Chapter 93: Overlord (Patreon)

If a single step could shatter every obstacle ahead—

If a single strike could destroy every defense before it—

If a single sword strike could cut down anything standing in the way—

Then the "One" distilled from countless sword strokes would ascend into the "Peerless"—a height no one else could stand beside.

The path carved open by that peerless power is called the "Hegemon's Way."

Only the "Hegemon," one who stands above all living things, can walk that path.

This truth was written into heroic epics a thousand years ago.

Now, a power that should have been buried along with the fall of the Zeus Familia had descended upon Orario once more.

Southern district of the city.

A flash of pitch-black sword-light tore through the burning street.

BOOM!

The blade's pressure swept flat across the ground, tearing up entire stretches of paving stone. The defensive line several high-ranking adventurers had formed together held for only an instant before the tower shields buckled under the impact, and the men behind them lost their footing in turn.

Screams, shattering stone, and twisting metal blurred together into a single roar.

The line was torn open by brute force.

The mage standing at the very back never even finished her chant. That black silhouette had already crossed through the swirling dust, its greatsword sweeping in low. The gale raised by the blade alone was enough to scatter her magic out of control, hurling her into a shop at the roadside.

"Fall back! Don't stand in front of him!"

A Level 4 dwarf adventurer bellowed at the top of his lungs.

He threw down his shattered shield, gripped his battleaxe with both hands, and led the rest of the vanguard to flank the enemy from both sides. Eleven adventurers stood here in total—three of them Level 4, the rest seasoned Level 3s.

A team like this would be enough to crush most Evilus strongholds.

Against the enemy before them, they couldn't even manage to slow him down.

A man clad head to toe in heavy armor stepped out of the dust.

He stood over two meters tall, a deep crimson cloak trailing behind him. The helmet covering his head bore an eye-guard, leaving only a hard, sharply cut jaw and mouth visible. Each time his iron war-boots struck the ground, the already-broken paving stones sank further under his weight.

A pitch-pitch-black greatsword rested on his shoulder.

Its broad blade looked as though it had been carved straight from the fang of some ravenous demon—a weight ordinary warriors would need several men to lift together, yet in his hands it seemed to weigh nothing at all.

Zald came to a stop and looked around at the adventurers regrouping around him.

"Is this all there is?"

His low voice carried through the helmet, making the nearby flames tremble faintly.

"Has Orario grown so weak it needs children of this caliber guarding its streets?"

A vein throbbed at the dwarf adventurer's temple.

"Don't look down on us!"

He shattered the paving stone beneath his feet and swung his battleaxe upward at Zald's breastplate. The other two Level 4s attacked simultaneously from the sides—a spear aimed at his knee joint, a two-handed sword slashing at the gap between helmet and pauldron.

The three strikes sealed off every direction he might dodge.

Zald didn't retreat.

He didn't even lower the greatsword from his shoulder.

His left hand came down first against the flat of the battleaxe.

A light flick of his thick fingers sent a blow strong enough to shatter rock veering off course to crash into the street instead. In the same motion, Zald raised his elbow to block the spear thrusting at his knee. The shaft bent violently, and the wielder was lifted off his feet, flung back the way he'd come.

The last attack, the two-handed sword, struck his pauldron.

Sparks scattered.

The blade left not a single mark.

Zald turned his head, looking through his eye-guard at the human swordsman whose face had gone pale.

"Good angle."

His shoulder dipped slightly.

"Too weak."

The mere impact left the swordsman's chest aching. Before he could draw his sword back, Zald had already gripped the hilt of his pitch-black greatsword.

No windup.

No adjusting his stance.

The greatsword swung through almost casually.

THUD!

The swordsman and his weapon together were blasted away, smashing through two walls in succession before finally burying himself under a pile of collapsed timber.

The dwarf adventurer wrenched his battleaxe free from the ground and charged again with a roar. Zald stepped forward once, and his greatsword slammed straight down onto the flat of the axe.

A thunderous crash shook the entire street.

The dwarf's knees sank instantly into the pavement.

Blood welled up from the web of his hand, and fine cracks spread across the surface of the axe. He strained with everything he had to hold his weapon steady, but it wasn't enough to stop the black blade from bearing down further.

Zald looked down at him.

"Too fragile."

A slight tightening of his wrist.

The battleaxe snapped in response.

The sword's pressure drove the dwarf into the ground, leaving him unable to fight on.

The remaining adventurers halted several meters away.

They gripped their weapons, but not one of them dared to close the distance.

Zald hefted his greatsword back onto his shoulder, his tone carrying undisguised disappointment.

"I didn't even need to use Devour."

He stepped over the fallen adventurers and continued toward the city center.

"How many more times will today's children disappoint me?"

With every step he took, the flames burning along the street swayed in the wind he stirred.

The Evilus soldiers followed behind him, yet none dared get too close. As they gazed at that broad back, their eyes held fanatic devotion alongside a fear they couldn't quite hide.

Zald had no need of them.

This so-called escort served only to point out which way to go.

Whether barricades, high-ranking adventurers, or a combined Familia formation stood in his path, the outcome would never change.

The pitch-black greatsword would shatter it all.

He needed only to keep walking down the path he carved for himself.

A pinprick of cold light dropped down from above a burning eave.

A silver spear cut through the smoke, its tip aimed at the narrow gap between helmet and left shoulder. The attacker had erased his presence entirely, and his speed exceeded the limits of ordinary human sight.

Only as the spearpoint closed in did Zald raise his left arm.

CLANG!

The silver spear grazed off his arm-guard.

Allen's pupils contracted.

That thrust had gathered his speed, strength, and skill, and he'd struck without a shred of warning—yet at the last instant, his opponent had blocked the tip and, with the smallest possible motion, deflected the attack aside.

Allen touched down and slid past Zald's back. The moment he landed, he twisted the spear shaft, using the momentum of his spin to launch a second strike.

The silver flash shot straight for Zald's flank.

Zald turned his head.

His left hand shoved outward.

The seemingly slow motion overtook the spearhead and landed on the shaft's midsection.

Allen felt an enormous force surge along the spear shaft. The bones in both his arms creaked under the strain, and his vision suddenly spun.

"Damn it!"

He snarled and forced his body to curl in, bringing the spear crosswise in front of him.

At the same moment, Zald's left arm swept through.

The air cracked apart.

Allen and his spear were flung dozens of meters, his back slamming into an overturned cart. Its boards splintered apart on impact, but he still didn't stop, skidding further along the street's surface.

The tip of the silver spear plunged into the paving stone.

Allen gripped the shaft tight, using it to force his slide to a stop. His legs plowed deep gouges into the ground, and blood seeped out from beneath his arm-guards.

"What did you do?"

Allen lifted his head, sweat already beading across his brow.

He'd seen exactly what Zald did.

That was precisely the problem.

The man had simply swung his left arm—no glow of a skill, no ripple of magic.

Yet that single simple blow had left him, a first-class adventurer, utterly unable to resist.

"I already told you."

Zald turned to face Allen.

"I just swung it lightly."

"Cut the crap!"

Allen yanked his silver spear free.

His cat ears pressed flat against his head, his pupils narrowing into dangerous slits. He lowered his stance, ready to charge again—yet his feet refused to leave the ground.

Instinct was screaming a warning.

The being standing before him had surpassed every enemy he'd ever faced.

Whatever power lay hidden beneath that heavy armor, it was nowhere near fully shown yet.

Zald studied him for a moment.

"Your speed isn't bad. Like a gust of wind."

He dragged the pitch-black greatsword one-handed, its tip scraping along the ground.

"Pity your force is too light. If wind can't shatter stone, all it can do is scatter a few fallen leaves."

A vein bulged at Allen's temple.

"I'll slice open your helmet and rip that mouth of yours apart!"

"If you can manage it, then try."

Zald raised the greatsword just slightly.

That single motion alone brought a crushing pressure bearing down.

Allen's breath caught for an instant.

"If you can't turn the unknown into the known, my next strike takes your head."

Zald's voice carried no inflection at all.

"Then I'll devour you."

Killing intent crossed the distance between them.

Every hair on Allen's body stood on end.

The [Goddess's Chariot] never bowed to fear. He'd once challenged Ottar, a man stronger than himself, and charged without hesitation at monsters deep within the Dungeon.

But what Zald made him feel was different.

It wasn't simple strength.

The man before him was like some ancient monster that had devoured entire battlefields, one that had swallowed even heroes as prey.

What Allen felt before that greatsword was the tremor of prey caught in a predator's sights.

Just as Zald prepared to swing, another heavy presence entered the street.

"Stop."

A massive figure emerged from behind the flames.

Ottar held a pitch-black greatsword one-handed, his armor bearing the scars of battles fought along the way. Several Evilus members who'd tried to stop him lay fallen behind him, none of them able to rise again.

Allen turned his head at once.

"Ottar?"

Ottar didn't look at him.

Those earth-red eyes stayed locked on Zald, and his footsteps came to a stop for the first time since entering the street.

He'd already received word.

After Artorias brought word of Alfia's appearance back to Orario, Astrea had passed it on to the major Familias. In the investigation that followed, Finn had confirmed traces of another suspicious powerhouse.

A pitch-black greatsword larger than any standard weapon.

Groups of Dungeon monsters wiped out by a single individual.

Anomalous devouring traces found in the deep floors.

And the scattered fragments Artorias himself had provided.

Every clue pointed to Zald, a man who'd vanished from Orario long ago.

Ottar had prepared himself because of it.

He'd recalled the battle he'd witnessed years ago, calculated the gap in ability between them now, and considered how he'd fight if he ever truly stood before Zald.

Yet now that the man had actually appeared before him, every assumption he'd built fell apart.

Old memories surged up all at once.

Seven years ago, the Freya Familia and Loki Familia had joined forces to challenge the Zeus and Hera Familias.

Ottar had already been one of Orario's top adventurers back then.

Even so, he hadn't managed to last more than a few exchanges against Zald.

Now, the presence radiating from Zald was heavier than he remembered.

Decay, ruin, and a scent of death he couldn't hide clung around his armor, yet the power hidden beneath those signs hadn't weakened at all.

Ottar had believed no enemy could shake him again.

Yet sweat beaded in his palm. The five fingers gripping his hilt tightened without his control.

Zald turned his head toward him.

"Finally, a familiar face."

The corner of his mouth curled slightly beneath the helmet.

"So that ill-tempered little cat is one of your juniors?"

Ottar didn't answer.

He looked at Allen first.

"Go back."

Allen froze.

"What did you say?"

"Return to Babel. Protect Lady Freya."

Ottar's voice was heavy, almost a growl.

"Leave this to me."

Veins stood out on the back of Allen's hand where he gripped the spear.

"Don't order me around! This tin-can bastard only got a lucky hit in—I can take him right—"

"Follow the order!"

Ottar's roar shook the street.

Allen's words were cut short.

The catman's eyes went wide—it was the first time he'd seen Ottar wear such an expression.

The face that normally never changed now held both anger and an anxiety impossible to hide. Ottar wasn't worried about the powerful enemy he was about to face—what concerned him was Freya, back at Babel.

Zald had already revealed himself.

Alfia was very likely somewhere in the city too.

Evilus had also arranged an assassination squad targeting the goddess of beauty.

If Freya came under attack, the entire Familia would lose its power in an instant.

"Allen."

Ottar's voice softened.

"If you still recognize me as captain, swallow your pride."

He stared straight into the catman's furious eyes.

"Go back to the goddess. Leave here alive, for her sake."

Allen ground his teeth.

He didn't want to back down.

Even less did he want to admit he had to flee from an enemy.

But Ottar never exaggerated danger, and he never begged anyone for anything. This order, so close to a plea, already told him just how dangerous this enemy was.

"Tch!"

Allen clicked his tongue hard.

He yanked his silver spear from the ground and, before turning away, shot one last glance at Zald.

"Don't you dare die before I get back."

That was meant for Ottar.

Ottar didn't respond, only raising his greatsword in front of him.

Allen sped off down the street.

Zald made no move to stop him.

"Sending the weaker one to protect the goddess, while you stay behind to die."

He dragged the pitch-black greatsword forward.

"You're still the same as before—valuing that goddess more than your own life."

"That's why I swing my sword."

Ottar steadied his breathing.

"I don't see anything wrong with that."

"Of course not."

Zald came to a stop ten meters away.

"Loyalty can turn a beast into a warrior, and a warrior into a hero. But how far you can go—that, you'll need to prove with your sword."

Two immense auras collided head-on.

Flames along the street bent outward, and scattered roof tiles trembled under the pressure. The Evilus soldiers who'd followed Zald here retreated one after another; none dared linger between the two monsters.

Ottar stared at that full suit of armor, and another thought flashed through his mind.

"I heard that after you left Orario, you took up babysitting on the side."

Zald fell silent for a moment.

"Where did you hear that?"

"From the goddess's divine will."

Ottar leveled his blade at him.

"Seems like he's doing fine now."

Zald let out a low laugh.

"I see. That little brat really is tougher than I expected."

"You and Alfia didn't kill him."

"Killing a weakling is easy."

Zald rolled his left shoulder, the joints of his armor grinding with a dull sound.

"But that piece of material was interesting. Fragile enough to crush with a pinch, yet no matter how much I put him through, he refused to give up. Watching him scramble to survive was far more entertaining than that snarling little cat of your goddess's."

If Allen, already far away by now, had heard that, he probably would have turned right back.

But Ottar caught something far more important in those words.

Zald and Alfia really had made contact with Artorias.

Not only had they not killed him, they'd observed him, even trained him to some degree.

"You let him carry information back on purpose."

"Who knows."

Zald neither confirmed nor denied it.

"Maybe the babysitter just went soft for a moment."

"You don't seem like the type who goes soft."

"So you still remember me."

Zald gripped his hilt.

"Then let me see just how much you've grown over the years."

He stepped forward.

Ottar immediately dropped his center of gravity.

The next instant, Zald vanished from where he stood.

—!

Ottar raised his sword on pure instinct.

The black blade was already there before him.

BOOM!

The two greatswords collided head-on.

The impact exploded outward from the two of them. Windows along the street shattered at once, burning wooden doors were torn from their frames, and Evilus soldiers retreating in the distance stumbled under the shockwave.

Ottar's feet sank deep into the ground.

Every muscle in his arms tensed beneath his armor. He'd blocked Zald's blade, but his body kept sliding backward against that force.

One meter.

Three meters.

Five meters.

Ottar snarled and twisted his blade, trying to redirect Zald's attack aside.

Zald pressed down with his wrist.

An even heavier force crashed down at once.

Ottar's knees bent slightly as the ground beneath him cracked apart with a roar. His earth-red eyes narrowed sharply—he finally understood the gap between them now.

Zald hadn't been serious when he crushed the high-ranking adventurers.

Nor had he been serious when he drove back Allen.

And even now, the man still hadn't used a skill.

"Your strength has grown quite a bit."

Zald studied him across their crossed blades.

"You're finally more than the boy who could only sprawl on the ground back then."

Ottar wasn't provoked.

He suddenly released his left hand, driving a fist up from beneath the crossed blades toward Zald's head.

Zald tilted his head aside to dodge.

Ottar seized the momentary opening, ramming his shoulder into Zald's breastplate. The two massive bodies collided head-on, a heavy crash spreading down the street.

Zald staggered back half a step.

Ottar seized the chance to pull back his greatsword and slash horizontally at his opponent's waist.

The black blade tore through the firelight.

Zald raised his sword to block.

The shock of metal on metal ran up Ottar's arm. He didn't stop, chaining three more strikes, each aimed at a joint in the armor.

Zald stood his ground.

He blocked every attack with ever smaller movements.

As the fourth strike fell, Zald's greatsword suddenly accelerated.

All Ottar saw was a wash of black.

Then a thunderous impact struck his breastplate.

The blow sent him flying, and he crashed into a building dozens of meters away. The stone wall collapsed inward, burying his body under falling rubble in an instant.

Zald lowered his greatsword.

"Your judgment isn't bad."

He looked toward the ruins.

"Your body just can't keep up with it."

The rubble suddenly burst apart.

Ottar burst out of the debris, blood already trickling down his temple. Without pausing, he brought his greatsword down with all his strength from the upper right.

Zald met it with one hand.

The two blades clashed.

Ottar changed the angle, his blade sliding down along Zald's, aiming straight for his sword hand's wrist. Zald let go with his right hand, allowing the pitch-black greatsword to drop briefly before catching the hilt again with his left.

The switch took only an instant.

The pommel struck Ottar in the stomach.

His armor caved in.

Ottar doubled over, a hot breath bursting from his mouth.

Zald drove his knee up into Ottar's chest. Ottar managed to guard himself with an elbow in time, but his massive body was still lifted clear off the ground.

The pitch-black greatsword followed immediately after.

Ottar twisted himself in midair, taking the blow on his own blade.

BOOM!

He crashed into the street once more.

A massive crater formed in the ground, cracks running all the way to the houses on either side. Ottar lay at the bottom of the pit, both arms briefly numbed by the repeated blows.

Zald stood at the edge of the crater.

"Is this really Orario's strongest, now?"

Ottar gripped his hilt and slowly pushed himself up.

"This fight isn't over."

"Of course not."

Zald's tone remained unhurried.

"You haven't even made me start devouring yet."

The words landed heavy on Ottar's heart.

He'd already used every ounce of his baseline ability.

Yet Zald was still merely watching, still measuring, still treating this clash as a test for a junior.

Ottar rose out of the crater.

Blood ran down from his temple across his cheek. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and settled back into his stance.

The unease was still there.

So was the fear.

But neither could make him retreat.

Freya was back there, at the city's center.

Allen was already on his way back to Babel.

As long as Ottar still stood here, Zald couldn't move forward.

"You're afraid."

Zald had seen right through him.

"Good."

He lowered the greatsword from his shoulder, its tip pointing at Ottar.

"Only those who know fear have earned the right to overcome it."

"I don't need your guidance."

Ottar lowered his stance.

"You're the goddess's enemy now."

The corner of Zald's mouth curled again beneath his helmet.

"Then come kill me."

Ottar shattered the ground beneath his feet.

His massive frame exploded with speed utterly at odds with his size, the pitch-black greatsword becoming a heavy streak of light aimed straight at the former Hegemon.

Zald raised his weapon as well.

The two greatswords clashed for a second time.

An impact even fiercer than before tore through the street, and distant rooftops collapsed all at once. Evilus soldiers stumbled back in terror, not even qualified to approach the two combatants.

Flame, dust, and shattered stone churned around the two warriors.

Ottar let out a low roar, pouring every bit of his strength into the blade without reservation.

Zald blocked him with just one hand.

The lead-gray eyes hidden behind his eye-guard remained perfectly calm.

"Not bad."

The greatsword began tilting toward Ottar's side.

"A bit stronger than that little cat."

Zald took a third step forward.

The balance Ottar had struggled to maintain collapsed on the spot.

The black blade bore down past his weapon and crashed heavily onto his pauldron. His armor rang out with a deafening crash, and Ottar dropped to one knee, the paving stone beneath him crumbling to dust.

Blood seeped from the gaps in his shoulder armor.

Zald looked down at him.

"But you're still far, far from being a true Hegemon."

Ottar clenched his teeth, both hands gripping the hilt with everything he had.

Zald's strength was still increasing.

The ground kept sinking.

The flames all around bent outward under the pressure of both their auras.

For the first time, Orario's current strongest warrior clearly felt a chasm that had once spanned between the old era and the new.

Zald, standing on the far side of that chasm, hadn't aged a day.

At least here and now, he was still that monster who could suppress an entire city single-handedly.

Once a hero.

Now an enemy.

The strongest man to embody the old glory of the Zeus Familia.

Ottar lifted his earth-red eyes.

Even with blood pouring from his shoulder, even with both arms nearing their limit, he still refused to let go of his weapon.

"I'll cross it."

Zald looked at him.

"Cross what?"

"You."

New strength burst from beneath Ottar's feet.

He pushed against the pitch-black greatsword, rising back up inch by inch.

"I'm going to cross past the strongest of the old era, and go back to my goddess."

Zald fell silent for a breath.

Then a low laugh rumbled out from beneath his helmet.

"Good."

He gripped the hilt with both hands.

Ottar's expression changed at once.

Zald, who had suppressed him one-handed the entire time, had finally changed his grip for the first time.

"Then take this strike first."

The pitch-black greatsword rose high overhead.

Violent power gathered around Zald, thick enough that even the air groaned with the strain.

Ottar gripped his own sword with both hands, resetting his stance.

He knew the attack coming for him now would be nothing like what came before.

Zald was done testing him.

The Hegemon of the old era was about to swing in earnest.