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[Translator - Night]
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Chapter 30: The Hero of Destruction
The saint who listens to the voice of the common people.
The hero who answered the call of the goddess.
The one who slices through stars.
The warrior who slaughters all demons.
Closer to the heavens than anyone on earth, the incarnation of destruction.
All of these refer to the same person—
Truly, it was a blessed encounter.
A magnificent journey indeed.
—From the Eastern Sage who witnessed the Hero of Destruction.
* * *
When you're a child, you tend to break things.
Whether it's a toy or furniture in the house, it's because you're not yet aware of your own strength.
Unable to control your body according to your will,
you recklessly move about and cause accidents.
In a way, it's only natural.
No one is born skilled.
I had such a time too.
When the title of Hero and the mission to protect the world were suddenly thrust upon me,
when my hand holding the Holy Sword moved on its own due to the overwhelming power.
Trying to slice just the edge of a demon for interrogation,
only to end up cleaving them entirely in two.
There were times I intended to cut down a single tree, but instead felled an entire section of the forest.
Even the usually quiet Elf Prince lost his mind back then.
It was merely a matter of failing to control my strength,
but for someone who wields a sword, that’s a fatal flaw.
‘If you can't distinguish what should and shouldn’t be cut, you're no better than a cursed blade,’
so spoke the normally wise goddess.
After giving it serious thought, I decided to avoid using the Holy Sword unless absolutely necessary.
Until I could fully master its power,
I refrained from wielding it carelessly.
I trained with ordinary swords.
I disciplined myself so I could control my strengthened body.
As a Hero, I walked through battlefield after battlefield.
I slew beasts.
I killed demons.
I annihilated devils.
After countless temperings,
the sword finally became familiar in my hand,
and channeling energy came naturally.
Drawing the Holy Sword was no longer a burden.
But upon reaching that state,
ironically, there were fewer and fewer situations where I needed to draw it.
I still felt more at ease with a normal steel sword.
It wasn't that I disliked the Holy Sword.
On the contrary,
every time I drew it, omnipotence surged through my body.
It felt too good.
And that was the problem—
so I tried to be careful.
“Holy Yurseus.”
A pure white radiance poured down the blade, burning away the surrounding darkness.
The balance of order and causality—Holy Yurseus.
The demon-slaying blade, forged from a star and consecrated by the goddess herself.
The wielder of this sword cannot be harmed by any evil,
and there is no demon they cannot slay.
However, no one can wield this sword.
A fragment of divine power itself, a piece of a star—
it is beyond the control of mere mortals.
With the sole exception of me, who has spent decades with it.
Zzzzzing—
The dark mages—mere pawns corrupted by demons, not even true devils.
The reason I drew the Holy Sword against such lowly villains was simple.
I do not allow “what ifs.”
With overwhelming force, with ruthless precision—
I kill every last one of them.
I save everyone without letting a single person get hurt.
After decades of walking the path of a Hero,
I finally became able to wield both the sword that kills and the sword that saves.
“May the blessing of the gods be upon us.”
And so, I drew it.
──Holy Sword Unleashed.
I took a step forward.
The sword carved an arc,
and its trajectory followed the essence of every dark mage on the platform.
It sliced through both the demons restraining the captives and those who were not.
To seal off escape, I cleaved through the entire area.
As I willed, pure white light engulfed the space.
This was the culmination of a single strike, condensed.
Kkkiiiiiik──!!!
With a single swing, space itself twisted.
* * *
BOOOM...!
KA-KRAKKA-KOOM……!
At first, she thought something had gone wrong with the facility.
How neglected did it have to be to collapse so loudly?
She made a mental note to file a complaint once today’s auction was over.
The reason that thought surfaced first—
Was because it all happened in the blink of an eye.
The host on the platform,
the guards prepared for any contingency—
they all collapsed, spraying blood.
Arms and legs, necks—separated from bodies.
The sight was so surreal,
so detached from the orderly auction that had been proceeding just a moment earlier,
that she couldn’t process it.
…Is this even real?
The face collector, momentarily stunned by the sudden turn of events, quickly gathered her wits.
From the platform, the flash of light began to spread throughout the abandoned factory.
Panicked, she summoned the deep, vast mana she had built up over a lifetime of murder and stolen elixirs.
“Offering of sacrifice, maximum magic deployment.”
With the incantation complete, the skins of the handsome men she had devoured unfolded in midair, releasing the magic they had held in life.
A swordsman who boasted of having reached the peak of mastery.
A mage who strutted proudly, acknowledged for his talent by those around him.
A desert shaman who barely escaped the magical wilderness of Africa, weeping.
Even a wealthy young master who had only ever consumed elixirs, lacking real skill.
“Focus point.”
All their powers gathered into one spot to maximize impact.
Thorns extended from the masks—faces—then branched out to form a tree.
It was both a barrier that protected the caster and a deadly weapon that impaled enemies—a perfect fusion of offense and defense.
“Thorn Tree.”
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This was the secret magic of the infamous Face Collector.
Even though she had cast it in haste, the magic formed perfectly, and she was soon reassured.
Before the spell was completed, perhaps she could’ve been stopped.
But once a mage finishes all preparations, no swordsman can best them.
And just as she believed, the flash of light merely brushed past the thorn tree and her without cutting.
As a fire of karmic retribution that destroys demons.
Before she could even register it, the Face Collector wasn’t cut—she was burned to death.
The Second Sword, Ignar.
The flash turned to flame and swelled in size, sweeping away the black mages to the right of the platform.
No need to ask who was at fault.
It simply burned in accordance with the weight of each sin.
The thorn tree with its widespread branches and the Face Collector turned to ash in an instant and crumbled away.
The fire demon flicked its tongue, growing larger with each evil it consumed.
Embers flew through the abandoned factory's air.
In this hellfire, slaves who had been sold as mere auction items ducked and covered their heads—only to slowly lift them in confusion as they looked around.
This fire seemed to choose who to burn.
It spared the innocent.
A truly astonishing sight.
“To dare such insolence before me.”
As if the display were laughable, the Black Knight Vermouth, who had been observing, curled up one corner of her lips and drew her sword.
Black armor and an obsidian greatsword—her infamous weapons, known worldwide.
Even amidst the chaos of the auction house, she showed no fear.
This worthless factory?
Any top-ranked hunter, a high-ranker, could cut it down easily.
And she could, too.
Dark energy infused the black greatsword, gathering a destructive force meant to slash through everything.
She had no intention of sparing anyone—only ruin.
To the Black Knight Vermouth, infamous across the globe, that was more than enough.
Rationality wasn’t needed to kill.
Only power.
Just as she prepared to swing her greatsword, a white flash reached her first.
Screeeech—!
The blade touched by the white brilliance was cleaved in two and scattered in the air.
Even her black armor couldn’t block it and was split apart.
So too was her body—there was no escaping the division.
...Ah.
She crumbled without resistance.
Before she could even release her full power, the brilliance that darted around the factory like lightning began slicing every villain into pieces—without exception.
“What... what is this massacre...”
A strategist of the Heavenly Demon Sect, couldn’t even gather her thoughts in the face of the sudden chaos.
Then, a flicker of awareness sparked within her.
She immediately began a ritual—not a barrier for defense, but a brief spell to transmit a message:
“...There’s an outsider on the peninsula...!”
Slice—!
A desperate communication.
Despite the urgency, the message would travel through dozens of branches and headquarters to reach the head of the Heavenly Demon Sect.
Fwoosh...!
Or so she believed—yet even the thread of that magic burned to ash in the flame of the holy sword.
There were no exceptions.
Those who kept life vessels outside to try and resurrect, those who called for reinforcements or allies.
No one's body or magic escaped the bounds of the factory.
Not until everyone was dead.
* * *
Night fell.
Like the pitch-black veil of darkness, the abandoned factory burned down, and all who had brought that darkness met their end.
In contrast, those who had survived stood stunned, staring at the light on the platform.
Pure white radiance.
It dispelled all surrounding darkness.
The light flowing from the holy sword and its wielder’s body was both sacred and destructive.
The survivors gaped in awe, hands clasped in reverence.
Grateful to be alive, yet trembling in fear.
It was a familiar sight, even from the other side.
Still, all those who were meant to be saved had been saved.
“Okay, Hero Mode: Off.”
Satisfied, I sheathed the holy sword.
[The Goddess nods proudly in approval.]
It seemed she thought so too.
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[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
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