Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 75

“What are you plotting, peasant...?” Andrei said, as his blood-red eyes glared down at Leon, who looked as if he were watching some incomprehensible creature.

The gap in power between the two was as clear as day. His vampiric transformation, fueled by the morian, was a perfect success. Hundreds of lives’ worth of stolen vitality gathered within him seemed almost endless.

It was a strength on par with the Vampire Lords who’d vanished three centuries ago. Even if two Holy Iron Inquisitors armed with silver and sacred spells stood here, the gap would still be too wide. Affinity was a valid concept only when the difference in scale was somewhat comparable.

And now Leon was sending away two powerful vampires and an A-rank adventurer, making their odds even worse. That made Andrei come to just one conclusion.

Guessing Leon’s intent, Andrei’s smile curled into something vile.

“I see. So you mean to let your woman run while you stand and die? Pointless. All of Rubena is already in the palm of my hand. No matter what tricks you try, no one can cross this city’s borders, nor slip past my gaze. Your foolish choice only erased what little hope you had left.”

Leon said nothing, and seeing that, Andrei continued with a sly grin.

“Heh, what’s wrong? Regret it now? Lifting your sword at me and fouling your final chance with your own idiocy? But I will not grant you a second chance. You’ll writhe in that regret even after death, you—”

“God, you never shut up,” Leon cut him off, unable to stand it any longer.

Andrei’s rant snapped short. Had Leon’s voice wavered even a little, he would have sneered—dismissing it as empty bravado—but Leon’s tone was calm.

And it wasn’t just his tone. His expression, his stance—there was not a tremor of fear. He didn’t look like a man cornered at all.

Sword still lifted, Leon said, voice flat as steel, “Is there some rule that says you have to run your mouth to become a dark mage? I was letting you talk to buy some time, but man, this is getting old really quickly.”

“What...?”

It was as if their roles had flipped. Even Andrei, drunk on his newfound arrogance, couldn’t hide his confusion.

What chance did this vermin think he had? What was he clinging to that let him stand there, so brazen? No answer came to mind, so for a moment, Andrei found himself speechless.

However, the confusion didn’t last. Anger boiled up, filling his eyes with murderous light. Crimson energy gathered in his palm.

“You. Dared. To stall me? You worthless thing! You test my mercy to the bitter end!”

In seconds, the gathered power condensed into a bloody orb of raw force. It wasn’t even proper magic—just raw, overflowing lifeforce packed into a projectile, yet its power was monstrous. Even Demian felt the crushing air from dozens of meters away and went pale.

He muttered, “Ridiculous power...! If that lands...”

It would cause more destruction than a dozen wagons’ worth of gunpowder. At this range, Leon wouldn’t leave behind a single bone fragment.

However, Leon only murmured to himself, “Good,” calmly expanding his Aura Sense to make sure Karen’s presence was gone. She had vanished from his senses, and Tepes and Roman would be with her. That was why he’d let Andrei drone on.

El-Cid sneered, —What an idiot. His trump card was turning himself into a vampire?

The scorn rattled through Leon’s head. Leon agreed with a thin grin as he lifted his blade, pointing it at the vampire looming in the night sky.

“Andrei Rubena!” he shouted the name, locking Andrei’s attention on him. “Light!”

The Holy Sword El-Cid erupted at full power, shooting a second sun into the sky—or at least that was what it looked like. So bright that for an instant, all of Rubena gleamed as if dawn had come. People startled awake by the false daylight rushed to their windows, shielding their eyes.

And the light showed mercy. Had this brilliance been pure, natural sunlight, half the city would have been blinded on the spot. However, the Holy Sword’s light judged none but the guilty.

“It’s warm...? Wait, my wounds are...!”

Hansen, his entire body scorched by Black Lightning, scrambled to check himself, eyes wide as he realized the burns were healing.

It was the same with Gustav and Leonik. Just by standing in the light, they healed faster than Demian’s sacred spell could manage.

“It can’t be...”

Unlike the mercenaries, Demian and Angela knew exactly what that light was. Their eyes flew wide, breath caught in their chests. The holy power they had spent was restored in an instant, washing through body and soul alike. Not even Elahan—the greatest of the ten relics in the Inquisitors’ vault—could match this.

It was a Holy Sword and its wielder. Realizing this truth, the two Inquisitors brought their hands together in reverence, overcome.

Meanwhile, Andrei burned with a terrifying screech. The power he’d gathered dissipated in an instant, and the monster who had so arrogantly gazed down now rolled across the ground in agony.

There was only pain. Even facing the sun in broad daylight couldn’t compare to this. Born human, he stole his way beyond that limit and thus became a living embodiment of evil.

—The Holy Sword hits filth like him twice, no—three times as hard. And a Vampire Lord’s true threat isn’t just raw power. It’s their cunning, the twisted ways they bend centuries of experience and countless abilities.

And Andrei had none of that? Leon asked.

—Exactly. There’s also the fact that he was drunk on new strength and lost all his composure.

A mage’s true strength came from the mind. A true high-tier mage could recite incantations with a blade at their throat.

Andrei, however, had rotted away in his manor for decades and his strength was built on stolen lives. No battles to temper his will, no rivals to sharpen his edge. He drowned in his own power at the first taste of real fear.

—And that Bloody Moon barrier? All it does is block sunlight from outside. It can’t shield him from light born within. Only third-rates get drunk on their own power like him.

El-Cid’s judgment was cold, but true. Leon, unlike his opponent, had hidden his final trump card, holding it back until the moment counted. That difference in resolve had turned the tables.

Good thing I started storing power back when I cut down that Forest Troll, Leon thought, watching the light fade. If not for that, it might not have been enough.

It was a failsafe. Knowing his own lack of experience, Leon had stockpiled power in the blade, saving it for this final blow. El-Cid himself hadn’t even thought of it.

Then—

—Leon!

El-Cid’s bark snapped him into motion. Leon hurled himself aside an instant before crimson beams tore through the space he’d stood in.

With a deafening crashing noise, marble tiles shattered into dust as stone shards scattered like shrapnel. A bead of cold sweat trickled down Leon’s neck. At that power, even a full plate wouldn’t save him if he took it head-on.

Another screech followed, this time loud enough to burst both his eardrums. Blood spilled from both ears as Leon wrapped himself in Aura, spinning to face the source of the beam. Andrei Rubena was no longer even a vampire—more like some monstrous aberration.

“Disgusting...” Leon muttered to himself without realizing it.

And it was true. Andrei’s newly youthful body burned like a charcoal husk. What flesh remained was half-melted lumps, more zombie than noble. His eyes, seared by the sun, were hollow pits now, and his mind was flickering—half-mad.

—He’s lost control. There’s nothing left but instinct.

El-Cid warned, voice low.

—He might be even more dangerous now. He can’t cast spells anymore, but he’ll swing around whatever vampiric powers he’s awakened. Watch the blood, the sound, and the shadows.

Got it.

Leon nodded once and held his breath. This was it. Andrei was a ruin, but Leon was also down to scraps, eighty percent of his Aura spent. Neither of them could last long. Maybe a few dozen seconds, a minute at most. The fight would end here.

Andrei moved first. With a meaningless, monstrous roar, that lump of burning flesh twisted—and the ancient powers of the Nosferatu’s three noble lines awakened.

The blood of Wallachia, the sound of Erzebet, the shadow of Strigoi.

He’d failed to finish his ritual, but Andrei’s preparations had been perfect. Had he been given another half-year, he might have bridged three hundred years of emptiness and become a new Vampire Lord. Maybe he’d have fused the three bloodlines and risen to match the founder Dracula himself.

—Doesn’t matter now—he’s just a dying idiot.

With El-Cid’s unintentional pep talk, Leon moved. He had layered Aura around his head, shutting out any disorienting waves.

The sound’s dealt with.

Next came the blood. From Andrei’s torn body, streams of blood churned and morphed into countless blades, rushing at Leon. Vampiric blood, dense with magic, could shred steel like paper when wielded with a master’s will.

One slash of the Holy Sword carved through three spearpoints, and the second swing smashed aside the crimson tide. Wallachia’s power was especially mismatched against Leon.

Blood was a part of the vampire’s own essence—touching it with the Sun’s Aura reduced it to nothing in an instant. He’d confirmed that during all his staged bouts with Tepes.

That leaves... the shadows!

A shadow blade that came with a swish sliced his shoulder.

“Tch!”

It was sharp. Its cutting edge rivaled any Aura Weapon. If he hadn’t trained with Karen, he’d have been gutted by the first strike.

Leon’s eyes spun, tracking the invisible maelstrom of slashing shadows as he took a half step to the left, then two to the right in a dance on the blade’s edge.

If his Footwork or his Vision slipped even once, his head would roll. His body grew slick with blood, but he didn’t stop.

Come on, just a bit more!

He poured every last drop of the Holy Sword’s power into strengthening his body, driving his mind into a trance where thought itself burned away. Even so, he was half a heartbeat behind. He pressed forward, dodging mortal wounds by a hair’s breadth each time.

Three steps. Two. He jerked his head aside just in time, but his right earlobe was sliced clean off. Ignoring the sharp pain and dripping blood, he pushed forward again. Leon’s eyes locked coldly on his mark.

It was time to cut down the enemy. There was no time to put his full weight into it—nor any need. Physical power didn’t matter. What killed was his Aura and the Holy Sword’s authority. Just a touch was enough for the target to destroy itself.

Leon closed the last step and brought the blade down, so fast it left afterimages lagging behind, his sword cut on a perfect diagonal.

Even so, El-Cid shouted, —Too shallow!

The might of a Lord-tier vampire was monstrous. Leon’s blade didn’t reach the heart—only slicing away some charred flesh.

Andrei sprang backward with a mad leap, fifty meters, drenched head to toe in his own blood-red light. A hideous phenomenon.

El-Cid realized what was going on first.

—That bastard! He’s going to blow himself up! You’ve got maybe fifteen seconds! Finish it! You can still use Merak, right?!

How about you do it?

—You already pulled it off last time, didn’t you?!

Right, Leon thought dimly, brain hazy from blood loss, as he raised his sword again.

Andrei was fifty meters away, so close yet impossibly far. A normal swing wouldn’t reach. Charging at him? There was no time left.

At least he had one last card—one way to bridge that distance.

I guess I have no choice.

He gathered the last shred of Aura, compressing it all into his blade. If this strike of Aura Concentration failed, it was over. At the very least, he and everyone in the room would die. If this vampire could convert its entire life force into a bomb, this area would be leveled to the ground.

A faint glow built at El-Cid’s edge. Compared to the roiling crimson storm that Andrei had become, it was tiny—fragile.

Would it even reach? Could it possibly cut through that pulsing red mass? In the midst of the uncertainty, slowly, the tiny light grew denser.

Once, this technique left its name among Rodrick’s legends: the Grand Chariot. Angela, more warrior than scholar, showed sparkle in her eyes as she recognized it first.

Watch this, you damned master, Leon thought, eyes unfocused, mind drifting somewhere between life and sleep.

He’d lost too much blood, and his head swam. He didn’t even know what he’d just said to himself. His body moved on its own, following the path carved deep by training and belief.

“Krahahahaha!”

Andrei’s hideous cackle tore through the night—pure, deranged killing intent leaking from every warped syllable. His swollen mass bulged, like a blood-red moon.

Two seconds to detonation. Someone clenched their eyes shut, bracing for death, but that was when Leon moved, faster than he ever had in his life.

A wave of light, Merak, split the world in two.