Ch.138138. The Defense of Kairos (5)

My vision blurred. Quenore looked down at his chest. Three long gashes were drawing blood from his chest in streams. The wound was deep. He could feel the deep lacerations left by the claws inside his body. The smell of blood rose with each breath, and blood gurgled from his mouth. Quenore swallowed the blood instead of spitting it out. Despite his body being enhanced with mana, the lion’s attack had torn through his armor and into his flesh.

“Those who challenged me always met the same end. I’ve lived for hundreds, thousands of years more, and time has only made me stronger.”

The lion’s words echoed in his ears. Quenore struggled through the ringing in his ears, the noise, and the lion’s words, breathing in and out through his nose. He couldn’t open his mouth because blood kept rising. Quenore planted his sword in the ground and leaned on it, shifting his weight.

He couldn’t feel the air.

All Quenore could feel was himself. His senses for external stimuli were dim. His vision was blurry and sounds were muffled. His sense of smell was numbed by the scent of blood, and his limbs tingled. He could forcibly draw on magic to replenish the blood he was losing, but there was nothing he could do about the blood already lost. He needed to hold his spinning head.

“Haah…”

Bleeding was familiar. Deep wounds were familiar. Quenore always stood at the front when attacking and at the rear when retreating. In battle, soldiers only saw his face at the beginning and end of combat. So, it was fine to fight while wounded.

“Humans always act as if they’re different from other creatures. But watching you struggle despite such wounds, you’re no different from any other beast’s offspring.”

The lion sneered. Watching humans struggle was always good entertainment. Even after hundreds of brushes with death, humans never stop shifting between joy and sorrow. When they think they’re about to win, when hope reaches its peak, they realize they’ve hit rock bottom instead of reaching the sky! The lion snorted, opening and closing its jaw.

“Pitiful beings who, though mortal, always pursue immortality.”

The lion despised and pitied such humans. The lion lowered its head slightly to look into the eyes of the fallen Quenore. Humans facing imminent death showed one of two reactions: fear or some desperate wish. This human called Quenore was the latter.

“You think you’ll achieve immortality through death. Ignoring the fact that it’s a false hope, playing peek-a-boo. Don’t you find yourselves pathetic?”

The lion’s voice carried authority—the authority of one standing at the pinnacle of the battlefield. Past glory revived. The lion took a deep breath. The smell of death was thick. The scent of the dead had accumulated to form a delta. The lion stood at the estuary where all paths led, greedily inhaling death. Even heroes die. Humans still didn’t understand that well.

“Do you feel shock? Do you feel terror?”

The human soldiers were trembling. The lion relished that trembling. Fear and anger. But anger was rare. Humans who tried to charge at the lion with spears and shouts were overwhelmed by other monsters before reaching its feet.

“This is what it means to be human. No matter how you struggle or try to escape, this is your fate.”

Quenore raised his head. He still had mana left. His limbs hadn’t been severed. The lion exuded a presence similar to a giant, but it was not a giant. Had his will to fight been broken? Quenore asked himself.

No.

Even if his limbs fell off one by one, even if his mana was depleted, he could still fight. Quenore came to this conclusion and widened his eyes. That lion wouldn’t tear out his throat until it had completely broken him. So, he had to fight until he broke. He needed to imprint that his death would be his breaking point.

“How foolish.”

In response to the lion’s words, Quenore answered by raising his sword again. The pain wasn’t confined to his chest. The sharp slash left by the lion’s claws originated in his chest but sent pain throughout his body, as if tearing every extremity to shreds. The hand gripping the sword hilt felt numb. His legs felt unnecessarily heavy as he took a step forward.

“My attacks don’t stop at the surface. You can tell by the pain spreading through your body.”

Not only swinging the sword, but even breathing was restricted. And the pulsing of magic that had to be drawn with each breath was even more painful. It felt like needles traveling through his blood vessels. Blood vessels appeared in Quenore’s eyes. His body was no longer his own, but belonged to pain.

“If you still wish to fight, I’ll gladly oblige.”

He moved feet that wouldn’t move. He raised arms that wouldn’t rise. And so Quenore lunged again toward the Hero Slayer.

BOOM-!!

The sword fell like lightning, cutting through the sound. It was an unbelievable movement for someone with pain spreading through his body. Rather than slowing down, his movements had become faster than before he was injured. The lion’s eyes gleamed and its mouth opened. Its greedy teeth glistened with hungry saliva.

“Yes! You must keep coming at me. Thinking it’s not yet your time to die, you must constantly challenge me. Only then will my satisfaction increase when I subdue you and end your life.”

The lion’s voice echoed as loudly as a roar.

“Come. And allow me to bestow upon you the greatest despair.”

Again, the left shoulder. Quenore’s sword was targeting the same spot for the third time, and each swing was getting faster. This time, the lion deflected the attack by twisting to the right. Then, it swung its front paw toward Quenore’s head. Quenore avoided the lion’s attack with precarious movements.

“Have you decided defense won’t work?”

True to those words, Quenore had abandoned defense and was focusing solely on attack like a fierce gale. It wasn’t necessarily the wrong choice. With his body in tatters, taking a defensive stance would only result in being beaten to near-death without landing a proper defense.

“I suppose that’s a somewhat wise decision, but…”

Before Quenore’s sword could get on track, the lion’s movement intervened. A negated sword strike cannot be recovered. Quenore’s body was sent flying after being rammed.

“What use is all this if your sword cannot reach me?”

Quenore’s body collapsed, unable to land properly. He knelt on one knee, using his sword as a support. The lion waited until Quenore raised his body again. Not much time left. In a few more attacks, another hero would fall at its feet.

“Answer me, hero of the current era.”

His insides were churning. The pain was becoming clearer. The bleeding wouldn’t stop. Quenore exhaled with difficulty and lowered his sword. A way to win. A way for humans to kill and overcome immortal beings. Quenore readjusted his grip on the holy sword’s hilt. A sword once wielded by a warrior. What kind of will did Ilroy have when he brought down the immortal? With what certainty did he charge alone toward that massive immortal and destruction?

“Ilroy, tell me.”

Quenore muttered to himself. A way to make the sword reach where it cannot reach. A way for humans to kill gods.

“How could you become hope? What light did you see in despair?”

The muttered words raised the sword. The lion raised its front paw. His vision… The sky was blocked by the lion’s paw. The sky moved. Space distorted, and impact came. Did he deflect the shock, or was his sense dulled by other thoughts? Quenore’s breathing remained steady despite being thrown to the ground.

What can I, what can we who must face death, do?

Quenore moved. The forced movement resulted in sluggish motion. The lion watched the approaching Quenore without doing anything, as if amused. Heavy footsteps. A sword without any power or will. To the lion, it was more harmless than a passing breeze.

Swish.

Quenore raised his sword, and a faint aura formed on the holy sword’s blade. The lion quietly looked at the sword’s tip. It’s skin that no blade could penetrate. Even a sword with such a faint aura could be broken in reverse.

Hmm.

And then, the golden eyes of the lion watching the falling sword wavered. Strength entered the lion’s front and hind legs, and instinct moved the lion. That must not hit. The lion’s instinct was telling it so. A line of death was dancing before its eyes.

Death.

That word suddenly flashed through the immortal lion’s mind. The lion leaped backward on all fours. And over the spot where the lion had jumped, Quenore’s sword fell like divine punishment, slowly but surely.

Thud.

The movement of a powerless arm dropped the sword to the ground. No change had occurred. Space didn’t shake. The air still flowed, and the ground wasn’t destroyed, nor was a wave of energy released. That’s what made this attack more deadly than anything. All the lion could feel from that strike was clear death.

“I guess I didn’t live for thousands of years without moving like a worm for nothing.”

Cold sweat flowed through the lion’s mane. A chilling sensation swept over it. The lion was defining this emotion and sensation it felt for the first time as fear. Fear? Itself?

“I perceive my death more clearly than anything else.”

It’s weak. The wounds layered on wounds should be taking the enemy’s life even now. It should be the human approaching death, not itself!

“You’re bluffing. You’re just a dying piece of meat.”

The lion had to deny its emotions and thoughts. The moment it acknowledged them, immortality would be defeated. Because immortality is whole, it’s sensitive to change and can easily be disrupted. Especially if that change touches immortality itself. The myth wavers and dignity is stripped away. From the moment it acknowledges the possibility of not being immortal, that is, the possibility of death, this fight transforms into a human mud fight. It becomes an equal relationship where one must throw away one’s life to save it.

And in a fight where life is thrown away, the immortal can never defeat the mortal.

“There’s no safety line now, lion.”

A sentence fell from Quenore’s lips. There’s no hierarchy. No line of death drawn. Both are now placed on the single path of life, not death. They must cut and slice each other’s paths and tell the other to fall off the cliff.

“Put your life on the line.”

“…Impudent!”

The lion charged forward with a shout. Quenore looked at the approaching lion. The lion’s eyes were no longer those looking at prey. They were eyes looking at an equal opponent, an enemy to fight. Or eyes looking at a clear threat to itself. That fact was making Quenore’s sword even more calm.

“I’ll shut that mouth of yours!”

The lion didn’t forcibly avoid the sword. Regardless, Quenore simply swung his sword.

Blood gushed forth.

Not Quenore’s.

The lion’s face was filled with shock, followed by a distortion wrapped in pain. The skin that no blade could penetrate was pierced by the sword. A terrible roar burst from the lion’s throat.

“Your scream is ugly, lion.”

Quenore turned to face the lion.

“Stand up.”

The lion lost human speech. The flowing blood was a falling divinity. The lion, now reduced to nothing more than a large, strong monster, roared and charged at Quenore again.

Again, the left shoulder.

Quenore’s sword was not blocked. One of the lion’s front paws was cut off.

Again, and again.

The lion’s blood soaked the ground like a downpour. On Quenore’s sword path, the lion smelled the approaching scent of death. That scent, which it had felt belonged to others, was now emanating from its own severed body.

“Their… resurrection…”

Before the lion could finish those words, Quenore’s sword sliced through its neck. Quenore looked at the collapsing mythical body before turning away. The battle wasn’t over. He was still needed on the battlefield.

“Grand Duke!!”

Monsters were swarming. Quenore raised his sword. Still, the sea of monsters hadn’t disappeared. Soldiers were dying.

And there was still no sign of the warrior coming.