Ch.13143. This is Just That Kind of Story (2)

Grandeus once said:

What is the surest way to change the future?

To foresee it? To know it?

No.

The surest method is to make the right choices.

But is that even possible?

That’s when I conceived it.

…If one could only undo choices, wouldn’t everything become clear?

What conditions are needed for that?

…If time could be reversed, everything would be solved.

Thus, altering the future we’re headed toward

Ultimately means changing the past and present.

But.

All his attempts were in vain.

He believed that by turning back time, he could escape the punishment of a predetermined future.

But in the end, even that resistance was part of the grand design.

When viewed from afar,

When seen broadly,

The past, present, and future—

All of it was predetermined.

Yet without eyes to see far,

Without wisdom to comprehend broadly,

Decisions become undecided.

…It took too long to realize this.

Still, it’s not too late.

At least I could convey this truth to you.

“……”

Though he said this, I still couldn’t understand the true meaning of his words.

I could only vaguely guess.

But if there’s one thing certain,

It’s that this world is composed of an absurdly vast, extensive system.

Whether you know this or not,

That will determine who stands above and who below.

====

Unless that sheep-head was maliciously deceiving me, this makes no sense.

‘A premature one, they said?’

Cain bit down on his tongue with his molars as frost dust rose along his pale skin and piercing cold assaulted him.

A premature one?

For something supposedly underdeveloped, its power is absurd.

He quickly dodged away from the creature swinging its sword down at him, then gathered the deranged townspeople and threw them at those things.

Though Cain’s own physical abilities far surpassed those of ordinary humans.

Somehow, his instincts told him he shouldn’t directly confront that gloomy man.

And that, it seems, was the correct answer.

No matter how skinny and malnourished they might be with reduced physical functions, the half-crazed state of these people far exceeded normal human capabilities.

Yet somehow, those who confronted that man fell like birds or beasts hit by stones.

Even those who weren’t hit hard, or merely grabbed, kicked, or pushed—they all collapsed.

“Aaaaargh!”

On one side, the sheep-head continues its pitiful struggle.

Despite its massive frame, its entire body freezes solid at the woman’s touch.

Though it manages to shake that off with some strange skill, eventually its body freezes completely, forcing it to open its maw and form a new body inside to launch a surprise attack.

But even that freezes solid.

And that’s not all.

No sooner does it freeze than an invisible cutting wind shatters its entire body in an instant.

Frost swirls around, and faint particles dance in the air like blades.

Yet this happens without directly harming the townspeople, as the woman’s focus suddenly shifts to the sheep-head flying toward the man, freezing and shattering it again.

Seeing how it continuously revives would unsettle anyone.

But the woman’s focus remains as stable as before, her gaze and physical responses clear.

And exposed to her field of vision, struggling desperately…

Naturally, that included Cain himself.

The moment he hesitates, the ground beneath him freezes, and wherever he steps turns to ice.

Even if he pulls away, tearing the skin off his soles in the process,

Small vortices form in the air and rush toward him.

The cold and countless microscopic ice particles condense into fine blades and needles that tear through his body, and not just that—they sweep past his arms raised in defense.

They strike his body directly.

Even that isn’t the end.

As if piercing his unconsciously exhaled breath, with his next inhalation,

The ice seeps into his body.

Suddenly his insides freeze, and crystals extend from there, becoming needles or thorns of ice, even freezing his blood into blood-thorns.

They tear through his internal organs.

“Hack!”

It feels as if bundles of needles and thorns are sprouting inside his body, and worse, spreading throughout like deadly poison.

A truly horrifying sensation.

A human body would have died long ago.

And he trembles at the realization.

Against this power, mighty armies and sheer numbers would be meaningless.

No matter how strong one might be, if their body is neutralized like this…

…Death is inevitable.

Unless one had anticipated and perfectly prepared for this combat method,

Anyone would crumble before this power without a trace.

And what was also astonishing was that all of this could be controlled.

The townspeople seemed affected too, but clearly not to a fatal degree.

None of them were coughing blood and trembling like he was.

Many fell as if asleep or fainted, but that was all.

And look at that man moving violently with heavy breathing.

Despite swinging his sword so fiercely, somehow he’s cutting down the devil’s minions that aren’t affected by normal matter or physical laws.

Yet he remains completely unaffected by the woman’s power.

What’s certain is that it’s not that he isn’t affected.

…She’s controlling it so he isn’t affected.

This alone proves how precisely she can handle her ability, or rather, her authority.

…Someone once said that each of the Great Demon King’s powers could surpass those of the current Demon King.

And now, that seemed believable.

What’s worthy of being called “authority” is generally something that reaches a unique realm incomparable to anything else.

And when that is used as violence, force, or power,

It can kill a Demon King single-handedly and mercilessly crush even the absolute majority of forces and armies.

Truly, this is what qualifies one to change an era.

“When are you going to die, you idiot?”

Crack!

Venus’s taunt and sword strike hit simultaneously.

The sheep-head hastily pulls its body into the air after being struck.

“Ptui!”

It’s not like he’s cutting some fluttering piece of cloth.

Yet Venus somehow manages to cut such things, which must seem strange to them.

The sword isn’t some great named blade, nor a holy sword that cuts the ethereal, nor a massive demonic sword that transcends the ethereal to become malevolence itself.

So this must be because the one wielding it is abnormal, right?

“Cut me a hundred times! Will I die?”

The sheep-head hurled mockery the moment it found an opening.

No matter how much you struggle, eventually you’ll tire, despair, and collapse—that’s your limit.

We have nothing to fear since we won’t die anyway, right?

“That’s perfect.”

What is this madman saying now?

“I needed someone I could beat to my heart’s content.”

In this weak world full of people who die and soil themselves from just a little stab…

“You’ve appeared at just the right time.”

“What?!”

As the severed parts reattach themselves,

This time the human’s kick comes flying.

“That kind of—!”

But.

Getting hit feels extraordinary.

Why does it even hurt?

‘What the hell is he?!’

Even a charging buffalo wouldn’t be this powerful.

How can a mere human’s kick be heavier than a horse’s back kick?

And it’s not even infused with mana!

“Keck!”

And it’s not just a one-time thing.

No sooner does the kick end than the sword comes crashing down.

As soon as it’s stabbed, the arm joint is wrenched as if to throw off the sword.

Then comes the knee.

The fist.

A kick sweeping the lower body.

The sword swings horizontally in a semicircle as if to shake off resistance.

His outstretched left hand grabs the sheep-head by the throat.

“You insane bastard!”

Its mouth opens wide.

How large it is—dozens of times larger than that of ordinary beasts.

“So what?”

The sword is thrust vertically from below.

The blade pierces through the mouth, through the nose and face.

And then he deliberately pulls on the sword.

Because the blade isn’t sharp, the sheep-head’s mouth clings to the uncut surface, its flesh and muscles gripping the sword.

The first mistake novice swordsmen make is assuming that after stabbing with a blade, it will withdraw easily as intended.

That’s why inexperienced fighters in crisis situations often hesitate when facing this reality, getting injured or killed by follow-up attacks.

But this man seems to have anticipated even that, handling it skillfully.

Not satisfied with that, he also pulls hard on the throat he’s gripping.

The sheep-head’s massive body is pulled in without a chance to resist.

“Kereck?”

And what does he do next?

‘This madman?!’

The man’s face approaches.

And then.

Toward the creature’s face.

His teeth, with mouth wide open.

Strike.

Crunch!

“Kieeeeek!”

The strange scream of the sheep-head whose face has been bitten.

A cacophonous chorus of various beasts howling at once produces an ugly, base resonance.

“Kruk!”

Venus, who bit into the sheep-head’s face like a rabid dog, spits out a chunk of flesh and snarls.

“What, you think I don’t have a mouth or teeth?!”

Spitting out thick black blood like mud and sand.

While speaking, he repeatedly drives his knee into its jaw.

As he shakes off his sword with the recoil, the nose and upper mouth split in half.

But that wasn’t enough.

With a hand that had extended without notice.

Toward the sheep-head’s ominously pale, large eyeball.

His left hand, fingers tightly together.

He thrust it in like a spear.

Squelch!

“Kieeek!”

“Shut up, you idiot!”

As if even its pain response irritates him, he grabs the eyeball and eye socket whole.

And even as he’s being flung around by the sheep-head’s screams and thrashing, hanging on.

Venus, in that state, swings his sword wildly with his right hand as if unaffected.

Thwack!

Using just arm strength to hold on, while swinging his sword with his right arm like a club—it was an extremely abnormal sight.

His sword beats through fur and skin, eventually pounding cloth and bone.

Once isn’t enough—twice, three times, four times.

When fur gets tangled, he forcefully tears it off, cuts it, strikes again, slashes sideways.

The townspeople might have been caught in the sheep-head’s rampage,

But when Mines visibly erected a barrier, even the range of the rampage was greatly reduced.

And Venus, pleased as if he’d gained a foothold in the air,

Began to deal with the sheep-head more actively.

Finally, after grabbing the eye socket and eyeball as if to crush them while the creature thrashed,

Venus, seemingly satisfied, kicked off the ice barrier with his body.

With that force, the sheep-head’s massive body was thrown down onto the ground.

Boom!

Venus immediately struck the lowered head.

Knee, fist, kick, sword.

The sheep-head’s head became horribly crumpled, dented, and broken.

“Heal yourself. Aren’t you healing? Regenerating? Whatever it is, do it quickly! The pain remains, right? Let’s see what wins—you or the pain. I was annoyed at my insufficient training, but I should thank you!”

You think I haven’t dealt with pretenders who act like they can’t die?

You think being a devil worshipper and their lackey makes you invincible?

“If that made you invincible, I’d have become a Demon King long ago, you idiot.”

The pain humans feel and the pain these idiots experience have fundamentally different weights.

For us, pain isn’t just pain.

When pain is severe, we get injured, and when injured, the pain intensifies while our physical condition worsens.

Recovery is difficult enough, but enduring combat in that state is even worse.

But has the world ever been kind enough to accommodate our pain?

Rather, think of it this way:

Even I become pathetic when injured, right?

So if this bastard gets injured too, he’ll become pathetic, and that’s when I can kill him!

So if I can endure this and inflict the same pain and wounds on him,

He’ll be pissing himself.

The conclusion is that endurance wins.

The one who endures is the victor in this fight.

That’s how it should be.

In this cursed world, struggle means:

Even the strongest tree breaks, and the strongest iron bends.

Nothing is unbreakable.

Your body won’t break? Then I’ll break something else.

Our fight is about who breaks first.

…It’s not complicated at all.

“Ma-ma-madman! What kind of crazy human is this?!”

How can such a madman exist?!

The sheep-head trembled for a different reason.

The madness this human exuded was dimensions beyond the wretched poor who were screaming, clawing at their eyes, and fainting all around.

More importantly, where did this thing suddenly come from?!

If it were holy power, white magic, sorcery, or spells neutralizing him—that would be somewhat understandable!

But what is this? What kind of freak is he?

“Idiot. Is getting beaten your hobby?”

What’s even more vicious is that

This bastard never stops moving his hands and feet, even while talking.

If I try to resist, he retaliates more violently.

And now, as if bored with that, he’s hacking away with his sword.

When I finally manage to pull away and try to regenerate my body, he seems satisfied and waits.

…This is definitely not someone in their right mind.

“…He still won’t die, even like this.”

“What are you saying? That’s the good part.”

Is he serious, not just acting?

While Mines was disgusted by Venus’s fighting spirit, the sheep-head approached Cain, whose condition was terrible with ice flowers blooming all over his body.

“You’re in bad shape too.”

“……”

With half his body frozen, he couldn’t even speak properly.

But the internal damage was even worse than what was visible.

That cursed cold was now freezing even his heart and brain.

His blood had already frozen, making breathing irrelevant.

A human body would have died long ago, and even the robust physique of a beastkin, dimensionally superior to other races…

…In this state, it could already be considered a corpse.

However, he is neither human nor beastkin nor anything else.

A race that doesn’t exist in this middle realm.

Originally, he wasn’t like this, but…

“But those bastards haven’t changed even after I beat them?”

The conscious townspeople are still rampaging.

I thought pain or greater fear might bring back their senses… but is this something different?

Or is it a curse? Mental magic? Some related ability?

Is that kind of thing more powerful than expected?

“Then this means it’s not a phenomenon they created.”

Or is it something that only deactivates when their lives are ended? Some kind of activation mechanism?

If not even that, then…

“They might just be mediums or messengers.”

“…So there’s someone above them who’s the main body and the culprit behind this situation?”

Trying to understand demonic phenomena with common sense won’t work.

Ah, but I hate complicated things.

“So I just need to kill them? Since it seems difficult for me, can you finish them off?”

“……”

By the time Mines arrived here and entered combat, the possibility of their escape had long vanished.

…I’m not sure if they know that. Or did they resist because they knew?

Or did they not know our identities and think they could handle us themselves?

Initially, that might have been the case.

But after the sheep-head monster’s surprise attack was neutralized, their thinking must have changed.

Though the battle began with Venus charging ahead… they still had plenty of opportunity to attempt escape.

So why are they just helplessly taking it?

Above all, Mines had some doubts about the timing of this incident.

‘If this isn’t the center…’

And if this disturbance isn’t coincidental but part of a plan?

Then…

Mines’s gaze reflexively turned toward a distant place.

Toward the place that freely manipulates and shakes this country.

Toward where they would be gathered in concentration.