Surprise froze the Demigod’s expression.
It was his right arm that had been severed.
Blood geysered from the stump, staining the earth below. The Demigod clapped his remaining hand over the wound, and the bleeding ceased instantly. He was likely using his powers to stem the flow.
He stared down at his fallen limb. As he watched, the severed arm vanished, only to be drawn back toward him by an invisible force. Grabbing the limb with his intact hand, he pressed the raw ends together.
In moments, the arm was reattached.
The Demigod opened and closed his fingers experimentally. There seemed to be no discomfort or lingering damage; even the nerves had been reconnected with pinpoint precision. It was a terrifying display of restorative power.
The Demigod descended to the ground. Near his feet lay the shattered remains of Grom. They drifted with a faint haze of Miasma, but showed no signs of movement.
"That final strike was magnificent," the Demigod said, his voice cold as he held out a hand.
Grom was subjected to an immediate Spatial Compression from above. Even the fragments that remained were ground into fine dust. Such thorough destruction rendered him completely incapacitated.
"……"
I focused on maintaining my composure. As long as I could replenish his Magic Power, Grom could be revived. He would not perish so easily. When it came to immortality, he was second to none even among the Undead. I could not afford to lose my cool here.
The Demigod glanced at the pulverized remains of my general, then turned his gaze toward me.
"As I thought, he was nothing special. Before my power, he was merely a fragile existence."
"He fulfilled his duty. He did more than enough," I retorted.
The Demigod exhaled, flexing his restored arm as if to mock me. Disdain and exasperation flickered in his murky eyes.
"Are you referring to the fact that he severed my arm? Or perhaps that he forced me to use a fraction of my ability? Either way, these are trivialities. They have no bearing on the final outcome."
He spoke in a chilling, detached tone. To him, Grom’s desperate struggle had been utterly meaningless.
I did not bother to argue. I hadn’t come here to trade words, and there was nothing to be gained by winning a debate. My only task was to ensure that Grom’s contribution was reflected in the final result. I kept my emotions in check, refusing to let them flare.
I drew the blade from its sheath and fell into a familiar stance. This was the same swordplay that had once slain a Demon King. In more recent days, it had cut down many a hero. The Keepsake Sword itself bore a heavy, indelible karma, and tonight, a new chapter would be added to its history.
The Demigod watched me, his expression turning dubious.
"A mere sword? If you intend to fight with such a thing, you are being conceited."
"It is not conceit. I will provide the proof of that right now."
I stepped forward. With my sword leveled, I made a quiet, measured approach. I did not rush; I kept my pace steady and my rhythm constant.
I had already grasped the general mechanics of the Demigod's fighting style. I had an inkling of how his ability functioned. Now, I simply watched for his opening. I wasn't being passive; rather, I was utilizing her swordplay—a style optimized for the counterattack.
Her technique was a masterpiece of Defense Arts developed from the fundamentals. She had crafted it with one goal in mind: never to sustain even the slightest injury. In the long war against the Demons, a single minor wound could be the difference between life and death. For those in the Hero Profession, it was an essential skill. Over time, she had sublimated that necessity into a refined, perfect form.
"……"
The Demigod observed me. He tried to project a sense of calm, but there was a subtle restlessness in his movements. He seemed bewildered by my approach; he likely expected me to charge headlong into his range.
He was clearly unaccustomed to true combat. He lacked absolute experience. While he had clearly undergone some level of training, it was a superficial, stopgap measure. His entire fighting style relied on his overwhelming ability.
Under normal circumstances, that wouldn't be a weakness. His power was so "cheat-like" that he could simply delete most opponents regardless of their skill. It was a strength capable of overturning any disadvantage and seizing victory through sheer force.
However, that only holds true if your opponent is not your equal.
The Demigod’s arm twitched. I focused my awareness further, tracking every micro-movement and change in the air. His extended fingers began to fade, vanishing from the tips inward. He was connecting distant points in space, teleporting his hand to strike from another location.
It was the same trick he had used to gouge Grom’s back.
Following my intuition, I let my blade flash through the air. I arched my body back as I unleashed a Slash, severing the Demigod’s hand as it emerged from a blind spot. I didn't stop there. I swung the sword in a relentless blur, dismantling the hand emerging from the void—from the fingers down to the wrist.
"…!"
The Demigod yanked his arm back. The hand he clutched was mangled and bloodied, though the severed parts were already beginning to fuse back together.
His healing is fast. He’s practiced at this.
He hadn't achieved that level of manual dexterity through Space Magic alone; he must have trained specifically to avoid death. I could see the effort he had put in.
"How is your sword still intact? It should have been destroyed the moment it touched my space."
I flicked the blood from the Keepsake Sword before answering.
"I struck at a speed that outpaced the activation of your Space Magic. It was nothing difficult."
Contact with the Demigod caused space to twist, destroying anything in its path. Even with my power, resisting that phenomenon directly would be difficult. At a glance, it seemed like an invincible defense, but the state wasn't permanent. The Demigod had to activate it consciously.
As Grom’s Miasma Thread had proven, attacks could land when the ability wasn't active. Furthermore, I had noticed a flaw during their exchange: there was a slight time lag before the Space Magic took effect. The more powerful the technique, the longer the "charge." It was a window of only a fraction of a second, but it was more than enough time for a blade to pass through. By increasing my sword speed, I could bypass his magic entirely.
"Impossible…"
"Does that serve as proof? I am not being conceited. I fully intend to eliminate you with everything I have."
I made my declaration, leveling the tip of my sword at him. The Keepsake Sword caught the moonlight, reflecting a pale, cold light. A single bead of blood rolled down the fuller and dripped onto the dry earth.
The Demigod muttered to himself, his eyes fixed on his healing arm.
"I took you for a Mage, but I was mistaken. To think you were a Lich Swordsman."
"Are you losing your nerve?"
"I simply found it unexpected. My mission of Demon King Subjugation remains unchanged."
The Demigod’s gaze sharpened, overflowing with Fighting Spirit. Even though his ultimate ability had been countered, he had no intention of surrendering. He was prepared to give everything to kill me. In that moment, he looked exactly like a hero should.
"—Here I come."
Taking a stance, the Demigod began to warp the space around him, generating distortions in every direction as he launched his assault.