"Bastard!" Moriel's thunderous roar shook the heavens. Her figure suddenly surged upward—not toward Asa, but directly toward the descending blade of the Black Star.
Trailing the sword was a tide of endless darkness. Wherever it passed—sky, earth, or anything in between—was all swallowed into that black void. It was as if the light of this world, and everything within it, had only ever been a fragile illusion. This slash of pure darkness tore apart that flimsy facade, revealing the world's true form—nothingness.
Splurt—what had been flowing like a stream now gushed like a waterfall. Moriel's wounds erupted with a torrent of blood, cascading outward in a wave of deep blue. Alongside her blood poured countless strands of magical energy, merging with it in front of her to form an enormous Annihilation Sphere
She stood, together with that devastating sphere, directly in the path of the Black Star's falling blade.
The black lightning that had torn through the world suddenly came to a halt. As the tip of the blade pierced the annihilation sphere—now mixed with torrents of blue blood—it stopped in place, no longer continuing to tear through everything, including Moriel.
"Now's your chance—finish that bastard!" Moriel's roar was still deafening, but no longer carried the power it once did. Beneath the fierce sound was a dryness, a frailty she couldn't hide. The blue blood had nearly stopped flowing—not because the bleeding had ceased, but because there was almost nothing left to bleed. Her crystalline body had lost its radiant blue, turning into pieces of dull white crystal falling away, revealing not the scales of the black dragon underneath, but her very bones. She had truly gone beyond her limits, using her own life force to block the descent of the blade.
Her body was too damaged—she could no longer use spatial magic to teleport. Asa was too far, and the falling sword too fast. There was no time to deal with him. The only thing she could still do… was stop the blade, if only for a moment.
Her magic power was all but gone. It had taken nearly every last drop of her life to summon that one annihilation sphere—and only the pure chaotic magical energy within it could temporarily hold back the Dark Star.
The blade hadn't completely stopped—it was still inching forward, slow and strained, through the sphere of chaotic energy. Moriel could feel the chaotic power within the annihilation sphere, along with her own life force, being rapidly worn away and annihilated by the dark aura of the blade. She wanted desperately to turn and look behind her, to shout once more and urge them on—but she no longer had even that sliver of strength left in her.
Not that she needed to. Regardless of their motives, everyone was already charging toward Asa.
His footsteps remained the same—hollow, one step at a time. His gaze and expression were still vacant, but the King of Undead no longer bore the aloofness that had just moments ago made him seem beyond the world. At the very least, he now looked battered—so battered it was frightening.
The Ghost King's robe was completely gone, already torn by Moriel earlier, and now, under the raw chaotic energy of the annihilation sphere, not even the faintest trace of that treasure remained. As for Asa himself—if before he had resembled a porcelain doll on the verge of breaking, then now he was a doll already shattered. The cracks on his body had doubled in number, depth, and width, and it seemed only some unknown force was barely holding him together. Without it, he might crumble into a pile of fragments at any moment.
But none of that was the most important thing.
The most important thing was the hilt in Asa's hand—the hilt of the Black Star. The once-impenetrable black mist no longer swirled around it. Now, it looked no different from an ordinary piece of obsidian, its surface covered in web-like cracks. That suffocating emptiness, the feeling that had once made anyone uncomfortable just by looking at it, had almost completely faded.
The hilt was damaged—it was damaged!
And it was severely so. Just like Asa himself, it looked as if it was only a step away from shattering. If either of them truly broke, it would mean victory. Everything would be over.
In that moment, a blazing light burst forth in the eyes of Roland and Lancelote—like two people who had stumbled blindly through a Black abyss all night long and suddenly caught sight of sunlight breaking through.
Roland was the closest to Asa. Even though he no longer had a weapon, and his severed arm was still bleeding, he didn't hesitate for a moment. He charged straight at Asa with everything he had.
Two fingers like a blade—like the edge of a sword. Sword aura and sword intent surged into his only remaining left hand as he thrust forward. Though this impromptu strike with his hand in place of a sword couldn't compare to the sword aura he had unleashed before, the determination to win contained in this attack, the sheer will behind it, was even stronger than his previous all-out slash. This strike was sharper, swifter, more resolute.
Yet the strike didn't land.
Asa tilted his body slightly, and Roland's sword-hand merely grazed past his chest. Then, Asa's right hand—wielding a blade like a shadow—silently, without warning, slashed into Roland's chest.
With a cracking sound, Roland spat blood and was sent hurtling backward over ten meters. But even as he hit the ground, the light in his eyes didn't fade. It only burned brighter, fiercer.
Once again, Asa moved with the illusionary grace of a phantom—his dodges and strikes utterly without pattern. Roland's attack, one that neared the pinnacle of swordsmanship, was completely ineffective, and he was forced back. And again, that sudden, devouring void caused the flesh around the wound to crack and splinter on its own.
But he had only broken four ribs.
Only four ribs.
The slash from the King of Undead ould break only four of his ribs.
And he felt it clearly—when his palm grazed Asa's chest, he sensed the telltale crack. That dodge hadn't completely succeeded. Now he could see a long, jagged fracture spreading across Asa's chest.
This was no longer the invincible, terrifying King of undead. He was sure of it. He, Lancelote, and Grutt—if they attacked together again, they could shatter Asa completely. Maybe they wouldn't even need all three—just two would suffice. Grutt was still farther off near Moriel, but Lancelote had already begun his charge, white sword light flaring around his body like a comet.
Asa knew this too.
Those hollow eyes of his could still perceive every detail with terrifying clarity. Every molecule, every motion, every unfolding trajectory of this world was reflected into his emotionless, empty mind like a perfect map. Because there was nothing within him, he could see everything without.
Even though that ability was waning now—diminished alongside his failing body and the fractured hilt of the Black Star—he could still judge precisely: in 1.57 seconds, Lancelote and Roland's next combined strike would hit. It would be their third joint attack, and their synchronicity had now reached a margin of error under 0.007 seconds.
With the power left in his broken sword hilt, he might be able to counter the strike, but he couldn't nullify it. Even with the most efficient dodge, he'd still lose at least half his body.
The sword body of the Black Star in midair had almost completely pierced into Moriel's Annihilation sphere. Both the sphere and Moriel were trembling—no matter how supreme the magic or how mighty the being, under the Black Star they were rendered small and fragile, as if they could be torn apart and annihilated at any moment into the darkness behind it.
But Asa knew it wouldn't happen immediately. It would take precisely 3.031 seconds before the sword body could break through the Annihilation sphere, reach Moriel, and finally reunite with the hilt.
Only, after taking the combined blow from Lancelote and Roland, he no longer had the ability to dodge or resist. And in the remaining 1.74 seconds, those two could have torn him apart twenty times over.
Yet even knowing this outcome, Asa's expression, his steps, and his heart remained unchanged—still that endless emptiness, that vast, hollow void.
None of it mattered.
In his utterly vacant consciousness, there was no concept of success or failure, no joy or sorrow, no pleasure or pain. There was only the will passed down from the Black Star—an unwavering directive that compelled him forward. Like a perfectly programmed machine with its destination locked in, regardless of outcome, he would continue walking forward… walking forward…
His gaze and attention scanned over Grutt, who was still the farthest away. He would need 3.15 seconds to reach this point—insignificant. Then there were the two people moving in the same direction as Lancelote, who would need only two seconds to arrive. These two were weak, two women, two familiar faces—Talice and Elaine.
Them?
Suddenly, something stirred in his vast, empty consciousness.
In fact, he had already noticed these two earlier, but within his immense, hollow awareness, they had been nothing more than inconsequential elements, with no combat potential, and so he had ignored them. But now, upon seeing them again, those two women, once mere insignificant particles, had become something his increasingly small void of consciousness could no longer disregard.
This stirring, once it began, could not be stopped. It wasn't just about them anymore. More things, from some deeper place within his awareness, started to stir, wanting to emerge. It felt as though something that had always been buried beneath the vast emptiness was now triggered. The most sensitive strand of thought had been touched, and everything within him was activated, shifting, swelling in the wake of that void. His consciousness could no longer dismiss them.
Although their steps were slow compared to Lancelote and the others, and their combat power was weak, they were still desperately running toward him, their faces covered in blood, tears streaming down. Asa could see clearly the wounds on their bodies, the results of countless life-and-death struggles, with at least ten near-death experiences. They shouldn't have been here. He remembered...
As more memories and information flooded in, the turmoil behind it all grew stronger and more unstoppable, but he couldn't stop thinking about it.
These were indeed two inconsequential elements. With their current combat abilities, they couldn't play any significant role. Even if they reached him, it would only take 0.31 seconds to slice them in half... It would be so easy to kill them... to kill them... His empty consciousness desperately tried to turn this surge into that hollow reasoning, but these strands of thought seemed to only pull harder at the turmoil behind the emptiness.
Crack.
In his void consciousness, a sound of cracking echoed. This agitation from behind had opened a small rift in the emptiness. Just a tiny crack, but from it, something incredibly powerful surged, bursting through the void and out of his body.
"You two, don't come any closer!" Asa shouted at them both.
Those who heard the voice were momentarily stunned. This was no longer the completely hollow tone—it was laced with agitation and fear, emotions that had intertwined with the previously empty sound. This was not the voice of the King of undead; it was not something that should come from a being as void and disconnected from the world as the King of undead.
Talices and Elaine were first shocked, then their expressions changed to sheer joy. They had been running with all their might, but now they were running even faster. Talice shouted toward Lancelote, who had already begun to draw his sword: "Master, he's awake!"
However, the Holy Light Cross Sword that Lancelote had just summoned did not dissipate or slow down. On the contrary, it became sharper, more relentless, and more all-in. Roland also felt the same way. This was their third and possibly final combined attack.
Of course, they heard the peculiar tone in Asa's words and Talices' shout, but to them, it didn't represent a chance to save Asa. Instead, it signified an opportunity to kill him.
Unlike the women whose thinking was clouded by concern, their judgment was absolutely devoid of emotion. It was the most efficient and decisive response. If Asa had really awakened, the first thing he would do would not be shouting, but dropping the Black Star hilt. What they heard in Asa's voice wasn't just emotion—it was more like chaos, likely a result of continuous attacks leading to a loss of control.
In the sky behind them, Moril's aura had become increasingly faint. They didn't risk testing whether there was a chance to bring Asa back to consciousness. Even with a ninety-nine percent chance, they couldn't afford to take that risk. Now, this had to be seen as the best opportunity to destroy him and the Black Star Sword in one blow.
The combined sword energy was far weaker than before, but for the current King of undead, it was more than enough. They could see that crimson blood had already begun to pour from Asa's body. It seemed that, even without their attack, he was already beginning to self-destruct.
"Don't come near." Asa kept muttering those words, but his voice and eyes no longer held that empty void; instead, they were filled with chaotic turmoil.
The emptiness in his consciousness had cracked, and it seemed as though something within his body had also fractured. The cracks that covered his body, which had once been imperceptible, now caused him a faint sensation of pain. This pain, which spread through his body and deep into his heart, felt strangely satisfying, a feeling of life, long forgotten. Accompanying this sensation was the aura emanating from the hilt of the sword in his left hand, an aura that should have long since fused with his life and consciousness, something he should no longer feel—but now, he could feel it.
The sensation of feeling it meant that the two had already separated. This aura was now resonating with the part of his consciousness that had cracked, attempting to return to the void that had once been fused with his life. But the dark tide behind the void refused to relent. With even the slightest crack, it surged forward, desperately trying to fill the emptiness. These two opposing forces tugged at each other, each striving to unify his consciousness and body, yet they only caused Asa's awareness and body to begin breaking apart.
The final strike from Lancelote and Roland was upon him. Asa no longer had the chance to dodge or defend. The void in his consciousness, which had once reflected all things, was now torn apart by the innumerable forces bursting through the cracks.
The sword energy and intent of the two were now concentrated at a single point, like a needle. Though it couldn't shake the earth, it was powerful enough to split the heavens. It wasn't aimed at the Black Star hilt in Asa's hand, but at his chest—though neither of the two targets had moved.
They were not confident enough to shatter the Black Star hilt just yet, even though it was already shattered beyond repair; they didn't have a hundred percent certainty. But they were certain, without a doubt, that they could destroy Asa.
"Stop!" Three voices rang out in unison.
"Stop, wait!" The thunderous roar came from Grutt. He had already transformed into a blur, flying toward them, but it was too late—he was too far away, and his injuries were severe. His roar was undoubtedly powerful enough to shock anyone's mind, but it was ineffective against Lancelote and Roland now. Their wills and sword energy were as solid as a needle.
"Stop!" Elaine's voice joined the chorus, but her shout was powerless, almost drowned out by Grutt's thunderous roar. Towering over the rest was Talice' scream, as she could see the combined strike from Lancelote and Roland would shatter Asa into nothing but fragments. Like Elaine, deep-rooted fear and strength surged from the depths of her heart, pushing the scream from her throat. But unlike Elaine, she didn't just shout "Stop."
"Stop, Father."
Her cry, nearly drowned by Grutt's earth-shaking roar, was barely audible. Yet when it reached Lancelote's ears, it was a thousand times more effective than Grutt's voice.
Lancelote's movements froze for a moment. The sword energy and intent that had fused with Roland's instantly scattered.
It wasn't that he was persuaded by the words, but that the sound of her voice and that specific word pierced directly into a place in his spirit—a place that no one knew, a soft spot he kept hidden—causing his otherwise perfect concentration to waver.
He had originally thought he had patched up this weakness, believing it would never again stir his heart or unsettle his mind. But now, he realized, deep down, beyond all reason, faith, and willpower, there remained an unhealable soft spot—a place that still affected both him and Talice.
Even though he knew this was no time for hesitation, he forcefully tried to push all distractions out of his mind and urged the sword energy forward. But it was already too late. The combined strike faltered, and Roland's hand struck Asa before Lancelote could act.
With a loud crack, the split sword strike lost its combined power and could not fully destroy Asa. Instead, it shattered his left shoulder, causing it to explode in a burst of blood and shattered bone.
A blood-curdling scream erupted from Asa, no longer hollow, but filled with raw vitality.
As the scream echoed, Asa retaliated—not with his blade or the sword hilt, but with his head. He charged straight into Roland's face. There was a sickening crack, and Roland's face was almost completely torn apart, sending him flying backward.