Chapter 723: Explosion of the Dot

His mouth opened without meaning to, but it couldn’t be helped.

He was trapped in a curse of repeating the same day. And as those days repeated, sometimes it numbered in the hundreds.

If counted together, it would be not in the hundreds but in the thousands.

So saying “barely” was only natural. If someone like Sagong, who knew about these circumstances, saw this, he would’ve nodded in agreement.

That’s understandable.

Of course, someone who didn’t know the situation would interpret it completely differently.

In this situation, he’s provoking him?

That’s how it must have looked.

The single word “barely” was natural for Enkrid, but to others, it rippled out with a different weight.

The overlapping voice that had just now made even the rain bow in worship had made Drmul appear like a being from another world.

He had radiated a majesty so unreachable you could never hope to touch it.

But with that one word—“barely”—he was once again nothing more than a foul soul clinging to a rotten corpse, a monster surviving off spells and potions.

Worse, he displayed the pettiness of someone who reacts to a mere taunt.

“...I’ll admit, you’ve a talent for scraping nerves, creature,” he said to Enkrid.

“I’m just a lowly swordsman,” Enkrid replied as he lifted Three Iron. His arm slowly rose, pointing off to the side. Then he added:

“Together, that makes two lowly swordsmen.”

Shwaa—

No one spoke beyond the wind and rain.

To be able to make such provocations in this moment—it could only be called extraordinary.

KWA-RRUNG!

The heavens, as if marveling at Enkrid, hurled down thunder. A flash of white light illuminated the area before vanishing.

His shadow stretched in four directions from his body, then merged back into him as the light receded and the darkness returned.

Throughout the entire sequence, Enkrid’s posture did not falter.

“Truly, you’re no madman for nothing,” Lynox muttered in awe.

Enkrid wanted to refute that. Hearing such praise from someone who’d just joked about only using three swords from now on after losing an arm felt off.

But before he could speak, the family head stepped forward and spoke first.

“It’s my turn now, Enkrid of Border Guard.”

The family head stood before the monster with black rock-like skin, his body covered in wounds, yet still radiating that crushing presence.

He wasn’t just imposing—he was a sword. A greatsword forged into human form.

The blade of that sword now pointed forward, and there was no need to ask where it aimed.

“Don’t worry. You’ve got Lynox the meat shield here,” Lynox chimed in.

“You said someone else’s day was ten times longer for you, didn’t you?”

Enkrid interjected with a question, then spoke again before Drmul could respond.

“So that’s why you look so prematurely aged?”

At this point, it was fair to say he was risking his life just to provoke him.

His tone was like something out of an epic tale, but the content was absolutely vile. His provocation was worthy of admiration.

Did he just say “prematurely aged”?

“I’ve got a baby face, though.”

Lynox clicked his tongue every time Enkrid spoke.

“What a bastard. I want to rip you apart.”

Drmul’s tone was steeped in rage.

Throughout his decades of existence, there had been people who looked down on him—but it had been a long time since he heard anything like this.

No... had it ever happened?

Not that he’d ever share his story aloud, but he’d spent decades asleep.

Before and after awakening, only worshippers had surrounded him.

“Oh my god!”

“Oh master who shall be the new god of the Demon Realm!”

The only one who had never shown fear was Heskal. But Heskal hadn’t approached him out of fear—only out of gain.

Even Heskal, rather than sticking with him, tried to form a new Zaun with others beside him.

It twisted something inside Drmul.

Just because one seeks godhood doesn’t mean they’re broad-minded. Drmul was not.

He never let anyone who displeased him live.

Even with Heskal, whom he never fully trusted, he had planted a golden geas on his heart. And in the end, Heskal made an incomprehensible choice.

Faith and trust weren’t part of Drmul’s life. He had never given anyone belief.

He was a narrow-minded man. And now, a narrow-minded monster.

“You will die.”

Drmul pointed a finger at Enkrid as he spoke. His decayed flesh was speckled with patches of black, rock-hard skin that made for a grotesque sight.

“What did I do?” Enkrid replied, pretending to be offended.

Being met with killing intent wasn’t new. He wasn’t genuinely offended—but that made his composed tone all the more infuriating.

“Let’s never meet as enemies,” Lynox muttered again in admiration.

The family head raised his sword without a hint of a smile.

Zaun had long been split into factions. They’d spent decades having to doubt, cast out, and test each other.

The family head hated that. And now, the one who had forced them all to take sides stood before him.

Heskal wasn’t the root of it all. This monster was.

He understood now.

“I should have found and killed you sooner.”

The family head whispered, and Drmul’s gaze turned toward him.

“How arrogant, you bastard.”

It had taken over a decade to finally face the one who had spread disease and curses.

In truth, Drmul hadn’t been active for long. His disciples had acted in his stead.

If not for Heskal’s help, he would have still been lying somewhere in a comatose state.

“I awoke a hundred years earlier than planned.”

Not that it mattered. Waking a little early meant nothing.

Now, he had glimpsed divinity.

The fishes that swam in the lake of Zaun were no match for him.

Even knowing his form wasn’t yet perfect, he had begun everything.

There was no longer a need for teachings. Now was the time of judgment.

Black smoke erupted from his hands, and from the ground, swarms of squirming insects began to gather.

Each one was the size of a palm. If they bit you, it would be more than a sting.

Enkrid raised his sword. Lynox stood beside him with one arm.

Then, from behind them, new presences approached.

No need to turn around. They weren’t beasts. A voice followed:

“Anahera is here.”

The most beautiful of the giants limped forward, helmet lost, her voice calm.

“I tempered my sword for moments like this. I’ll help too.”

Behind her, a limping man also arrived.

It was Anahera and Riley of the giants.

“Is that the bastard?”

“You already cut Heskal down?”

“Is Ragna dead? He can’t be. Not until I surpass him.”

More swordbearers of Zaun gathered.

“If you fall, I’ll be next.”

Even Alexandra came, leaning half against Odin Kar’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I’m here, Alex.”

Odin Kar calmed the rage boiling up to his scalp. It had been a short time, but he had grown.

He used to overdo it during duels, but his time with Border Guard had cured that.

The swords of Zaun gathered—to protect their home.

Their strength, too, was beyond Drmul’s expectations.

Even after he had slain Medusa and the sorcerous serpent, he hadn’t expected none of Zaun to fall.

Still, Drmul didn’t care.

He was alone now, but that wasn’t a problem.

Heskal, his so-called disciples—they were all tools.

He would become a god and open a new Demon Realm here.

All beings across the continent and the empire would praise him. As a god, he would create new laws.

“Protect the family head.”

Enkrid spoke on instinct. Then, without even pausing for breath, he barked orders:

“Get to Anahera’s side! Kal, cover the rear. Riley, lead the others. Kill all the bugs!”

At a few of Drmul’s gestures, insects rained from the sky, and from the ground rose golems made of black earth.

Their fists were as big as human heads.

Another long fight?

No. It didn’t seem that way.

The family head raised a vial, poured it into his mouth, and swallowed. Then he hung his sword down and caught his breath.

“He’s taking medicine now?”

It was the one Anne had given him. Said to dull the pain, even if only briefly.

The family head took it now.

That meant he had been fighting with a broken body this whole time.

Why?

For this moment.

This one moment.

The family head—gifted in strategy—had waited for this.

Even beyond reason, Enkrid could feel something different in the air around him.

Meanwhile, Drmul summoned more insects, golems, airborne spirits, and spread disease.

The black smoke he spewed was poison—death incarnate.

Inhaling it would cause tumors or blindness.

All the swordbearers of Zaun fell back slightly, fighting to stall.

Avoid the smoke. Cut down the bugs.

Circle around the golems, slice off their legs to disable movement, then keep cutting as they regenerated.

Thus the battle began.

And the family head stood still like a corpse, then slowly lifted his lowered sword to his face.

Seeing this, Drmul waved both arms, hurling a mass of black water.

It was about the size of a human head. If it burst, what would happen—no one wanted to imagine.

“Block it.”

The family head’s lips moved.

Enkrid didn’t know what he meant—but followed his words.

He could sense the structure of spells. That’s how he had cut walking fire.

And he had refined that ability even more through training with Esther.

Spell.

Seeing its flow, he drew his blade and swung.

Pulling back his left foot, Three Iron cut through the black mass with a puk.

It split into two pieces and splashed onto the ground, dissolving into the soil.

It was a force borrowed from the master of sulfur, who melts everything he touches.

Yet it was ineffective. The core of the spell, the magical structure, had been severed.

“He cut the spell?”

Drmul was shocked. And rightfully so.

The threads of mana had been cleanly sliced.

A mere swordsman could do this?

“How dare you—”

Drmul hurled five more black blobs and summoned chains of smoke from behind him that shot out in all directions.

The chains slithered silently like snakes, scraping the ground, trying to bind Enkrid’s ankles.

Enkrid cut the five blobs in sequence. Once you grasped the structure, slicing them wasn’t so hard.

They were slower and flew in predictable paths. Easier to slice than a gourd thrown barehanded by Rem.

Same for the chains.

He spotted the tension points where their power gathered and quickly moved to slice them.

He dodged, kicked for time, dragged Three Iron across the ground.

His whole body throbbed. His head pounded.

“Thin and long.”

Having once used Explosion, he now knew how to extract Will in thin threads through restraint.

Controlling Will was now twice as easy as before.

He’d wanted to imitate what Ragna had done, but right now, swinging his sword steadily mattered more.

“Ha!”

Drmul glared.

Nothing was going right because of that bastard.

Enkrid’s lips moved. He seemed about to speak. Was he finally at his limit? Ready to give in?

Blood streamed from his nose. He wasn’t in normal shape.

Drmul watched closely, waiting for his mouth.

Enkrid swallowed the blood bubbling up and spoke.

A speaker should always tailor his words to the listener. In that, Enkrid was masterful.

He said in a clear voice, just enough for Drmul to hear:

“How about that? Just two swordsmen and one girl did this to you?”

Did he really say that now?

“KIAAAAH!!”

Drmul howled.

His fury exploded.

And the types of spells he hurled multiplied.

Black blobs. Chains. Black hands shooting from the ground.

Some of the raindrops turned black and transformed into hounds. Lightning arced between them.

Enkrid somehow dodged all of it, slashing down any spell that threatened the family head.

He rolled across the ground, soaked in mud, and pieces of crushed elfbone armor fell from within.

Soaked, caked in filth, like a drowned rat—

But his blue eyes never lost their light in the dark.

And just when it seemed he had hit his limit—

The family head charged toward Drmul.

In that moment, what had Drmul been counting on? His protective wards?

But one of the truths of the world is—faith is always betrayed.

Isn’t that what the sacred texts say?

That among hundreds of disciples, there’s always one who betrays his master.

And by the way—that parable appears in every scripture. Even in the old oral tales.

“Ah—”

Somehow, Ragna had come back to consciousness and gasped.

Enkrid also stared forward. He had no strength left to move and drove Three Iron into the ground for support.

Rain hit his eyelids, but he didn’t even blink.

The family head—Tempest Zaun—charged and swung.

Just one strike.

He put everything into that cut. His experience, his time honing, even his future.

Light burst from his blade. It was Will—not divine power like /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ Audin’s, but its own manifestation.

The light twisted around the blade and severed the world.

A sword that cut everything. You could tell just by looking.

The blade tore through Drmul’s defenses and entered from the shoulder, exiting on a diagonal line that split his body in two.

To the eye, it was light severing the form of a grotesque monster.

Enkrid, during all this, felt the Will roaring and bursting within the family head.

It wasn’t just his unique senses. Anyone at knight level could have felt it.

Will was intangible, unseen—but it could be felt. And now, even seen.

But beyond that, the family head’s Will made the surroundings respond—like how unseen wind ruffles hair.

Explosion.

He had detonated Will.

Only—it was different from how Alexandra did it.

Experience, intuition, and theory all came together to make Enkrid understand.

Explosion of the Dot.

Alexandra distributed her time when fighting. Explosion of the Line.

The family head, in contrast, poured everything into a single strike.

A sword technique to put everything into one swing.

That must have been his secret skill.

And that secret skill cut down the long nightmare of Zaun.

Black blood soaked the ground. The rain thinned, and even the wind died.

Drmul looked down at his half-cleaved body.

Half-rotted organs spilled out.

“...Why?”

He asked.

There was no longer a madman claiming godhood.

Only an ugly man who had denied death.

And Enkrid, remembering that one strike the family head had made, felt a shudder run through his body.

To be honest, he had thought—if I put my life on the line, I could win.

“I couldn’t have stopped that.”

Just watching that strike, a cold chill slammed into his skull.

“The continent is wide.”

And that makes it fun.

Enkrid smiled as he looked at the family head’s Will and sword.

Drmul happened to look his way—and saw that smile.

And hate surged in his heart.