Ch.194Life and Death (8)

Llewellyn’s miracle manifestation is to read the life of someone touched by the pulse and completely recreate that life.

Understanding and mastering it completely. It could be considered superior to mere copying abilities. He could fully acquire the skills and experiences they had built, and Llewellyn’s physical abilities were far superior.

The miracle transformation began by turning that pulse inward.

Reading his own soul to read and take the life of someone he killed with his own hands.

What’s more, what he could take wasn’t limited to just techniques.

Magic, contracts.

It didn’t matter what. He could imitate anything. Llewellyn’s divinity was the power that made it possible.

And as he held that power in his hands, Llewellyn knew that for a moment, he had made eye contact with the ‘Star’.

And even after making eye contact, it readily handed over its power.

Why on earth?

Why would it willingly bestow power upon someone who killed its favored one and then took and used that power?

Llewellyn couldn’t understand.

He only knew one thing.

Swoosh!

The purple-heated blade advanced. It cut through the arm that the God of Death had extended to block, and moved toward the neck.

Clang!

The God of Death responded in that brief moment. She pulled out the North Wind embedded in her shoulder and grabbed Lucilla’s wrist to block.

The extended blade couldn’t overcome the North Wind, and Llewellyn was thrown backward after taking a kick to the abdomen from an outstretched leg.

But it was only a temporary measure. Llewellyn and Lucilla knew that.

Llewellyn, floating in the air, came to an abrupt stop using anti-magic force as a foothold and closed the distance. The greatsword, transferred from his right hand to his left, flew in a wide arc.

The God of Death watched the incoming sword and felt the power and unfamiliar force imbued in that strike, engraving its trajectory in her eyes.

Beautiful but simple.

But sometimes the simplest things are the strongest. Like that divine rank.

Also, the simplest answer is usually the correct one. The God of Death stretched out her arm.

Slash!

The severed arm rose into the sky. It no longer moved. At the place where divinity was cut off, it glowed as if filaments were burning.

It was the power of a transcendent. The authority of a transcendent, otherwise called a ‘Star’.

It tore through the divinity wielded by the God of Death, digging in deeper. The arm was cut off, and the remaining power dug in even further.

The target was the neck. Decapitation in one strike.

If hit, death would follow. Without hesitation, the God of Death opened her mouth and bit down on the blade.

Her tongue burned off, and the power behind the sword tore through her lower jaw.

But thanks to that, the sword was momentarily caught between her teeth. Insufficient force to behead her.

While Llewellyn’s eye twitched, the God of Death knocked away the blade with her half-severed arm and moved.

She briefly extended her leg and kicked.

Using the force generated from kicking Llewellyn, she turned her body to push away Lucilla who was holding her from behind, and deflected each of the two short punches Lucilla threw next with her severed arm.

The gouged flesh regenerated.

A power symbolizing a different star with the same name.

The star forged from a nucleus was different from the ‘Star’ built with blasphemous knowledge.

In rank, it was below the ‘Star’. But its heat not only matched but overwhelmed it.

A momentary intense pain. The God of Death moved despite feeling pain through her scattered divinity.

Leaving her severed lower jaw behind, she ran forward. She twisted her body as if shaking off grasping hands, and kicked with the strength of her waist.

The siblings rushed in faster than the scattered blood droplets could reach the ground.

The God of Death looked at the siblings.

She did not take back what she had said.

There was no reason to, nor did she intend to.

There was no ill will. No hatred remained.

Because all of this was her fault. She moved for what she had to do.

Killing the new deity, killing his sister who was his lover, and even killing the God of Dreams to possibly find a means to resurrect life.

The small chance of success was no obstacle at all.

Rather, giving up because there was no possibility would accomplish nothing.

She struggled, resisted, and reached out to seize what she wanted.

Thud!

She kicked the head with her extended leg.

The melted bone tilted, and Lucilla, who had been kicked in the head, countered with a spin.

A side kick that carved out where the heart would be. Yet even after being hit, she remained unharmed. A sense of foreboding that made her hair stand on end in the moment she was about to roll on the ground.

She threw herself sideways to avoid it, rolling on the ground and getting covered in dust.

She thought it was undignified. But she didn’t care.

Survive here and now. Survive and achieve her goal. She moved with that single thought.

She had something she had to do.

But.

Slash!

In this world, there is nothing that can be accomplished by will, belief, and determination alone. The God of Death saw the sword strike that invaded her field of vision, cutting through her left shoulder and falling.

A sword strike dyed purple. A blue blade wrapped in red flames.

Thus, it was a sword strike burning with a color even darker than the darkness of the magical realm that surrounded them. Following the path of the sword, a long purple sword mark remained as her shoulder joint split and fell off.

A clean and clear wound. Normally she would have chosen regeneration, but something like regeneration wouldn’t work.

That sword strike was imbued with a dense power. Knowledge and power not belonging to this world, naturally decomposing divinity and devouring it greedily.

The God of Death instead leaped forward and moved her uncut arm and both legs.

Thud!

She rammed into the armor with her severed shoulder to push it away, then elbowed Lucilla who had rushed in from behind to grab her, and kicked her away.

As soon as distance was created, she tried to concentrate her divinity, but it wasn’t easy.

Lucilla and Llewellyn rushing in from front and back.

A fist shot at her. As she twisted her head to avoid it, her cheek was torn and blood flowed, and she blocked the following blade by thrusting forward her arm with the severed wrist.

Flesh was cut off and fell, and blood scattered.

The God of Death ironically felt death drawing ever closer.

Bit by bit, parts of her were being sliced away. She headbutted, and even her scalp was cut, her ear was severed, and a large part of the side of her face was cut away, exposing bone.

Her consciousness blurred, and as she agonized over whether all these actions had any meaning, the attacks coming toward her gradually decreased.

Only then did the God of Death look at Llewellyn.

His face was visible from part of the helmet that had been broken by her headbutt.

His motivation had fallen away and his anger had faded, causing the hand holding the sword to tremble.

His fragile heart was clearly revealed. A gap. The God of Death stepped forward and.

“How dare you.”

With an angry mutter from behind, her body stopped.

She saw the hand that had pierced her body spread open. Her spine was severed as it curved around, stopping her.

It would take only a moment to regenerate, but that moment was enough.

Llewellyn finally gritted his teeth, then turned his body greatly and swung Starmass.

Swoosh!

Her leg was cut off. The leg, severed just above the thigh, rolled on the ground, and the God of Death fell to the ground demonstratively.

A wound that would normally be more than enough to make one give up. But she struggled to rise, writhing her body that wouldn’t move easily.

She still hadn’t admitted defeat.

“…Give up.”

A voice that muttered as if unable to bear watching. The God of Death looked up at Llewellyn at the trembling voice.

There was no chance of winning from the beginning. The only advantage was that death did not exist.

Even that was a means that would eventually end after regenerating until her divinity was exhausted.

But she tried.

Because if she didn’t struggle, there would be no possibility of achieving her goal.

Because no matter how small, if she struggled, there would still be a slim chance.

So she still didn’t give up.

She moved her one remaining leg. She struggled to get up from a kneeling position.

She tried to use her right forearm as a support to stand up.

Llewellyn looked down at her with a pained expression.

Watching her, he unconsciously recalled when he first saw the Gods of Life and Death.

The same monstrous appearance he had seen then.

Only the eyes looking up at him were the same as then; in reality, her appearance was completely different.

Yet somehow, Llewellyn felt it was no different from when he first saw her.

At the same time, he recalled the face of another person.

The mage who chose death when his daughter died in his arms.

The Cannibal Baron, Beort Tomula.

She was the exact opposite of him.

Her precious one had died, and despite there being no hope, she continued to struggle desperately.

But somehow his face came to mind.

It wasn’t because they were so opposite.

For some reason, looking at the God of Death, Llewellyn thought she had ‘given up.’

Giving up wasn’t just about abandoning hope when there was none.

Repeating futile attempts despite having no hope was also a form of giving up. It was even worse in that it wasted opportunities in vain.

So Llewellyn hesitated.

Perhaps, now that it had come to this.

Could he somehow persuade her to join them?

With the God of Dreams and the Pantheon.

Yes, if he said they would help find a way to resurrect the God of Life together.

As his anger subsided, regret remained. Regret that he didn’t want to make her so miserable.

As the blade in Llewellyn’s hand trembled slightly, Lucilla stared at her brother and approached.

To take the sword from his hand and do it in his place.

Before being Llewellyn’s lover, she was his sister.

And sisters do the hard work for their brothers, and sometimes see harsh things.

She was willing to kill a god for her brother.

It was at a time when even the God of Dreams was too bewildered to say anything.

Llewellyn’s eyes met those of the God of Death.

The God of Death blinked while maintaining eye contact with Llewellyn.

She didn’t say anything or convey any meaning.

She just lowered her gaze from his to the ground.

Looking at the God of Death, Llewellyn felt she was like a prisoner awaiting death at the execution ground.

Could it be, from the beginning what she wanted was…

Llewellyn shook his head at his approaching sister and gripped the sword with both hands.

Swoosh!

Once again, a purple sword mark was painted across the land that was completely stained with darkness and curses.

And Llewellyn belatedly realized that Arba was wrong.

It wasn’t the Gods of Life and Death who expanded the magical realm, but the fact that a god had died.

The land where a god had died was slowly expanding.