Chapter 92 : The Conqueror (覇王) and the Demon Wolf King (2)
Chapter 92: The Conqueror (覇王) and the Demon Wolf King (2)
It felt as though someone had pressed a blade against the back of his neck.
Every hair on his body stood on end, and an icy chill ran down his spine.
What in the world was this feeling?
Without realizing it, Leon came to a halt.
It was a mad thing to do.
Who would ever lose focus in the middle of a battle?
It wouldn't have been strange if his head had been severed on the spot.
Yet Sigurd did not attack him.
No—more accurately, he couldn't.
Because, just like Leon, his body had frozen from the aura emanating from the Papal Palace.
He could feel it.
An overwhelming presence flowing from over five hundred jang away.
A savage, ferocious aura like that of a wild beast.
Gulp.
Leon unconsciously swallowed.
Instinctively, he knew.
Today's battle would be decided at the Papal Palace.
But that realization lasted only a moment.
Soon, a fierce light returned to Leon's eyes.
So the kings' battle would determine the outcome?
So what?
The ones fighting here were himself and the beast before him.
Even if a victor was decided over there, that didn't mean their battle had to end.
Apparently Leon wasn't the only one thinking that.
Sigurd was staring at him with the same savage grin.
“Let's continue.”
“Gladly.”
The moment those words ended, Leon and Sigurd threw their fists at each other.
Their punches surged forward with overwhelming force.
KWAAAAANG—!!
A deafening explosion erupted as both Leon and Sigurd were pushed back two full steps.
Neither had been able to completely withstand the impact of their colliding fists.
The force transmitted through their blows sent violent tremors through their internal organs.
Their insides shook painfully, and both men groaned almost simultaneously.
“Ghk!”
“Khh!”
Sigurd thought to himself.
Though he didn't show it outwardly, Leon's body was astonishing even by his standards.
Sigurd possessed the King's bloodline and was considered a pureblood among werewolves.
Even someone like him struggled to disperse the shock of those attacks.
There was no way an ordinary human body could endure such an impact.
A normal human would have exploded on the spot.
Yet Leon appeared perfectly fine.
His face twisted from pain—
And that was all.
It made no sense.
How could a mere human possess such an incredible body?
No...
Was he even truly human?
'Seriously... defeating someone like this will be worth it.'
PAAANG—!!
In the next instant, Sigurd shot toward Leon once more.
His movement was no different from a flash of light.
Even someone who had reached the level of a Knight would struggle to follow him with their eyes.
Yet Leon remained perfectly calm.
'He's definitely fast. My eyesight alone can't keep up with him.'
'But if I rely on my senses instead... that's another matter.'
Leon completely opened all of his senses.
A flood of information crashed into him like an endless tide.
The breathing of dying werewolves.
The voices of the Saint and the Saintess arguing nearby.
Even the distant wind.
Everything happening in the world poured into Leon's mind.
The sheer amount of information would have burned an ordinary person's brain to ash.
But Leon never lost his composure.
Instead, he calmly began filtering out only the information he needed.
The nearby argument faded away.
The dying breaths of the werewolves buried beneath the rubble disappeared from his awareness.
The only thing remaining within Leon's senses—
Was Sigurd.
The movement of his muscles.
The trajectory of his fists.
Focusing solely on Sigurd's movements, Leon's mind began reading even his next move.
'He's aiming for my shoulder. He plans to disable one of my arms first.'
It was a solid strategy.
Whether swordsman or martial artist, losing an arm was fatal.
One could even call it textbook combat.
At the same time—
It was already a broken strategy.
A strategy only held value when the opponent didn't know about it.
No fool in the world would willingly fall for a plan they already understood.
And even if such a fool existed—
Leon certainly wasn't one.
Rather than retreating, Leon seized Sigurd's right arm and twisted it.
CRACK—!!
A horrifying sound echoed as Sigurd's elbow bent completely in the wrong direction.
“…!!”
Sigurd stared at Leon in utter disbelief.
It had all flowed so naturally that it almost looked as though he had willingly offered up his arm.
He hadn't even had time to feel the pain.
Everything had happened so quickly that he couldn't even comprehend what Leon had done.
'It's as though he knew exactly what I intended from the very beginning.'
The movement had been that natural.
And Leon wasn't finished yet.
PABABABABAK—!!!
From that moment onward, Leon's attacks became completely relentless.
They were movements worthy of admiration.
Even though he was the one receiving them, Sigurd couldn't help but think so.
The instant he raised one arm—
A kick he hadn't even perceived slammed into his head.
The moment he focused on defending—
Leon swept his leg beneath him as though he had read every thought in his mind.
His balance collapsed.
Naturally, gaps appeared in his defense.
Leon drove his fist directly into those openings.
It was as though he could see the future itself.
Sigurd wasn't merely surprised anymore.
He was completely dumbfounded.
How was this even possible?
It wasn't as though Leon had crawled inside his head.
Yet every movement struck his greatest weakness.
'At this rate, I won't last much longer!'
He needed even a brief moment to catch his breath.
Sigurd's eyes darted around frantically.
Leon was far stronger than expected.
He needed outside assistance.
'My brothers are already occupied with the others. They're even fighting two-on-one.'
There was no way out.
Even he couldn't defeat Leon.
He had to find someone to help—
'That's it!'
Suddenly, Sigurd's eyes lit up.
Roughly fifty jang away—
The Saint, restrained by a man and a woman, was looking directly at him.
'Perfect.'
The Saint was on their side.
For some reason he was currently with the humans, but in the end he was still branded a traitor to humanity.
Once the humans beside him were dealt with, the Saint would naturally heal him.
The only problem was Leon.
'No wonder he's the son of a king like me. He truly possesses the strength worthy of one.'
A grin spread across Sigurd's face.
'But in the end... we win.'
His father.
The King of the Werewolves.
The one once known as the Demon Wolf King.
He was powerful enough to earn the acknowledgment of the Demon Gods.
The Demon Gods were beings who, despite possessing mortal bodies, had reached the martial might of true gods.
There was no way a king acknowledged by such beings could lose.
'I admit it. Today, I lost to you.'
'But sometimes surviving is victory.'
'I will remember your name, Leon.'
BOOM—!!
The instant that thought ended, Sigurd dashed toward the Saint.
His speed was so great that it almost seemed as though he had employed a supreme movement technique.
Leon immediately gave chase.
SHWAAAAAAK—!!
Having reached the absolute pinnacle, the Dawn-Drifting Falcon Step was far beyond the reach of anyone who had yet to master the Body Movement Technique.
Leon instantly caught up behind Sigurd and unleashed the Infinite Void Heart Fist.
CRACK—!!
A sickening sound echoed from Sigurd's back where Leon's fist landed.
Anyone would have recognized the sound of shattered bones.
Sigurd thought,
'What kind of insane human is this?'
The running speed of werewolves was on an entirely different level from the rest of the Demon Race.
Their race was especially gifted with powerful legs.
Yet this human had caught up to him?
Was he truly human?
Sigurd desperately swallowed the scream threatening to escape.
This monster was beyond anything he could handle.
He had to reach his brothers.
FIIIIIIIING—!!
Then—
A sharp sound cut through the air from far away.
It resembled an arrow slicing through the sky.
Hearing it, Leon instinctively looked upward.
His mouth fell open.
Because someone was flying across the heavens.
They were so far away that they looked no larger than dots.
Even so—
He knew.
The two figures crossing the sky were his father, the Conqueror—
And the King of the Werewolves.
Just what kind of battle were they fighting?
The Conqueror and the Demon Wolf King were exchanging blows high above the earth.
The shrill sounds tearing through the air were the aftermath of their clash.
While Leon stared blankly upward—
“You idiot!”
Sigurd seized the opportunity and sprinted once more toward Celeste.
What a fool.
Who looked away during a battle?
Sigurd desperately wanted to strike him for such stupidity.
But he restrained himself.
Even if Leon had been distracted, he remained the stronger fighter.
In Sigurd's injured state, his attacks would never land effectively.
It was far wiser to put as much distance between them as possible.
And then—
KWAAAAAAANG—!!!
The Conqueror and the Demon Wolf King crashed down from the heavens—
Directly above Sigurd.
Even at a glance, they had been fighting over five hundred jang in the air.
Naturally, Sigurd's body couldn't withstand the weight of two such monsters.
CRUSH—!!
His body was flattened beyond recognition.
Blood and organs exploded in every direction.
It was a gruesome sight.
Yet Leon's eyes never turned toward Sigurd's corpse.
The man had been his opponent only moments ago.
Even so, he couldn't bring himself to look.
Because the two figures before him were simply too overwhelming.
KWAAAAAAANG—!!
An immense pressure surged outward.
Merely looking at them made his eyes ache.
Instinctively, he knew.
The aftershocks of their power alone could take his life.
Everyone nearby felt the same.
Every person stared at the Conqueror and the Demon Wolf King with tense expressions.
All of them understood.
Every movement those two made could reshape the battlefield.
Silence descended upon the world.
Then—
KWAAAAAAANG—!!
A terrifying explosion echoed.
Heaven and earth seemed to split apart.
And with that—
Leon lost consciousness.
After blacking out, Leon found himself inside his mental world.
Before long, he realized he had fainted.
'Unbelievable.'
'I lost consciousness just from watching them fight.'
Such was the battle between kings.
Someone as ordinary as himself couldn't even witness it properly.
Yet Leon wasn't disappointed.
He had always known the gap between himself and Zeke was immeasurable.
Rather, he should be grateful that he had witnessed even a single exchange between such kings.
'Right. No use feeling sorry for myself. Time to review the battle.'
Inside his mental world, Leon replayed his fight with Sigurd.
Leon wasn't particularly talented.
Only through relentless effort could he stand alongside others.
So he carefully analyzed the battle, searching for ways he could have fought better.
Yet perhaps because he had witnessed the clash between kings—
His battle with Sigurd became difficult to recall.
It couldn't be helped.
How could someone like Sigurd possibly compare to an exchange between kings?
Leon naturally found his thoughts drifting toward their battle instead.
'I couldn't see it with my eyes... but those exchanges were incredible.'
Perhaps because he had completely opened his senses—
The techniques of those absolute powerhouses, which should have been impossible for him to perceive, appeared vividly within his mind.
What puzzled him, however, was something else.
Unlike before—
He didn't feel as though the realization itself would consume him.
'Strange.'
'Whenever I watched Father's techniques before, my head would throb unbearably.'
'But now... I feel perfectly fine.'
Why?
Had his vessel somehow grown larger?
'Impossible.'
Leon firmly shook his head.
'The techniques exchanged between kings must simply be too profound for someone like me to comprehend.'
He remembered how they fought.
But he couldn't even begin to understand the enlightenment contained within those exchanges.
One could only perceive as much as one understood.
The kings' techniques belonged to a realm far beyond Leon's current abilities.
That was precisely why he couldn't suppress his excitement.
He had secretly been disappointed after fainting.
But now—
He had something to strive toward.
How could he not be happy?
Slowly, Leon began reconstructing every exchange between the kings.
Where their gazes moved.
The angle of their wrists.
The overwhelming aura each of them exuded.
He recalled every sensation he had experienced.
Had anyone else witnessed such a scene, they would have been utterly shocked.
How could someone remain so calm after collapsing unconscious in the middle of a battlefield?
But Leon had his own reasons.
'After all... there's no way my father could lose.'
Zeke had surpassed the title of the Conqueror.
Even in his previous life within the Martial Alliance, he had reached a realm worthy of being called the greatest under heaven.
There was no chance he would lose to nothing more than the king of the Demon Race.
'From the looks of it, whether it's the Great Blood of Night or the werewolves, these so-called kings are still weaker than the Demon King.'
How could someone seeking to defeat the Demon King possibly lose here?
With complete peace of mind, Leon continued replaying the battle between the kings.
Again and again—
Until consciousness returned.