Chapter 96

The silver wind covered the battlefield.

A longsword was swung with great speed, and in the blink of an eye, blood and flesh were scattered from the blade. It was beautiful. It was a skill so exquisite that one couldn't help but be captivated.

In the midst of the chaotic battlefield, few knights, no matter how well-trained, could act as they normally would. This primitive hell, which shattered blood, flesh, and bones, sent humans and elves back to their wild, primal days.

But she was different. Celia, who wielded the silver weapon and built a mountain of corpses on the battlefield, was different.

Even in this hell, her martial skills showed no sign of decline. Her sword, without faltering or breaking, traced the optimal path to slay her enemies.

It was beautiful. Everyone was captivated by her form. Her strikes were no longer human. Even as they repelled the enemy's flesh, the blade's accuracy only increased.

—This battlefield, this hell, had a strange allure.

Everyone entrusted their lives to their weapons, plunging into primitive combat.

A spear tip howled as it tore through the air, aiming to pierce Celia's heart.

She deflected the killing intent with her silver weapon, smashing the skull of the enemy who clung to the weapon, transforming it into a mere lump of flesh. This dark joy.

This place was a crucible of emotions. Everyone, suppressing their feelings daily, shouted in the theater of battle, acting out their roles.

Celia was no different. She felt her emotions being unleashed here, more and more clearly with each strike of her sword.

—If only, I could have been a more selfish woman.

Celia, tasting the sensation of the enemy's skull being crushed in her hand, clenched her teeth.

If only, she could have clung to that man's feet, refusing to let go no matter what he said, causing him endless trouble, and still taking his hand. She wanted to be such a selfish woman.

Her body was adorned with the makeup of fresh blood, and Celia, dressed in a red dress, took a step forward, tearing through the overwhelming number of enemies.

Her silver eyes narrowed, and her throat let out a fierce, barbaric cry. The longsword, slick with blood and fat, was readied again.

A selfish woman, huh? She couldn't help but let her cheeks fall, almost mocking herself.

Nonsense. Know your place. What good would it do for a woman like me to cling to him? Oh, how utterly disgraceful. Should I collapse in tears, fall to my knees, and beg that man? Don't go, stay with me.

—If only I could have played that role, how much easier it would have been.

The twisted emotions gnawing at Celia's heart were continuously voiced by the sword in her hand.

Ironically, the brilliance of her sword at this moment was so remarkable that Celia was acutely aware of it. It was powerful yet not chaotic, delicate yet not weak. Celia's legs took another step forward on the battlefield.

She understood. She knew.

If I turned back now, he wouldn't be there. Ruis is that kind of person. He wouldn't stand still and wait. Then, why am I fighting now? It's obvious. There's no other answer.

Even if Ruis isn't behind me. Even if this body can only act bravely.

—He asked me, he said, "I'm counting on you." To no one else, but to me.

Then, fulfilling that request is the only thing I can do. Whether he trusts me or not, I don't know. But I will trust him. Even a graceless woman like me can do that much.

At this moment, Celia envied Fiarat to the point of hating her. She could cling to Ruis without any reservations, and Ruis wouldn't reject her.

What about me? Would he look at me as if I were a monster? Would he scold me for doing something foolish? My imagination always turned dark.

Celia often felt that Ruis, through her, was seeing something else. His eyes seemed to look at her but not really see her. It was frustrating and irritating.

And she understood very well what his eyes were seeking.

A strong, proud, and sharp-edged self. A self that doesn't bend, doesn't break, and knows no fear.

Never a weak self, one who would wail, collapse, and cling.

The silver shone. The longsword, howling as it was swung, spoke of sorrow with the wind. Around Celia, the blood, flesh, and bones of enemy soldiers piled up.

It was the very center of the battlefield. No one, friend or foe, could look away. Every time Celia's sword was swung, the battlefield groaned, and every time her legs moved forward, the battlefield moved with her.

She was, without a doubt, the master of the battlefield.

But the outcome of the battle was still in the hands of fate. No matter how much Celia was a true hero, the overwhelming number of soldiers wouldn't fall so easily.

Rather, if Celia's head were separated from her body, victory would roll into their hands, their eyes gleaming.

It wasn't enough. A decisive, crushing blow was still needed. The decisive strike had not yet been delivered.

And then, the decisive blow appeared, roaring from the sky.

—Giiiaaaaaa!

With a sound that was both a scream and a roar of the world, the massive figure appeared. Trampling soldiers, ravaging the battlefield, turning it into an even greater hell.

Its large, crimson eyes were filled with madness, and its massive body with unrestrained passion. The reason it targeted this place, where the most elves and humans gathered in Gazaria, was simple.

Hurry, hurry, put it in my mouth. Quench this throat with the rich, unforgettable taste. Following instinct and desire.

Its body was now indistinguishable from that of a great ape.

The hair on its body stood on end, and its limbs were visibly strong, like iron wires. The large mouth on its belly, which was initially hidden, now seemed to have a will of its own, its fangs clicking.

Its posture was no longer that of an ape with hands and feet on the ground, but now it stomped the earth with two legs, and its powerful arms were poised to catch prey.

The elves and humans, seeing this, instinctively understood. A massive figure far surpassing them, and the strength to crush the few brave souls who dared to stand against it in their hands.

This was not an opponent they could face. It was a being they could not resist.

Amidst this, Celia, swallowing a lump in her throat, stared at the threat descending before her as if it were a human.

Indeed, this is a demon. A pure, unadulterated demon. A creature that was once a mere beast, now shedding its skin to reign as a pure demon.

The wise called it demonization. The current frenzied state might be a result of this.

Several arrows were embedded in its arms, but the eerie smoke rising from its body slowly healed the wounds. This was called miasma or the evaporation of magic.

Celia recognized this scene. Yes, that's right. That's what he said, that it heals the beast.

Her silver eyes flickered with a dark light.

"Hey, great ape—how dare you show up at such a time!"

Her voice was trembling. No one was left to hear such a voice.

The battlefield was engulfed in madness. The overwhelming presence that appeared, where life was easily snuffed out and terror and madness were bitten back, trampled and toyed with everything, friend or foe, until everything was as it wished. This was no longer a battlefield. It was just a stage of slaughter.

Amidst this, Celia, still somewhat dazed, muttered.

"You're reminding me of something unpleasant—yes, something unpleasant!—That time, he wasn't there either!"

Yes. The first time they met in the Great Forest. Despite telling her to watch, when she turned around after slaying the boar-like beast, he was gone.

This was the last thing she wanted to remember. The last thing she wanted to think about. The silver longsword was directed at the demon itself.

"This is a vent. Hey, you. My vent will not be just a little pain."

To the being that everyone, elf or human, instinctively knew they could not resist, Celia, alone, declared with passion, understanding that his figure was no longer behind her.