Chapter 489: Dialogue with the Devil (2)
[Out Cry]
When Oliver chanted, a crack split open his mouth, and black matter gathered from his breath and beneath his feet condensed into one.
A limitless energy that covered the ground and seized the darkness.
Oliver compressed his power within the limits of what his black magic and body could handle, pushing the compression further and further. When he reached his limit, he released a roar with physical force through the split mouth.
━━━━━━━━━━━━!
Oliver let out a black-colored roar. The sound was so powerful that it swallowed up everything around him, plunging the surroundings into silence.
The only things that could be felt were the air being torn apart by the roar and the tremors that shook the ground.
With that, the roar imbued with fury swept over everything in front of Oliver.
"Huuuuuu…"
As the dust settled, the torn air regained its original color, and the darkness returned to its place. At that moment, Oliver realized two things.
The first was that this place wasn’t a tunnel connected to an abandoned mine.
He had sensed it at the stake earlier, but this space was infinite, with no end in sight. It was not a tunnel connected to the abandoned mine, but rather another alternate dimension.
However, that was relatively less important compared to the second fact.
Even after being hit by the roar, which compressed and compressed the black matter, the Burnt One remained unharmed.
Amid the black smoke, the Burnt One stood there as if nothing had happened.
He had withstood a storm-like quarterstaff, been slashed by a dagger imbued with countless diseases, had his body heat stolen by the Hand of the Dead, and endured the roar head-on, yet suffered no damage.
Not even a scratch. The only result of Oliver’s efforts was buying a dozen or so seconds. Just that much.
For the first time since leaving the mine, Oliver truly felt what it meant to have his spirit broken.
It was a feeling he hadn’t tasted properly since the days of the orphanage and the mine.
Ironically, it was in this situation that Oliver realized how blessed he was, and at the same time, how dangerous his current predicament was.
[It was not bad. Quite decent.]
The devil spoke as he brushed off the dust on his body. There was no bluff or mockery intended to intimidate the opponent. He was genuinely dusting himself off.
[The problem is that it’s just "quite decent." Do you really expect someone like me, who governs one of the seventy-two hells, to be harmed by an attack using the power of hell and its sinners?]
The devil asked, seemingly genuinely curious. Disappointment was evident in his tone, much like before.
Although the emotion wasn’t particularly sharp, Oliver unconsciously took a step back.
He remembered this feeling… The orphanage and the mine. It was a feeling he experienced before learning black magic.
The feeling of facing an opponent who was entirely out of his league, with no means to resist.
Helplessness, fear, terror, and the instinct to survive.
Of course, it was unfair to compare the devil to the orphanage director, the mine overseer, or a strong child, but fundamentally, there was no difference.
The only difference was in how Oliver perceived the sensation.
In the not-too-distant past, he felt he could respond calmly even when experiencing helplessness and fear. Now, perhaps due to the influence of Filgaret, it felt more vivid.
Could that be why? Oliver felt the urge to run away, and he wanted to escape.
There was simply no way he could confront this opponent.
His body was more honest than his mind, and Oliver quickly scanned the surroundings to find an escape route.
At that moment, he saw her. The Holy Knight, Joanna.
Only then did his fear-paralyzed mind remind him why he was struggling in the first place.
A voice echoed in his head.
‘Do you happen to know my sister? Her name’s Joanna. She’s quite amazing.’
‘She’s our pride.’
‘That child was truly special. Even though she was an abandoned child herself, she was grateful for coming to this orphanage, and she tried to be a source of strength for the other children, as well as adults like me.’
It was a story he had heard at the Arkh Orphanage...
[Calm]
[Awake]
[Stupor]
[No Pain]
[Lay the Foundations]
[High Density Bone]
[Steel Bone]
[Muscle Up]
[Muscle Hyperplasia]
[Muscle Compression]
[Burning Life]
[Reflexes Reinforcement]
[Nerve Acceleration]
[Madness Injection]
[Terrible Anger]
[Fury]
[Muscle Anger Proportional]
[Mental Awakening]
Oliver infused his body with more than ten types of disease-enhancement black magic.
It was a method he rarely used even after becoming a black magician, and for a simple reason—it placed an immense burden on the body.
However, considering the unavoidable threat before him and the enhancements to his body from consuming the flesh of the Flesh Chef, Oliver pushed all available disease-enhancement black magic into his body.
Even using just five would be considered an overdose, yet here, the amount was truly staggering.
But Oliver didn’t mind. After all, he had to do something, didn’t he?
Oliver first restored his composure using Calm and Awake, then blocked the pain with Stupor and No Pain.
He laid the foundation to withstand the massive amount of black magic with Lay the Foundations, then increased his bone density with High Density Bone, followed by reinforcing the strength of his bones with Steel Bone.
After that, he exponentially increased his muscle mass with Muscle Up and Muscle Hyperplasia, then maximized efficiency by compressing the muscles with Muscle Compression.
As a result, steam-like vapor was released from Oliver’s body, much like a steam engine. But that wasn’t the end.
After reinforcing his body to the limit, Oliver transformed his vitality into physical strength using Burning Life, heightened his reflexes with Reflexes Reinforcement and Nerve Acceleration, and then turned his fury into power with a combination of Madness Injection, Terrible Anger, Fury, and Muscle Anger Proportional.
With each application of black magic, Oliver’s body temperature rose significantly, and the steam emanating from his body began to glow a reddish hue.
It was as if his blood was boiling.
The anger that took control of his body and the overload of his nervous system pushed him to the brink. Oliver maintained his sanity by using Mental Awakening as an analgesic and then employed his final black magic.
[Sinner’s Armor]
At Oliver’s final chant, a distorted entity covered in tar emerged, clinging to his body.
Just as before, they used their own bones, flesh, and blood as materials, constructing armor composed of a mixture of skeletons and corpses, covering Oliver from head to toe.
The appearance and aura resembled that of the Burnt One. It was an image beyond reality.
Oliver tapped the ground lightly with his foot.
As he did, he disappeared in an instant, leaving behind a small explosion where he stood, accompanied by a whistling sound as the air was torn apart.
Then, Oliver suddenly reappeared in front of the Burnt One and unleashed a relentless barrage of attacks with all his strength.
Every strike, though it may sound like a cliché, shook the air, rattled the ground, and produced thunderous sounds in all directions.
He was like a natural disaster in human form, a walking calamity. Yet, horrifically enough, even with all his might, he was still no match for a true catastrophe.
The Burnt One, who was said to rule one of the hells, met Oliver’s attacks with just a single finger.
Whether it was the tempestuous swings of Oliver’s quarterstaff or the slashes of the dagger laced with countless diseases, the Burnt One held his ground, only retreating a few steps at most.
Oliver, realizing this, continued his relentless assault, refusing to give up the momentum.
He swung the quarterstaff, slashed with the blood-colored dagger, and conjured black magic arrays in the air to fire Hateful Bullets.
Explosions of rage detonated as he wielded his quarterstaff, and he released a Cry of Rage through the faceplate of his armor.
The blood-colored dagger cut through the air, the cloak he wore morphed into a hand of the dead, and he hurled spears made from black matter.
He stabbed with the blood-colored dagger, lashed out with black tentacles, slammed with the quarterstaff, and threw punches.
[Punch...?]
The Burnt One commented as one of Oliver’s strikes landed on his abdomen. Although it didn’t cause any damage, the Burnt One seemed genuinely surprised.
It was as if he hadn’t expected Oliver to create a black hand to wield the quarterstaff while also throwing a punch himself.
Oliver hadn’t planned it either. It was a spontaneous move that occurred as he desperately attacked this overwhelmingly powerful opponent.
Yet, seeing the Burnt One’s reaction made him feel that it wasn’t such a bad idea.
Swish!
The Burnt One retaliated. He flicked his finger, and Oliver, whose reflexes and physical abilities had been heightened, barely managed to evade the strike.
Even so, he didn’t escape unscathed, as the surface of his armor was shredded.
A chill ran down his spine. Even the strongest armor was like paper against the devil.
Oliver nearly staggered backward but managed to hold his ground and charge in again. After all, retreating would solve nothing.
He thrust his quarterstaff forward.
The Burnt One deflected it and immediately jabbed a finger to break the edge of the faceplate.
Oliver extended the blood-colored dagger’s blade with black magic, aiming for the devil’s throat. However, as soon as the extended blade touched the devil’s neck, it turned to ashes and crumbled.
The Burnt One lightly flicked his finger again, carving a diagonal wound into Oliver’s armor.
As Oliver reinforced the damaged armor, he let out a Cry of Rage. Even though the Burnt One pierced through it with a finger, almost reaching his face, Oliver managed to dodge by twisting his head at the last moment and threw another punch.
He swung both his intact left hand and the charred right hand.
Bang!
The sound was short and sharp. Oliver let out a faint cry of pain.
Despite having used black magic to block out pain, an unbearable sensation surged through his right arm.
It was so intense that he felt like collapsing and screaming, but he couldn't afford to.
He saw the Burnt One calmly patting his abdomen where Oliver had landed a blow.
The attack had worked, albeit only slightly.
The Burnt One took a deep breath, and an indescribable heat wave surged out, burning Oliver’s armor without flames and sending him flying backward.
Though the distance between them suddenly widened, Oliver paid it no mind. In fact, he seemed to find an opportunity as he swiftly extracted his own hunger and infused it into his shadow.
The emotions, magic, and life force he had absorbed from the Flesh Chef, along with the many creatures devoured by his shadow, were now channeled into it.
As Oliver injected his hunger, the shadow took on a life of its own.
It became an amorphous, shapeless creature.
The only discernible feature was a massive mouth filled with unnervingly even rows of teeth, solely for the purpose of devouring.
[Aaa… aa...]
Now imbued with life, Oliver’s shadow lunged at the Burnt One, driven purely by instinct.
The Burnt One, perhaps disturbed by its unsettling appearance, brought his thumb and index finger together and snapped.
Snap.
A loud noise echoed, followed by a brilliant flash of light that bleached all surrounding colors to white.
In an instant, the shadow burned away under the intense power, unable to make any impact. But it didn’t matter.
Oliver was already closing in, following directly behind the shadow.
As the world’s colors returned to normal, Oliver focused all his energy into his charred right hand and launched a punch, while the Burnt One also aimed a punch at Oliver, only faster.
...
The two punches collided, and for a brief moment, Oliver lost consciousness.
When he came to, the only thing he could recall was the exchange of fists with the devil… Ah, there was more.
He remembered that the devil’s punch had reached him first.
He had instinctively flinched as the Burnt One’s fist seemed to grow larger, and it was a mistake.
As soon as he was struck, the armor covering his body shattered into countless fragments, and he was sent flying.
Pain coursed through his entire body. The only things visible were the darkness that enveloped the surroundings, the dissipating black matter, and the terrified Joanna.
She looked at Oliver with a mix of fear, horror, and guilt, trying to say something, but the Burnt One approached and interrupted her.
[It seems she’s afraid of you.]
His voice echoed from all directions. Hearing it, Oliver struggled to stand. His body felt like it was about to break apart.
"…Yes."
[Despite the fact that you’re trying to save her. Well, it’s not surprising, considering she’s a woman who’s even forgotten her duty as a Holy Knight.]
Even as pain coursed through him, Oliver shook his head.
"I… I’m not someone capable of saving anyone."
[I agree. You’re only confronting me because of proximity, ignoring the true sins right in front of you.]
The Burnt One taunted. His words weren’t particularly sharp, but their bluntness cut deeply.
Oliver fell silent, seemingly lost in thought, and the Burnt One urged him for an answer.
[Do you deny it?]
After a moment, Oliver finally spoke.
"Before I answer… may I ask a question?"
[Go ahead.]
"What will you do once you’ve burned everything?"