After teleporting, I decided to deal with John first.
I needed to take out the pilot before he could bring that arsenal behind him into play. Fortunately, John wasn’t much of a close-quarters fighter. He was an inventor, a man whose true worth lay in his weaponry. Barulk, too, lacked a talent for melee.
Closing the distance and overwhelming them quickly was my best option. I heightened my senses, observing the pair as time seemed to stretch thin. John hadn't sensed me; he stood with his gun raised, his back exposed and defenseless. Just as I thought—he couldn't keep up with my speed.
I stepped forward, my sword of magic power flashing in a single, upward arc that took John’s head. Blood sprayed from the stump as his body slumped to its knees, still clutching the gun.
Pivoting from the strike, I aimed a backhanded blow at Barulk. I stopped mid-motion, however, when I heard him let out a strange groan. Black mucus leaked from his lips, dripping to his feet where it evaporated into a dark haze. This was no mere mist; it was an ultra-concentrated curse forming an omnidirectional defensive barrier. The toxic cloud began to surge toward me.
Barulk wasn't even looking my way.
(He realized he couldn't track my teleportation and switched to an auto-defense art, then.)
A single touch meant an instant curse. The miasma Barulk released was incredibly toxic; I couldn't afford to breathe it in. I cast Counter Magic to hold the curse at bay and teleported back to put some distance between us. Once clear, I unleashed a Fireball from my staff—though this was a version bolstered by Miasma.
The black-tinted flame tore through the curtain of curses and swallowed Barulk whole, incinerating him. He collapsed onto the desert floor like a fading shadow and crumbled into ash.
"…Tch."
The stench of burning flesh filled the air—a sensation I never had to deal with as an immortal. After so long without a sense of smell, the odor was sickeningly intense.
Forcing the smell from my mind, I glanced down at my staff. A crack had appeared at the tip. It spread rapidly, and the wood crumbled to dust in my hand. It seemed the tool couldn't withstand magic infused with Miasma. That was to be expected; a standard staff was never meant to channel such corruption.
I’d used it out of pure habit. Even if this was just a manifestation within the Mental World, I hadn't expected to break it again. I felt no grief, only a sense of bitter irony.
I let the fragments fall and glanced over at Gwen. She was still lounging on the sand, a spiteful smirk playing on her lips. Even with her two champions dead, she looked perfectly relaxed. Her lack of concern filled me with a sense of dread.
"Don’t look away, you piece of shit."
John’s voice barked from behind me. A gunshot echoed across the dunes. I reacted instantly, manifesting a thick, glass-like sheet of Defense Magic. The bullet slammed into the barrier but didn't stop. It began to spin at a terrifying speed, its momentum actually accelerating as it bored through the magic. Spewing a black mist, it ground into my shield. It was seconds from a breakthrough.
(Is this some property of a gun from Another World? No, that’s not it.)
I looked closer at the projectile and recognized a Curse Infusion. It was powerful—it was actually devouring my Defense Magic, converting the energy into propulsion.
(Blocking this by force is a mistake.)
I leapt to the side, clearing the bullet’s path. The projectile shattered my barrier and hissed past, vanishing into the horizon without circling back.
"……"
I turned back to where the shot had originated. John stood there, gun raised. Barulk was right beside him. Neither bore a single scratch. There were no corpses in the sand, only the two of them, perfectly intact. I checked myself for signs of a status ailment, but I seemed fine. They had truly been resurrected.
(Is this a rule of this Mental World?)
Gwen raised her voice, happy to provide an explanation. "Those two are immortal here! As long as their spirits remain intact, Regeneration is possible any number of times! They both have such extraordinary Mental Strength that they can’t be truly destroyed!"
Her gloating confirmed my suspicions. I finally understood why she had chosen these two specifically. In this Mental World, they were essentially invincible. She had likely sifted through a multitude of strong souls and picked these two because she knew they wouldn't break, not even against a Demon King. It was rare to find individuals with such stubborn mental fortitude. Gwen’s choices had been spot on.
"Come on, let’s get to round two!" John shouted.
"Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet?" Barulk added. "If you’re going to call yourself the Immortal Demon King, you should be able to handle at least this much, right?"
They taunted me with glee. They clearly remembered me killing them moments ago, yet they didn't show an ounce of hesitation. They had conquered the fear of death. They stood before me ready to be killed as many times as it took to bring me down.
(I suppose there’s no helping it. I don’t have any better ideas.)
I tightened my grip on my sword of magic power. That Outlander, Gwen, had certainly made things difficult for me. I would have liked to give her a piece of my mind, but I didn't have the luxury. I just had to see this through to the end.