Chapter 126: Mutual Destruction (?)

–: Damn, this idea’s fire as hell?

–: OP, are you maybe a pro gamer?

–: Am I the only one who finds this tone annoying as hell?

–: Just slap “man” at the end of every line ffs, man

–: But seriously, what skill ruins your life just by learning it?

–[OP]: “Forbidden Necromancy” on standby lolol

–: LMAOOO

–: Yo Face Thief, you got possessed by Satan or something?

Face Thief: Yup lol

–: Possessed mukbang streamer from hell lmao

–[OP]: ?

–[OP]: What the hell is this guy

–[OP]: He’s actually controlling it?

–: From “Forbidden Necromancy” to “Mutually Agreed Necromancy” lmao

–: Looks like you had a peaceful sit-down with the tenant, huh?

–: Ah yes, conversation, the sacred key to all conflict resolution

–[OP]: No seriously, what the actual f—

–[OP]: Why do the skills keep succeeding?

–[OP]: Where’s the 50% chance (feels more like 99%) of getting possessed by the spirit, huh?

–: You think the constitution of the Faceless One is just some amateur?

–: For real lol. He just looks at a skill once and snatches it. Like some skill side-effect is gonna stop that?

–: The constitution of the Faceless One = basically a cheat. Once he steals a skill, he masters it instantly. He can even see “the true face” of a skill you’ve never glimpsed.

–: Face Thief: “Yo skill’s original owner, you watching this? lol”

–: Skill: “I’m sorry, oppa… I just can’t resist him…”

–: Bruh not the oppa drama

–: Incest arc just dropped wtf

–[OP]: Weren’t y’all just saying this idea was god-tier?

–: Just because it slaps doesn’t mean it works – Kim Bu-pyeong

–: Who tf is Kim Bu-pyeong?

–: Me – Kim Bu-pyeong

–: Damn Bu-pyeong-hyung’s spittin’ – LeBron James

–: Wait are you really LeBron?? – Kim Bu-pyeong

–[OP]: Screw it, I’m just gonna kill everyone

The Face Thief believed in his own power.

More precisely, he believed in the power of the constitution of the Faceless One, which had become his own.

His unshakable confidence had been slightly cracked by his encounter with the anomaly known as Risir, but the belief remained strong.

After all, hadn’t he already shrugged off even the terrifying will of the Cursed Sword?

Given enough time, he could fully control that that will, and eventually master the sword itself.

The Face Thief dared not define the limits of his power.

Risir.

He did not believe that Risir stood above his mimicry.

The unknown enhancement technique Risir had used, If he could wield it, then so could he with the constitution of the Faceless One.

Even if, like the Cursed Sword, that power came with ominous side effects?

It didn’t matter.

He had grown stronger by stealing the faces of the Knight Order commander and deputy commander.

This time, there would be no anomalies.

Balanced between cold calculation and excitement, the Face Thief was sure.

And that certainty—

Betrayed him.

“Cough!!”

The power he stole, that enhancement technique, began devouring his mana like a dry sponge sucking up water.

Then it started operating in unnatural ways.

The Face Thief was horrified as he grasped the true nature of the enhancement technique.

What kind of lunatic…!

He had believed Risir’s power was derived from some external source.

That was the most common, most realistic way to achieve such strength.

But he was wrong.

The power came from making one’s own mana go berserk.

A method so extreme it bordered on brilliance.

Because really, the most accurate word for this kind of mana control wasn’t “enhancement technique.”

It was self-destruction technique.

Who the hell would try to break their limits by self-destructing?

And it wasn’t even just a normal self-destruct.

It was full-power self-destruction.

A technique where you sprint toward ruin with everything you’ve got.

He triggers a resonance to make his mana go wild, and uses the Blue Breath to seal and control that runaway power—

He overcomes the limitations of magic and sword technique by making them interact.

Theoretically, it was an ideal ability.

The problem was turning that theory into reality.

Even now, he worked furiously to contain the chaos.

It switched back and forth between mimicking magic and sword technique, trying to control the side effects.

But it wasn’t enough.

It was akin to trying to plug leaks in a sinking boat with only one hand.

Focus too much on resonance, and his body couldn’t endure the berserk mana, and it began collapsing.

Focus too much on Blue Breath, and the mana went out of control.

The Face Thief frantically tried to manage both, mimicking magic and sword technique in tandem.

That feat alone surpassed even Swordmasters and Archmages, it was control in its truest form.

Thump!

Thump!

And he couldn’t control it.

Because the core of this enhancement technique wasn’t just switching between magic and sword technique.

It was performing both at the same time.

The Face Thief understood now, this wasn’t “almost impossible.”

It was impossible.

And that was when the Face Thief realized the truth behind the ability.

And Risir’s intent.

Unlike him, who only mimicked it, Risir understood its essence.

He knew it would lead to ruin.

In short—

He lured me into mutual destruction—?!

The sheer insanity and ruthlessness of it made the Face Thief reel.

And then, he laughed bitterly.

Of course.

You damn fool, I’m not like you!!!

Right now, Risir’s body should be falling apart under the weight of the side effects.

But not him.

His power continued functioning without pause, struggling to conquer the ability.

Out of that struggle, a solution would emerge.

The one who dies will be you, not me!

He would end the humiliation that began with the Cursed Sword.

The Face Thief turned to look at Risir with a victorious grin …only to see him wrapped in Tua’s arms, supposedly on the verge of death.

…Huh?

And then, that same Risir calmly regained color in his face.

Stood up,  And met his eyes as if nothing had happened.

Did he… have a method to resolve the worst-case outcome too?

No.

This wasn’t some “lesser evil” kind of fix.

It was like he’d woken from a deep sleep.

No, more like he had been reborn.

It was the best condition possible.

He had completely shaken off the effects of “mutual destruction.”

“…What the hell… Kugh—!”

The Face Thief couldn’t help but scream.

His concentration wavered, and so did his recovery.

Drip.

From every orifice in his face, the bleeding restarted, this time even worse.

He had just barely escaped catastrophe, and now, it returned with a vengeance.

The Face Thief didn’t care anymore.

He had already lost his mind.

“So that’s it!!! You planned this from the beginning, didn’t you?! You were trying to trap me!!! Who sent you?! The Church?! The Black Hand?! Just now, what the hell did you use?! Some sacred relic of theirs?!”

“No! Sometimes I just do things!!!”

“SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH!!!”

His eyes soaked in blood, his mouth trailing sticky strands of saliva and gore.

Nothing else mattered now.

He just wanted to kill that bastard.

The power responded to his madness.

It stopped trying to suppress the self-destruction process.

The Face Thief surrendered himself to the high of annihilation.

And the collapse accelerated.

His teeth and nails fell out, his skin tore and cracked.

It was fine.

Because what he gained in return, was the power to surpass all limits.

The shape of the “Risir mimic” fell apart.

His entire body churned like it was boiling from within, muscles expanding.

Boom!

The Face Thief stepped forward.

There was nothing left of the aristocratic swordsman he had mimicked.

What remained was a grotesque giant.

No—he had become a lump of flesh with a will of its own.

A mountain of muscle and meat with limbs.

The constitution of the Faceless One had fully devoured him.

–AAAAAAAGHHHHH!!!

It roared.

The voice held the cries of a child, a youth, an adult, an elder—

As if all humanity had been stuffed into a mold and wrung dry.

Risir’s expression twisted.

Because inside that roar, he heard the voice of the wandering swordswoman Brienne.

Tua and Magnus reacted the same way.

Because within that roar, they could hear the voices of the Hero Party—

The monstrous thing hurled its massive body toward Risir’s group.

Its arm, thick as a tree trunk, swung down like a war hammer.

It was as if an explosion had gone off.

Dust billowed into the air.

A crater formed where its arm struck.

A blow of brute force, overwhelming, but slow.

Risir’s group spread out in unison and evaded the strike with ease.

Then they counterattacked.

The cunning genius who once stole every skill on the spot was gone.

Now ruled by emotion, his ego devoured by the very power that made him so strong.

He had become nothing more than a bloated mass of flesh and mana.

Compared to the Face Thief, it was almost easy to deal with.

Thwack!

Thwack!

Of course, being simple didn’t mean it was easy.

“What the—?!”

Tua and Magnus, having driven their blades into its side, grimaced.

Its body, forged of mana and muscle, was tougher than they had imagined.

“GRAAAAHHHH!!!”

It roared and thrashed, like swatting away bothersome insects.

To think that an all-out, lethal strike would be dismissed as a mere bug bite.

Tua and Magnus felt less humiliated than just… at a loss.

“Magnus!”

The commander and deputy commander of the Knight Order exchanged glances and shook their heads.

No more wasted effort.

Their first strike told them all they needed to know.

Defeating this monster with their strength alone was impossible.

“What in the world—”

“Commander?!”

“Risir!!! What the hell is—?!”

In that sense, maybe it was a blessing in disguise.

The thunderous noise of the monster’s rampage stirred a commotion, drawing others to the scene.

Guards from the Goose estate.

Guests staying at the estate and their escorts.

Other Knight Order personnel.

In no time, they had enough people to call it an army.

“Keep your distance and attack from afar!!!”

Most of them were experienced, so they quickly took up optimal positions.

A barrage of spells, arrows, and other attacks rained down on the monster.

It absorbed every strike without flinching.

It didn’t even react.

Not a single roar like the one it let out when attacking Risir’s group.

That thing was a creature born of hatred, hatred toward Risir’s group and them alone.

It ignored everything else.

And it possessed the power to justify that disregard.

“What even is that thing…?”

People watching from a distance could only stare in disbelief.

How were they supposed to stop something like that?

For those directly targeted by it, the frustration was immeasurable.

“Risir!!!”

Tua shouted urgently.

“Do you have any way to bring it down?!”

At this point, their only hope was Risir’s “anyway bag.”

Tua prayed that this time too, something—anything—would come out of it to solve the situation.

“…Sword Force!”

Risir shouted after a moment’s thought.

“Sword Force might actually hurt that thing, right?!”

At Risir’s words, Tua and Magnus gave bitter smiles.

“Yeah, it should!”

Sword Force, a blade forged through will.

In essence, it was an application of the 7th tier technique “Ideation.”

As 7th tier experts, Tua and Magnus were fully versed in the technique.

“In that case—”

“But we can’t wield Sword Force in real combat yet!”

Despite their knowledge, they couldn’t yet use Sword Force reliably in battle.

It required explosive output.

Unbreakable focus.

The qualities needed to wield it couldn’t be gained just by mastering the theory.

Tua and Magnus didn’t feel particularly ashamed of this.

Sword Force wasn’t called the mark of Swordmasters for nothing.

It was a skill only those in the latter half of the 7th tier could begin to imitate, and only at the start of the 8th could it be used in real combat.

“So, then, is there no other way?!”

“No. Let’s go with Sword Force.”

“…Didn’t you hear me?!”

“I can use it, at least partially!”

“…?”

“…?”

Tua and Magnus stared at Risir in disbelief.

He stood there, calmly bleeding from every orifice in his face.

“…Really now!!! That’s perfect!!!”

“…W-What?”

“It means we’ll cover you so you can get in close!”

They conversed while dodging the monster’s attacks.

It was a bizarrely casual exchange, but it couldn’t last forever.

They were slowly being driven back against the estate’s walls.

If they shifted direction, they’d end up luring the monster toward the civilians.

It was time to end this.

“Commander!!!”

“Don’t come any closer!”

Tua barked at the Knight Order trying to rush in.

“Kh…! Do we have any way to stop that thing?!”

“We’ll use Sword Force!”

“Sword Force…!?”

The troops gazed at Tua in awe.

“Yes, My Lady! We’ll cover you!”

“Not me, cover Risir!”

“…?”

“Risir will be the one striking it with Sword Force!”

“…???”

“Risir! Ready?!”

“Yes! I’m in peak condition!”

“….”

“….”

Tua and Magnus exchanged a glance, then turned away from the blood-soaked, “perfectly fine” Risir.

They abandoned their defensive formation and charged the monster head-on.

Vwoom!

The creature swung at Tua with all its might.

Tua evaded it, but the swing’s force distorted the air itself.

The resulting shockwave slammed into her.

“Urgh!”

She barely kept her balance and plunged her sword into the monster’s exposed side with a shout, literally putting her life into it.

At the same time, Magnus charged in from the opposite side and slashed with full strength at the monster’s pinky toe.

A crack formed across the dense mass of flesh.

“RAAAAAAH!!!”

This time, the roar was unmistakably a scream.

The monster thrashed like an angry child, arms flailing.

The motion looked ridiculous, but its power was anything but.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

Amid the terrifying sound of the air being ripped apart, there was a dull thud.

Just a graze.

Its arm merely brushed them, yet Tua and Magnus were hurled like ragdoll, smashed against a wall and sent tumbling.

It stomped and howled.

Then its eyes locked on the now-exposed Tua and Magnus.

It wouldn’t miss this chance.

Intent on finishing them off, it charged forward—

“Hey.”

That’s when it stopped cold.

The voice it hated most pierced through.

The source was close, right behind it.

It turned and swung its arm.

Its massive, log-thick fingers barely grazed Risir’s nose.

Yet even in that hair’s-breadth moment, Risir’s stance didn’t break.

He was crouched, sword drawn.

His eyes locked forward.

Right at its chest, wide open after that reckless swing.

Step.

His footsteps stood in stark contrast to the monster’s heavy tread.

Light.

Sharp.

And just like that, Risir closed the distance.

“!!!”

The bloodshot eyes of the monster glimmered with joy.

The hated little worm had come into range all on his own.

It raised both arms high and prepared to bring them down on Risir—

But his sword had already moved.

An upward slash that carried all the built-up momentum.

“Kugh!”

Risir vomited a mouthful of blood.

He was truly at his peak.

And yet, he coughed up blood just like before.

That was how much he poured into this single strike.

Breath Taker.

Enhanced by Risir’s all-or-nothing power boost.

For a moment, it looked like his sword had extended.

That was how clearly the Sword Force shimmered along the blade.

Craack.

The monster’s body split diagonally like a stone cracking apart.

And then, blood and pus gushed from the rift.

Huff—… Huff… Huh?

Risir caught his breath after the all-out strike.

He approached the Face Thief’s remains.

There, lay a lump of residue, about the size of a fist.

For a moment, silence fell over the battlefield.

“A mage… used Sword Force…”

A stunned mutter from one of the Knight Order broke it.

Sword Force.

The ultimate ideal and symbol for swordsmen.

And it hadn’t been wielded by their commander or deputy commander.

But by a mage, one from the Gray Mage Tower.

The swordsmen, including the Knight Order, couldn’t wrap their heads around it.

But soon, from behind them, cheers erupted.

From the merchants, who could only think to shout, “Wow!!!” at what they’d seen.

One particularly excited merchant turned to his escort and asked.

“You saw that, right?! That technique from Sir Risir!!!”

“…Of course I did.”

“Can you do it too? I mean, you’re a swordsman, aren’t you?”

“…”

The expressions of all the sword-bearing escorts darkened.

“Hmm? Ah—maybe it was magic, not sword technique? After all, Sir Risir is a mage, right?”

“…”

“…”

“…”

Every single swordsman wore the same expression: utterly crushed.