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That peace looked so very serene.

Despite the ragged body and the bright red one, there was not a trace of pain on that face. It was the face of a child who had fallen into a deep, comforting sleep, radiating such happiness.

That face.

That happy-looking face.

So starkly different from the ragged body and the trembling form tormented by pain, that face exuded an overwhelming sense of joy.

For Michisige, it approached with an incomprehensible sense of incongruity.

The discomfort that arose from that incongruity.

The unease that stemmed from that discomfort.

The resulting—

Fear.

Michisige’s face twisted in a grimace.

It was a face filled with deep lines and furrows, lips trembling and reshaping. The corners of his eyes drooped, and a sheen of agitation began to shimmer in his gaze.

It appeared as if he was a mix between laughing and crying, or perhaps wanting to cry but forcing himself to hold it back.

“What the hell is going on here—!”

They say that those steeped in peace can’t respond properly when faced with crisis.

Having trivialized the act of killing, and with his exceptional abilities rendering him free from real threats, when the time came for Michisige to wield that very power, he couldn’t reign in his heart. His thoughts became paralyzed, and his mind went blank, succumbing to instinct rather than rational judgment.

“Damn it! If only I had a sword!”

And so, all he could do was make excuses and avoid the situation.

Despite being unable to acknowledge his own fear, he was trapped in its grasp, merely thrashing around in a pathetic manner.

Thus, Michisige cried out in terror, shouted, and continued to shout.

And at the very end of that shouting, something caught his eye.

“That’s it! A sword!”

It was none other than the stone sword tightly clutched by the corpse of Ryosuke.

Its appearance seemed like something that should be displayed in a museum, but it was a sword perfectly usable.

With an edge sharp enough to butcher a calf without a hitch, it was a weapon whose ‘practicality’ had been proven when Ryosuke had wielded it to slash himself to death.

Having discovered the one item in the chaos he could rely on, he walked toward it without hesitation.

With a sword in hand, he could accomplish innumerable tasks.

He could unleash an attack more potent than the sword energy, transforming mana into explosive bursts. He could enhance the sword with his strength, creating an explosion. He could also swing the mana infused into a whip-like blade, slicing through the underground walls in one go, or spin the sword energy in a ring to shred anything he desired.

With a sword, all of this was possible.

Even if it was crudely fashioned from stone.

“If I have a sword, I can obliterate this damn magic!”

Magic was nothing but evil sorcery.

Though he could acknowledge the grotesque, unnatural power it held, it could never compare to the stability offered by martial arts. Since that power relied on using one’s own body as fuel, it could be difficult to confront; however, a well-trained mind and body should be more than capable of tearing it apart!

Michisige was confident.

With a sword in hand, he believed he could escape from this wicked ritual and slice apart the yokai performing the spell!

Years spent wielding the sword and the martial skills accumulated wouldn’t betray him!

Thus, he approached the corpse of the fallen Ryosuke with resolved strides.

“To say, the particles of a corpse form when a person dies.”

“It devours the insides, expands, bursts the belly, and spreads disease amongst the living.”

As he began to draw near, an unexpected phenomenon occurred with Ryosuke’s corpse.

The lifeless body of Ryosuke, now emaciated from blood loss, started to balloon up like a balloon.

With the pressure from his swelling body, Ryosuke’s eyes bulged out, and a muffled, choking sound slipped from his mouth. The once pale body of Ryosuke began to change color and decay at a rapid pace, and the leather that enveloped him stretched and thinned.

Seeing this, Michisige realized something was awry and recoiled in horror.

But unfortunately, he was in a sealed room.

A sealed room that offered no proper cover to hide.

Realizing this, Michisige summoned his mana, curling up on the floor.

At that moment, Ryosuke’s bulging body hit its limit.

Boom—!

What the necromancers referred to as the ‘Corpse Explosion Ritual’ erupted through Ryosuke’s form.

Ryosuke’s body shattered into pieces, scattering them everywhere, with the chunks of flesh becoming as lethal as heavy blunt weapons. Moreover, the bone fragments mixed in were sharp and sturdy, wielding power comparable to grenade shrapnel, some even embedding themselves in the stone walls.

This overwhelming explosion spread blood and flesh all over the underground space.

It was truly a terrifying force.

——

Beep—

“Ugh, ugh.”

Michisige shuddered from the massive noise ringing in his ears and the horrific sensation of pieces of flesh clinging to him.

But only for a moment.

He shook off his curled body, gathering his mana and brushing away the filth that clung to him, groaning in pain as he staggered to his feet.

“Whew. An explosion, huh.”

He murmured, covering one ear with his hand.

“Guess it wasn’t too powerful.”

Confirming that he bore no injuries, he let out a sigh of relief.

Contrary to the massive roar, the power of the magic that caused the corpse to explode wasn’t that strong.

Maybe for a capable person without proper training or defensive measures, it might have been an issue, but at least with his solid physique and the protection of his mana enveloping him, it couldn’t inflict any harm.

The chunks of flesh had crashed into him like tomatoes thrown during a tomato festival, providing as little impact as they could muster, and the sharp bone fragments failed to overcome his mana, smashing or falling to the ground instead.

“Phew.”

Beep—

Yet he couldn’t help his ears.

Sound is something you can’t block with mana unless you choose to.

Moreover, thanks to Ryosuke, whose presence had heightened all his senses, the disruption was even greater.

His enhanced hearing due to mana was fully exposed to the overwhelming sound, making it an enormous hammer and a monster’s roar that rattled his brain.

If he hadn’t been a warrior, he probably wouldn’t have merely been hearing ringing.

He might have fainted.

In that very curled position, having passed out.

Beep—

“Ugh.”

As the unexpected ringing struck again, Michisige scrunched his face.

A colossal sound surged to tear through his ears like it might shred his brain, and alongside it, his vision warped, swaying to and fro as his body wobbled slightly.

‘Something’s wrong with my ears.’

The enormous sound.

The problem arose when Ryosuke’s body exploded.

Thinking this, Michisige gazed at where Ryosuke had been.

‘That’s horrifying.’

In his blurred vision, all he could see were bloodstains making it difficult to even recognize their origin.

Blood was scattered on the ground akin to the aftermath of a bomb explosion, with fragments unknown whether they belonged to a calf or Ryosuke sprawled all around. To make matters worse, the wreckage of the once precious metal trays and basins lay shattered everywhere, as if they’d been caught up in the explosion.

And the sword was no exception.

The stone sword had also been caught in the blast, flung far away.

But the fortunate part was that the damage wasn’t too severe.

Though chips were missing, and the hilt dangled precariously, it still managed to retain the form of a sword.

‘Thank goodness it’s at least salvageable.’

Michisige thought as he approached the sword, grateful it hadn’t been completely destroyed.

Zzz—

Unable to look around due to the ringing in his ears and the dizzying vision, he focused solely on the sword lying on the ground, slowly making his way there.

And just as he had walked halfway toward it…

Swish.

Somebody in the distance picked up the sword.

“Huh?”

A white hand presumed to belong to a man.

A skirt-like outfit reaching down to the ankles.

On top of that, clean bare feet that felt totally out of place in that filthy underground space.

Beep—

Michisige, swaying on the brink of collapse, struggled to lift his gaze toward the figure who had retrieved the sword.

What came into view was a very youthful face.

He donned a garment that seemed to be something from the ancient West, with a thick rectangular fabric draped over his shoulders, long enough to drag on the ground, cleverly concealing the stone sword in his hand.

And the young man had wrapped his head in a peculiar cloth, reminiscent of the ancient turbans seen in history documentaries.

“You, are.”

Through gritted teeth, Michisige maintained his shaky focus and asked.

“Who are you?”

The young man smiled amidst the distortion in Michisige’s vision.

In the wavering space, his laughter appeared tinged with madness, but also bore a hint of the innocent smile of an angel descending to Earth.

“I am Joganes, Joganes Hiramoto Michisige.”

The young man spoke.

“The fifth sun has risen and set, the fifth moons have appeared and vanished. At last, the time has come.”

He said this with a calmness as if fulfilling his duty.

“You, you!”

Michisige realized then.

The young man before him was the mastermind behind this horrifying situation!

The very shaman conducting this wicked ritual!

“Youuuuu!”

With that, Michisige unleashed his rage and attempted to lunge at him.

But as if his insides were in tatters, he felt nauseous, something rising up that seemed intent on forcing its way out.

Moreover, his swirling vision intensified, making it feel as if he were caught in a tempest, and his body, which would normally follow his will, merely trembled uncontrollably.

Stagger.

Thud!

Crash!

Moreover, his legs lost strength, collapsing under him, and upon opening his mouth, he spewed forth a stream of blood that looked as if it might drown him.

“Joganes Hiramoto Michisige. I, Park Jinseong, have come as the rightful king to reclaim his place at the end of Sacrea. You shall meet your end as per law and order.”

Jinseong, looking down at the crumpled Michisige, smiled.

As if he couldn’t contain the joy of the festival’s conclusion.

 

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