Chapter 134 - Eschatologist VI

[Translator - Jjescus]

[Proofreader - Gun]

Chapter 134

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Eschatologist VI

"Huah! Uhhhhh!"

The Sword Demon lunged at me.

But compared to when he had once sliced my neck in a single stroke, his movements were as sluggish as an old slug.

His footwork had changed, in a bad way. To avoid the landmines (statues) I had planted all over the city, the Sword Demon was forced into an inefficient path.

Of course, it was hard to say that Old Scho, who had fallen into corruption, still retained the same strong political ideals he had in life.

In fact, most of the statues I made were of Adele—Old Scho's wife. There were even statues of his wife hidden behind the statues of Marx and Luxemburg.

Probably 90% of the reason the Sword Demon hesitated in destroying the statues was because of the wife statues.

You might wonder, "Then weren’t the communist statues unnecessary?" But such a question itself would be against the anti-communist ideology of the Korean Peninsula.

Why would I pass up the chance to legally mock and humiliate that senile old man? Especially when it's a once-in-a-millennium opportunity for some real fun?

As a regressor, you should enjoy it while you can.

Some of the wife statues were not just busts but half-figures, with the right arm raised in a "middle finger" pose.

Hundreds of middle fingers were proudly raised towards Old Scho.

In this desolate, barren city's ruins, the increasing exterior decorations finally made it somewhat worth sightseeing. This was true urban beautification.

"......! ......!"

The Sword Demon howled again, moved by my thorough and generous gift. It must have been out of gratitude for an old comrade’s heartfelt effort.

Though I couldn’t understand the language of this monstrosity, if translated to German, it was probably something like “Danke.”

Behind me, Koyori murmured, “This is interesting...”

Leaving the observer behind, our two weapons—more precisely, my cane sword and his iron pipe—clashed fiercely.

Even though my opponent was Old Scho, who had reached his maximum potential, fighting became manageable with his movement restricted.

"Grgrgrrr!"

The Sword Demon, frustrated, stepped on thin air and flew up.

He intended to avoid even the possibility of stepping on the statues!

But it was a move that knew one thing and missed two others. It seemed the old man had been on vacation too long and had forgotten what kind of person I was.

“Look- at- me!”

Sshraaak!

Without hesitation, I tore off my shirt. Behind me, Koyori chuckled, “Oh my, oh my.”

But my stripping wasn’t just for fan service. It wasn’t even a performance to taunt the enemy like a holy knight tank.

It was purely driven by my artistic desire to show Old Scho the portrait on my underwear.

A canvas-white undershirt.

On it was a portrait of Madame Adele.

"......!"

Old Scho suddenly froze in midair as if he’d crashed into a car.

The hand gripping his iron pipe trembled. His gaping mouth could only produce eerie sounds like "Uh- uh?"

From his perspective, it was like unexpectedly witnessing a masterpiece of the century, so of course, he had to revere it.

Moreover, not just my clothes, but my arms, hands, and feet were all tattooed with portraits of Madame Adele...!

The fully upgraded version of [Friend Shield], [Wife Shield], had descended upon this place.

"Go ahead and attack, old man. Try attacking? Where will you attack? The neck? Do you see the ADELE tattooed on my throat?”

“Uh, uhh... uh...?”

“Go ahead, try and cut it! You rotten old man!”

The Sword Demon was at a loss, stammering. Even Old Scho, who had abandoned friendship and fled, was helpless before "love."

Remember, this is the textbook way to deal with monsters.

There's a reason demons are so keen on hiding their true names. The moment their identity is known, their weaknesses are exposed, and once you grasp those weaknesses, the monster's stiff neck becomes as fragile as a chicken's.

From now on, it was my turn.

With my entire body wrapped in an anti-Old Scho exclusive AT Field, I charged forward.

“I’ve wanted to punch your face for a thousand years!”

"Uwaaaah!"

As a warrior, I was below average.

‘But still, if I accurately imitate the appearance and demonstrate it, the old man will figure out the hidden meaning on his own.’

However, as a supporter, I was exceptionally talented.

There have been few moments where I’ve been more grateful for my [Perfect Memory] ability than now.

I was always true to the role given to me as a regressor in this world. I helped my comrades. I assisted them. I connected them with one another.

I became a bridge across the absolute barriers given to mortals—time and death—and connected them like a single thread.

“Old man. You are not fighting me, nor are you fighting to defeat me.”

The dark aura and the midnight-blue aura clashed.

“Urgh! Hrrrgh, huuuuugh!”

“You are fighting against the version of yourself who will become a slightly better person in the future. It’s quite an ironic thing, don’t you think? After all, every battle is essentially a duel with oneself, isn’t it?”

“...!”

“I’ll make a prediction. Someday, you will lose your life by your own blade.”

The fight that had lasted through four sleepless nights was slowly coming to an end.

I thought of it as a long letter from the Schopenhauer of today to his future self.

People used to record their moves on paper and exchange them to play Go over long distances.

So it wouldn’t be strange if two warriors exchanged martial arts manuals across a bit of time.

"... Ugh... Uh..."

The Sword Demon was utterly exhausted.

Even a killing machine that operated solely on the principle of "love for his wife" had its limits.

Due to the inherent limitations of being based on a human body, the Sword Demon's muscles were weary from endless minor wounds, and his heart groaned under the constant fatigue.

His aura was not infinite either.

In a battlefield meticulously designed to favor me, it was Schopenhauer whose engine ran out of fuel first.

Pat, pat-pat—pat—

The once overwhelming aura of the Sword Demon, which had stained broad daylight with the colors of the night sky, had diminished to the point of being barely visible.

It was like a malfunctioning TV occasionally displaying noise on the screen—Schopenhauer's midnight-blue aura flickered on and off around his shoulders.

If that monstrosity was Schopenhauer’s fall,

then this sight was the downfall of that monstrosity.

Yes, though it may be ironic for a regressor like me to say, every incident has an end.

It was nearly time to bury the small time capsule in my mind.

“Ugh, ugh... uh...”

As I took a step back, the Sword Demon instinctively swung a metal pipe.

Stagger—

The strike was so feeble that it only sliced through the empty air.

The Sword Demon tried to pursue me, but his steps faltered, and he collapsed. His ankles were marred by numerous wounds, like the stumps of trees that a clumsy lumberjack had failed to fell.

The Sword Demon tried to crawl toward me, even using his hands if necessary.

But due to his crude aura manipulation, all of his fingernails were shattered.

Whenever he flailed about, blood burst out from between his ten broken fingernails.

His blood was so dark that it smelled like coal.

A trail of ash followed him.

“...”

I raised Doha.

I had resolved to deliver the final blow to Schopenhauer, to his remnants, to his bad ending.

If Schopenhauer were to die, I had long believed that I was the only one qualified to give him a proper burial.

But I couldn’t bring myself to strike down just yet.

The destination Schopenhauer was crawling toward, whether it was on his feet, arms, hands, fingers, or even his fingernails, was not me, who had fought with him for the past four days.

“...Ah...”

It was a bit further back.

“...Dell...e...a...”

He was heading toward Koyori.

[Translator - Jjescus]

[Proofreader - Gun]