Chapter 305 – The Age of Warmonger (7)

Episode 305 The Age of Warmonger (7)

‘What is it?’

Even with her eyes closed, Dolores felt an unexplained anxiety.

And soon, that anxiety becomes tangible through the ears.

“Uub, uubh, ueubhh!”

A familiar groan. How could she forget that horrible voice?

Dolores’s eyes widened in surprise.

Before her was a familiar face, but a man with a strange look.

‘Humbert humbert L Quovadis’.

He was struggling towards Dolores with a gag in his mouth.

He has no hands to free himself from his bonds.

He was no better than any of the other criminals enslaved by Sady, already wrapped in bombs of magic stones.

Those pitiful eyes.


Dolores froze in place at the sight of Humbert.

The man she had feared ever since she had become his foster daughter, so long ago, simply because she was born with divine powers.

A man she loathed and feared, even to the point of facing him in the sack of horrors Dantalian had pulled out.



Dolores gritted her teeth hard.

She could not remain afraid forever.

When she had gone to the temple of an Old Testament that sold indulgences to investigate Belial, she had shivered helplessly and barely escaped with the help of Night Hound.

It was the same before Dantalian.

‘I won’t be his burden anymore!’

Dolores looked up at her foster father for the first time.

She’d learned the last time she’d been in the orphanage with Night Hound that the presence in front of her was no longer frightening.

It was time to be brave, to protect the person next to her.

To give back a little of what she had always received.

And in that moment, Dolores realized her heart.

A being that gave her the courage and will to face what she was so afraid of.

And she realized how she felt about it.


She gritted her teeth and punched Humbert in the face as he approached.


Humbert’s eyes rolled back in his head.

The trauma and nightmares that had been holding Dolores back were shattered so easily that it seemed like nothing.

At the same time, a white light different from before began to explode from Dolores’ body, which was surrounding Vikir.


Dolores’ eyes widened.

She is still far away from Night Hound standing behind her.

She still doesn’t know anything about him.

But what could it be? Right now, Dolores’s mind was filled with an enormous amount of divine power that she had never known before.

“Have you awakened?”

“Well, I guess so, though it’s a little hard for me to say this myself…….”

Dolores answered Vikir’s question in a confused voice.

She didn’t know what the harmony was, even to herself.


“Holholhol – yes, that is natural.”

Suddenly, a strange sound came from behind her.

Dolores turned to see Pope Nabokov I looking her way with a subtle smirk on her face.

“What is love? Just because you forcefully close the distance doesn’t mean you’re kicking someone. It naturally permeates and fills up the distant space in between. It’s like filling a broken bowl by submerging it in water.”

Vikir scratched his head, but Dolores seemed to realize something.

‘Yes. There’s something the Pope said about that.’

A snippet of conversation from the old well.

‘Old man. Anything natural is best.’

‘……Natural? What is that?’

‘The answer is to leave the cracked or holed bowl as it is. A hole or a leaky bowl can be filled by wrapping it in something bigger and embracing it. Holholholhol-‘

Love. An affectionate feeling that flows naturally toward an object.

It transcends class, status, age, race, gender, and all other gaps and distances.

That’s what philanthropy is.

The stage where all this happens naturally, like the flow of water, is called ‘naturalness’, which is an essential process of mind cultivation, not only for religious people but also for martial people.

“And that love is something that you naturally realize without anyone telling you. Holholhol – it’s only natural that they are both young men and women.”

As Nabokov’s voice echoed in her mind, Dolores prepared her divine shields.

There was no time to congratulate herself on the success of her soul resonance.

…Quack, quack, quack!

The horn of a unicorn falling like a lightning strike.

Amdusias’s attack began to continue fiercely.


Dolores winced as she felt the pain in her wrist.

The power contained in Amdusias’ horns and hooves was so great that even Dolores, the Saint of Steel, could not easily block it.

[It would be best to step back. That guy’s attack power is the highest among the Ten Corpses.]

Having absorbed nearly half of Vikir’s mana, Decarabia steps forward, and the battlefield scales are finally equalized.


Dolores retrieved her shield and focused all her buffs on Vikir.

‘……It’s definitely on a different level than before.’

Vikir marveled at his increased mana and physical strength.

The Swordmaster Intermediate, at the end of his seventh form, had risen a level in an instant.

It wasn’t his own strength, but it felt like he’d broken through one of the walls above.

‘I can fully realize the Eighth Form now.’

He recalled CaneCorso’s voice from the Grave of Swords.

[Even after stepping into the realm of the supreme, only those who continue to run without resting with the same mindset as when they first picked up the sword will gain something.]

Baskerville’s Eight Forms. A stage that must be supported by a desperate desire to survive, a thirst for life, and extreme practical experience.

A narrow gate that only opens when a person who has lost and regained their emotions has found an attachment to life at the threshold of death.

After becoming a Swordmaster, one rarely has to fight for their life, and this is where stagnation occurs.

Therefore, CaneCorso’s words were the most theoretical and closest to the correct answer.

In fact, it could be said that the 8th Form is a stage that is difficult to experience unless guided by a senior at the upper level of the supreme realm.

Or it takes a lot of hard work.

And Vikir is currently being pushed to the crossroads of life and death after a fierce fight.

Also, although she is not a senior, she has an equally strong supporter who is desperately sending buffs.

‘It’s said that the 9th Form is an area that cannot be reached in one’s lifetime, so the strength I can muster now is actually my last resort.’

The highest of the supreme realms, the 8th Form.

Vikir, who had risen to the pinnacle of Baskerville under Dolores’ blessing, did not miss the moment.


Eight massive teeth that engage, erupt, stab, cut, dismember, slice, dice, and crush.

A solid aura emanated from the magic sword Beelzebub, creating eight storms that tore through everything in their path.


Amdusias the first to scream in agony.

Its broken single horn makes a loud noise as it collides with Vikir’s slash.

Whistle. In a tense tug-of-war where no one side has the upper hand.


The one who started shaking first was Amdusias.


The cracks in the tip of the horn began to widen with a loud crackling noise.

Cracks that started from numerous arrowhead marks on the surface of the horn eventually split the horn into three pieces.


Thrown back with a loud bang, Amdusias revealed a puzzled expression for the first time since his descent.

[No way. How could a mere mortal……!?]

the mighty Amdusias lost his grip on the reins.

At the same time, Winston’s bloodshot eyes widened as he grabbed at his oily hair.


Kwa-kwang- Ujijijijik!

Vikir sliced Amdusias’s horns lengthwise, and they fell to the ground in that state.


Vikir opened his mouth, and several bars of hot blood immediately poured out.

A strike that sucked every ounce of power out of him.

And Vikir witnessed it in the process.

“……The 9th Form. Was it really there?’

The 8th Form, a level above the 7th Form, which is generally considered to be superhuman.

In that split second of reaching such a high level, Vikir did not waste time looking down and falling into self-absorption.

When you reach such a high point, you might have looked down at least once, but Vikir chose to raise his head and look up without wasting any time.

……And there it was.

The gate of the 9th Forms, looming high above.


So high and far away that he didn’t think he’d ever dare to reach it.

Still, just knowing that it exists, and in which direction it is, is an incredible feeling.

[You will never reach it in your lifetime, for the realm of the 9th Forms lies beyond the threshold of death].

According to CaneCorso, the end of the living is up to the 8th Form.

From the 9th Form onward, ordinary human understanding, empathy, conviction, faith, common sense, probability, and causality are all denied.

The realm of the Absolute currently rules the Grave of Swords.

The state of enlightenment demonstrated by a great man who threw his life away for the sake of a sword.

A place where those who have not experienced death cannot enter.

…… But.

‘I can reach it.’

Vikir was about to carve out a path a little different from the one CaneCorso had taken.

‘If it’s death, I can experience it without dying. Surely, it’s a hidden ability of that damned demon in front of me!’

Staggering to his feet, Vikir looked at Winston and Amdusias as they straightened up before him.

‘……The problem is time.’

Vikir rolled his eyes and looked beyond the crumbling ruins.

A spot in the sky visible between the ruins showed that the sun was just setting.

Vikir needs a little more time, as he is currently waiting for some sort of ‘event’.

‘We need to bring in a heroic figure from beyond the ruins…… or even just one of the parents from Don Quixote or Usher Family would buy us enough time.’

However, unfortunately, the collapsed object completely covered the large space, making it difficult to call for help.

Even Sady, who could bite the criminals, was knocked unconscious by Amdusias, so in many ways they were very unlucky.

And that’s a good thing for Amdusias, who has just reorganized his stance.

[For a human, I’m honestly surprised, young demon hunter].

Amdusias stared down at Vikir, his eyes wide.

Winston gave Vikir a pitying glance.

“But you, too, will eventually suffer the same fate as me. You will deny God, humans, and yourself three times.”

Demon. And the shadow of the person who abandoned humanity casts a long shadow.

Vikir and Dolores, who had exhausted all their strength from the clash just now, had no choice but to make a final decision.

…… Just then.

“Holholhol- But you’re saying you’re going to deny three times over and over again?”

There was no hint of tension in the voice.

A small shadow stepped in front of Vikir and Dolores.

An old woman of small stature.

An old saint who looked as if she might collapse at the slightest touch, she blocked the massive bust of Amdusias without the slightest hesitation.

Pope Nabokov I.

Before Dolores, who had a shocked expression, could even step forward, she opened her mouth with a calm expression and a comfortable voice.

“Are you talking about your mother?”