The atmosphere in this place was originally heavy.
This can be said both mentally and physically.
The god residing within Ishan, who commands a Seraph of overwhelming power.
The Demon Lord’s Army resisting him.
The battle was one-sided, and victory for the divine forces was imminent.
Such an atmosphere was bound to become even heavier.
“Kill them, defend us.”
These single words added a new hue to that atmosphere, increasing its weight.
It was no exaggeration to call it pressure, to resist the aura exuded by the god was the burden of a single individual.
Tanaka Jiro’s voice, becoming an unnatural mechanical tone, seemed to momentarily falter before, in the next instant.
“GUROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”
He lets out a roar.
No, calling it a roar is too easy.
It wasn’t just a physical effect that vibrated space.
It even made magic power tremble, causing phenomena that cracked the outer walls of the entire area.
This company is a Dungeon.
Its durability was also robust, surpassing that of ordinary structures.
To damage such material with just a shout.
The god and Seraph Nisia were aware of such a being.
“…This presence, is it a dragon? Why would a human possess such power?”
Nisia, who until now had possessed high abilities among humans, but still insignificant compared to a god, was witnessing the fact that this human possessed the power to harm a god. She gazed at Jiro, his magic power surging as if he couldn’t believe it.
“However, he cannot even control that power. What can he do with mere rampaging power?”
His magic power raged, and crimson energy clung to Jiro’s surroundings. Though its quality and quantity were superb, it was merely being spilled out without any sign of control. He could be injured, but with caution, he would be fine. Nisia judged Jiro’s actions as foolish.
“You’re not getting away with it!”
She raised her right hand and brought it down, intending to end his life along with his power. A blade of light, created with a simple yet seamless motion, approached Jiro. The blade of light possessed sufficient power in terms of speed, sharpness, and might to kill Jiro. It was supposed to cleave Jiro’s body without anyone stopping it.
“■■■■■■■■■■■■■■!!!”
But that was not to happen.
“What!?”
““”””!?””””
Nisia, who unleashed the attack, as well as Eshlee, Arben, and Majes, who were confronting him, could do nothing but stare at the event in astonishment. Dodging, blocking, or intercepting would have been less surprising. But.
“It was nullified?”
Eshlee, knowing Nisia’s power, was perhaps the most surprised by the reality of the situation. A single roar. It nullified Nisia’s magic. Jiro, whose eyes gleamed with a golden light filled with the instincts of a beast, was in human form, yet one wondered if he was truly human. Briefly, as if superimposed on Eshlee’s vision, the figure of a dragon with magnificently spread wings appeared.
“■■■■■■■■■■■■!!!”
That wild spirit. Seeing that form, Eshlee and the human forces immediately imagined a beast-like battle. To everyone, Jiro, who had lost all reason, appeared to have abandoned human-like combat. Whether this was truly the case, only the god residing within Ishan, and no one else present, would know. However, within Tanaka Jiro, reason had lost its meaning, his consciousness severed, and he was now yielding himself to the dragon’s blood.
“Challenging me.”
Even so, his experience was reflected instinctively. While wary of his unintelligible cries and the unknown of his next move, the god within Ishan, with golden, dragon-like eyes that seemed to capture everything, instinctively sensed that he had been targeted. And so, his god chose the highest compliment for a hostile opponent.
“■!”
It meant Jiro’s fangs would reach. And he made this meaning known to everyone present. Jiro, leaning forward as if about to fall, vanished. The Isal human forces judged this sudden disappearance as teleportation magic or some form of invisibility spell. But that was not the case. A dull thud was heard, followed by a shockwave emanating from where Ishan had been. Before anyone could react to the sound, the shockwave struck everyone present. Jiro had simply dashed straight to Ishan in an instant and swung down his Ore Tree. Was there anyone who could react to such a phenomenon? There was no one cruel enough to ask that here. However, there were those who could respond.
“Now!”
It was Muil himself. The wisdom of age. He could decide his next course of action based on learned experience, knowing who to trust and who not to. If he believed that a man named Tanaka Jiro could be trusted and relied upon, then there was no hesitation in his next action. With the trust that he would somehow create an opening as he had declared, Muil, apologizing to Memoria on his back, dashed at full speed, and Suella and Himik, reacting to his words, also started running. Nisia and Eshlee, trying to prevent this, were a step behind.
“You must not escape!”
“■■■■■■■■■■!”
“Tsk!”
As they tried to pursue, another shockwave assaulted them, forcing them to stumble. Ishan, who blocked the attack swung down from high above with the sword in his hand, had his feet sink into the ground. Merely looking at this scene spoke volumes about the power of Jiro’s attack. Would the next attack be weaker than this? No, it would not be weaker; it would be stronger. From then on, a storm of shockwaves engulfed the entrance.
“■■■■■■■■■■!”
If the first attack failed, deliver a stronger one; if that failed, an even stronger one. The subsequent attacks, meant to kill the opponent, went beyond mere reflex and seemed to be unfolding according to a pre-determined plan. It was an almost reckless, yet instinctive, application of techniques honed to the level of conditioned reflexes, drawing out performance beyond his physical capabilities in a series of consecutive slashes. Each blow generated a shockwave, supporting the escape of Suella and her companions. For ordinary people, they were uncatchable; even masters could not grasp their afterimages. In the realm of the inhuman, one could feel the trajectory of the attacks; only in the realm of monsters could one possibly respond to such a storm of attacks. There was no form to these movements; they were a manifestation of the ultimate formless. A miracle technique, combining the ferocity of wild violence with the artistry of human reason. If one were to ask who suffered the most from this storm, it would be the god within Ishan, yet that god defended himself with a calm expression. So, who was suffering the most? It was Kawasaki Midori, who was by Ishan’s side. She was hit by the most severe shockwave from the first blow, sending her flying backward. She collided with the wall and was on the verge of losing consciousness, but shook her head, regaining her awareness.
“…”
The scene unfolding before her was an anomaly beyond anything seen even in movies. In response, Kawasaki calmly took out her pocket watch, checked the time indicated by its hands, and frowned. The Isal side understood what it signified, but Jiro, who was intent on slaying his enemies with pure instinct, did not. He was driven by two conditions: attack relentlessly and destroy the enemy, and allow Suella and the others to escape. This beast accelerated his violence.
“■■■■■■■■!”
“Enough of that, dragon. Are you defying me!”
The god directly negated that violence. With a single swing, matching the timing of the violence, he attempted to cleave Jiro. The strike, unleashed with exquisite timing, was sufficient to bisect Jiro’s torso.
“■■■■■■!”
However, this blow was lenient for Jiro, who refused to die yet. It was too late to wield his Ore Tree, too late to insert a counter. It was a completely exploited opening, but the word ‘give up’ did not exist for him.
“…”
The god’s brow twitched. This was surprise, even for a god. After all, he had witnessed a “technique” that was simply impossible. Jiro, exceeding high speed and approaching light speed, displayed the divine skill of “riding” an attack. There was no time to jump. There shouldn’t have been, the god questioned himself, such reaction speed. Effectively, it was a blow too fast to react to after it was launched. He had no intention of revealing it even if he possessed precognition. Against such a divine strike, Jiro responded.
“■!”
As if he had been waiting for it, Jiro placed one foot on the sword and, conversely, swung his Ore Tree horizontally, aiming for the god’s neck.
“…”
Against that attack, the god reluctantly conjured a wall of light. For the god, who had handled everything thus far with a single sword, it was a desperate, humiliating blow. He blocked and defended against this decisive attack with the wall of light. A dull sound echoed throughout the surroundings. This exchange had lasted mere seconds. Less than ten seconds of combat. Yet, to have held his own against the god who had overwhelmed the Machine King, Amili Mazacraft, even for such a brief time, was a great victory. Then, was there no price for such performance?
“Blood…”
Naturally, there was. Eshlee, during the brief pause in the exchange, gasped as she saw Jiro’s figure in the sight of Nisia, Eshlee, Arben, and Majes. Jiro, who had been injured moments ago and still appeared normal, had transformed into an impossible state in these few seconds. Did he think there would be no repercussions for embodying super high speed? Did he think there would be no price for power that could hold a god at bay, even temporarily? Such convenient circumstances did not exist. The price for power beyond his deserts was, unavoidably, high. Jiro, covered in blood, still clinging to the god with a look of determination to kill him. This standoff was due to his complete dedication to this fleeting moment, without concern for self-sacrifice or the aftermath. The price for achieving the speed and power to defeat his opponent was immense. The decision to disregard the limits of how far he could push himself, to forget the pain, and to act solely to achieve one objective, naturally destroyed Jiro’s body. The dragon’s blood had indeed strengthened Jiro, but his body could not keep up with that enhancement. His blood vessels burst, and blood gushed out. So what? Some bone in his body had broken. He could still move. His heart felt like it would burst. Move until it bursts, and even if it bursts, keep moving. This was no longer the movement of someone clinging to life. It was the fleeting brilliance of a human who had cast aside all sacrifices. It was precisely because of this that he could resist reality. He did not hesitate to move even if his limbs were torn off. He was a man who had become a demon, merely to protect those he held dear.
“A suicide soldier.”
The god recognized the form. It was a sight he had witnessed when bestowing power upon countless heroes. Some had fought to protect their Demon Lord, some to strike back, others came to kill out of hatred. All of them had such a form and such eyes.
“I’ve seen enough of that.”
The god spat out, as if to say, “So what?” seeing that expression. It was merely a slight inconvenience; he would not lose. He would not lose, no matter how many times he fought, whether ten thousand times, a hundred million times, or a trillion times. All that existed was a delay, a reality where he was a fraction of a second late in reaching out to the figure he saw darting at the edge of his vision.
“Pathetic. The outcome will not change.”
The very idea that something could be done was presumptuous.
“My decision remains unchanged.”
Jiro’s efforts, who attacked with such ferocity, as if burning out the flame of his life, were meaningless.
“Perish, human.”
For a fleeting moment, an instant, the god, noticing a slight flicker in Jiro’s movements, which were burdened by strain, knew he could end Jiro’s life by striking there. The judgment had been passed, and the god, without doubting the next blow, intended to pierce Jiro’s heart this time.
“What?”
He was supposed to.
“■■■■!”
Throughout history, it is humans who resist gods. It is humans who appeal against their judgments. And it is humans who are destroyed by those appeals, but the person who resisted the god was no mere mortal. A pause had come once again. It was Jiro, a human, who had created that pause, not the god. What did he do? Jiro created time for the god to ponder such questions. The sword he thrust forward had indeed pierced him. But it had not reached his heart. Was it blocked by bone? No, it had been stopped even before that. The god, whose outcome had been overturned, experienced a disturbance in his thoughts. This was the result Jiro, bloodied and on the verge of death, had seized.
“A tree root?”
It was a miracle shown by a single companion that supported it.
“■■■■■■■■■■■■■■!!”
A thick, hard, tree root-like existence, visible through the torn clothing, blocked the god’s attack and gave Jiro the leeway to swing his full-power strike. That technique was Jiro’s strongest blow. Ironically, it was a blow bearing a name befitting a god.
“Amaterasu”
A single strike, clad in the flash of the sun, was delivered.
Today’s word:
There are times when one must act.
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*The first volume of this novel has been published by Hayakawa Bunko JA.
It was released on October 18, 2018.
The e-book version was released on October 31 of the same year.
The second volume was released on December 19.
The third volume was released on February 20, 2019.
In terms of content, it is a revised and expanded version of the content posted on “Shosetsuka ni Naro,” with the addition of unpublished interlude chapters.
Please look forward to the new books as well!
A comic adaptation is being serialized in Kodansha’s “Young Magazine The Third.”
We hope you will enjoy that as well.
We ask for your continued support of this work.
