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.