CHAPTER 652: CHAPTER 652 - THREE SPELLS AND AN EVIL SPIRIT

Chapter 652 - Three Spells and an Evil Spirit

The Apostle did not repeat himself.

Instead, he gripped the staff in his right hand and extended his left.

To Fel, the hand gesture was peculiar.

He brought his thumb, middle, and ring fingers together, then spread them apart while making sweeping motions.

Finally, he folded his fingers again, leaving only his index and pinky extended.

As he performed these movements, incomprehensible words flowed from his mouth, and a drop of black liquid dripped from his fingertips.

Only then did the Apostle utter words they could understand.

"Huahrin’s Hound."

Luagarne had seen this spell before when facing cultists.

Black liquid swelled on its own, growing into a four-legged beast.

Grrrnnng—

The creature shook its head and let out a chilling growl.

Black vapor leaked from its maw, rising like steam above its head.

The difference in power between the spells of ordinary cultists and those of a Reincarnated Apostle was incomparable.

This was no mere dog—it was a beast far from trivial.

"Tear him apart."

At the Apostle’s command, Huahrin’s Hound joined the battle.

It kicked off the ground with a force that sent a loud thud echoing through the air, shrinking into a black blur as it lunged.

Enkrid sensed the beast coming for his back and twisted his body just in time, dodging the attack and smashing his elbow into its snout.

Crack.

The crisp impact sent the hound flying backward, slamming onto the ground with a heavy thud.

Despite the forceful hit, it sprang back up without so much as a whimper, shaking its head a few times before baring its fangs again.

It wasn’t particularly threatening, but it was undeniably persistent.

Meanwhile, the Apostle continued chanting.

"There is your body—go take it back."

"There stands the one who killed your mother."

"Hear my prayer and mark that human with a holy stigma."

Amidst the spells, Enkrid finally found an opening.

His sword flashed, slicing Huahrin’s Hound clean in half.

The beast did not cry out as it was struck; it simply crumbled into ashes and vanished.

At that moment, a vampire’s claw came slashing down toward Enkrid’s head.

He managed to intercept it, striking with his fist.

Boom!

A deafening explosion rang out, sending a shockwave through the air.

The wind roared, scattering the remains of Huahrin’s Hound into the night sky like dust.

Fwoooosh!

The wind carried a stifling heat, as if infused with the searing glow of the red moon.

There was no helping it.

With swords clashing and battles raging, even in the dead of night and the heart of winter, the heat was suffocating.

Sparks flared, explosions burst—the battlefield was nothing short of a festival of chaos.

A festival where blood was the wine, flesh was the bread, and bones served as the goblets.

At some point, Enkrid’s sword began to emit a pale blue glow, similar to the light of a moon obscured by mist.

Amidst the crimson glow of the red moon, his blade wove through the air like a black whip, clashing against the dark-red magic of the vampire.

Their opposing lights intermingled, forming a vivid battle of three colors in the sky.

It was reminiscent of the scene Oara had once created when fighting Beelrog.

But unlike Oara, Enkrid stood at the heart of the battle, scattering his pale blue light with every swing of his sword.

Huahrin’s Hound had seemed sturdy at first, but it was gone now.

The ghost that followed was impaled and cut down by the pale blue light—an eerie glow unseen on any ordinary night under the Red Moon.

No spirit survived a single clean strike.

And even if one did, Enkrid would cut them down regardless.

It simply looked that way.

He had no time for words.

Enkrid swung his sword relentlessly, never speaking.

The Apostle, too, refrained from speaking further, instead focusing solely on casting spell after spell.

Unfamiliar necromantic incantations poured from his lips in rapid succession.

Shadows flickered in the air, taking form and lunging with blades drawn.

Dark masses floated through the sky, streaking forward like arrows.

Neither Fel, Luagarne, nor Zero remained idle.

All three drew their weapons.

Luagarne, in particular, puffed out her cheeks.

Whenever she saw cultists, she remembered her dead lover.

They were her sworn enemies.

Even if the weight of her hatred had lessened over time, seeing cultists still made it impossible for her to simply stand by and watch.

After all, these bastards sought to turn the world into a demonic wasteland.

Would any sane person tolerate that?

Agreeing with them would mean having something seriously wrong with one’s head.

"You insane cultist bastards."

Luagarne gripped her loop sword in one hand and a whip in the other.

Snap!

Flames burst forth where her whip struck the ground.

Fel, too, readied his Idol Slayer with a firm stance.

Zero hesitated, stepping back.

Should he even be here?

He felt like he would only get in the way.

Yet... he hated the thought of running.

He had spent his entire life avoiding fights.

’If I have to run just because I’m weak, then I’ll never be able to stand my ground.’

To Zero, Enkrid was his idol—the one who had fought his entire life against his own limits.

The keen perception of a fairy allowed him to see Enkrid’s essence.

Zero wanted to follow in his footsteps.

That was what he truly desired.

But even if he wanted to act, there wasn’t much he could do at the moment.

So he remained silent, resolving himself.

If he survived this battle, he swore to train so hard that even if he had to visit the celestial flower fields of death, he would do so only briefly before returning.

The celestial flower fields were where fairies went after death—akin to heaven for humans.

The scent of those flowers was said to be so sweet and intoxicating that one could never tire of it.

As Zero steeled his resolve, Fel turned his attention to the Reincarnated Apostle.

If he were being honest, he had been waiting for a chance to kill the bastard.

But there were no openings.

The Apostle was clearly agitated—his forehead veins bulging as he chanted spell after spell without pause.

’Even if there’s no opening, maybe I should force one.’

Just as Fel adjusted his stance, the Apostle’s gaze briefly flickered toward him.

Was his intuition sharp, or was he simply skilled at reading an opponent’s intent?

Either way, it made no difference.

The Apostle coldly uttered his next spell.

"Huahrin’s Hunt."

As he swung his staff, black liquid pooled at its tip before dripping onto the ground—where it immediately formed into more than a dozen hounds.

And not just hounds—there were horses as well?

Fel tightened his grip on his sword as he scanned the situation.

It was time to change his approach.

’I need to ease the burden.’

If this continued, the Apostle would drown Enkrid in spells.

But if Fel could put pressure on him, that might change the tide.

As he resolved himself, the Apostle chanted another incantation.

"Come forth, Warriors of Death."

The Apostle had once been known as the ’Spell Collector,’ a man who had memorized over a hundred spells.

How did he compare to mages like Galaph, who could grasp an entire river with a single hand?

Without Esther here, there was no way of knowing.

But one thing was certain.

This Apostle could take on all of them by himself.

"You think our meeting here is a coincidence? It is not. I have been waiting. After I kill you all, I will rain despair upon Border Guard.

I have already sent my forces to the city you once called home,.

Now, have you not understood me yet?

Then I shall say it again.

As many times as it takes."

He must have been really pissed off.

Fel thought as he watched a pale-skinned warrior emerge from the spot where black mist had risen.

The warrior wielded a broad sword and had pitch-black eyes.

Would this be considered a monster made of magic, or should it still be called a beast?

Death warriors were commonly said to be necromantic spells used against apprentice knights.

A tier above them was the death knight.

However, neither of these spells was easy to use.

Unless the caster was willing to offer up their own body to the gods, they would need a warrior’s or a knight’s body as a foundation.

The Apostle of Rebirth was capable of summoning fifteen more death warriors with a spell.

Fel didn’t know that much, but he knew exactly what he had to do.

The moment the apostle looked in his direction and began chanting a spell, Enkrid also glanced over.

At this rate, he would become a burden rather than an ally or subordinate.

’Damn geniuses, I’ll catch up to them no matter what.’

Fel steeled himself with a resolve similar to Zero’s, yet distinct in its own way.

At any rate, he knew what he had to do.

While Enkrid was fighting against two knights and fending off the enemy’s spells, Fel had to assist him.

That meant he couldn’t afford to waste time against an opponent of this level.

He steadied his breath and locked eyes with his enemy.

The black warrior raised his broad sword and assumed a stance, feet slightly apart, sword tip pointing toward the sky.

The weapon looked light, but his forearms appeared thick and powerful.

It was a bit of a gamble.

’Thanks to that bastard Ropord, I’ve taken risks like this dozens of times before.’

Fel’s talent was certainly extraordinary in some ways.

And on top of that, he had been thoroughly beaten down by Enkrid on his way here.

He hadn’t just learned how to provoke an opponent.

The black sword slashed diagonally downward.

The stance had no visible openings.

A strong momentum flowed from the warrior’s feet up through his thighs.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call it the skill of a master.

The death warrior’s swing seemed poised to cleave Pell in two.

That was when Fel finally moved.

Stepping forward with his left foot in a large stride, he slashed his sword upward.

There could be no wasted movement—so there wasn’t.

Every finger, every toe, was used solely for this single strike.

While Enkrid had been stealing glimpses of Fel’s talent to learn from him, Fel hadn’t been idle either.

What Fel had just executed was Enkrid’s specialty—the full-power slash.

Fel’s sword sliced from the death warrior’s abdomen up to his head.

The warrior’s own blade cut nothing but empty air.

Fel advanced, stopping in the position where he had completed his upward slash.

For a brief moment, the red moonlight behind him seemed as if it had been severed.

Master-level skills weren’t enough to play in this arena.

Fel’s sword spoke for him.

The playing field had changed, and he had to change with it.

"Whew."

He steadied his breathing and looked forward.

The apostle was watching him, lips pressed into a thin line.

Should he tell him to repeat that, pretending he didn’t hear?

Right now, it didn’t seem like anything he said would provoke much of a reaction.

So Fel stayed silent, keeping his sword raised.

"Mormon."

The apostle spoke.

At his command, the figure standing beside him, dressed in garments bound at the sleeves and ankles, stepped forward.

Fel naturally assumed the man would come for him.

’Another one?’

But the opponent didn’t target Fel.

Instead, he walked toward Enkrid.

The measured footsteps alone were enough to indicate he was no ordinary fighter.

Fel wasn’t sure exactly what made him remarkable, but he felt remarkable.

His instincts sent a warning.

’If he had come for me, I wouldn’t have been able to handle him.’

That was Fel’s assessment.

And there were three of them.

All three of them were heading straight for Enkrid.

Could Enkrid handle them all?

"Well, fine. Let’s do it this way, then. We’ll just sit back and watch now. Of course, we can’t have idle hands..."

"Come forth, Sham."

The apostle summoned four more death warriors, sending one to Luagarne, one to Zero, and two toward Fel.

Then he summoned eleven additional corpses, sending them all at Enkrid.

Though their quality varied, they were at least on par with squire knights.

They wouldn’t serve well as mere meat shields, but as corpse shields, they could at least disrupt Enkrid’s movements.

Now, he had to deal with three powerful opponents plus the death warriors swarming him.

"Shouldn’t we be calling for reinforcements?"

Fel muttered.

Had they acted too recklessly?

Should they have anticipated that the cultists would pour everything they had into this battle?

Had Krais overlooked this?

If so, they were all going to die here.

The look in the apostle’s eyes as he stared at Enkrid made it clear—escaping wasn’t even an option.

’All three of them are knights?’

The difference in playing fields was being hammered home once again.

The black serpent Elle, the vampire, and now the martial artist who had stepped forward were all knight-level fighters.

The last one clenched his fists and charged in.

If the first two specialized in unconventional techniques, this one fought with rigid orthodoxy.

Now that he had two death warriors to contend with, Fel could no longer afford to stake everything on a single decisive strike—he had to buy time.

***

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