No Regression for the Victor - Chapter 47

‘What is that?’

Narrowing his eyes like a hunter observing distant prey, Mikhail saw that the monsters were clustering together, piling atop one another in a desperate attempt to reach the sacred beast, stretching ever higher.

[——–!]

A roar—impossible to describe in human language, sounding both like a scream and a song—echoed through the air. The black mass, reaching toward the sky, collapsed all at once, only to regroup and gather again. At last, when one of the monsters at the very top leapt to snatch at the sacred beast’s feathers, it thankfully fell straight back to the ground.

But Mikhail felt a shock run through him, as if he’d been stabbed in the back.

There was no more time to waste. He had to protect the sacred beast. Mikhail tossed everything but one sword to Marcel and said,

“I’ll be back, wait here.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, he jumped down through the small window, just barely large enough for his body. It happened so quickly Marcel didn’t have time to stop him, he could only watch in a daze. A real sacred beast, and a human who was like a monster himself—if those two worked together, maybe there was a way out of this hellish situation. All Marcel could do now was pray desperately.

How far did he run? Whether all the monsters had converged on the sacred beast or not, Mikhail didn’t see a single one as he raced through the devastated wasteland, heading straight for the tower of monsters.

There he finally saw the sacred beast, matted with monsters, unable to even flap its wings and struggling on the ground. Every time it roared, the monsters recoiled, but whether they’d developed a resistance or only those who could survive its roar remained, they stuck to the beast like sticky jelly, refusing to let go.

“Let go!”

Mikhail charged at the monster mass like a wild beast, swinging his sword without an ounce of fear. The monsters, melted together into a single mass with no sense of self or other, instinctively hid their energy cores as they bit into the sacred beast.

Mikhail continued hacking away at the vine-like tentacles clinging to the beast, scattering ash as he went. He did everything he could to hinder their regeneration, but with so many monsters merged together, their combined core was formidable.

No matter how much he cut, there was no end. He had never seen or fought anything like this before.

“Damn it…!”

The monster was less a lump of flesh than a disgusting viscous substance that regenerated endlessly no matter how much he cut. Now it had wound around Mikhail’s legs, trying to absorb his life force as it slowly crept up his entire body.

Mikhail paid no attention to his own safety, desperate only to tear away the tendrils wrapped around the sacred beast.

“Just a little longer! I’ll find the core and… destroy it…!”

With miasma rising to the top of his head, it was becoming harder and harder for Mikhail to remain conscious. The sacred beast didn’t seem to be faring much better.

This was why fighting monsters was always a life-or-death struggle. Not only were monsters themselves formidable, but prolonged exposure to the purple mist, or miasma, they released, was like inhaling a powerful anesthetic; it sapped all strength from the body.

But he couldn’t collapse here. He hadn’t yet made his brother pay for orchestrating this absurd disaster, and if he fell now, he’d fail to save both ‘that person’ and the people of Quillan.

But his strength was fading fast, and he could barely hold his sword anymore.

The sacred beast, too, could only stagger and cough up ragged breaths, unable to roar any longer.