Chapter 207 – Footprints (3)

There was a man. He was inept. He didn’t excel at anything. The village elders believed he would never amount to anything of value.

However, in his gaze—cold enough to give chills—there was something indescribable. That expression, paired with his black hair and eyes, gave him an unsettling aura.

Because of this, the village adults would clear their throats uncomfortably whenever they saw him and keep their distance.

Even under those piercing stares, the man remained silent.

He tried tending a garden but only harvested rotten crops. He picked fruit, yet always chose the ones already spoiled.

There was nothing he could do right.

So in the end, he had no choice but to rely on the village’s communal supplies. And with that, he simply passed the time.

Years went by. When the man reached adolescence, the village elders summoned him.

They laid out a variety of weapons before him—swords, spears, bows, maces.

An old woman pointed with her chin. It was a signal to choose one.

The man looked at her for a moment, then reached out.

He chose a sword.

There was no particular reason. It just didn’t seem like a bad choice. That was all.

Unaware that this choice would change both his fate and the fate of all humanity. He was immediately sent to the battlefield, a lone sword strapped to his waist—not by his own will.

It was the result of a royal decree mandating conscription.

The Great Human-Demon War had broken out without warning, and the Empire began rounding up young men from every village to build an army.

The village elders held a secret meeting and decided to send him to the front lines.

After all, he was an orphan, a good-for-nothing. There was nothing to lose.

Even so, the man held no resentment toward the village. To be honest, he didn’t feel anything at all. His actions and thoughts were entirely devoid of ‘will.’

That was exactly why everyone had labeled him inept. And also why they believed he would die quickly.

But those expectations were completely wrong.

The man began to stand out on the battlefield. He wasn’t just skilled. His presence alone could shift the tide of war.

He possessed overwhelming martial prowess.

His movements were as smooth as flowing water, yet as destructive as a natural disaster.

Every time he swung his sword, the Demon King’s forces were annihilated. With every step he took, the battlefield was drenched in a thick mist of blood. Everything in his path turned crimson.

For more than ten years of war, the man grew stronger.

As if he had no limits.

His power approached that of a god.

Followers began to gather. Over time, they multiplied beyond counting.

He chose seven among them as his disciples. They would later be known as the Seven Braves—the origin of the Heroes of the Seven Stars. That man, once deemed useless, became the hope of humanity.

In contrast, the Demon King’s army grew to fear and despise him.

Humans and demons alike said the same of him—he was a being favored by the heavens.

But he didn’t accept that.

He knew he was still inept. Because, in proportion to the power he had been granted, he was only able to wield a minuscule portion—barely the tip of a needle.

And even that fraction was difficult to control or manifest.

Then, the man came to a realization. There was another… someone more suited than him to wield that power.

***

Lycan drew in all the magical energy he could.

This was the Demon Realm—Gehenna. Everything around him was pure magic.

He could absorb it without limit, and in an instant, he amassed an overwhelming amount.

In contrast, that environment was toxic for humans. Normally, one would convulse and collapse under such a dense concentration of mana.

And yet—

Whooom.

The darkness thickened. Light was pushed back by it. In the face of that endless blackness, a sacred energy rose to meet it.

Lycan saw those eyes, glowing green. The human with the sword approached with steady steps.

Lycan felt a chill run down his spine.

Not even in the face of infinite power. Not even against someone who could wipe out half of humanity—Balor Joaquin never showed fear.

He didn’t even fight with intent.

He simply moved toward his enemy.

That alone made him identical to “Him.”

If so, then this man was no different from a demigod.

“How does it feel… to be chosen by Him?”

Lycan curled his lips in delight.

Balor, without stopping for even a second, responded.

“Don’t you see? This arm is being consumed. I’m not chosen. I was just born with this damned curse.”

“Hahaha!”

Lycan burst into laughter. The sky roared with thunder. Lightning streaked across the land in pale blue arcs.

Then he spoke again.

“Did you know? Demons and humans… are essentially the same. In this war, I’ve seen countless human atrocities. Sometimes, their darkness far surpasses ours. Light and shadow are divided by a paper-thin line.”

“I’ve never seen a demon do anything good.”

Lycan laughed again, this time with scorn. The earth quivered faintly.

“Balor Joaquin, the more I speak with you, the more fascinating you become. It’s a shame this is where our conversation ends.”

“Don’t worry, Lycan. When you arrive in hell, the demons that have already died will keep you company.”

Balor lunged forward. A single leap. Lycan couldn’t react in time.

A speed so absurd even lightning couldn’t catch up. The Holy Sword, Gram, drew a line of light.

Slash!

In a blink, a red streak appeared across Lycan’s left arm. Before the limb could fall, Balor swung down with another strike—aiming for his legs. But this time, Lycan reacted.

Rumble!

Thousands of bolts of lightning fell from the sky, crushing a massive section of terrain.

Balor retreated quickly.

He swung his sword, cutting through the spears of electricity.

His arms and legs moved faster than lightning.

His movements defied causality.

Blue flashes blinded the eyes. Thunder shredded the eardrums. Blood sprayed across Balor’s cheek.

And still—millions more lightning lances fell from above.

Balor furrowed his brow.

The relentless bombardment was becoming a nuisance. So far, he had been dodging by the narrowest of margins,
but he couldn’t keep that up forever.

‘In that case.’

His left arm began to blacken and char even faster.

Without changing his expression, he raised Gram. He slashed at the lightning in the air.

Crack.

Something shattered into a thousand pieces.

Mountains melted like ice. A catastrophe unleashed by Gram.

The speed of his blade was now beyond visual tracking.

Rumble.

A light drizzle began to fall. Red rain, slick as oil, soaked the battlefield. Yet both man and demon clashed with undiminished ferocity.

Black spheres, like pools of oil, floated in scattered distortion. Their battle had warped time and space.

Gehenna screamed.

Thud… thud…

Fragments began to rain down from the sky. A procession of death caused by only two beings.

Then, Balor looked down. His left arm was now just bone.

He frowned.

‘Time’s running out.’

If the corruption reached his legs, he’d lose mobility. And losing mobility was the breaking point.

Defeat would become inevitable.

‘This ends now.’

Balor bent his waist and slid back his right leg. His sword, hanging low in his left hand, drooped slightly. From his darkened face, two green streams of light flowed like trails of flame.

Lycan watched silently—and understood immediately.

This would be the end of their battle.

The raindrops fell heavier.

The shattered Demon Realm continued to distort time and space.

〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓

Boom.

Balor’s figure vanished.

***

Lycan staggered—and his torso separated.

His upper body rolled across the ground before coming to a stop.

The electricity faded into the air, leaving only a few floating sparks.

His eyes lifted toward the sky. The sun, sinking in the west, looked as though it had been split in two.

The earth still bubbled like boiling lava.

Lycan turned his gaze to the side. There stood the victor of the slaughter—the human.

Barely able to stand, staggering on his feet, utterly ravaged.

Balor coughed blood again and again. His entire body was covered in wounds.

He wiped the blood from his lips, then took a faltering step.

He stabbed Gram into the ground, using the Holy Sword as a cane.

He approached Lycan and looked down at him. Droplets from his chin splashed onto the demon’s face.

His breathing was ragged. His face pale. His body beyond exhaustion.

Yet Balor remained standing. His gaze was unwavering and cold.

He held the unmistakable bearing of a victor.

Lycan muttered with difficulty.

“…Even you… can’t fully wield that power… can you?”

Balor didn’t respond.

He simply stared blankly into the distance.

Lycan’s eyes began to turn gray.

“…I guess it’s true… If it weren’t, there’d be no way to stop the end of this world…”

“Just one question.”

Balor finally spoke. His voice sounded corroded, like rusted metal.

“That ‘Lord’ you speak of—the one who gave me this cursed power… where is he?”

Lycan gave a faint smile.

“He destroyed all the gods by himself. The world, fearing his power, cast him out. So he no longer exists in our plane. Why do you ask?”

“I intend to kill him. If he’s your master, he must be an enemy of humanity. And if he gave me this curse, he must pay the price. Even if he wiped out the gods.”

To Lycan, those words were heresy. But his smile only widened.

“Interesting… Very interesting. But you can’t kill him. Only a Hero can face Him. You know that, right, Balor Joaquin?”

“But if you truly wish to see Him, I can tell you how.”

Balor’s face showed the slightest reaction. His eyes widened—just a little.

And then Lycan spoke, very slowly.

“Use the Ring’s Eye that you received from Ouroboros. That’s how you’ll reach where He is.”

“And why tell me all this so easily?”

“That’s a foolish question. I already told you. I acknowledge you as my comrade. That’s why I’ll tell you.”

“……”

“Demons kill humans. We feel no remorse or compassion for it. That’s how it’s meant to be—an unchanging law. But who defined that law? Maybe we’re all just pawns—puppets of someone higher.”

Balor Joaquin sighed and asked once more.

“After I use the Ring’s Eye, how do I find Him?”

“That too is a foolish question. Aren’t you humans always praying to false gods every day? If you cry out in sincerity… The true Absolute will come to you.”

Lycan took a deep breath and spoke his final words.

“Follow the trail of His existence. That journey begins with my death. Do what you must now, Balor Joaquin.”

Balor raised his sword in reverse grip. And then—without a crash, without a scream—came the dull sound of flesh being torn.

It was the sound that marked the end of a war.