Chapter 343 - Victorious And The Seventh

"Disappointing. So these are the soldiers of "Belmon"? Hardly anything to cause a scare over." 

Standing in the center of the vast arena, the tall man with seraphic, white hair that hung down past his shoulders muttered while wielding only one of the two swords he possessed. 

Littered in the sand of the pit were dozens of bodies dressed in black robes, coating the tan sand in crimson and sable liquid. It wasn't just the robed followers of Belmon; the demons native to Purgatory had seen their own side of death, sprawled out in the sand. 

"...Andraste, you have my thanks, if it weren't for--"

As Asmodeus showed his gratitude to the knight who wore no armor, only a pure-white uniform that matched his own locks, his thanks were swept away in the wind by the man. 

"Silence, I didn't intend to save you; it was merely a side effect of my own culling of these freaks. On that note, you're not home free yet, demon." 

Andraste's warning made the red-haired demon turn around to witness more followers of Belmon appear, stepping through the walls as if spectral spirits. Within moments, the two, alone in their breathing state were surrounded by dozens of the quiet, enigmatic entities. 

Spreading his arms out, the revered knight laughed with utmost confidence as he welcomed the robed men, "Come! Bring as many as you'd like! You'll all be cut, burned, hung, impaled--It'll be a slaughter! This is my Champion's Culling!"

Even the prolific demon could do nothing but watch as Andraste howled with his boisterous laughter, who slowly approached the countless intruders with his singular blade drawn. 

Andraste pointed his sleek, shining blade to the robed figure standing closest to him, holding a sly smile, "Make your move." 

The Belmon follower silently hesitated for a moment before dashing towards the knight; however, it was the figure clad in black that had fallen short of the initiative. In a movement seemingly impossible to follow, Asmodeus witnessed Andraste appear behind the Belmon cultist seamlessly. 

"How slow." 

Andraste's degrading words revealed the unseen slash he had cast upon the unfortunate one he deemed his opponent as the man clad in enigmatic, black robes was bisected from his right shoulder to his left hip. 

Widening his smile at the reluctance of the others to approach him, Andraste moved with a speed that resembled warping space altogether before a massive slice carved itself through the side of the arena; affected by this swing of the knight's blade, dozens of the Belmon intruders were sliced in half without any effort. Beneath such a slash that seemed insignificant to the white-haired man, the building trembled; quivering under the divine strength. 

That man--"Andraste", to be one of the Victorious Seven...it is a rank that comes with a prestige equal to the heavens. "A god born in the flesh of man"--that is how those of the Victorious Seven are described; I see it is not just tall rumors, Asmodeus thought. 

Standing in the graveyard of his own creation, Andraste let out a powerful, triumphant laughter that echoed throughout the arena filled with abundant death. 

However...because of this blessed strength, there are none more conceited in this world than them. I doubt even the King of Mastorn could reel them in; they're the very foundation of that kingdom's power. In a world that has parted from the Age of Gods, they believe themselves to supplement that lack of divinity, Asmodeus thought. 

"...How are they all so weak? It is truly repulsive."

Andraste muttered as he swiped the blood that had coated his guardless blade, looking at the blood that had painted the walls he tore through with his singular, colossal slash. 

"But, maybe you'll do." 

--Saying this, the figure that had appeared behind Andraste in a moment attempted to thrust their blade through his back, being stopped by the knight unsheathing the blade on his back halfway to use as a shield. 

I didn't even see him come through? Asmodeus thought, looking side to side. 

"You're a knight, aren't you? Isn't it against your code to stab someone through the back, Galaggher?"

Andraste smiled as he turned his platinum gaze back towards the man dressed in ivory armor behind him. 

"I have long since abandoned my knighthood. What about you? Is slaughtering those weaker than you knightly conduct?" 

Galaggher pulled his blade away as he stepped back, raising his illustrious blade, wielding it with both hands. 

In response to this accusation from Galaggher, Andraste simply laughed without any care as he drew both of his twin blades, keeping them towards the ground without any fear for his opponent. 

"I am one of the Victorious Seven; I don't follow any code, but my own pleasure and displeasure! That is what it means to be strong! Come, show me your own strength in a duel to the death!"

Andraste issued his challenge while pointing one of his glistening blades towards the idle-faced Galaggher. 

"...Like I said, I'm not a knight; don't expect me to fight you alone." 

"Mm?"

The long-haired knight squinted his eyes at Galaggher from his peculiar words before his eyes widened, feeling a presence directly behind him. 

Someone else? I didn't sense them; they're good, Andraste thought. 

Swiftly sidestepping, Andraste narrowly dodged a wheel of fire that intended to reduce him to cinders. Standing behind where he previously stood, an elegantly dressed, familiar man with silver locks smiled. 

Standing with these two foes at either side of him, Andraste chuckled to himself. 

"I know you...Arsya, is it? I see; you're both Belmon followers, aren't you? How pathetic." 

In response to the Victorious Seven member's accusation, Arsya slipped his tongue out of his mouth, revealing the sigil of a hooded woman engraved into his pink organ. 

Following his partner's reveal, Galaggher sighed as he pulled down on the collar of his breastplate, revealing the same sigil on his collarbone. 

"And your mission, your entire reason for coming here, was to eliminate me? I couldn't think of a funnier joke! To go all this way just to die right at the starting line; truly pathetic. Just one thing I'm truly curious about...Tell me; why is it that Belmon wants me dead?" 

Looking between each other, Arsya was the one who spoke up instead of his knightly colleague, "It's simple; you're the perfect vessel. Once you were separated from the kingdom and decided to come alone to Purgatory, well, that sealed your fate. Luckily, we don't need your body to be alive to use it." 

"...And that's all assuming you can indeed kill me, isn't it? Come-- I'd truly love to see you try to make such plans into reality. Forgive me if your efforts make me keel over with laughter, though!" 

--A monster. Such power simply bypasses logic; it is something that should be exclusive to the hands of a god, yet here he stands--immaculate and undefeated. This is the Victorious Seven, Andraste? Asmodeus thought, it wasn't that those two were weak in the slightest...Galaggher and Arsya were both heavy favorites to win the tournament...he's just on a different level entirely. 

Standing in the center of the arena that had become dyed in crimson, Andraste wasn't even worn for breath as below him the two, limp bodies of the men who attempted to challenge him laid, eviscerated without even a scratch inlaid on the immaculate knight. 

"How disappointing. Here I thought you two might be able to quench this nauseating boredom. You were weak, like the rest of them." 

Returning his blades to the sheaths crossed on his back like an "X", Andraste turned to face the crimson-haired demon, who remained agasp at the sight of the massacre, "Now then, Asmodeus, was it? I believe I deserve a reward." 

Asmodeus snapped back into focus as the pearlescent-haired man spoke to him, quickly and fervently nodding his head as he placed his hand over his heart before bowing down in a respectful gesture. 

"Yes, of course. My life is indebted to you, Andraste of the Victorious Seven. Whatever it is you want, I'll grant it to you, if it is within my power." 

Luckily, all of the lords present here managed to escape...can't say the same for our legions. The King won't be happy with this report; he left the second floor to me...what a mess, Asmodeus thought. 

Lifting his gaze back up to the unorthodox knight, Asmodeus looked at the man as he seemed to have his request ready. 

Andraste slid his hands into the pockets of his shining, white coat as he smiled wide, "Give me your strongest fighter!" 

"...Huh?"

The crimson-haired demon was taken aback by the peculiar request, blinking a few times at the smiling, devilish knight. 

Footsteps calmly approached from behind Asmodeus, causing both the demon's eyes and Andraste's to turn to the unknown figure. 

Wearing robes decorated like a flourishing garden, a man with flowing, verdant locks dragged behind him the lifeless bodies of the black-robed men. 

Mencius, Asmodeus surmised. 

"If I may be so brash, I'd like to make a similar request; you see, I handled my fair share of this mess."