Chapter 37: Last Will (6)

“Ash?” Astaroth frowned as he stared at the drifting gray ash. He hadn’t used any fire-based magic, so why would ash, not dust, be floating around? “Where could this have come from—”

Before he could finish his sentence, a brutal punch from nowhere smashed into his face.

The blow rattled his brain as he was thrown backward. The Archbishop clutched his bleeding nose, but his eyes flew wide open when he glared at his attacker. “What the—”

It was the cadet who had died a few moments ago.This was impossible. Astaroth had clearly punched a hole the size of a human head through the cadet’s chest. The dark mana explosion had annihilated Dale’s heart, lungs, and everything else. There was no conceivable way he should be standing now.

When he inspected the cadet, he realized the wound was gone. The gaping hole in his chest had vanished, as if it had never existed. A hollow chuckle escaped his lips. “Hah! Healing from a wound that took out the heart and lungs, in an instant?”

That kind of absurdity could only mean one thing. He said, “A Blessing, huh!”

It was a blessing of the gods, granted to only a rare few even among heroes. Now Astaroth understood why that gray-haired cadet had been so fearless, even in the face of an Archbishop. He had earlier thought that the strange blue potion was the cadet’s trump card, but to think he also had a Blessing?

Astaroth said, “So that wasn’t your only hidden card. This is… not quite the kind of thrilling twist I had in mind. Ah, by the way, could I trouble you to share the name of your Blessing? I’ve never seen one that heals such fatal wounds so instantly.”

“You talk too damn much.” Dale didn’t bother with a response beyond that. He slammed a foot into the ground and charged forward, radiating deadly intent.

Dale did not have any time to waste. Only three minutes were left until the effects of the Soul Stigmata Amplifier Potion wore off.Then, it would be over for him. Even after absorbing the Primordial Flame and drastically boosting his mana reserves, he still didn’t have even half the mana of an average cadet. That wasn’t enough against someone like Astaroth.

Dale gathered the borrowed mana granted by the potion and concentrated it at the tip of his sword. The condensed energy swallowed the surrounding light, dying the sword in a deep black glow.

It was the activation sequence of the Sun Sword Style Fifth Form: Black Sunspot. Its area of effect was far smaller than the Sixth Form, White Radiance, but in terms of raw, concentrated attack power, it was the superior one.

With a roar, Dale released the condensed energy. The black-glowing sword shot toward Astaroth with lethal force.

“Tch

!” Astaroth backed away in haste, cloaking himself in a shield of dark mana.

The compressed mana pierced through the violet barrier like paper, tearing it to shreds and drove straight toward Astaroth’s heart—or so it seemed. The blade had stopped short, deflected by a shimmering distortion, like a ripple in space, right before it could land a fatal blow. “Hah! That was close. Unbelievable! You actually pierced my veil with that little mana?”

Even after he had drunk the blue potion, Dale’s mana pool was nowhere near vast. At best, it was two or three times that of an average cadet—impressive for Dale, but still laughable from Astaroth’s perspective.

If this cadet does ever obtain a vast reserve of mana… The thought alone sent a chill down Astaroth’s spine. What kind of monster would he become?

“But that’s not my concern right now,” the demon muttered. What mattered was claiming the Seven Eyes, and Dale didn’t have the strength to stop him.

Astaroth grinned slyly. “Oh, and by the way, you’re not the only one with a hidden card.”

A foul glow surged from the demon’s soul stigmata, his bulging veins grotesquely snaking across his upper body like tree roots. The violet energy spread like a spiderweb, infecting the surrounding space with corruption. Reality itself began to warp, as if heat waves were distorting it.

Astaroth bared his teeth in a twisted smile as he looked out over the warped battlefield. “The Blessing of Distortion. This is a gift from the Demon God himself.”

This Blessing twisted the very fabric of space it touched. It came at a heavy price, but against this opponent, there was no room for hesitation. A bitter laugh escaped Astaroth as he spread his arms wide. “Never thought I’d go all out against a cadet, not even a professor. Your Blessing versus mine, Distortion. Let’s see which of us is more beloved by the gods, shall we?”

As Astaroth casually flicked his fingers, the warped space surged forward like a crashing wave, engulfing Dale.

CRACK—SQUELCH—CRUNCH!

Limbs twisted grotesquely, brains splattered through a crushed skull, and mangled entrails spilled between shattered ribs.

Iris’s scream echoed within the dreamlike barrier once more. “Aaaaaaaaah! D-Dale!!”

There was no room for doubt; he was dead. Dale’s body, reduced to a lump of meat, rolled lifelessly across the ground. Even with a blessing of healing, there was no way someone could regenerate from that.

“Well then, let’s see you come back from this,” Astaroth said, as he turned away from the pulp that had been Dale.

However, with a gust of drifting ash, Dale’s sword whipped toward Astaroth once again, and the cadet said, “I’d like to see you try.”

Astaroth’s eyes widened in disbelief. “W-what? Hah! Do you have the Blessing of Immortality or something?”

“Maybe.”

Technically, it was the Blessing of Resurrection. But when nothing could kill him, did the distinction matter?

Astaroth shook his head, incredulous. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He had suspected something was wrong when Dale healed from the hole in his chest, but to come back to life from a state like that? It was ludicrous. Nevertheless, Astaroth raised a hand with a cold sneer. “Just because you can’t die… doesn’t mean you can win.”

The distorted space sliced Dale cleanly in half, torso and legs divided.

Dale groaned. Though the wound regenerated instantly thanks to the Blessing of Resurrection, the sheer agony of having his body torn in two lingered like an echo, squeezing his consciousness in a vice grip.

With a lazy snap of his fingers, Astaroth twisted the space again, the warped mirage crushing Dale’s body once more. “I wonder, just how many times you can come back.”

“Damn it!” Dale cursed under his breath, trying to dodge the attack. But with the space around him entirely warped and chaotic, evasion was almost impossible. Still, he threw himself through a gap in the twisted space and swung his sword at Astaroth.

The strike, forced out with the last of his strength, bounced uselessly off the barrier of dark mana. The potion had worn off, Dale realized. He gritted his teeth as he felt the torrent of power that had surged through his body begin to fade, leaving a cold emptiness in its place. The balance of power that the Soul Stigmata Amplifier Potion had barely managed to hold was now rapidly collapsing.

With the potion’s effects gone, the battle turned one-sided. Each time Astaroth struck, his attacks, infused with the Blessing of Distortion, shattered Dale’s body, only for it to regenerate again and again.

Suddenly, a memory from Dale’s past life flickered through his mind—memories of helplessness. It had always been like this. Some called his ability to come back from death a broken, overpowered gift, but from experience, Dale knew better than anyone: just not dying meant nothing at all.

What good is an immortal ant? It’s still just an ant, the cadet thought.

In the face of overwhelming strength, even immortality was pathetically useless.

The repeated deaths began to wear away at Dale’s mind. The accumulated pain stoked a blazing fire, feeding on his sanity like dry kindling. It hurt like hell. How many times had he died now? How many bones broken, how many times his flesh torn apart?

Astaroth laughed in mad delight, stomping the ground in glee. “Haha! Amazing! You’ve died over a hundred times, easily! And yet you’re still regenerating! Well then! Let’s see if you can come back from this!”

A storm of violet dark mana tore through Dale’s body, shredding him into dozens of pieces. His flesh crumbled into gray ash, and from the ashes, his heart, marked with the soul stigmata, began regenerating again.

Beyond being shocked now, Astaroth looked outright horrified. He shook his head slowly, disbelief on his face. “What the hell?”

He prepared another blast, intending to obliterate Dale once and for all, but Iris stepped between them, shielding Dale and blocking Astaroth’s path. “Stop! Please, that’s enough! Isn’t that enough? You’ve made your point.”

“Hmph. And yet he’s still alive, technically,” Astaroth said in annoyance.

“Was killing him your real goal?”

Astaroth fell silent, as though her words had struck a nerve. He clicked his tongue and looked down at Dale’s broken, twitching body. “I was hoping to see how far your Blessing would go, but perhaps that’ll have to wait for another time.”

Then he turned away from Dale and walked toward Iris.

Dale, who had just reformed from the dozens of scattered pieces, staggered to his feet. “W-wait!”

But his strength failed him, and he collapsed again. Grinding his teeth, he glared at Astaroth as the demon approached Iris. Dale’s mana was completely drained. His accumulated fatigue made it hard just to stay conscious, let alone fight.

“Damn it!” He had returned to this life to live differently than before, vowing to walk a different path in this life. Despite struggling; despite throwing away his life like a stone on a riverbank; despite crawling on mangled legs, twisted and crushed—once again, he had failed. He had failed to save anyone. He had failed to protect anything. Just as always, just like before, he could only watch as someone precious to him was about to die right in front of his eyes.

Iris looked toward Astaroth, who was now drawing close, and gently placed a hand on her chest. Then a faint, peaceful smile appeared on her face, and she whispered, “Dale… I’m glad!”

There was no fear in her voice, no regret. Only calm. As if she meant it.

It was like a bolt of lightning had struck Dale’s mind. “What?”

Glad? What was she glad about? She was on the verge of losing not only the Seven Eyes but also her life. If he had done nothing, if he hadn’t interfered, maybe she would’ve only lost the Seven Eyes. But now, because of him, she was facing a fate worse than before. Because of him, she was walking through a hell far worse than the one in his past life.

And yet, how? How could she say something like “I’m glad”?

His thoughts tangled like a knotted mess of thread. He couldn’t understand. He couldn’t accept it. Why hadn’t she run away back then in his past life? Why was she once again standing in harm’s way now? She had seen with her own eyes that no matter how many times he died, he would just come back. She had to know his life was worthless, less than a pebble on the riverside.

So why? Why? Why? Why would she say “I’m glad” as her final words?

“Ah! Ugh!” Staggering, Dale forced himself up. His body was drained of mana, his mind frayed like a tattered rag. Each breath brought the sharp pain of torn lungs. But still, he stood.

With trembling legs, he planted his feet on the ground. With shaking hands, he grabbed his sword. “Glad, huh? Who gave you permission… to say that?”

He still didn’t understand why she said it, and he probably never would. But he did know one thing: she had saved his life. Even if it was only one life among thousands of deaths, even if it was just one worthless stone on the riverbank, she had given her life to save his.

Flames erupted around his soul stigmata, igniting his body in a blaze of fury. The empty reserves of his mana roared back to life, bubbling up like molten lava. With a thunderous roar, fire exploded from Dale’s sword. “So it’s my turn now.”

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