Chapter 101
Robert and the troops holding the Wall of Light, and the wyverns who had barely survived thanks to Stigma’s shield, stood frozen like statues — as if they’d forgotten they were in the middle of battle.
What unfolded before their eyes made that reaction inevitable.
“Lowly vermin — don’t you dare climb up here!”
Stigma, one arm gripped by Estelle, spat blood and shouted.
The wyverns could hardly believe their ears. There was no trace of the usual composed arrogance in his cracked voice.
Stigma’s whole method of rule was terror. He dominated wyvern hosts by instilling fear, then toyed with defeated foes until they withered away — a cruel, remorseless temperament that had made the draconic Stigma infamous even among monsters.
So the fact that such a dragon was now being pushed to the defensive shocked the wyverns who worshipped him like a god.
“…Sir Ivnor.”
Robert, equally stunned, turned to Evan and asked.
“Is that really the Saint?”
He wasn’t asking because he doubted what he’d personally seen; he had witnessed a miracle with his own eyes. But he also knew that anyone else looking in would have the same incredulous question.
The Chronicles of Eden.
It was the book recording the deeds of past Saints — required reading, familiar to every citizen of Eden.
Robert’s memory was filled with long-ago readings of that book until the ink ran faint; the descriptions were vivid in his mind. Saints were, by nature, support figures who stood in the rear, granting powerful buffs to allies and instilling courage so their forces could hold firm — there were no records of Saints directly taking the field.
Yet this era’s Saint was not only on the front lines but was exchanging blows with a dragon whose presence alone had terrified Robert, commander of the knights.
Estelle’s sight shattered conventional expectations so completely that Robert couldn’t help but voice his disbelief.
Evan looked at Robert and said, “Lord Gentry, choose your words carefully.”
“I’m not doubting — it’s just…”
“She is Estelle, not ‘that person.’”
“…Was that what you meant by ‘choose my words’?”
Evan nodded as if nothing else could have been intended, then lifted his gaze to the battlefield where Estelle and Stigma were fighting.
“….”
Was the captain of the White Knights always this blunt?
Robert was at a loss for words again.
Despite receiving dozens of clean hits to his face, Stigma remained standing. It wasn’t only his endurance. Compared to the demons and monsters they’d faced before, Stigma’s speed, destructive force, and every other attribute were exceptional.
“Light.”
I could never visually match that lizard’s speed. Still, I’d managed to grab his wrist because his actions were too predictable.
So I didn’t bother trying to dodge his punches. Fighting like an out-boxer — hit and run — wasn’t my style, and, more importantly, there was no reason to. Minor injuries could always be healed with a spell.
“Light.”
Perhaps as a mercy of sorts, the passive skill “Sacrament” reduced pain. Maybe that’s why taking a direct hit from a fist covered in red scales was more tolerable than I expected.
“Light.”
There was only one thing I had to do.
Decide this now, while I still had his wrist in my grip.
At that instant, Stigma’s fist crashed into my cheek.
Smack!
A bone-rattling sound and my jaw snapped sideways. Dizziness surged; it felt as if my cheekbone had been fractured.
“Light.”
I gritted my teeth and mouthed a short prayer. Golden motes rose and mended the fractured bone back to its original state.
“Ugh…!”
Stigma’s face twisted grotesquely when he saw that.
“Stop interfering and just fall already!”
His voice, unlike before, had grown sharp with impatience. From his perspective it must be maddening: every time he landed a blow, I healed almost immediately.
My situation, however, was the opposite.
Honestly, the demons and monsters I’d met so far had been weak. They looked imposing but usually went down from a single good strike.
Seen in that light, the fact that Stigma was still holding out made him a worthy adversary.
“You barged in first — who do you think you are to complain?”
This was a contest of endurance: would he collapse first, or would I?
“This is only the beginning.”
I spat blood into my mouth and brushed my hair back. I still had five more legion commanders to bring down; I didn’t intend to fall because of some scaled lizard.
“You—!”
“Shut up.”
I slammed my fist into the mouth of the creature that was about to retort, sending a few sharp teeth flying like popcorn.
“Kraaah!!”
Stigma howled in one last convulsive burst. The force of the recoil made me lose my grip on his wrist. As he leapt backward, I clicked my tongue — and watched a new horn sprout from his brow as if it were fresh flesh.
‘Already healed?’
Whereas I healed wounds with magic, Stigma’s recovery was natural regeneration. I’d been wary of that, but I hadn’t expected such rapid restoration.
A regrown horn meant he could cast spells again. Stigma’s voice, now brimming with regained confidence, said, “I shall show you my true power.”
“Go on, try it.”
“What!?”
Stigma raised an eyebrow. Veins stood out on the humanlike face he’d carved; my words had clearly pricked his pride.
I wiped blood from my lip with the back of my hand and provoked him. I’d already planned for his horn to regrow — that was why I’d told Heinrich to start recovering mana at once.
‘By now he should have recovered enough.’
I shifted my gaze toward the watchtower and felt a massive surge of magical power coming from straight ahead.
“Regret and despair befall you. For lowly vermin, that is all that is permitted.”
Stigma spread his arms, spouting chilling lines as dozens of magic circles rose in unison. My skin crawled at the sight.
Even novices could see at a glance that the moment his spells activated, this area would be devastated.
Of course, with Heinrich here, that wouldn’t happen.
Clack.
“Once again, it’s the turn of the genius archmage.”
Heinrich alighted on the ground with elegant poise, landing a spellbound step from the tower. He looked in our direction and said, “A dragon, you say? For all its hideousness, the runes composing those magic circles are complex and intricate like a spider’s web. It’s nearly art. Beautiful.”
“Save the appreciation for later. Can you break those circles?”
“Pshaw. Do you distrust me?”
“If I distrusted you, I wouldn’t have asked in the first place.”
“A reasonable point.”
Heinrich answered with a sprightly smile. “No matter how complex the circle, it’s merely a perfect subject for my research.”
Hero Maker had, at some point, gained a reputation as a “game with no ending but bad ones,” yet, aside from that, I personally thought it was well-made.
The reason was that, apart from the hero Allen, there were clear type matchups among the legion commanders and the male leads. In Stigma’s case, Evan and Dan were not suitable opponents.
Evan might land a decisive blow but couldn’t match Stigma’s speed; Dan had the speed but lacked the power. That was why I’d asked both of them to manage the wyverns and their troops.
Stigma’s difficulty came from his overwhelming numerical assault and indiscriminate barrage of magic. The only male lead who could claim superiority in all those aspects was Heinrich.
“Lowly vermin!”
“Maria, thanks for the show.”
“Behold my majestic magic!”
As dozens of circles began to glow red, Heinrich spoke casually, “How nice. My magic will be even further refined because of this.”
His blue hair whipped in the wind as he thrust forward a pure-white staff made from a branch of the World Tree. With a sound like shattering glass, Stigma’s magic circles crumbled into fragments.
“…?”
Surprise was clearly painted across Stigma’s face.
Magic nullification.
Heinrich’s gift — the ability to reverse-engineer and nullify any spell — meant that he could render Stigma’s magic void. With Heinrich’s intervention, one didn’t even need to break the dragon’s horn to reduce the beast to a mere lizard.
“Maria, I’ll support you. Rampage as you please.”
“Don’t overdo it.”
“Hearing that makes me feel invigorated.”
“If you say so.”
As soon as the exchange ended, I pushed off the ground and charged.
Heinrich cast a spell that increased the gravity acting upon Stigma.
‘Something’s off.’
That allowed me to seize Stigma’s wrist again, but it left an uneasy sensation. Even with his speed somewhat constrained, he’d offered openings far too easily.
Had he lost his will because he’d been deprived of a trump card?
While I was wondering, Stigma let out a nasty chuckle, then — as if he’d been waiting only for this moment — said, “Foolish Saint, I guarantee this:”
“More nonsense— no, wait.”
“You will never defeat the great Demon King.”
I’d grown tired of hearing him already.
Whatever the reason for the uneasy feeling, I packed holy power into my fist to end him.
“Shut up with the drivel.”
I dismissed Stigma’s words and released my holy power at once. Even as the golden light engulfed him, he wore an expression as if he’d somehow been triumphant.
