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[Translator - Night]
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Chapter 42: The Name of the Morning Star (3)
Her breath came in ragged gasps.
The divine power wrapping around her entire body felt like it was choking her, as though it clogged her throat.
It was an excruciating pain—yet, it was pain she had already resigned herself to endure.
A secret art passed down only to the Saint of Hope.
Historia clearly remembered the words she had heard the day she learned it.
—The first Saint always feared the tyranny, or the whimsy, of fate. She was ever so free-spirited, and in some ways, like a child. Not absolute good—no, a neutral trickster. Is that not what fate truly is?
—That sounds terrifying...
—Which is exactly why we must be here.
The previous Saint smiled gently.
—Hope only truly shines when fate is cruel.
Historia's expression hardened.
There was a cost, but the power's effectiveness was undeniable.
By burning her own life to create hope, it became possible to resist the divine will of fate.
Historia unfurled her halo.
From it, light began to pour.
BOOM!
Her assault was like a storm.
The light from the halo smashed into Verheim with destructive force, and in mere instants, dozens of divine spears formed to pierce his vital points.
Divine magic resembled conventional magic, yet was fundamentally different.
While magic twisted the laws of nature using mana and precise calculation, divine arts were closer to manifesting desperate prayers into physical form.
In other words, the stronger the will to manifest one's inner image, the clearer and more powerful the resulting phenomenon.
In that sense, Historia’s divine arts were blooming in their most radiant form in this moment.
What she held in her heart was regret.
What she burned was her life.
Her unyielding resolve to stop Verheim at any cost had taken form as a catastrophic force.
Of course, that didn't mean Verheim was someone who would go down so easily.
“Such wastefulness.”
CRASH!
A red aura burst from his fist, shattering the divine spears.
As he stomped the ground, the very earth overturned and sent out a shockwave.
Saint Verheim.
Also known as the Commander of the Holy Knights.
He was the strongest divine magic user of this era.
And at the same time, a knight possessing supreme physical might.
Even without the “Compulsion” of the divine will of fate, and without the “Certainty” of divine blessings,
no matter how much divine power she summoned by burning her life,
there was a gap that could not be bridged.
That was experience.
“Number Seven: Divine Spear.”
Verheim incanted.
Though it was a short chant, it was still a chant.
For someone capable of casting without chanting, adding an incantation meant the technique was fundamentally beyond ordinary.
A red spear, three times larger than his own body, materialized.
The energy it contained was pure malice.
Historia gritted her teeth and threw up a barrier.
The spear struck.
CRACK!
The barrier fractured.
But it wasn’t over yet.
“Number Eight: Trust. Nine: Sword Strike. Eleven: Acceleration.”
Red lightning wrapped around Verheim.
Soon, it concentrated into the divine sword in his hand.
The sword screamed madly.
With a flick of his shoulder, the blade unleashed a slash.
BOOOOM!
The strike shattered Historia’s barrier.
Still—
“…I won’t go down that easily.”
Even Historia had not entered this fight without preparing her own tricks.
She lacked experience.
She lacked understanding of divine art matchups.
She knew better than anyone that, having lived a life of healing and aiding the poor, she could never match someone who had fought all his life.
Yet, she was not blind to the flow of battle.
SLAP!
Historia clapped her hands.
What did she have that surpassed Verheim?
Just one thing. In this moment alone—
“In firepower, I don’t lose.”
Divine energy surged through her like a flood, far beyond what Verheim could summon.
“Number Forty: Divine Judgment.”
With a short incantation, she invoked the pinnacle of divine arts.
Above the cathedral’s shattered roof, the clouds parted.
Golden magic circles filled the sky.
Hundreds of prayers began to align—then fired.
―――――!!!
A deafening, blinding bombardment fell directly onto Verheim.
Historia frowned.
She held her breath.
“Cough…!”
Blood gushed from her mouth, crimson and thick.
A massive amount of divine energy had been expelled.
Divine Judgment was an annihilating art.
It didn’t destroy matter—it erased it.
Even with a secret art to amplify her divine power, the backlash was immense.
The battlefield was now shrouded in mist.
She stayed tense.
No matter how disoriented he might be, Verheim was—
One of the five most gifted in the millennium’s history.
And her vigilance proved right.
“Well done. For you.”
BOOM!
Verheim tore through the mist and slammed his fist into her barrier.
His condition was grave.
His body was charred black, his flesh and muscle shredded.
The carefree look on his face was gone.
But that didn’t mean he had lost.
“Number Thirty-Three: Regeneration.”
Ssshhh—
Verheim began rapidly healing.
So unfair.
Even after burning her life, she had only barely held her ground.
That was the overwhelming gap in talent.
But…!
She had to fight to the bitter end.
Historia aimed for the opening.
Thud—!
Without chanting, a divine spear stabbed into Verheim’s abdomen from point-blank range.
Verheim’s face stiffened.
Staring into his eyes, Historia muttered quietly:
“Number Seventeen: Explosion.”
Verheim tried to retreat—but the divine spear embedded in his stomach reacted first.
BOOOOM!
His abdomen exploded.
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[Translator - Night]
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* * *
Verheim was furious at the unexpected development.
Historia was not meant to be such a difficult opponent.
He had assumed he could take her out within three moves, no matter the method.
That assumption had shattered.
Which meant the plan to swiftly kill her and leave had also fallen apart.
His dull golden eyes analyzed her carefully.
He now realized—he had to fight her seriously.
He re-evaluated the battle.
His abdomen was ruptured.
Internal organs lost.
But for him, that was a manageable injury.
He could still fight.
The real problem was...
Historia’s divine energy was forming halos.
Quantity wasn’t the issue.
It was quality.
No matter how much divine power she threw at him, Verheim had enough experience and mastery to neutralize it.
And yet, she was overwhelming him.
There was only one reason for this.
His divine power wasn’t manifesting its full nature.
The divine power of fate was compelling.
When he cast divine arts with it, merely having the intent to strike meant the blow would land—guaranteed.
Yet, against Historia, that certainty had vanished.
Where had she learned this technique?
There had been no record, no rumor, no precedent of such an effect tied to the divinity of hope.
And yet, the inexplicable had happened.
There was no time to dwell on it.
"Persistent, aren’t you, Verheim?"
"Likewise."
"Give it up."
Crack!
Historia’s halo shattered.
Through the fracture, pure divine energy surged forth.
Danger.
By the time Verheim recognized it, he had already cast a barrier and activated his body-acceleration technique.
But he couldn’t avoid damage completely.
―――!
The energy mass, flying at the speed of light, blew off Verheim’s arm.
His teeth clenched tightly.
His gaze grew murkier, yet that fury sharpened his focus.
‘A way to win.’
Not impossible.
Verheim wasn’t so dull as to not sense the foundation of this terrible power.
"So, a war of attrition. Let’s try that."
It might’ve seemed infinite, but the power had a limit.
If so, the only solution was to drain it all.
Verheim’s figure blurred.
When he reappeared, he was behind Historia.
Boom!
He kicked at the barrier.
Forcing her to overuse advanced divine techniques?
Sure, that would work—but not as efficiently as breaking the barrier.
That technique, maintained constantly, devoured divine power like a gas-guzzling engine.
Crash! Boom! Bang!
Close-quarters combat, led by martial techniques.
That would’ve been the hardest battle style for Historia to handle.
After all, in close range—
"Divine lance…!"
"You won’t catch me with the same move twice."
That trick had run its course.
Thud!
He wrapped divine energy around his foot and stomped on the lance.
Verheim could see Historia gasping.
She was nearing her limit.
As he realized it, he activated a high-level divine technique.
"Technique 36, Divine Path."
Crackle!
Red lightning surged along his right arm, tearing a scream from him.
Historia’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Verheim reached out, unflinching.
A piercing close-range divine technique—
One capable of fully breaking through the barrier, even if just for a moment—
Crack!
"Urgh?!"
It was more than enough to grip Historia’s neck.
Verheim, while regenerating, suppressed her divine power.
With direct skin contact—and considering how weakened she was—that much was easily within his power.
"I enjoyed your little act. You tried, I’ll give you that."
A deep breath escaped him.
Verheim was honestly impressed.
"If I’d known this was possible, I would’ve used you for something else. Ria… seems I didn’t truly understand you."
Her application of divine techniques was rough, but her instinct for tactics shone.
She understood her strengths and weaknesses and built her strategy around them.
That kind of talent wasn’t easily found.
That this clueless, always-grinning woman had such gifts—
"I commend you. But this is the end."
Tighten—!
"Urgh…!"
He tightened his grip on her neck.
He had to kill her.
The thought surged through him like fire.
‘Yes, if it’s for making Rebecca smile…’
He had made a promise.
And if anyone got in the way of fulfilling it, even a lifelong comrade could be discarded without hesitation.
At that very moment—
"Kh…!"
Historia choked on her breath.
But something about her expression was… strange.
"Khhk…!"
Her lips curled upward, painfully.
Her eyes, filled with defiance, even held a trace of relief.
Why?
What was the reason for that look?
The mystery unraveled soon enough.
She spoke, through great effort.
"You must’ve been really desperate, huh, Verheim?"
Verheim’s expression froze.
Her calm pierced him with a chilling sense of danger.
“…What are you talking about?”
“Did you forget something?”
Her gaze drifted to a spot on the floor.
The moment he followed it, Verheim’s eyes wavered.
‘The communicator!’
It was there.
Historia spoke again.
"I wasn’t trying to win. Just survive."
And only then did Verheim realize what he had overlooked.
All that relentless assault—all that desperate resistance—had been a distraction, blinding him from one simple thing.
This had always been—
BOOOOM!
—a battle that became worse for him the longer it lasted.
Verheim threw Historia aside.
He quickly threw up a barrier and crouched low.
And from above, something descended.
A black rod.
Behind it, gray hair and violet eyes.
An aura like a monstrous beast roiled through the space.
"You pathetic bastard couldn’t last a single day without screwing up."
Yuren had arrived.
Verheim braced for both defense and counterattack.
But it was pointless.
Crackkkkk!
The barrier crumbled from where the rod struck.
Verheim’s eyes widened in shock.
The rod whipped across his cheek.
SMACK—!
"Urgh…!"
And then, one more blow.
"Not over yet."
Crown Prince Callios appeared.
With a sly, mocking tone, he whispered:
"Head down, scum. The prince has arrived, and you dare raise your eyes?"
WHAM!
Verheim’s face slammed into the ground.
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[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
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