Genius Warlock

Chapter 380

Thud!

As Oliver’s attention was drawn to the unidentifiable figure hovering above Marie, a moist noise echoed in his ears.

Oliver’s gaze swiftly descended.

There stood Marie.

Marie, who had attempted to claw at Bonifa but was unsuccessful… Marie, who had been impaled by Bonifa’s sword.

Bonifa’s defense had proven impenetrable to Marie’s nails, yet conversely, Bonifa’s gilded blade had pierced through and emerged from Marie’s back.

The wound was in her abdomen.

A heavy silence enveloped everyone present.

Not only those involved in the altercation and its consequences but also Marie’s followers, the temple’s newly arrived servants, and even the sacred Paladins were rendered speechless.

Only after a prolonged moment did Oliver let out a bewildered utterance.

“…Huh?”

***

Death from a severed throat.

Death from hanging.

Death from torn limbs.

Death from extracted teeth.

Death from a bludgeon.

Death from a cut waist.

Death from being pierced by a stake.

Death from a crushed head.

Death from being crushed alive.

Death from hanging on a wheel.

Death from evisceration.

Death from forcibly swallowing a razor.

Death from skin being peeled off.

Death from eyes being plucked by a heated pincer.

Death from hanging upside down and being sawed.

Death from flesh being torn off piece by piece.

Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death…

These unsettling thoughts simultaneously infiltrated the minds of the holy Paladins and servants who had accompanied Bonifa into the temple.

No, it wasn’t just infiltration; they saw it vividly.

Visions of dying in countless gruesome ways, so realistic that even these individuals, who had braced themselves for death, broke into a cold sweat.

And it wasn’t just them who experienced these visions.

The same was true for the followers of the heretic religion within the temple.

Their expressions, their breathing, their perspiration, and their eyes made it evident.

Everyone present had been subjected to vivid illusions of their own horrifying demise.

It was as if they were enduring the wrath of a vengeful God.

A chilling and oppressive silence filled the temple, and slowly, all eyes turned toward Oliver.

He held Marie in his arms.

Despite the stabbing, her dark magic had dissipated, and blood seeped from the wound.

Yet Oliver continued to support her wordlessly, cradling her.

It might have been considered sacrilegious to admit, but in that moment, the holy Paladins sensed a profound sanctity in the scene. Simultaneously, they also felt an unsettling fear.

It was an alien presence, ominous and disconcerting.

“Strike now,” Galahad thought as he observed Marie muttering something toward Oliver.

He had an instinctual urge to strike at this moment, when they appeared vulnerable.

Likely, everyone else felt the same.

However, no one, including Galahad, could bring themselves to move.

Even Bonifa, who had fully awakened as the child of an angel.

The reason remained elusive… Perhaps it was because they saw in Oliver an innocence akin to that of a young child who didn’t know how to react after a significant event.

‘No… No…’ Galahad inwardly rejected this notion.

All the holy Paladins present, along with the servants, were so devout that they would not hesitate to harm a child if it were in service to their god.

They understood that at times, noble blood had to be shed for the greater good.

Their paralysis wasn’t rooted in personal sentiments like sympathy or political concerns regarding their image.

It was something more primal and pure.

Fear. A fear that transcended even death.

“Ah…”

As the floor became awash with blood and Marie’s complexion grew paler, a feeble sound escaped her lips. In her final moments, she extended her hand, as if beckoning for someone to hold it before death could claim her.

In that critical moment, as Marie’s life teetered on the precipice of death, Oliver set aside his quarterstaff and reached out. However, his hand didn’t reach for Marie’s hand but instead moved toward her abdomen.

“Oh, my God…”

A voice exclaimed as Marie, who had been on death’s doorstep, drew breath once more.

Galahad couldn’t help but wonder as he looked at Marie’s blood-soaked abdomen. Oliver touched the spot where a gaping wound had been moments ago, but now it had vanished, leaving no trace, not even a scar.

Galahad was equally astonished. Though there were no visible signs of healing magic, he couldn’t help but suspect some form of trickery.

“Oh… It’s a miracle. A miracle.”

“He is a God. A real God.”

“Ah…”

As this transpired, some of the wavering believers displayed signs of shock and reverence, kneeling and bowing their heads. Oliver rose from his seat, appearing somewhat perplexed. He snapped his fingers awkwardly and tilted his head, resembling a child grappling with his own emotions.

After standing there for a moment, he picked up the quarterstaff he had placed on the floor and offered it to Marie.

Then he spoke.

“Could you… keep this for me?”

These seemingly ordinary words sent ripples of unease through the temple’s occupants, including the Paladins and servants.

“Ah… ah, understood.” Marie, now healed, replied respectfully as she accepted the quarterstaff and knelt.

As soon as the staff changed hands, Oliver turned around and raised both fists into the air, drawing them to his sides. A rift opened in the air, as though it was torn asunder.

Creating a portal without any visible device was an incredibly challenging feat, one that only two or three out of ten trained wizards could accomplish. Yet, Oliver effortlessly succeeded and gestured with his fingers for the surrounding believers to enter the portal.

Marie was on the verge of saying something but closed her mouth when her gaze met Oliver’s. She obediently entered the portal alongside the other believers.

They were making their escape.

The Paladins, belatedly realizing this, attempted to intervene, but Oliver, still facing away, raised his hand to halt them. Astonishingly, both the fearless Paladins and servants came to an abrupt standstill, gripped by a fear that surpassed even death itself.

It was a painful experience, feeling as if their faith was being tested.

In the meantime, ‘The chosen Ones’ believers all entered the portal, and it smoothly sealed shut.

Once the portal vanished, Oliver awkwardly tilted his head and restored his tattered black suit. His lack of emotional display suggested that he had tapped into his own emotions, a highly perilous form of magic for a warlock.

Amidst the tense atmosphere, Bonifa, feeling a sense of duty, began to speak.

“I don’t know what trick you’ve used, but we—”

—Crack!

Galahad witnessed it.

Oliver, still facing away, slightly bent his knees. Just as Galahad was about to question Oliver’s intentions, the warlock vanished, leaving only a small crack in the ground.

With incredible swiftness, he launched himself off the ground and reappeared right in front of Bonifa, delivering a powerful kick that sent the words of the Paladin leader into oblivion before they could be uttered.

Bonifa was forcefully propelled out of the room, the wall shattering with a deafening crash.

Shock and horror gripped everyone, their eyes fixed on Oliver.

Clad from head to toe in a pitch-black suit, Oliver stood in eerie silence, his head tilted ever so slightly.

It was an utterly alien presence, an amalgamation of stillness and intensity, fury and icy detachment—a bewildering paradox.

His covered face made his gaze all the more uncomfortable and foreboding.

An unsettling, alien force seemed to paralyze all who bore witness. Then, Bonifa groaned and struggled to his feet.

His groan served as a signal, and Oliver slowly turned to face him.

Everyone understood; he was about to engage Bonifa.

“Aaaaaaah!!”

A servant, grappling with the weight of fear, raised a cross-gun, aimed it at Oliver, and pulled the trigger.

Bang????!

The gunshot reverberated clearly, and Oliver raised his hand, casually catching the speeding bullet between his index finger and thumb.

In a world where some individuals could withstand bullets with their bare bodies, this act was unprecedented.

Driven by an innate sense of danger, some servants screamed in near-shrieking voices and rushed toward Oliver.

In this moment, the servants showed more bravery than the Paladins.

Yet, it proved futile.

Swooosh??!!

Observing the servants advancing, Oliver nonchalantly shook his head, allowed the bullet to drop, and then raised his index finger, swinging it lightly.

However, despite the gentle movement, his finger moved like a whip, effortlessly shattering the servants’ weapons as if they were made of candy and even severing their limbs.

He treated them like peeling apple skins.

The servants cried out in agony and terror, their abnormal wounds causing unimaginable pain. Oliver regarded them without a hint of emotion.

“You demon!”

Bonifa staggered to his feet, his sword ablaze with white flames as he swung it toward Oliver.

With nearly imperceptible speed, Oliver evaded the attack, stepping onto Bonifa’s head to vault over him, and then seizing him from behind.

Sensing the immediate danger, Bonifa swiftly turned around, but Oliver yanked his head and snapped his spine with a knee-jerk motion.

Crack!!

The sickening sound of bones breaking and muscles tearing echoed, and Bonifa was impaled as if skewered through his chest.

But the torment didn’t end there.

Oliver seized Bonifa’s wings and forcefully tore them apart. These wings, which had withstood the Thunder Spear, were reduced to a shower of radiant fragments.

“······!!!”

Bonifa experienced a mental shock beyond physical pain.

In desperation, he swung his sword wildly.

Yet Oliver effortlessly caught his hand.

With one hand gripping Bonifa, Oliver unleashed a merciless barrage. He pummeled Bonifa’s abdomen, smashed his forehead with an elbow, ruthlessly struck his knees until he knelt, released his hand only to deliver a powerful blow to his shoulder, and slapped his face with his other hand.

Bonifa was tossed like a lifeless doll, rolling across the ground. But Oliver grasped him once more, slammed him into the ground, and then hurled him with all his might into a distant, dilapidated building.

It was as if he were venting his anger on a mere plaything.

Oliver cast a fleeting glance in the direction where Bonifa had been propelled, then slowly turned his head back to survey Galahad, the Paladins, and the servants.

Overwhelmed by the peculiar aura and potency emanating from Oliver, and rendered impotent in the face of it, he once again shifted his gaze toward Bonifa.

Bonifa remained trapped within a distant, half-ruined building’s middle floor. Observing this, Oliver bent his knees slightly and propelled himself toward Bonifa with a powerful leap.

Boom?????!!!

With an incredible display of leg strength, Oliver entered the building and unleashed a powerful kick at Bonifa.

The impact nearly sent Bonifa through the opposite wall, but Oliver swiftly caught him and hurled him against a pillar within the building.

Both the building and the pillar began to fracture.

Overwhelmed by the tremendous force, Bonifa staggered and sat down, struggling to regain his composure.

It was bewildering. Having been born into a bishop’s opulent household, realizing his dream of becoming a Paladin, and ultimately awakening as the chosen one, the son of an angel, Bonifa couldn’t fathom why he now found himself so powerless and subjected to such merciless treatment.

An indescribable emotion washed over him. Had Bonifa grown up in even slightly less fortunate circumstances, he might have recognized it as unfairness, resentment, and despair.

“What on earth are you······?”

Bonifa painfully raised his head and questioned Oliver.

But no response was forthcoming.

All that met his gaze was Oliver’s inquiring look, as if to ask, “Is this all?”

Feeling not just underestimated but as if the entirety of his life had been invalidated, Bonifa, with his battered body, struggled to his feet and charged at Oliver once more.

To protect his life and his faith.

Bonifa swung his sword.

Oliver agilely dodged it and delivered a blow to his side.

A searing pain coursed through Bonifa, as if his very breath had been stolen. He crumpled, and Oliver paused in his assault, silently gazing down at him.

Once his breath returned and the pain subsided, Bonifa swung his sword again to create distance, then invoked a Holy technique, causing his surroundings to erupt in flames.

[Lumen]

This sacred technique conjured a colossal bolt of divine lightning. Holy, pure-white flames formed a circle around Bonifa, expanding to engulf both the building and Oliver.

Yet, Oliver didn’t retreat; instead, he moved closer to the flames and thrust his hand into them.

Without experiencing pain or harm.

Then, with a simple pulling motion, he effortlessly tore the flames in two, extinguishing them as if they were mere candles.

“What…?”

Witnessing this, something began to sprout within Bonifa’s heart—a fear that perhaps he was not the chosen son of an angel.

“No. No… that can’t be!”

The moment this thought resounded within him, Oliver swung his fist once more.

Bonifa was overwhelmed by intense pain, hurtling backward and crashing through a wall into a building on the opposite side.

Suffering from a sense of powerlessness, agony, and doubt, Bonifa attempted to summon his wings and escape.

“What…?”

Bonifa was taken aback; his wings would not manifest again—the same wings that testified to his status as the son of an angel.

He had been told that as long as he possessed faith and strength, he could recreate them, but they refused to materialize.

Just as he was on the verge of screaming, “What is happening?” Oliver descended once more, slamming Bonifa’s head against the exterior wall of a building, grinding it against the concrete.

Screeech!

A vivid mark was etched onto the concrete surface.

Blood began to smear as they descended almost to the building’s base, and then Oliver tossed Bonifa back into the original building.

“Ugh… Cough!”

Oliver observed it all.

Bonifa, whose resolve to fight had been shattered, was now crawling away, clutching his longsword, his face grievously injured.

The battle was essentially decided.

Yet, Oliver slowly advanced toward Bonifa.

Not too fast, not too slow, maintaining a steady pace.

Typically, he would have ceased his assault by now, but Oliver didn’t, or rather, couldn’t.

He had an inexplicable desire to inflict harm upon this so-called Holy Knight. He couldn’t fully explain why; he just yearned to cause him pain—profound pain.

Thus, with no real intention or purpose, Oliver seized Bonifa, who had twisted his body and thrust his golden-plated sword towards him, channeling all his Holy power into it in an attempt to engulf Oliver in burning flames.

Crash!

Just as a pristine, pure-white blaze was about to consume Oliver, a dull thud echoed through the air, halting the sacred technique.

Bonifa gazed at his sword with quivering eyes.

It had been his golden sword, bestowed upon him after being designated as the son of an angel and inheriting the angel’s power. A traditionally crafted blade using the Holy Water of Parterism, it was known to remain sharp and untarnished even after hundreds of swings. It was nearly a relic. Yet now, it lay rusted and shattered.

‘Why?’ Bonifa wondered, but before he could ponder further, an intense pain surged across one side of his face.

“Ah!”

The sensation was akin to one of his eyes being gouged out, and Bonifa screamed.

In the silent night, within the confines of an abandoned structure, only Oliver could hear that cry. Nevertheless, he raised his hand once more, emotionlessly preparing to strike Bonifa.

Thud?!

A searing pain rippled through Bonifa, expelling the air from his lungs and compelling him to cease his screams.

However, the ordeal was far from over.

Oliver raised his fist once more, striking Bonifa in a crude, unrefined manner, almost like a child.

Thud??!!

The floor began to fracture beneath him, but Oliver did not relent.

Thud???!!!

Another jolting pain swept through Bonifa, and the floor gave way under the tremendous force.

As Bonifa tumbled to the lower level, he dropped his shattered sword, leaving him defenseless.

“Ah············! Wai-“

Thud????!!!!

Before he could even complete his sentence, Oliver’s fist descended once again.

The floor, unable to withstand the impact, sank further.

Bonifa’s crumbling shoulder bore the brunt of the assault.

Yet, Oliver showed no signs of stopping. Relentlessly, he continued to pummel Bonifa’s body, causing it to descend lower and lower.

Thud????!!!!

Thud?????!!!!!

Thud??????!!!!!!

Eventually, Oliver and Bonifa plummeted past the ground floor, descending all the way to the basement.

There was nowhere left to fall.

By some peculiar twist of fate, there was also nothing remaining of Bonifa to break.

His shoulders had been reduced to mincemeat, his jaw shattered, his nose broken, and his abdomen and chest were far from intact.

Ah, one thing remained.

An intact spot.

It was none other than one of Bonifa’s eyes.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Oliver seized Bonifa’s head with both hands and raised his thumb.

To crush Bonifa’s eyeball like a grape. To inflict pain.

Just as he instinctively pressed into Bonifa’s eye, a sound emanated from the side.

“Uh······! Uh!”

The sound of a child struggling to hold back tears.

Oliver turned his head and saw them.

A destitute family concealed in the basement of the abandoned structure.

They huddled in a corner, desperately suppressing their sobs.

Afraid of Oliver.