Chapter 387: I Told You I Wouldn't Let You Die (Part 1)

  The sword descended from the heavens. Roland did not move, but the sword energy from his raised sword had already shot into the sky, piercing a thousand meters high. As it struck down, the tremendous roar of shattering air was like a thunderclap tearing the sky apart. The sundered air was stirred, forming countless whirlwinds of varying sizes around the sword energy, as if the sky itself had truly been cleaved by this one strike. Countless whirlwinds of all sizes enveloped the sword energy. This strike, carrying the shattered sky and condensing all of Roland's power and spirit, struck down like a ferocious, incomparably sharp bolt of wild lightning.

  The sword came, rending the earth. Lancelot himself was no longer visible. All that could be seen was a Holy Light Cross Sword of unprecedented size, unprecedented brightness, and unprecedented ferocity, cleaving the very ground. The moment the sword had condensed, the yellow sand and undead remains in its path flew aside like a sea parting. The sword of light transformed into a beam of white light and shot out. Wherever the sword's path passed, the ground beneath it split open. A nearly bottomless fissure extended along this straight line to the horizon, as if the land itself had been cloven by this one strike.

  The two swords arrived simultaneously. The massive pillar of ice behind Ethan shattered. The fragments that filled the sky had no time to fall before they continued to shatter into powder in mid-air. The yellow sand on the ground and the whirlwinds in the air, having just mixed and collided, were also instantly pulverized, and the resulting fragments continued to break apart. The might, the energy, and the intent of the two swords overlapped and stacked, pulverizing and tearing apart everything in this space, shattering it again and again and again...

  The only thing that did not shatter was Ethan. Even the ground beneath his feet had shattered into countless fragments, almost too fine to be broken further, and blown away. He simply stepped forward into the void. He still walked forward step by step, but he was no longer just walking; he had begun to make his move.

  He drew a perfect circle with the blade in his right hand in front of him. Then, he made a horizontal, empty slash.

  This slash seemed to hit nothing, but the surrounding storm of sword energy suddenly stopped.

  Only Roland and Lancelot could feel that this slash had cut apart their combined attack. This slash had no power. It only possessed a kind of empty hollowness, and this hollowness was precisely at the point where their combined power was strongest and most tightly joined. It was like the knot where countless threads are gathered—the densest point is also the most critical. Once it breaks, the entire structure unravels.

  The Holy Light Cross Sword paused, its brilliance dimming slightly. But it still shot straight towards Ethan. The sword of light, composed of intense Battle Qi and sword energy, though it had lost its sharpest part, was still enough to pierce any enemy. But at that moment, Ethan's second slash struck out. It was another light, effortless slash, landing on the tip of the sword of light.

  Crack. The immense sword of light, which had even split the ground, was utterly shattered by this seemingly powerless slash. Compared to the sound of the sword of light shattering, the sound of Lancelot's armor and parts of his limbs shattering and bursting apart was utterly insignificant. All that could be seen was him suddenly spraying blood from his entire body, flying backward like a stone that had been struck a heavy blow.

  Roland's strike had landed. As Ethan repelled Lancelot, his sword energy, though partially broken, was still as mighty and powerful as lightning from the nine heavens, and it had struck Ethan. With a colossal boom, a sound no less tremendous than the massive pillar of ice striking the ground, the ground and the newly condensed air around them all shattered under this one strike.

  It had indeed struck Ethan. Although he had slightly turned his body to avoid his head, the sword had still struck his shoulder. With a tearing sound, a crack appeared in the armor that had transformed from the Robe of the Lich Lord. The defense, said to be the strongest and used by this Lich King, was finally broken.

  But that was all. The only effect this sword had on Ethan's body was a crack a few inches long in his armor. Beneath the crack seemed to be a bottomless black hole. No matter how vast, fierce, or violent the sword energy was, it was like falling into a void, with no response whatsoever.

  The ground around him crumbled, the air exploded. The aftermath of this strike made this small area seem as if the world was ending. He and it were not in the same world. Apart from the small crack on his shoulder, there was no sign of any connection between him and the world around him.

  He retracted the blade that had just repelled Lancelot. Then, another light, effortless slash stabbed into this sword energy.

  Emptiness. Hundreds of meters away, Roland felt only this. It wasn't just when his strike hit Ethan that he felt the emptiness; now, he felt that his own sword energy had become empty.

  With the stab of this slash, the very center of the sword energy, which had been condensed into a solid form, suddenly became empty. It was not drained away, nor was it defeated; it had simply become empty on its own. Immediately, the entire sword energy began to collapse. The power that had been abundant throughout all rushed towards this center, compressing and colliding, then losing control and exploding. This emptiness affected not just the sword energy. In the blink of an eye, it had reached Roland's arm. He felt his own flesh, blood, and bones, and the power contained within them, suddenly lose control, just like the sword energy.

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  The moment he felt the anomaly, Roland tried to abandon his sword, but he could not let go. This emptiness had already inseparably connected his hand to the sword. He roared, and with his other hand, he formed his fingers into a blade, gathering the last of the sword energy he could muster in his left hand, and chopped down at his own right shoulder.

  With a flash of blood, Roland staggered backward. The hand that held the sword, along with the sword itself, was crushed and pulverized by the out-of-control sword energy that had surged back.

  From beginning to end, using only the blade in his right hand, Ethan had defeated the combined strike of the two strongest swordsmen on the continent. The true weapon he held in his left hand, The Black Star, had not moved at all.

  His power was not terrifying. There were no earth-shattering traces. It could even be said that there was no power to speak of, only a stretch of nothingness. But before him, any earth-shattering power was so fragile, so easily defeated. Emptiness and hollowness, under his seemingly all-seeing, all-understanding gaze that could perceive the laws of everything, could shatter any power.

  Lancelot had also suffered such a blow, and his injuries were absolutely more severe than Roland's. Because he did not have the buffer of several hundred meters of sword energy. Fortunately, the Radiant Battleplate on his body had neutralized part of the force, and as the armor shattered, he used his countless life-and-death experiences to slightly shift his position. The out-of-control sword energy and power had not blown him to smithereens, but had sent him flying.

  His right hand, along with the Radiant Battleplate, was shattered. A good portion of the bones in his body were broken, and many of his muscles had burst open. The blood sprayed into the air along with the muscle tissue accounted for nearly half of his body's volume. If not for the spell Moriel had cast on him, which had also multiplied his physical constitution, he would have been dead.

  The force of the runaway sword energy was so great that Lancelot flew backward like a cannonball, passing the spot where he had just stood, and only landed heavily on the sand in the area where the allied army had been. The impact of this landing drove the broken bones deep into his muscles again. The pain was so intense he almost fainted.

  The allied army had long since retreated. Now, like everywhere else, this place was just an empty, boundless expanse of undead bones and sand. But two people stood here, alone.

  Both of them were covered in blood, with countless wounds, holding weapons that had been hacked and chipped beyond recognition. They were members of the group of warriors who had fought their way here, stepping over countless undead remains. One could imagine how they had fought and bled alongside the swordsmen and orcs in the allied army. When the retreat was ordered, they had not left with the others. They had not been forcibly taken away, which could only mean they had insisted on staying on their own.

  It shouldn't have been "they," but "they" (women). Although their hair was disheveled and their bodies were covered in their own blood and that of their comrades, with no fewer wounds than any other warrior on the battlefield, and the skin between their thumbs and index fingers was split from excessive hacking, the bloodstains and wounds could not hide their beautiful faces. They were two women.

  The two were not standing together. It seemed they had not even met each other while fighting in the allied army. They had only been singled out because they had made the same choice as the army retreated. But they did not look at each other, perhaps not even noticing one another. They just stared blankly ahead, at the place where the Lich King had appeared, watching the world-saving hero become the world-destroying demon king, watching the people who had escorted them now desperately trying to kill him.

  It was not until Lancelot fell from the sky that the two reacted. The taller woman ran over and hugged the blood-soaked Lancelot, casting a healing white magic spell and crying out, "Master! Master!"

  With the support of the white magic, Lancelot finally regained consciousness. The spell Moriel had cast on him now resonated with the white magic, and the wounds on his body began to heal rapidly. But Lancelot paid it no mind. He just looked at the woman and asked in shock, "Why are you here?"

  "He didn't want me to come. I snuck into the Magic Academy and mixed in with the swordsmen on my own," Talise answered, her expression wooden and tragic. "Master, how did it come to this?"

  Lancelot looked at the other woman who was walking over and sighed, "Chancellor Mrak, did you also sneak in?"

  Sophia nodded slightly. Her expression was similar to Talise's, but with a greater degree of numbness. The two women's eyes met. Only now did they notice each other. No words were needed; their identical gazes and expressions had made everything clear to them.

  Her injuries were particularly severe. She was almost a bloody mess, and there was even a deep wound on her face that exposed bone. The flayed flesh on her gentle face looked especially ferocious. Her strength should not have been enough to support her in fighting to this point. She had persevered this far on spirit and willpower alone. But now, her spirit was empty. The belief that had supported her had not crumbled; it had transformed into something incomprehensible and unbelievable, filling all of space. Her originally sharp mind was now completely numb.

  Thud. Thud. Thud. A sound and a vibration came. The sound and the vibration were not loud, but they reached directly into the depths of everyone's soul. Even the two women, whose hearts had become completely numb and frozen, could feel their souls moving and roaring with this sound. They, along with Lancelot, looked up.

  At this moment, Ethan had stopped walking. He had finally raised The Black Star, which he held in his left hand, because he was going to use it to meet the sun that was rushing towards him.

  A white sun, a moving sun, a charging sun, the sun of life, a tangible sun, a sun that no void could devour. The sun named Gru.

  He did not charge or fly. He just ran, step by step, towards Ethan.

  Thud.

  Thud.

  Thud. These were the sounds of his footsteps.

  He did not have the aura of Roland's strike, which seemed to cleave the very heavens. He did not have the speed of Lancelot's strike, which seemed to rend the earth. He just approached step by step, his feet treading their own path. Each step was so solid, so unshakable, so stirring to all living things. It mattered not if he trod on sand, on remains, on bones, or on the fissures in the shattered ground. He even trod on the void above the fissures. These were the footsteps of life.

  He had not taken advantage of the moment when Ethan repelled Lancelot and Roland. He just waited and watched. Only after Roland and Lancelot were defeated and sent flying, only after Ethan resumed walking forward as he had at the beginning, did he move.

  He was not going to fight. He was going to use his life to shatter this emptiness. This life was so strong, so direct, so scorching, so dazzling. It was a life like the sun.

  Thud.

  Thud.

  Thud... This was the final step. He finally leaped, clenched his fist, turned his body sideways, and raised his fist.

  Every part of his body had stretched to its limit, tensed to its breaking point, like a bow, the most perfect of bows. Of all crafted artifacts, not even the Phantom Divine Bow could be this perfect, without a single flaw, in expressing the fusion of power and beauty, and of life.

  All the light had gathered on his fist. That was his arrow, the condensation of all power and life, dazzlingly bright. The sun of life. He threw his punch.

  Ethan still did not move. He still held the hilt of The Black Star raised high, like a statue. A ethereal statue raising the ultimate point of nothingness, motionlessly meeting the dazzling, overwhelmingly full, sun-like life that shot towards him.

  Everything became still. Between heaven and earth, there were only two points, one real and one void, drawing closer, closer, closer... and then they too became still.

  The two points did not truly touch. The fist and the hilt of The Black Star were still separated by several inches. Gru was also completely still in mid-air, maintaining the posture of having thrown that punch, seemingly having become a statue himself, corresponding to Ethan's statue. Even the light on his fist seemed to have congealed into a solid, no longer dazzlingly leaping.