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Chapter 236
Chapter 236
Chapter 236
After the invention of gunpowder, and after it was discovered that it was unprecedentedly useful for killing humans.
And at the same time, after it was proven that superhumans who could evade crossbows and arrows could also dodge bullets propelled by gunpowder.
All the leaders of this world began to share the same concern.
– If we give this new weapon to all our forces, how can we deal with the superhumans who can perfectly counter it?
A wise monarch knows to deploy superhumans against superhumans. It is similar logic to deploying cavalry if the enemy cavalry attempts a lance charge.
However, gunpowder is abundant, superhumans are lacking, but there is a sufficiently large population to equip with gunpowder weaponry, and one wealthy nation began to study new methodologies.
– A superhuman can die from a blade.
True. Killing a superhuman is the job of the superhuman’s blade.
And naturally.
– The impact force of the sword wielded by a superhuman cannot easily surpass the impact force of a cannon. (This means it can surpass it.)Indeed, the strike produced by human muscles and bones easily does not exceed the destructive power of a cannon.
Thus, as long as we can hit them with cannon fire, a superhuman can ultimately be brought down. Judging solely by the outcome, excluding the process.
– A superhuman avoids cannon trajectories with line-of-sight detection.
The way a superhuman dodges is not under the divine protection of some great deity. It is about sensing before being hit and moving out of the path of the projectile. This means the superhuman ultimately must move their body physically.
Then the story becomes simple.
– If we strike simultaneously within a range that a superhuman cannot evade, at least one shot should hit, right?
How far can a superhuman in danger dash at maximum speed to evade? The northern nation that began researching this methodology boldly decided.
Instead of ambiguously measuring the distance.
Why not just blow up the entire area?
After arriving at a greatly audacious conclusion, they established a legion specialized in this type of operation. Unlike existing legions that must protect the homeland on the border and sometimes embark at the monarch’s conquering desires, this legion was to be used only for such operations.
Thus, the 2nd Legion of Krasilov was founded, under the reign of the ‘Conqueror’ Ivan, receiving overwhelming support.
Until the end of the great war, the 2nd Legion did its utmost to carry out the king’s orders. Since their only goal was singular, the data and combat experience accumulated over those long years made them exceptionally perfect.
To flatten the area as wide as possible. As simultaneously as possible. With as powerful firepower as possible.
The Harvester battery is a howitzer. Therefore, the farther the distance from the firing point to the target point, the longer the projectile’s drop time.
This means that for simultaneous strikes, the firing timings must differ between the battery aiming at a relatively close distance and the one aiming at a further distance.
With a perfection that does not even allow for slight errors, the 2nd Legion finally enabled all batteries to bomb all areas simultaneously.
The maximum width of the blast center is 3 meters. Assuming only direct hits. Therefore, the calculation was simple. As long as all batteries aimed exactly 3 meters apart when firing, that was enough.
Even in this time of inadequate ballistics, through accumulated combat experience forged through fatigue, and the unwavering will of the dwarf chief engineer who willingly decided to impart all mechanical engineering knowledge.
The land flattening of the 2nd Legion of Krasilov became capable of transcending time with a level of perfect precision bombardment.
– Piiiiiing—.
At the moment all the batteries fired in sequence, the projectiles densely clustered without error, obscuring the sky.
Casting a long shadow over the once sun-worshiping great city.
– Kwaaaang—!!!
In all this process, there was neither divine intent nor miracle, solely human wisdom.
And as history proves, human wisdom always tends to imply destruction.
The 2nd Legion of Krasilov does not give the targeted enemy a chance to plea. To be able to plea meant they could escape, so they quietly raised their cannons, filled them with gunpowder, loaded the projectiles, and lit the fuses.
As a result, an unresistable calamity pours down. In order to topple the divine relics and defeat the living deity, without any exaggeration, like rain.
Under the torrential downpour of steel, Ovidis became wasteland before 30 minutes had passed.
At the end of a total bombardment so intense it bent even the last cannon’s barrel, surrendering even the minimum time for heat dispersion.
Ivan and Isabelle mounted their horses with grim faces and headed to the battlefield.
“Ana Gar (warrior).”
A dwarf knelt and lowered his head. Idolatry was forbidden among them, but still, he did so in a posture of praise. In response, the entire camp shouted in unison, like a roundelay.
– Good luck!!
Across this vast mountainous region, which was once called Ovidis.
All warriors of Krasilov and the underground kingdom willingly shouted in great voices for their great warrior.
Does the maximum force created by ordinary humans also work against superhumans? Yes. Those standing here are proving that right now.
So now.
Does the maximum force honed by a superhuman also affect a deity?
Yes.
That was proven four years ago by preceding superhumans.
Now it was time for those who inherited that legacy to once again prove it.
At this juncture, where the deity had been drawn down to the perspective of mortals.
All the humans present had to fully withdraw from the battlefield. Under the power of the Seven Dragon Lords, numbers imply strength.
Always, when the Seven Dragon Lords appear, there was only one strategy for humans.
To pile up corpses and create a path for the hero party to reach them.
Through the thin data of combat experience colored with that blood, Ivan stepped forward through the wasteland laid by the legion into the realm of the divine.
Upon this land, now left in ruins, a woman was collapsing.
EP38. Location of Hope.
“Izabelle.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
Ivan dismounted. Staring at the unmoving Seven Dragon Lords, he struck the horse’s backside, which was starting to become contaminated by the mana of the Seven Dragon Lords.
The horse soon began to rear and swiftly left the wasteland. Next to him, Izabelle approached and stood.
“Create an opening for me to land a strike.”
Ivan clenched his axe, glaring fuzzily at Lamerics.
His muscles trembled. His whole body was screaming for rest immediately. It was an injury that any ordinary person would have collapsed while spewing blood. He was forcing himself to suppress it and move forward.
Each step felt like walking on a thorny path. This was not mere metaphor. Every nerve in his body complained of pain.
Despite suppressing most sensations to the extreme, pain could not be repressed. Pain was the nearly sole measure to resist the temptation of Lamerics.
So he felt the scorching pain piercing his head and insides intensely, while striving to feel fully, he continued to walk.
His muscles released their strength. His joints screamed, and his disoriented head was making his vision all blurry.
However, it didn’t matter. Mana was moving. That meant he could manipulate his physical body through the mana.
Ivan could at least take pride in being an expert when it came to the mana activity occurring within his own flesh.
He forcibly tenses the relaxation of his muscles. He adjusts through mana. This was an act purely surgical, completely separate from any sense. In other words, he was fine-tuning the nerves to mimic the movements of the muscles.
This was the process of meticulously adjusting every muscle fiber in the body. Like manipulating hundreds of threads to move a puppet.
At this time, the body does not need to actually move. Even if there isn’t a shred of strength left in the body, as long as one possesses the cognitive ability to handle the mana that moves the body and the adjustment process.
So even though his head was heated from an excessive influx of information.
Even if his muscles melted under movements beyond their limits and his insides screamed.
All it takes is one strike.
Just one strike is enough to pierce the weapon into the creature’s body. The body crafted by Veolgrin has already transcended human limitations.
In this age where divine power has vanished, only in battle against the Seven Dragon Lords could he grasp the powers of a deity. With that, he could heal his wounds and rejoin the battle.
When there are alternatives and will, a person can use themselves as a consumable. And he had enough of both.
“Stay right behind me.”
Izabelle took a deep breath and moved forward.
*
Amidst this wasteland where everything has decayed and vanished into the essence of gunpowder, a lone being stood with its form unbroken.
What it created as its nest, the great divine realm that could have rightly been called a royal abode was no longer present.
The offspring that it had once dubbed its kin, the children who had gladly worshiped it were already swept away under the rubble.
It felt no sorrow for this. They were not its only offspring, nor were they its only nest. Its territory was originally far across the land.
Thus, the only emotion it now possessed was that of vengeance. A sentiment that gods would usually show when wounded by mortals.
– Humans have always lived in search of something to worship.
It whispered toward the approaching petite woman.
– Now you shall worship that heap of scrap metal as your god. It is a fitting endeavor.
The approaching woman dumbly stopped. Under the most terrifying malice and mana emitted by the god, she gazed at it with an increasingly flushed face.
In a sweet voice, its tone continued.
– But we are not. We lived solely to dominate, and our survival equated to the length of our inheritance of the right to rule. Every living moment has been a struggle, and only those who triumphed in all moments have been allowed to continue living!!
Its proclamation was not desperate. Rather it was blasphemous. The deity sang in wrath.
– Come, draw nearer. Little creatures. I, Lamerics of the Veil, declare. You have cast away your last hope with your own hands, and the hope I once bestowed upon you has now become despair. I shall gladly revel in your final gasps.
The increasingly powerful mana reveals its presence. Physical bombardments could topple its minions and palace, but they could not harm it.
This meant that even the most intense evils brought forth by humans were not enough to overpower a god.
And also, once it has cleared the adversaries in front of it, it meant that the insignificant humans standing in the distance like a backdrop could also inflict no harm upon it.
Only mortals who kneel and beg for pleasure with a single motion. Their numbers were no different from the weight of the meat piles they could provide. No farmer ever fears wheat fields just because there are many ears.
Thus, it disregarded humans. The strongest mana it could exhibit wove itself into threads, knitting itself together to form a veil.
A multi-colored veil shimmered above the heads of the two approaching humans.
– Sleep now. Even in your dreams, you shall serve me.
It ignored the shivering, suffering divine killer. That human had already served their purpose, and their attacks could not harm it. Enduring was all that was left for them.
And as for the young human standing before it, even more so. Surprisingly, they were still holding on, but they could not be deemed powerful. Their will seemed strong, yet they were still merely human.
No matter how resilient an ant may be, all flailing within a spider’s web ultimately becomes a meaningless struggle that ensnares itself.
Lamerics ensnared the resisting human’s body with a web of mana. Tightly, like a spider weaving its cocoon.
Light finally faded from Isabelle’s eyes.
*
And she found herself in a dark world, looking at the back of a man.
A man she could remember, one she would gladly worship, one she desperately wanted to pursue with all her strength.
The man who had extended the most perfect sword path she had ever seen in her life.
No.
The man who had imitated, the man who had lived and witnessed the most perfect sword path.
– Is imitation merely a shadow of the original?
The words that man had once spoken came to her mind. The attitude he carried throughout his life.
The words of a man who had spent his life imitating others. It could have been feelings of inferiority or insecurity. Despite all efforts to mirror him, an immense original always loomed.
She did not think so. Even if it began with imitation, from the moment it reached a certain realm, all actions of that man became his original.
In the darkness, she grasped her sword.
Imitating the most perfect sword path that man had lived and witnessed.
The conceptual designs resting within. Due to a lack of talent and ability, the man had to blend various limitations and techniques to forge the great first sword path.
A multitude of brushstrokes by an ordinary person striving to replicate the masterpiece of a genius. Within those strokes, she inferred the shape of that man’s first sword path.
Recreating it, and finally.
– Right foot forward. Bearing weight.
The posture of the man was perfectly replicated.
– Left foot back, lightly stepping.
The desired form was to stretch forth the hand. To yearn. To wish. To vow to seize.
– Taking a deep breath, partially exhaling to apply firm strength.
To cut through hope. To reveal despair.
“Ivan’s.”
Maximilian’s. My father’s.
Ivan’s. My idol.
And Isabelle’s. My own. And my goal.
– “Heaven, cut.”
The sword path continues. From the work of an ordinary person completed through the imitation of a genius, the final line is drawn.
The will that followed is finally completed. There is no sense of achievement or omnipotence. Not even a sense of elevation.
Only an astonishingly plain tranquility she never anticipated to feel.
Ah, I have achieved it. Or.
Ah, those people, my predecessors, were they gazing at such a landscape?
Under such a small realization.
The veil tears apart and scatters.
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