I activated the Mk. I and set off after the North God.
Through the forest, weaving between trees, I pursued the North God without hesitation.
As I ran, I took a rough survey of the mana inside my body.
The battle against the North God had consumed some, but it couldn't have been more than ten percent.
I still had mana to spare.
But the deafening roar that had been ringing out nonstop while the North God fought had stopped some time ago.
No matter how well their abilities complemented each other, they couldn't have been a match for a god-class opponent.
I hoped they were safe.
But if both of them had been taken out, then it would be the North God and the Demon God I'd have to face.
Would I have enough mana?
What if I ran dry partway through, like during my fight with
No—this was the critical moment. I had to stop thinking ahead.
One thing at a time, starting with what was right in front of me.
First priority: North God Kalman III.
--- By the time I reached the scene, Chandon had already been defeated.
His back against a tree, he'd collapsed into a sitting position, slumped over and motionless.
No weapon in hand. His staff had snapped and lay nearby on the ground.
Alec stood over him, looking down.
North God Kalman III had completely overwhelmed his predecessor.
"Father, how long are you going to keep playing around?
You already know, don't you?
You can't beat me without at least a magic-grade sword."
Chandon didn't respond.
Had he already lost consciousness?
Surely he wasn't dead.
"Or was that part of your strategy too? Playing dead? The Trick faction is all the same, isn't it? Win by any means necessary to achieve your goal. I actually admire that approach, honestly. Granted, I think Aubert and the others went too far… but if you taught them those methods, why are you denying me the same…?"
Chandon said nothing. He just remained silent.
"Well then, I'll be heading out soon."
Alec turned around as he spoke.
Toward me.
"…Huh?"
His face looked like he'd run into a bear.
An unexpected encounter. There was no reason for someone like me to be here.
That expression.
That magic armor—he shouldn't have been able to use it anymore.
"Son. Allow me to answer your question."
And then, in just a few seconds—the span of time Alec had frozen in place—Chandon stood up.
"The games are over.
You're right that I couldn't win without a magic sword. So I borrowed one from
But it's only the bare minimum. A magic sword alone gives me slim odds.
So I waited. I clung on, feigned death, and waited.
To ensure a certain victory."
As he spoke, Chandon drew a single sword from behind his waist.
It was the second sword Eris had carried.
The magic sword "Orefold."
"Why am I denying you?
It's because you claim to aspire to heroism, yet you're resorting to acts that are the farthest thing from heroic.
A hero doesn't scrape together victories through underhanded tricks.
A hero doesn't trample the weak to earn fame.
A hero takes on an enemy far greater than themselves, with no guarantee of winning—and then wins, and seizes glory.
Not like me. Like North God Kalman I."
With an almost transcendent air, Chandon drew the sword from its sheath and took his stance.
The magic sword "Orefold" was a short blade.
Yet wielding it, Chandon looked every bit the warrior worthy of the name North God.
Alec, facing him, glanced back over his shoulder.
"…I see.
Reinforcements, are they?
Geese warned me: 'Don't let
Did you really think the two of you alone could beat me—and this Dragon King Sword?"
"Who said there were only two?"
At Chandon's words, the brush rustled in response.
From it emerged a man and a woman.
A red-haired woman and a green-haired man.
Eris and
They must have regained consciousness while I went to retrieve the magic armor.
They were still injured, but both of them were far tougher than me.
"…"
Eris glanced at me.
Her gaze was intense, freighted with meaning.
The eyes of someone who trusted me to guard their backs.
Ruijerd sent me the same look.
This was probably the first time he'd seen the magic armor, but through his third eye, he must have recognized me.
And he placed his trust in my support as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
And I would cover all three of them.
Deploying the Magic Armor Mk. I just for support.
I knew it was a bit pathetic.
But that was exactly how we'd always done it.
Eris at the center, Ruijerd managing the flow, and me providing support.
No words were needed.
There was one extra person mixed in, but it was the perfect formation.
"Now then—round two."
With Chandon's words, the second battle against the North God began.
--- Eris struck first.
True to form, she closed in on Alec with the fastest and most direct sword strikes imaginable.
Alec deflected them.
Slashes launched at speeds too fast for even my eyes to follow—he parried them effortlessly, sometimes even countering.
Eris's attacks appeared relentless, but there were openings I simply couldn't perceive. They were certainly there.
However, every one of his counters was shut down.
By Ruijerd.
Each time he swept his spear, Alec's counterattack fizzled out.
Ruijerd had become Eris's shadow.
No matter how many mistakes Eris made, as long as Ruijerd was there, those mistakes would never be exploited.
But at times, Alec ignored gravity altogether.
When it looked like his posture had been broken, he'd launch into clearly unnatural movements—continuous attacks or defense in rapid succession.
From wide evasive maneuvers to acrobatic flips, only to suddenly dive into an offensive.
Against such movements, even Ruijerd couldn't keep up.
The movements Ruijerd couldn't handle, Chandon blocked.
The North God Kalman II—who knew better than anyone how gravity manipulation worked—held the line.
Alec targeted landing points, or caught them mid-air.
They managed to avoid direct hits, but the flow of battle never went their way.
They only ended up draining their stamina and accumulating wounds for nothing.
Yet if they created distance, they'd fall prey to my sorcery.
The rock bullets that even Orsted couldn't fully dodge were deflected by the Dragon King Sword. But by activating the mana-absorbing stones at the last instant, I could delay his response and land several grazing hits.
No direct hits, but the dense barrage of fire kept Alec pinned and prevented him from distancing himself from Eris and the others.
And when I unleashed "Lightning Strike" at what I judged to be a guaranteed hit, he deflected it—but it denied him any breathing room.
Which meant he had no opening to fire off the "ultimate technique" he'd used earlier.
"Damn it…!"
Alec had more power and speed than anyone else on the battlefield.
But perhaps because he was rushing—or panicking—his movements were sloppy.
A sloppiness that bled through his overall performance.
Meanwhile, our side fought steadily, stably, and advantageously.
We were dealing damage too.
We just needed to keep doing what we were doing.
But there was nothing decisive that could end this.
If this grind continued, eventually something would give.
Stamina. Mana.
The longer it dragged on, the more would be depleted.
Who had been pushing themselves the hardest since this fight began?
Who had been the most worn down before it even started?
That became painfully obvious after the battle had progressed for a while.
"…!"
A cut appeared on Eris's face.
A shallow graze.
But as time went on, they multiplied.
There was one gaping hole in our line.
Chandon.
North God Kalman II.
The man once counted among the Seven Great Powers had become the weak link.
But it couldn't be helped.
After fighting the Third, enduring his ultimate technique, then protecting Eris and Ruijerd—and holding off North God Kalman III by himself until we arrived, until he was battered beyond recognition— His movements, even to an outside observer, had clearly deteriorated.
No—he could still move.
He was still doing his job.
Or perhaps the fact that Alec was being sloppy was the only reason Chandon could keep up at all.
But he was only human. His limits would come.
Eris, of course. Me, with my Foresight Eye predicting the enemy's movements.
Even Ruijerd, the seasoned hero, was starting to run out of breath.
This was a grueling fight.
A razor-thin exchange of blows, maintained at every moment.
In another ten minutes, Chandon would hit his wall.
"…"
But I still had reserves.
Unlike before, I was now wearing the Magic Armor Mk. I.
My vantage point was higher, making it easier to survey the situation.
The range of my support had expanded.
Chandon had been dented. So all I had to do was adjust my current support pattern to further compensate for him.
I wove in rock lances from directly below and vacuum blades from directly above into my attack pattern.
And I increased the frequency of the mana-absorbing stones.
Alec moved in three dimensions, defying gravity—but that was solely because of the Dragon King Sword's power.
And we'd already confirmed that the mana-absorbing stones were effective against the Dragon King Sword's abilities.
Increasing the frequency meant less support fire from me, but it narrowed Alec's range of movement.
The result was a thirty percent reduction in Chandon's burden.
But thirty percent was all it was.
Not enough for him to recover his stamina and settle this.
The situation was favorable.
But victory was still distant.
I had to think of something.
…Should I deploy the mana-absorbing stones constantly?
If I kept them active at all times, my ranged attacks would be neutralized too—but with the Magic Armor Mk. I's capabilities, I could fight in close quarters.
If I sealed those acrobatic movements, the situation would become even more favorable… right?
No. It wouldn't work.
Eris, Ruijerd, and Chandon were all fighting at point-blank range.
There was no room for the massive magic armor to squeeze into that space, and even if my power and speed were comparable, without the technique to match, I'd only be a liability.
But what about just buying time?
Pull Chandon back temporarily. Let him recover.
Just a few minutes.
Wouldn't that make a big difference?
Wait—Alec was a North God too. Even without gravity manipulation, he'd still have fighting techniques.
He had to.
Gravity manipulation wasn't his core skill.
Even if I sealed that and he dropped a rank, my close combat was still two or three ranks below Chandon's.
Even with the Foresight Eye, I still couldn't fully read Alec's movements.
In the end, the burden might just shift to Eris or Ruijerd.
They were already taking grazing wounds.
A single fingertip, a single strand of hair's width of margin—that was all that separated them from a severed artery.
Eris was giving everything she had.
She hadn't stopped attacking since the beginning, not even pausing to catch her breath.
But every strike was dodged. Because Alec was that good.
Perhaps she'd been worn down from her fight with the Sword God. Perhaps Alec's earlier ultimate technique had injured her somewhere.
Even so, Eris was performing at the highest level I had ever seen.
But how long could she keep this up?
Ruijerd was still recovering from illness.
Just a few days ago, he'd been bedridden—there was no doubt about it.
His movements were fine now, but he could suddenly collapse at any moment.
What should I do?
In this current state, we wouldn't lose—but we couldn't win.
My mana was fine, but Chandon would hit his limit eventually.
What should I do?
What was the right move?
Deploy the mana-absorbing stones at full power and push forward, accepting the risk?
Or try to break through with a different kind of sorcery?
Should we pull back and reset?
This was painful.
"Damn!"
That was when Alec's targeting shifted—from Eris to Chandon.
He reduced his defensive responses against Eris, and cuts began appearing on the surface of his body.
But they were far from decisive.
I could see his strategy.
Alec had figured it out too.
If Chandon fell, the balance would collapse.
A chill ran down my spine.
Chandon dies. Then Eris dies. Then Ruijerd dies, and in a one-on-one, I'd be killed too.
We'd lose.
(Shouldn't I go for a quick finish?)
Inside me, a dangerous anxiety was born—the kind that shouldn't exist.
The fear that my movements would become hesitant, that I'd make the wrong judgment.
I started making small mistakes.
When I made small mistakes, Ruijerd covered for me.
But that was putting an ever-increasing burden on him.
This wasn't working.
Something. One move.
I had to land the decisive blow.
That was when— "…!"
The decisive blow arrived.
From deep within the forest.
The first thing to come flying was a mass of dull iron.
It flew, tumbled like a ball, hit a tree, and stopped.
The iron mass immediately scrambled to its feet.
But its helmet had come off, its thick armor was dented and mangled, blood streamed from its head, and snot flowed freely from its nose. Its expression was dazed.
Yet it still hadn't let go of its weapon, and its honest face was twisted as hard as it could be as it glared at whoever had sent it flying.
It was Doga.
The next person to come flying was a scrawny figure.
Already stripped of armor, its upper body bare.
The thin frame tumbled through the air in a way that looked like it would fall apart, and crashed into Doga, who had arrived first.
Zanoba.
And then—the true decisive blow.
It had red skin and long fangs.
Well over two meters tall and wrapped in muscle, it descended from above like an ape.
It landed with a sound that was neither a thud nor a clunk nor a crash—some indescribably strange noise—and touched down near us.
"…!"
The Demon God Maltas.
The instant I saw that figure, all movement on the battlefield froze.
Simultaneously, a shudder ran through my body.
Chaotic thoughts raced through my mind.
This standoff.
Why had it come this way?
Could we win?
Should we retreat?
Should we press the attack?
"Oh! The Demon God!"
The one who looked the happiest—far more than anyone else—was, predictably, Alec.
The moment he saw the Demon God, a grin of pure elation spread across his face.
Judging by that smile, perhaps he'd been struggling too.
Of course he had.
If we were deadlocked, so was he.
He'd wanted to push forward, push forward—and had been stopped cold.
He couldn't lose, but he couldn't find a way to break through either.
He wanted to use that ultimate technique, but couldn't.
Sustained in that kind of situation for any length of time, even he would suffer mental fatigue.
"Perfect timing!"
Alec was beaming. The Demon God, on the other hand, wore a sour expression.
A sour face—and one that seemed to ask, "What are you people doing here?"
If Alec had looked like he'd run into a bear when he saw me earlier, then the Demon God now looked like a bear that had run into humans.
But this was bad.
This standoff—which would likely collapse in another ten minutes—had just gained enemy reinforcements.
"Please help us."
The Demon God nodded.
--- I had no reserves left.
I was constantly maneuvering around the battlefield while now having to provide support for two targets.
I managed to heal Doga and Zanoba when I spotted an opening.
But they were outmatched by the Demon God.
Every time the Demon God moved at that unnatural speed for such a massive body, Zanoba or Doga went flying.
Zanoba tore a nearby tree from the ground and swung it like a club, but the Demon God countered without a scratch, swatting him away as if he were nothing.
Doga brought his enormous axe crashing down, but the Demon God blocked it without taking a single wound and punched Doga away as casually as if he'd been swatted by a mosquito.
Neither Doga nor Zanoba lacked strength—far from it.
And yet, they were still being sent flying.
Overwhelming power.
Meanwhile, Alec continued his assault without missing a beat.
Chandon was running on his last reserves, still somehow holding the line—which was almost miraculous.
No—not miraculous.
With Chandon unable to move, Ruijerd was starting to fatigue.
He was the one picking up the slack.
This was bad.
This situation was critical.
This was no longer a matter of looking for a way to break through.
In just a few more minutes, the battle line would collapse for certain.
We had to retreat.
But there was nowhere to retreat to.
If we fell back, they'd reach Orsted.
Orsted wouldn't necessarily die from that.
But was that acceptable?
Was that really acceptable?
It was a defeat— but was it truly acceptable?
Was there really no way to break through?
At the very least, we had to take one of them out.
Think.
There had to be something.
If I used every card in my hand to the fullest, there had to be something I could do.
I'd lost most of my scrolls but had managed to restore the Mk. I.
The Mk. I's gatling, its mass, its speed, its power.
Was there nothing I could do?
Was there nothing at all?
Something…!
"Damn…"
Chandon finally dropped to his knees.
I stared at the Demon God with a sense of despair.
This was the key.
If we couldn't stop this rampaging locomotive, we had no chance.
One more move.
I needed one more move.
We'd gone from a slightly advantageous standoff to a disadvantageous one.
But the tide could still be turned.
If we could neutralize the Demon God, we could swap Zanoba or Doga out for Chandon, move him to the rear, and let him recover.
One move.
That's all I needed. Just one.
"A-A-A-A-A-HAHAHAHAHA!"
At that very moment, laughter echoed across the battlefield.
And at the same time, the base of my arm grew hot.
Maybe Alec and Chandon recognized the voice—they snapped their heads up and scanned their surroundings.
"Well now, things have gotten rather interesting!"
The next instant, something black burst from the brush.
Clad in black armor, gripping a single sword, it charged straight at the Demon God.
"UGAAAAAH!"
It struck the Demon God with a single blow.
A clanging crash and a bone-rattling impact rang out simultaneously, and the sword shattered.
The Demon God, who had blocked with his arm, stumbled back several steps, blood gushing from that arm.
"HAAAHH!"
The black figure didn't care in the least that its sword had broken.
Closing the distance instantly, it drove a sharp straight punch into the Demon God's solar plexus.
The Demon God doubled over for an instant, and a left hook followed.
Its neck whipped around with a sickening crack and it staggered— but didn't fall.
The Demon God raised its uninjured arm and smashed the black figure away.
The black figure flew several meters backward, spread wings in midair, and alighted gently on the ground.
"A-A-A-A-HAHA! Good, good, that's the spirit!"
Demonic tongue. That voice.
I held my breath.
"Atophelatophe…!"
The Undying Demon King, Atophelatophe.
The most feared figure in the Demon Continent stood before us.
"Why…"
She turned toward me, twisted her face into a ferocious grin, and laughed.
"Kukuku—I sensed your desperation through the split-off and figured the decisive battle was near, so I hurried here! I haven't the faintest idea what's going on, but I made it in time. A Demon God and Alec… kukuku, fufu… AHA, A-A-A-A-HAHAHAHA!"
Atophelatophe laughed. She laughed so hard it was almost incomprehensible what she found so amusing.
The eerie laughter echoed through the forest, leaving Alec stunned.
But the split-off…
So that was what this arm was.
She didn't seem to have a clear picture of the situation, but she'd arrived in time.
Atophelatophe was here. We had more than enough fighting power.
We could do this.
"I, the Demon King Atophelatophe Lyback, will annihilate everyone here!"
Everyone was off the table, thanks.
Damn—Moor wasn't here? Where were the rest of the Royal Guard? No one was keeping her on a leash? She'd been let loose?!
"…Or at least, that's what I'd like to say—"
Atophelatophe faced the Demon God.
The height difference was roughly two to one.
Atophelatophe was tall for a woman, but the Demon God was enormous—width, breadth, and depth alike.
"Demon God Maltas!"
"So, you're the one who will fight me next?"
What came from the Demon God's mouth was fluent demonic tongue.
For all its fearsome appearance, it spoke with a dignified cadence.
Truly worthy of the title "god-class."
"I have seized your island—the Demon Island—with my Royal Guard! Leave here quietly. If you don't, I'll slaughter every last one of you!"
"…!"
The Demon God looked at Atophelatophe with wide eyes.
As if probing for the truth behind her words.
Whether what she'd said was lie or fact.
But there was one thing that could be said.
It was hard to imagine Atophelatophe lying or engaging in deception.
"Of course, I wouldn't mind slaughtering everyone either! In fact, I'd prefer it! Yes, that would be better! Come—bring it on!"
Atophelatophe spread her arms wide and took a stance.
Her posture. Her words.
Perhaps some part of them rang true.
The Demon God's reaction was dramatic.
It coiled its body for an instant, then leaped—like an ape.
Onto a tree.
And from there, it looked down at us.
"Wha—! Demon God, sir?!"
It was Alec who panicked.
For the first time, the Demon God looked toward Alec.
With eyes that regarded something utterly beneath its notice.
And then it spoke.
"I go home. Island—trouble."
What came from its mouth was human tongue.
A heavily accented, rustic human tongue.
The Demon God was apparently more fluent in demonic tongue than the common language—but it was bilingual all the same.
Even though Atophelatophe couldn't speak a word of common tongue!
"Huh?"
Without another word, the Demon God leapt from tree to tree and vanished into the forest.
Alec watched it go, dumbfounded.
But Alec wasn't the only one stunned.
Me. Ruijerd. Chandon. All of us had our eyes wide.
And now there was only one left.
Alec, alone.
Surrounded by me, Eris, Ruijerd, Chandon, Zanoba, Doga, and Atophelatophe.
Almost anticlimactically.
The Demon God had simply gone home.
"Now, then—there's only one enemy left!"
"G-Grandmother…"
A father turned enemy.
A grandmother who couldn't be reasoned with.
A situation that inspired pity even for the opponent.
The Demon God's departure had stripped away all the tension, and the atmosphere had gone limp.
But there was one person in this group who couldn't care less about such atmospheres.
"GAAAAH!"
Eris had seized the opening and unleashed her full-power strike at Alec.
"!"
Alec defended.
He defended.
Not a dodge. Not a deflection. He tried to defend.
Against the Sword God style's killing technique—the "Blade of Light."
An unblockable killing move—he tried to block it.
I realized in the next instant that Alec's left hand was flying through the air.
Spraying blood. Spinning end over end.
"Ah…"
The hand hit the ground with a soft thud.
That was the signal for the fight to resume—and it was the decisive blow.
The battle that followed was so one-sided it was as if the balance of power had never existed.
The North God style did have techniques for fighting even after losing an arm, and with both hands intact, Alec might have had a fighting chance.
But that option had already been cut away.
In a high-level deadlock where even the smallest margin mattered, fighting without a left hand was impossible.
From that moment on, it was no longer a battle.
Just five minutes.
A mere five minutes.
Covered in wounds, Alec fled in a pathetic panic.
--- "Hah… hah…"
This was not a tactical retreat.
It was a rout—just a man running out of breath, fleeing from something terrifying.
The North God.
Hardly what you'd expect from one of the Seven Great Powers.
Like a new hire who'd gotten into a great school, attended a great university, landed a great job—only to face his first real failure.
That was what his flight looked like: pathetic, driven by sheer panic.
But this was where it ended.
There was nowhere to run.
After fleeing pathetically for a mere hour, Alec was driven back to the ravine.
We had him cornered.
Only five of us could keep up with the pursuit.
The moment Alec fled, Zanoba collapsed, and Doga sat down on the spot.
But five was still enough.
Chandon and Atophelatophe.
Eris and Ruijerd.
And me.
Before us: the ravine.
Not a narrow pass but a sheer cliff face stretching over two hundred meters.
No escape. Plenty of fighting strength.
"Damn…"
Was he truly cornered?
Or was he acting?
Alec, gasping for breath, came to a stop at the cliff's edge.
He didn't look like he had any composure left.
But I couldn't let my guard down.
Even without an arm, he'd been wielding the Dragon King Sword single-handed all along.
In front of the gravity-manipulating Dragon King Sword, one hand was as good as two.
I was one to talk—I'd had my own arm chopped off often enough. I knew.
But looking at Alec's face, terror seemed plastered across it.
Still—he was the North God…
"Just give up already. There's no way out of this situation for you."
Chandon said that, which presumably meant… there was no chance of a comeback.
"That's right. Just die quietly!"
"Mother, I'm having a conversation with Alec right now, so please be quiet."
"Mm… ah…"
Atophelatophe tried to interject, but Chandon silenced her.
And Atophelatophe actually obeyed.
Seeing that scene reminded me—these really were a family.
They didn't look anything alike, though.
"Ahem. Preparing to hold back your strength for the fight with Orsted, and then losing your left arm—that's where you lost. I taught you long ago: never underestimate your opponent, no matter the circumstances."
A loss born from holding back and then making an irreversible mistake.
It happened all the time.
Especially when you looked down on someone you considered beneath you.
"Drop your sword and surrender. As your parent, I won't let anything bad happen to you."
Chandon's gentle words.
"As your parent."
Over the past few years, those words had grown unbearably potent for me too.
In truth, I shouldn't have been able to forgive a man who'd tried to exterminate the entire Sperd race.
But then again…
He wasn't the
If Alec cried and apologized… well, but… hmm…
From the looks of it, he was young.
Young—the very word called
I didn't know his actual age, but he was surely much younger than Paul had been when he'd first become a father to me.
"Childish" might even be the right word.
If that was the case, perhaps it wasn't too late to start over, to learn properly…
That was when a thought struck me.
Would someone that young honestly listen to this kind of condescending speech?
"No way!"
As expected.
"I didn't fight at full strength!
Losing my left hand was an accident! If the Demon God hadn't run away, none of this would have happened!"
"That was part of your defeat too."
"Don't tell me I can't rely on my allies!
You four were fighting together too!"
"A hero doesn't blame his companions.
When the time comes, you rely on them for help.
But even if that support disappears halfway through, a hero still wins."
Chandon declared this with absolute certainty.
As if there were no other possible truth.
Perhaps that was why his words carried such unusual conviction.
I didn't know the full details of what kind of heroic legends he'd spun over the years… but he was a retired hero, after all.
"Furthermore, your defeat wasn't just about that. It was strategy. You should have struck us at full force, then pulled back to recover before challenging us again."
"There weren't exactly multiple chances to strike at Orsted!"
"So someone hinted that to you?"
"…!"
He had the expression of someone who'd been hit dead center.
Geese.
Orsted was invisible to the Man-God's sight.
And Orsted had been missing for a long time.
That you could meet him if you came to Sharira—that was only my own common knowledge.
Perhaps it wasn't unreasonable for Alec to think he could only meet Orsted here, that this was his only chance to fight.
Especially since Alec was still young.
The words about wanting to be a hero, wanting to surpass his father—those came from youth.
"There's no next time. I have to seize every opportunity in front of me."
That was an understandable way to think.
A bit too forceful, perhaps.
But that determination itself was something I could root for.
"You should have found friends or rivals of your own generation who shared your goals."
"Shut up!"
Alec screamed at Chandon's pitying words and raised his sword.
Eris and the others matched his stance.
I took mine as well.
Five against one.
When there shouldn't have been any chance of victory.
"I haven't lost yet! A hero turns things around from here! I'll defeat all of you! I'll wipe out the Sperd race! And then Orsted! I'll kill the Dragon God, and I'll become a hero!"
The instant I sensed something emanating from his sword, I raised my left hand.
"Arm, devour everything."
Gravity went haywire for just an instant.
Like stepping into an elevator, my body lurched for a split second before settling back down.
"UGAAAAAH!"
The next instant, Alec had swung his sword in a full arc.
All five of us, myself included, were blown backward and scattered.
But Alec's target hadn't been any of us.
"Damn!"
The ground.
Alec slammed his greatsword into the ground and shattered it.
Dirt and debris erupted in an instant, flooding our vision.
An attack through the smoke screen?
I braced myself—but my Clairvoyance caught a glimpse through the gap in the dust.
Alec, falling backward into the ravine…
Had he self-destructed?
Had his own slash sent him tumbling?
No.
There was a grin plastered on Alec's face.
A loathsome grin.
A grin of victory.
No… right.
Alec had fallen from the bridge before—and come back.
The Dragon King Sword's power was gravity manipulation.
Even if he fell to the bottom of the ravine, he could easily return.
"…!"
The next instant, I jumped.
Chasing Alec into the ravine.