The Incarnate was smitten silly by all that Alabas said, but also all the pieces that seemed to come together.
It wasn’t really a surprise to him that once he entered the darkness, he couldn’t leave. He doubted that the Valiant Subject’s Ward’s enchantment was capable of defying the sorcerous darkness to that extent.
What stunned him, however, was the fact that he might have been able to change this.
According to Alabas, Marar’bel cast the curse that allowed her sons to persist for many years on Alabas and told him that if he should escape this darkness someday, his children would be waiting for him, but she would long be dead.
This meant…
‘If I had destroyed the remaining source of Spirit Essence keeping this darkness up, things would have been different right now…’ he thought with dread.
That was why he wasn’t given more Incarnation Points in the last stage!
However, this was the least of the Incarnate’s worries. Possibly because of that blunder on his part…
“Only a short time remains before this light fades and my sanity disappears. I doubt I can achieve anything in that time nor can I meet anyone else. Honor me with combat before that time comes, traveller.”
The Demonling shuddered at these words.
“Combat?” he asked. His red skin turned to a shade of pink. Alabas sat up straight, his grasp on his sword much more vicious.
“Yes. One last bout,” he said. “Grant me the greatest honor of all if you can, in fact. Put an end to my misery. I sensed your angst towards my opinions. You think whatever trials you have had to endure as a warrior were borne on you by your King, do you not? I see things differently. If you win against me, perhaps that will assuage some of your wrath towards the wrongs you feel you were dealt, and as for me… I will finally rest.”
No.
Every instinct in the Incarnate’s body rejected this idea.
No.
No way!
If he faced off against Alabas he would surely die!
“Your Majesty!” he cried, but Alabas’ unusually coloured Spirit Essence exploded out like a bonfire around him.
“Arm yourself, traveller. I swear, if you are not vigilant, this will all be over in a breath.”
The hollow eyes of the King faced the Incarnate and he immediately realized that there was no backing out.
Alabas had made up his mind.
And even though it remained unsaid, Alabas must have thought they both stood to gain from this. If the Incarnate was trapped here, he would probably be driven to madness sooner or later. Surely, it was best for a warrior like him to die in combat.
But the Demonling didn’t think it was fair.
Even though Alabas clearly wanted to die, he was going to fight seriously or at least somewhat seriously.
He wanted to maintain his dignity as a King and as a warrior even now.
But was he sure he had the right opponent?
The Demonling gazed upon Alabas, Flying Reaper Sword.
‘I was happy to die by his hands, right? And for him, if he kills me, perhaps he will feel a little relief for what he believes was the fault of his soldiers,’ he thought while struggling to not crumble under Alabas’ towering, ebony Spirit Essence twenty meters away.
“As you wish,” he said and took a deep breath.
His own silvery Spirit Essence outlined his body crudely as he summoned it.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
He felt every inch of his body tense up with immense focus.
This feeling was rather familiar to the Incarnate.
When death was assured, a skilled combatant – if they managed to rein in their wits – would always enter a state of heightened focus, of inhuman concentration.
This bout was sure to end in mere moments, but the Incarnate wasn’t going to die foolishly like last time. He might as well glare at death so that it did not dub him a coward in the afterlife.
The Incarnate thought to pick up the Valiant Subject’s Ward, but he knew it wasn’t going to do him any good here. Even if its second enchantment was activated, the Incarnate was sure its low grade couldn’t defend against powers like those he saw demonstrated on the stone steps leading to this castle.
Those fissures...
Even if he used Sundering Bunt, he knew Alabas was leagues more durable than Kadyas.
Thus, the Demonling summoned the Fickle Viper into his hand instead.
Alabas remained seated.
The Incarnate was sure he didn’t need to stand up to kill him anyway, so he wasn’t surprised.
The glowing perimeter which only ensnared Alabas and not him seemed to represent the power gap between them.
“Let’s begin,” Alabas said.
…And a deafening silence ensued.
The Incarnate held his breath.
With each second that passed, he felt the inevitability of Alabas’ assault, and his instincts flared without end. His muscles tightened further than before until they felt like rocks. At a moment’s notice, however, if need be, they would become as flexible as whips.
The Fickle Viper was the Incarnate’s only chance at a win, and it required both flexible thought and dexterous hands.
The Incarnate’s legs spread apart.
If by some miracle he was able to dodge whatever attack was coming, he needed to maximise his chances of dodging more of them.
His skin itched and burned.
‘It will be over in a breath. It will be over in breath,’ the Incarnate told himself as his eyes widened, seeking to take in every micro-motion in sight.
‘It will be over in a breath. It will be over in breath.’
A bead of sweat dropped from his temple to his lips.
‘It will be over in a breath. It will be over in breath.’
A salty taste teased his tongue.
Alabas’ ebony Spirit Essence seemed to bellow out all the more. His hand which was on his sword’s hilt, twitched. Then, it happened.
The Incarnate’s skin seemed to blister in warning, and then in fractions of a second, he saw the perimeter of light around Alabas get heavily distorted.
Something had been set loose, but the Incarnate didn’t know what it was…until it dug into him; it was large, tall, heavy, and as it coursed through the air, it made a sharp, whistling noise akin to a blade leaving its sheath.
However, the Incarnate barely heard a sound. After all, the thing that attacked him was also exceedingly fast, faster than its entourage of sound.
Whatever it was plunged into the skin and bone across his face easily while also digging into his neck and chest at an angle.
The Incarnate’s hearts beat furiously in the sliver of time he felt all these sensations.
A tall, curved, invisible disembodied sword slash was making its way through his face, but he could also tell from his skin’s nagging liveliness that more followed behind the one.
After the current one diced his head, the rest would cut the rest of his miserable body!
…
It was true.
At death’s door, one could see their life flash before their eyes.
But this was only true because of how sharp one’s mind and senses became.
This was especially true for the Incarnate.
He had never known one could think and feel all sorts of sensations so vividly in less than the blink of an eye.
He had never known one’s brain would work wonders when in such a precarious situation. Or maybe he did. Yes, he did!
Perhaps this was why, when he felt sure that the first sword slash was less than an inch away from his brain, he willed the Hermetic Vault to open.
At once, the four invisible slashes that had been aimed at him vanished, transported to an unseen storage space!
However, the Incarnate wasn’t done.
Perhaps because his body was now accustomed to reacting at minuscule fragments of time, his free hand pointed towards Alabas right after the projectile slashes had been stored and…
SHIIIIIIIING!
From somewhere within the two-meter range around himself where he could store and expel items freely from his vault, an invisible sword slash exploded forth while whistling against the air.
It was fast.
It was sharp.
It was full of intent.
It flew through King Alabas and his throne before continuing into the darkness beyond him.
As the impact of whatever chaos the slash caused far off – noted by falling debris – the Incarnate staggered and fell to the floor, blood pouring from his face like a river!
He roared in agony and clutched his face, neck, and chest while panting heavily.
For a few moments, the Incarnate couldn’t see straight and the only thing he heard was the sputtering of blood from his wounds.
His senses soon stabilized, however, and with eyes swelling his tears, he looked up.
He saw Alabas… split cleanly from his head to his groin.
The black jade crown he wore fell to the floor, also sliced in half.
The King’s head turned to the Incarnate.
The Demonling’s eye constricted.
However, the worst he had been expecting did not come.
Instead, before the King split off as two lank portions of flesh and bone that were momentarily caught from dropping to the floor by the armrests of his throne, he spoke:
“Well done, traveller. You truly are brave and bold. One such as you… should not remain nameless.” He smiled and his split lips cracked. “Arlosse. That will be your name from now on, if your days aren’t numbered.”
The Incarnate’s eyes twitched at these words.
A name?
He hadn’t been sure what to feel, especially when King Alabas’ body opened up like a flower, but the golden tablet soon decided his mood.
[You have earned a name.]
[From this day forth, you shall be known as the Hollow Demonling Arlosse.]
[+10 to all physical attributes]
…