Chapter 42…
With a scream, Noirgaron’s massive body lost its balance.
But it was persistent.
It was not like a Behemoth or a Balrock.
With a whip—!
The wings that had been planted in the ground shot up.
When the huge wings made of a black membrane unfurled into the air, for a moment it felt as if night had fallen.
“Damn it!”
To react so instantly.
Zionhak spat out a curse.
Originally he had planned to tear the wings as soon as it fell.
If it managed to fly up, there would be no good way to attack it.
That was why he had deliberately tried to cut its legs to knock it over…
Whether it realized the plan, or it simply could not allow itself to be forced onto the ground—
The moment something was wrong with its body, it spread its wings.
“Change of plan!”
Now they had to quickly grab its ankles.
They could not allow it to rise into the sky.
“Milleon!”
When Zionhak shouted loudly, Milleon—who had been watching the situation since the first strike—kicked his horse and leapt upward.
His beautiful silver hair scattered in the wind, revealing sharp eyes.
“Tear its wings!”
Zionhak did the same.
Aside from Dante, they were the strongest warriors in Acrasion.
With the two of them, they should at least be able to tear a part of the wing.
Moonlight and flame extended from their blades in harmony and struck into Noirgaron’s wing.
Krazzzzzz—!
Zionhak’s face hardened.
“…Damn.”
No good.
Even though they had poured their all into it, the membrane didn’t even show the slightest scratch.
It was tougher than the very hard scales—it meant this wing’s membrane was even more resilient.
“Again!”
While his body fell due to gravity, Milleon shouted and swung his sword.
Even though his mana must have already been exhausted.
He still did not give up.
“Tsk.”
Desperation is no fun.
Thinking that, Zionhak matched Milleon’s stride and swung his beloved sword.
But nothing changed.
The two knights’ blades couldn’t even make a one-millimeter gap.
“Move away!”
A warning came from below.
It was Trisiel.
Her voice was urgent.
It had to be.
Noirgaron’s huge body was rising into the air.
The knights left below, realizing their plan had failed, belatedly thrust their swords.
But if Milleon and Zionhak couldn’t do it, there was no way they could.
In the end,
Noirgaron rose up into the sky it dominated.
“Scatter!”
Dante ordered.
Once it rose, there was no way to catch it.
For now they had to break apart and leave the place together with the survivors.
And they had no choice but to hold out until Isabella and the magic corps arrived.
It was frustrating and regrettable.
But for now, it was the best they could do.
Acrasion ground his lips and spurred his horse at Dante’s command.
It was the first withdrawal.
Since the monster wave began, it was the first time Acrasion had been forced to run away in humiliation.
He wanted, if only in his heart, to stand there, fight it, and meet death—but he could not.
Even now there were people suffering at Noirgaron’s hands who were waiting for help.
Dante quickly scanned the surroundings.
Knights and soldiers.
Not a single place where anyone was unscathed; they stared at the battle with shocked faces, and finally comprehending the situation, they fled.
“One, two, three…”
Many.
Compared to Acrasion’s mere thirteen, there were dozens of times more people.
“I can’t take everyone with me.”
So Dante made a choice.
“Prioritize rescuing the wounded soldiers!”
He meant those whose chance of survival was lower.
“Understood!”
Acrasion shouted and scattered as quickly as possible.
Watching that, Dante stopped moving.
Then he got off.
If Acrasion had seen him do it, he would never have allowed it, but for now they were busy carrying out the order.
Dante could act alone without anyone interfering.
“You go too.”
Arpheon’s blade tapped the horse’s rump.
The rider hesitated briefly, but at his master’s determined look he turned and set off.
Now he was completely alone.
Throb—throb—.
His whole body ached.
He was already in poor condition, and he had overexerted himself cutting Noirgaron’s legs.
It was a little bittersweet that it hadn’t had much effect.
‘Can’t be helped.’
That’s how the world often is; things don’t always go as planned.
He had lived for decades and experienced that countless times.
Because of that, though sad, he was not despairing.
Step.
With laborious steps he walked under the Noirgaron that had risen into the air.
He felt the creature’s yellow eyes staring directly at him.
It seemed to recognize precisely who’d cut its leg.
He felt fear.
Of course—this disaster was powerful enough that the combined knights of the allied army would have to attack together just to barely counter it.
A powerful murderous intent flooded in, trying to crush tiny Dante’s body.
For a moment the word ‘run’ flashed through his mind.
What Dante regretted wasn’t his life.
It was that he might not see the tip of his blade again.
For that reason he wanted to choose to flee.
But in the end he did not turn his steps.
Death, death, death, death, death.
Countless deaths were engraved in Dante’s eyes.
He saw the knights and soldiers trampled, torn, and melted by Noirgaron.
Their despair and screams in their faces struck his chest.
‘My dream is important too.’
But what mattered more was their lives.
If he had to give up his dream in order to save one life?
Dante would nod without even a second of hesitation.
That was why.
He did not flee; he stood there looking up at Noirgaron.
When Dante stopped walking, the murderous intent in its eyes deepened.
Noirgaron, high in the sky, like a raptor eyeing an insect.
With enormous wings flapping, it looked down at Dante.
It was a posture so fitting of the fallen lord of the sky.
“Come at me.”
Dante lifted Arpheon, pointed its tip at the beast, and said.
Was it a trick of the eye?
Noirgaron’s eyes seemed to trace a mocking line.
As if sneering.
And then—
Its mouth opened.
It was as if a vast abyss appeared in the air.
Krarrrrrrrrrr—!
The air howled.
A black calamity that reigns over death, aimed at only one person.
It began to pour out a breath that targeted Dante alone.
Even compared to Behemoth’s power, which could vaporize thousands of soldiers in one strike, this was overwhelming.
There was no way to describe it other than calamity.
A darkness full of death fell.
In the face of that absolute destruction, Dante trembled.
This was not a force that an ordinary human body could block.
Unless it were someone like his father or Isabella, even grazing it would annihilate one.
The same for Dante.
Having awakened his Stigma and blossomed his trait might let him endure a tiny bit of time.
But that would be all.
In the end he would vanish without a trace.
Dante knew that all too well.
Still, he did not avoid it.
Retracting Arpheon, which had been aimed at the beast, he took a low stance.
Just once.
He would block it just once.
Even if it was realistically impossible, Dante manifested a will that he would definitely stop it.
He believed that that single defense might save even one more soldier.
So with a calm look, Dante met Noirgaron’s approaching breath.
Swoooosh—!
Arpheon sliced upwards through the air.
His stamina, and even his mana, were depleted.
Even many knights could not properly swing their swords in such a state, but Dante’s cut was perfect.
As always.
Ka-waaakkkk-!
At the same time, the pale Arpheon collided with the darkness.
“Guuuuuuuh!”
His whole body twisted.
It felt as though every bone would shatter and be crushed at any moment.
No— it actually did.
Both legs were driven into the ground up to the knees, and spiderweb-like cracks formed in his arm bones.
Horrible pain.
Dante gritted his teeth.
Blood trickled as his gums split.
“Dante!”
“Fuck, what is this! Captain! Why are you—!”
Only then did Acrasion’s scream-like shout, as if realizing the situation here, reach him.
Dante could not answer.
The moment he opened his mouth, his body felt as if it would collapse.
All he could do was curl the corner of his mouth into a small smile as if to say not to worry.
‘Ah, I can’t hold it any longer.’
At best, ten seconds left.
Dante realized he had reached his limit.
‘Limit, huh.’
Ridiculous.
In the life before regression, Dante’s life had been a series of limits.
Each time he swung his sword once, twice, three times,
he always felt a limit.
A huge wall that could not be overcome.
Yet he never gave up, swinging his sword until the moment he died.
He thought that in this life such things wouldn’t happen—
And yet again, a limit.
It was laughable.
From deep within his chest, outrage welled up and a hollow laugh escaped.
‘If only I’d taken one more step.’
Like the first time he crossed swords with Isabella.
If he’d had the strength to take just one more step forward then—
He could have cut down the Noirgaron before him, and cleaved the despair that is the monster wave.
He regretted not being able to take that one step.
Dante let out a bloodstained sigh and relaxed his body.
Death came again.
At the end of that life, he looked at the sword he held one last time.
At that moment—
As if a heated awl pierced him,
his heart began to burn like mad.
‘…What is this?’
Crack—, pit-pit-pit—!
With the sound of something tearing inside his body, the crescent-shaped Stigma engraved on his chest—
Fwooooooosh—!
It burst forth light as if burning itself.
