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A Cadet Becomes a Prophet?! Chapter 251

Chapter 251

It‍‍⁠ wasn’t the first‍‌ time Aint had​‌​ fought a demon.​

He‍ had already battled‌​‌ Andromalius and Andrealphus.​

And​‌‍ he knew that,⁠ in the future,‍⁠‍ it would happen‍​​ countless more times.‍‌​

Even‌​ so, it was⁠‍⁠ always the same.⁠​

His‍‌‍ heart pounded violently.‍​

His‌ fingertips trembled.

He​​​ was afraid.

But‍​ even with fear,⁠‍‌ he had to‍​​ move forward.

Only‍⁠ that way could‌ he win.

Because‌‌​ if he ran⁠ or only dodged,⁠⁠ he would never‌‌​ defeat a demon.​⁠

However,​‌‍ this time, he⁠​ didn’t feel as‍ much fear as‍ curiosity.

And‍ a far greater​‌ sense of urgency.‌‌‌

The⁠​ demon didn’t feel‍ like an overwhelmingly‌‍⁠ powerful enemy, but⁠ rather an annoying‍‌​ obstacle he wanted⁠ to remove as​​ soon as possible.‍​

Why‌‌⁠ did he feel‌⁠ that?

The⁠ answer was simple.⁠​

‘Senior​‌ Fernan’s energy.’

An‌ energy similar to⁠⁠‌ Armian’s, but that​ didn’t come from​⁠ the secret art‌‍​ of the Armian‌​ sword.

That‌⁠​ doubt kept tormenting⁠⁠​ Aint’s mind.

When?‍‌ Where? How?

And​⁠ why?

Even⁠‌ in the midst‍‌ of the most⁠ frenzied battle, the‌ questions kept surfacing⁠‌‍ one after another.‍‌‍

Gardner​‍​ had said his‍​ priority should be​ to kill the⁠‍‌ demon, but Aint​‌‍ didn’t see it⁠‌⁠ that way.

He⁠‍‌ was an “enemy​​‌ of the demons.”‍‌

The‍ only trait that‌⁠ distinguished him.

If‍ not even Armian—a⁠​ family already in⁠ ruins—retained that advantage,‌‌​ how could they⁠‌ keep up with‍⁠ the other elector​ houses?

It⁠ was impossible.

If‌ both Armian and‌ Pellenberg possessed the‌ power of the‍⁠ “enemies,” whom would​ the world choose?​‍

The⁠ fallen Armian family,⁠ or Pellenberg, the‌ most powerful house⁠ on the continent?‌‍​

Who‌‌ would rise higher?‌

The⁠​ fact that Fernan‌‌‍ possessed the power‌ of the rival‍‍⁠ meant just that—a​ wall that closed‌ off Armian’s future‍‌‍ and his own.⁠‌‍

For‍‌⁠ humanity, it was⁠⁠ a hope.

But‍​‍ for Aint, it⁠⁠‍ was utter despair.​

An⁠‌⁠ enemy far more⁠ terrifying than any⁠ demon in his‌⁠‍ eyes.

‘If‌ senior Fernan even‌ takes the title‍​ of enemy of‍ demons… what’s left‍​ for me?’

Nothing.‍

That’s‍⁠‌ why Aint didn’t‌⁠⁠ reject the rector’s‍ proposal.

He‌ had to create‌‍ something new, no‌ matter what.

He‍‌⁠ ran without paying‌‌ attention to defense.​

Even‍‌‌ when the demonic​⁠ energy grazed his‌ cheeks, even when​ the flames tried‍‍ to melt his‌‌ aura, he kept⁠​ advancing, focused only⁠⁠ on his target.‍‍⁠

All‍⁠‍ his strength and‍‍ concentration were focused‍ at the tip​ of his sword.​​‌

He​⁠‍ activated all his‌‌ aura.

He⁠‌​ could see the‍⁠‌ enemy.

The‍ head of an‍ owl, the body⁠ of a man,⁠‌ and a pair‌‍​ of wings spread‌ on his back.​​

The‍ demon moved its⁠ wings, scattering demonic‍⁠ energy that nullified⁠‌ the rector’s lightning.‌​

From‍​‌ its beak flowed‍⁠‌ a constant stream⁠‌ of black magic,⁠ and its yellow⁠ eyes stared straight⁠⁠ at Aint.

It​ extended its sword.⁠‍⁠

Covered​​ in black fire,​‍ it burned with​ unbearable heat, with​​ deadly sharpness.

Its‍​‌ tip pointed directly‍​ at him.

Aint​​‍ didn’t disperse Armian’s‌​ power to weaken‌⁠‍ the demonic energy,‌⁠‌ nor did he​‌​ try to dodge‌‌‌ or create a distraction.

He‍ simply condensed his​​⁠ aura with more‍‌ weight and sharpened⁠ it further.

He‌ poured everything he⁠​‍ had into a single strike.

Of‌ the five supreme​⁠⁠ arts of Armian’s​⁠ secret sword technique,‍⁠ he used the⁠ only one he‌⁠ could execute at‌​⁠ that moment.

The‍⁠⁠ secret sword art​ of Armian.

From‍​ his aura, a luminous bird was​‌‍ born and soared⁠ into the air.‍‌‍

The‍ demon roared, covered​ in black flames.‌⁠

The⁠​ white bird drew⁠⁠‌ a path of‍⁠ light in the‌‌‍ sky.

Where‌ the black flames​⁠ passed, nothing remained.⁠‍

──────!‍⁠‌

Light‍ and darkness clashed.⁠​⁠

Everyone’s‍‍ vision disappeared; day​‌⁠ and night alternated‌⁠ dozens of times‌​ in just an‌ instant.

The‌ magnificent legacies of​ the capital disintegrated‍⁠⁠ without a trace.​⁠​

The​ ground sank.

The⁠‍⁠ sky cracked.

The​‍ unleashed forces swept​ everything, and the⁠​‌ monsters wandering aimlessly​‌​ were erased from​‌ existence.

The​‌‌ trajectories of white‍ and black left​ countless scars, and‍ in the end,‌⁠ the wing of‌ the Vijo shattered.‍​​

— Aint! Focus!

Gardner​ shouted.

Darkness⁠⁠ devoured the light.‌

The⁠‍​ Vijo, struggling to‍‍ resist, vanished completely.‍​‌

Aint‍​ stepped back.

Andras‍‌ advanced.

No‌ matter how much⁠⁠ he saw him‌ as an obstacle,⁠​​ no matter how​ much he had‍⁠‌ grown, a demon⁠‍ was still a demon.

And‌‍‍ a demon was‌‍ strong.

Aint‍‍​ still didn’t have⁠ the power to⁠‍ face one alone.​

──!⁠

If‌ not for the‍​ lightning that fell​‌ at just the‌⁠ right moment, separating⁠‍ Aint from the‌​‌ demon, he would‍ have suffered a mortal wound.

“Cough!”⁠‌

The‍⁠ backlash of having‌⁠‍ bet everything on​⁠⁠ a single strike​‍‌ was devastating.

Aint‌ coughed up blood.‌⁠‍

“Recover!”‌​‍

A large-scale magic circle​ surrounded him, protecting‌ him.

The⁠‍‌ demonic flames clung‌ to the barrier,⁠ melting it little​⁠‌ by little.

Taking​‌⁠ advantage of that‌ moment, Aint drank​​ a potion and​ steadied his breathing.⁠

‘…Right,‌ the enemy is​⁠ a demon.’

He‍ regained composure.

An‍⁠‍ obstacle? No, no.‌⁠ He was an⁠ adversary.

An⁠‌⁠ enemy he couldn’t‌‌‌ defeat alone, no‍⁠ matter how hard⁠‌‍ he tried.

He​⁠‌ hadn’t been objective.‌⁠​

The​‌ idea that Fernan​ possessed the power‌‌⁠ of a rival‌​‌ had confused him;‌‍‍ the excitement had‌‌ clouded his judgment.‍‍

Even⁠‍ though his internal‌ injuries were severe,⁠‌ against a demon,‌‍⁠ that price was​​⁠ almost cheap.

He‍ drank another mana‌‍‌ potion.

He⁠‍ wasn’t fully recovered,​​​ but he could‍‌‌ keep fighting.

“……!”‌‌​

His​ figure disappeared.

The‌‌‌ demonic energy that‍​ struck where he​​‌ had been shattered‍ the ground.

If‌‌‍ not for the‍‌‍ rector’s barrier, he⁠⁠⁠ would’ve died.

But‌ now recovered, Aint‌‌⁠ realized that his‌​‌ mistake hadn’t been​​ mere recklessness.

The​‌ previous clash had‌‌‍ almost killed him,​ yes, but Andras​​ hadn’t come out‍ unscathed either.

A long wound stretched​​​ across his chest.​‌‌

And​⁠‍ due to the⁠⁠ rival’s power, demonic‍ regeneration wasn’t working‍ as it should.​‍‍

The​‌ owl’s eyes twisted⁠ in pain.

And‌⁠​ that wound was​⁠ deeper, more severe‌‌ than the ones⁠‌ Aint had inflicted⁠ on Andromalius or​ Andrealphus.

His⁠⁠ sword had become⁠ sharper.

His‌ aura, purer and‍‍‍ more powerful.

He‍‍ had grown.

And‍‌ if he kept‌‍‍ advancing like this,‌​ someday he could​​​ hunt a demon‍⁠ alone.

And​ so it would‍​​ be.

‘But​‍ if senior Fernan…’⁠​

— Focus, Aint! Your‌⁠​ thoughts are mine,⁠ but now look‍​ at the demon!⁠

With​⁠‌ Gardner’s warning, Aint​‍​ restrained his mind,‌ which was starting‌‌‍ to drift again.⁠‍⁠

He‌‌⁠ folded space and​‍ lunged at the‌‌‌ demon.

Clang!⁠​⁠

The​⁠ swords clashed. The‌ blazing black flames⁠⁠ and the white‍⁠​ divine aura devoured‍⁠ each other.

Andras’s​‌​ sword was fast‌​ and heavy, and‍⁠​ his precision at‌‍ targeting the flow⁠‌‍ of energy was‌​ razor-sharp.

It⁠ felt just like​ fighting Luina.

Only⁠‍ faster, denser, more‌ overwhelming than her.​​

Aint‌‌ was pushed back‍‍⁠ again and again.⁠​

If⁠‌​ not for Armian’s⁠‍ power or the‌ rector’s timely help,​‍ the result would‍‌ already be decided.‍‍

And‍​​ undoubtedly, it would’ve‌⁠ been his defeat.​⁠‌

But‍‌‌ even so.

‘I‍⁠ can’t lose.’

Even‍ though his initial​‌‍ tactic had failed‍‍ and he had‍⁠ already come close⁠ to death several​⁠ times, Aint clung​‍​ on more fiercely.⁠‍​

Because⁠‍ if he gave‌‍​ up even here,‍‍⁠ he would truly​​​ lose all value.​‌

Because‌⁠​ if he lost,‌ the name of‍ Armian would lose‌​ all meaning.

‘I⁠ have to win.’‍‌

If‌​‍ Armian no longer‌‌​ meant anything, then⁠ at the very‍‍‍ least, he had‌ to keep the‌⁠‌ title of hero.‍​​

He⁠ had to defeat​⁠‌ the demon and‌‌ become one.

Not​‍ a boy who‍ depended on inherited​‍⁠ power, but a true hero.

‘I​‍ must… win…’

Clang!‍⁠

They​⁠‌ exchanged more than‍‍⁠ fifty blows in​‍​ the blink of‍‌ an eye.

He‌‌‍ clenched his teeth⁠ and endured.

His‌ armor was crushed.⁠‍ Wounds opened. Blood⁠​​ began to flow.​⁠⁠

His‍​ muscles ached, his⁠‍ bones burned.

Each‌⁠‌ blow took his‍ breath away, and⁠⁠ his hands trembled⁠​​ from exhaustion.

His‌⁠​ aura core had‌ long since run‌ dry, squeezed to‌ the last drop.‍⁠​

‘Keep‌ going…’

And⁠‍ yet.

Even‌‍​ after another fifty​ exchanges, and fifty‍ more after that,​ Aint did not⁠ fall.

His‌⁠‌ sword kept slashing,⁠‌‍ deflecting the enemy​ blade that sought‍‌⁠ to tear into‍ him.

‘If​⁠ I lose the‍ meaning of being​‌ the sole enemy‍ of demons, the‍ only thing I’ll​⁠‍ have left will‌‍ be…’

Since‍‍​ his strength wasn’t​‍​ enough, he focused​​ all his attention‍⁠ on instinct, on⁠​​ the raw feeling​​‍ of battle.

‘The‌ feats I achieve‍‌ by hunting a real demon.’

His⁠‍ nearly depleted aura‍⁠​ was refined with‌⁠ pinpoint precision, utilizing‍ every last fragment.‍​

“You’re‌ still standing, you‍​​ damned stubborn brat!”⁠⁠‍

The‌ demon’s scream didn’t​‌‍ even reach him.‍‍

Only​ the pressure of​ not losing completely⁠‍ enveloped him.

The‍ very act of‍‌‌ still fighting was‍ already a near‍‌ miracle.

And‌ then, the sky‍​ responded to his⁠‌​ will.

‘What…?​​ My energy…!’

Somehow,​‌ his drained aura‍ began to fill​ again, little by​​ little.

He‌ didn’t know where⁠⁠ it came from.‍‌ Nor did he​ have time to​​ think about it.​

He⁠​ could only endure,‌ and endure more,​​ pushing himself to⁠‍‌ the limit.

Clang!​⁠

There⁠ was no refinement⁠​⁠ left in his‌​ technique.

It‍‍ simply unfolded, by‍‍ sheer inertia, everything​‍ he had engraved​​​ into his body​ over the years.‍

Aint‌⁠ didn’t realize it,​ but his movements‌​ followed the perfect⁠⁠‌ trajectory—no excess, no​⁠ waste, with just‌ the right amount‌⁠‌ of force.

He‌‍ was in a state of trance.‌‍‌

***‍‌

“…Well​​​ now.”

From⁠ the start of​​‍ the battle, Rector‍‍​ Michael Montella had‌​ been relentlessly attacking⁠⁠ with magic, helping​‌‍ Aint while striking⁠ at the demon.‌​⁠

At​ first, yes.

But‍‌ as both increased‍ their speed and​⁠⁠ power, and their⁠​‌ movements became impossible‌‍‍ to follow with⁠ human eyes, he‌⁠​ was forced to⁠⁠ stop.

Not​‌​ even an Archmage​ could aim at‌‍⁠ Andras with precision‍ without endangering Aint,​​⁠ not at that‍‌ speed.

So‌‍​ all he could⁠‌ do was observe‌​⁠ the situation, preparing⁠‌‍ a high-level spell​‌ capable of mortally​​‍ wounding the demon⁠ at any moment.‌

“So​ he’s still an⁠‍⁠ Armian…” he muttered.‌​

At​​ the beginning, he‍ had noticed Aint’s‌‍ anxiety.

Probably⁠ because he had​ seen the power‌⁠‌ of Fernan Pellenberg,‍​ the very same​‍​ power of Armian.​‍

It​ was the symbol‌ of his family,⁠​​ but now it​‍ no longer belonged​⁠ to them alone.⁠‍⁠

He‍ couldn’t imagine the​‍‍ impact that must‌⁠ have had on​​ Aint.

“Come‌⁠⁠ to think of⁠​​ it… how the‌‍ hell did Fernan‌ get that power?‌⁠​ Not Armian’s, but⁠​‍ the power of⁠ the enemy of​ demons.”

For⁠ a thousand years,‌‌ only the Armians⁠‍​ had possessed it,​ from the first⁠‌⁠ emperor until their‍‍ fall.

It​ was their sacred‌⁠⁠ heritage.

How​​​ had it ended‌⁠​ up in Fernan’s⁠‍ hands?

‘No,‌ that doesn’t matter​ now.’

Michael​⁠​ looked back at​‍‌ Aint.

His‍ demeanor had completely​​​ changed.

The​ young man who‌⁠‍ earlier showed anxiety‌​ and confusion was​ now centered, focused​​​ only on his⁠​ sword and his⁠‍‌ enemy.

Whether‌⁠​ he had calmed‍‍‍ his mind or‍ the situation had​ forced him to,​‍ it didn’t matter.⁠‌

What⁠⁠‌ mattered was that‌ warriors or mages​ who reached that⁠ state always broke‍​ through their own‌‍​ limits.

Michael⁠⁠‌ couldn’t help but⁠ feel excited to‍⁠ see how much‍‍ Aint would grow‌​⁠ after this battle.​⁠‍

And‌‌‌ that was when​ he felt it.‌‍⁠

‘Hm?’⁠

Aint’s‍​ energy flow, which‌‌ he thought was⁠‍ nearly depleted, suddenly‌ erupted as if​‍‌ overflowing.

But​‍ its origin wasn’t​ his aura core.‌

‘The​ sword?’

An‍‌‍ energy coming from​ the sword flowed‍ into Aint, permeating​‍ him.

‘What…​‌‍ is that sword?’‌

Was‌⁠ it perhaps a magical sword inherited​⁠ from Armian?

He‍ hadn’t sensed anything​​‌ before, but now‍​ it radiated immense‍ power.

Michael‌ examined Aint’s sword‌‌ closely, but couldn’t⁠​ keep watching.

‘……!’⁠⁠

Because⁠ the battle between​ Aint and Andras,‌ which had reached‍ its limit, finally‌ came to its‌​‍ climax.

“Aint!”⁠‌​

BOOOOM!─‍

The‌‌ rector immediately cast⁠‍ his ultimate spell.⁠

A white lightning bolt,​​ divine punishment, pierced⁠ the entire world.‌‍​

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