Ch.193Chapter 193: The Burner (1)

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This joke is going too far.

As I stared at another version of myself in black iron armor, who had stopped in his tracks and was now looking at me blankly, the predominant emotion I felt was the displeasure I just expressed.

To put it simply, it was the displeasure of seeing a fake appear before the real thing, yet being so identical that it offended the genuine article.

The figure before me perfectly embodied my appearance from that time I remembered.

The pitch-black armor covering his entire body was identical to the special metal called Black Emotion Iron (黑情鐵) that I wore during my time as the Demon God’s Agent, made from condensed twisted divinity, without the slightest discrepancy.

Even the murky gleam rippling across the Black Emotion Iron armor’s surface was exactly as I remembered.

Moreover, the sound of metal plates clinking together with each step he took was so vividly familiar to my ears, and if that wasn’t enough…

“Move aside before I burn you to ashes.”

[…Even with the helmet making your voice echo, that’s completely your voice, isn’t it?]

Each time he mechanically repeated those words threatening to burn me upon recognizing me, Fafnir expressed subtle surprise at how identical the voice was to mine.

All of this was far too realistic for a mere imposter trying to take the place of the real me who was clearly standing right here.

Except for the deeply disappointing(?) fact that he couldn’t recognize me despite wearing the appearance of my darkest period—even though I had changed due to different choices, my essence remained the same.

He seemed dedicated to his role, to the point where I wondered if his purpose was simply to make me uncomfortable.

That alone was enough to make my displeasure soar to the heavens.

And on top of that…

“Seeing how you can’t understand my words, it seems your ears remain only as vestigial organs, inferior creature. Rejoice, for I shall grant you the most realistic salvation—death itself.”

…

It was maddening to hear such blatantly shameless and cringe-worthy statements that made my internal organs twist just from listening.

No, not just my current self.

Even the malice implanted by Desire, which had taken over my body when I first became the Agent and committed atrocities at will, had never so shamelessly uttered such words.

Who does this fake think he is, casually spouting such nonsense?

I wanted nothing more than to cut this imposter in half with the dragon sword at my waist—this fake who spoke with an elegant brutality I didn’t remember and uttered words that embarrassed anyone who heard them.

But the calm voice that had advised me to acknowledge and accept what I was seeing still echoed in my mind.

“…Tsk.”

I withdrew my right hand from the dragon sword I was about to draw.

I stepped back several paces, increasing the distance between us.

Judging by how I displayed movement much faster than I had expected,

I realized that my body, enhanced by the battle aura activated through Fricasa to test the newly acquired Dragon Heart’s performance, was showing effects beyond what I had anticipated.

Hmm, at least that’s one thing I genuinely like.

“What’s this? You were about to cut me down, but now you’re backing away because I said I’d kill you? What a pathetic creature. Well, I suppose I can at least appreciate your wisdom in recognizing the difference in our abilities and retreating.”

As soon as I created distance between us, the fake began his provocation with a sneering voice.

But I was already so impressed by the Dragon Heart’s mana refining power that his voice didn’t register clearly in my ears.

Talk all you want—no matter how many times you babble, you’re just a fake imitating me. Did I really look so easy that you thought I’d fall for your cheap provocations?

“Hmph.”

So when I directed a sneer toward the fake who seemed to be staring intently at me despite his face being hidden by the helmet, it perfectly conveyed my thoughts.

“Hmm!!”

The fake, who had not only failed to provoke me but had been counter-attacked in turn, cleared his throat forcefully and raised his right hand to stroke the chin part of his helmet while looking at me.

“Ha….”

I couldn’t help but draw in a sharp breath at the sight.

It was because the gesture was identical, without the slightest deviation, to the action I used to take to contain the anger that would rise when things didn’t go as planned after becoming a magical being.

I kept calling him a fake, but…

To think he could recreate even the smallest body movements so accurately that it surprised me watching him.

If not for the fact that he couldn’t recognize me, there would be no grounds to deny that this was me from my darkest period.

Anyway, I managed to avoid the mistake of attacking him in a moment of anger, but…

…what do I do next?

I shouldn’t attack him, and I need to acknowledge his existence to pass the trial according to that calm voice—which was starting to feel rather resentful.

What? It’s simple? Just acknowledge it?

Words are always easy.

But to face a being that so nakedly reveals the most wretched parts of oneself,

To endure the disgust rising from a corner of your heart while looking at it,

And to say something like, “Ah, I don’t want to admit it, but this is another version of me born from my foolishness”—like some actor on a noble theater stage expressing anguish—that’s an entirely different matter.

Hmm, just imagining it makes me feel like my tongue is splitting in half and tying itself in knots.

I don’t dare attempt it.

Besides, I doubt that forcing myself to acknowledge him while pushing aside this instinctive rejection would be enough.

Unless the words come from deep within my heart truly accepting this fact, it probably wouldn’t go over well.

Sigh… the more I think about it, the more daunting this condition seems.

Since I have to pass this trial anyway,

Just as I was about to continue pondering after realizing how challenging the conditions were,

[Young one, be careful!]

At Fafnir’s urgent voice echoing in my head, I hastily moved my body backward.

Swish-!!

As the sharp sound of cutting air carved into my ears,

“…Tch.”

I clicked my tongue as I felt a faint scratch that was about to form on my right cheek regenerate and disappear, then turned my gaze back to where he would be.

Clank-!!

With the clamorous sound of metal plates colliding, the fake had already drawn his sword and was pointing it at me.

“But even if I don’t burn you to death, you’re at least worth killing with my sword, right?”

As he muttered to himself in a voice chillingly identical to mine,

Woong-!!

I could see twisted divinity, nauseating just to look at, coiling around the sword in his hand.

“Haa….”

I let out another faint sigh.

There were two reasons.

Burn to death, or if not that, stab vital points with a sword to kill.

The first reason was the absurdity of watching him faithfully reproduce the execution methods I had used to eliminate obstacles after becoming the Demon God’s Agent.

And the second reason was my perplexity at seeing that even the sword in his right hand, serving as a vessel for twisted divinity,

Was identical to the one wielded by my past self during my darkest period.

Though forced upon me, it was a fine sword directly bestowed by the Demon God when I became his Agent.

Its name was… Devastator, wasn’t it?

I could only vaguely remember its name since I had treated it as merely a tool.

But as a sword, its power was that of a demonic weapon rivaling the holy sword, Lumen.

It grew sharper with each drink of blood from those who lost their lives to the blade.

In extreme cases, it grew by binding the souls of its victims to the sword.

It could rightfully be called a demonic sword in contrast to holy swords.

Judging by how authentic this fake appeared,

I didn’t think I needed to contemplate what would happen if I were stabbed by that sword now fiercely emitting twisted divinity.

This trial—the more I thought about it, the more I felt I’d gotten stuck with something troublesome enough to make the first trial I experienced seem reasonable in comparison.

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And so, from the moment after he declared he would execute me,

What I did was the epitome of simplicity.

Swish-!! Swish-swish-swish-!!

While watching him swing and thrust with swordsmanship that perfectly recreated what I had used back then, enough to make me nostalgic, I simply dodged his fierce attacks here and there.

All the while, I continued to ponder how I could sincerely acknowledge this guy as my past self.

I didn’t launch any offensive to neutralize him, or even attempt passive counterattacks in response to his attacks.

It might sound rather amusing in the current situation, but

Despite the sharpness of this fake’s swordplay as he wielded his blade with concise, wasteless movements targeting my vital points,

It wasn’t difficult to face him, as I could dodge it all without any trouble.

Though he must have been furious seeing me dodge left and right without counterattacking,

“Persistent one, aren’t you? But the greater the struggle, the greater the thrill when you fall.”

I didn’t feel any particular emotion even hearing the fake’s voice, which only expressed his determination to finish me off.

To the extent that I felt no sense of life-threatening danger from this fake’s attacks.

Strange—I was aware that I had grown considerably stronger thanks to my training and the recently acquired Dragon Heart.

But even so, could I really be at a level that overwhelms the power I had as the Demon God’s Agent? Though that strength wasn’t obtained through my own complete efforts, its magnitude was undeniably real.

Suddenly finding this incomprehensible, I began to wonder if this fake might just be all appearance with no real skill.

“Hyaaah!!”

But as I felt the blade energy rising from the fake’s demonic sword barely graze my cheek after his fierce battle cry,

‘No, that’s not it.’

I realized again that it wasn’t that he was weak.

At the same time, I recognized that I had become unreasonably strong to withstand such fierce attacks without a single wound.

His deliberate swordplay couldn’t capture my movements and merely cut through empty air.

The strength was the same, but the difference was:

Compared to back then, when I became strong by receiving power bestowed by a transcendent being with overwhelming strength who used me as a tool,

Now, although I had borrowed power from a few extraordinary sources, my strength was achieved purely through my own efforts.

The fake, who had been trying to maintain his composure, seemed unable to control his emotions after this attack missed.

“Kuuugh…!!”

He let out a groan filled with intense emotion.

“Huu… Huu….”

With my heightened senses, I could also confirm that his breathing was becoming irregular.

Seeing this, I sensed an opportunity approaching.

I felt the need to neutralize this fake who kept swinging his sword at me relentlessly, to bring him to a place of dialogue in order to pass this trial that was easy to hear but difficult to accomplish—the trial of acknowledgment.

I considered it an opportunity upon seeing him gradually becoming exhausted.

His movements, dulled by fatigue, would expose weaknesses unlike before.

And exploiting those weaknesses to achieve victory would be the way to win without drawing my sword.

Having organized my thoughts, I raised my right hand toward him as he paused his offensive to catch his breath and prepare for the next attack.

Wiggle wiggle

I made a gesture wiggling my entire palm to provoke him.

It was an action taken to instill passion in him and induce reckless movement when he would otherwise not move until he had caught his breath.

One might be skeptical about the effectiveness of such a cheap provocation.

But I knew well what kind of entity he was—my past self and the malice dwelling within him.

Unlike the dignified appearance he tried to maintain by speaking in a solemn voice each time he opened his mouth,

“Kyaaaah!!!”

In reality, he was an incomplete being who would lose his reason and repeat impulsive movements even with such light provocation.

Matching his movements, which were full of openings due to his hasty action, I swung the dragon sword still in its scabbard from my waist.

Clang-!!

With the crisp sound of power colliding with power reaching my ears,

Thud-!!

I could see the Devastator in his hand being struck by my single blow, its blade embedding into the ground.

Perhaps he felt bewilderment at seeing me so easily deflect a demonic sword imbued with twisted divinity, even if it was a blow delivered in passion without consideration?

The guy who had been silently busy delivering the next blow each time an attack failed didn’t even think about picking up the fallen demonic sword.

“…What are you, exactly?”

He just looked at me with a voice filled with confusion.

Sensing that the time had come, I returned the dragon sword I had drawn with its scabbard back to my waist.

Ignoring his bewildered gaze, I instantly closed the gap between us.

Then, as he looked at me in confusion, I gently extended my right hand and said:

“Let’s talk.”

It was an action taken because I thought dialogue with this dark aspect of myself that I was encountering for the first time was important, regardless of acknowledgment or anything else.