An inexplicable tickling sensation began around the center of my chest and spread through my entire body.

Right now.

I reached out as if in a trance, toward the dozens of arrows almost at my face.

No—not just the arrows. Everything around them.

Shhhhaaa.

Time began to move again, but no one spoke.

I stared silently at the arrows stopped in midair, then snapped my fingers.

Swish.

The arrows pointed toward the enemy. And once again, the power of my newly advanced Middle Dantian pressed down on the space around us.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

As the clear chimes pierced my ears, I smiled at the old man, frozen like a statue.

“Whoa. It worked?”

“T-This is—!”

“Refund, you fucking bastard.”

Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh!

The arrows’ powerful whistle swallowed the words he was about to say.