Chapter 250: EX 250. Aroma
James’s squad had been fighting for what felt like an eternity, one full cycle in this cursed city, yet the battle never truly changed.
The undead kept coming.
No matter how many times they were cut down, burned, or shattered, their bodies always returned. If their numbers dipped below a certain threshold, the wave would simply rise again, as if the horde itself refused to die.
And the worst part?
The copy was slowing down.
James’s gaze darted toward it, heart sinking. Leon’s copy was a blur of steel and sweat, slashing, blocking, breaking bones that reformed minutes later. But even through its relentless movements, James could see the fatigue, its breathing was ragged, its stance unsteady.
’Two more waves at most,’ James thought grimly. ’After that, the Lord’s copy will fall.’
The idea struck him like a blade to the chest. If the copy went down, their chances would plummet. And if they fell here, then no one would carry the message back. No one would warn Leon about this cursed city, about this nightmare that resurrected itself endlessly.
’No matter the cost, the Lord must know.’
But his squad wasn’t faring any better. They had long since burned through their natural stamina, bodies now moving only because of the potions Leon had provided. Without them, every one of them would have collapsed hours ago. Even now, their movements were sluggish, blades slower, spells weaker.
Then the wave came again.
That dreadful darkness.
The same pulse as before surged from the city’s heart, a foul tide that swept through every street and building. And once more, the fallen turned to ash, only to rise again with hollow eyes and gnashing teeth.
The clone stood at the center of it, its hair wild and loose, body riddled with shallow cuts from hours of fighting. Sweat streamed down its face, soaking the torn shirt clinging to its chest. Unlike Leon, it had no talents, no abilities, only raw stats, only the weight of its master’s command.
Protect them at all costs.
That single order burned in its mind.
So it fought like a devil. Even with its chest heaving in wheezes, even as exhaustion dulled its reflexes and left openings that the undead’s claws eagerly tore into, it fought. Each strike was reckless, desperate, furious. It was a storm of steel born only from instinct and will.
But even storms fade.
The next wave crashed over it, and this time, the body failed.
It tried to deflect an incoming undead attack, but its body suddenly froze, and its blade slipped from its hand. Its knees buckled, and it collapsed onto the bloodstained ground. Its chest rose and fell in shallow gasps before that strength, too, was gone.
James froze. The world seemed to still in that instant, the undead closing in all around them.
His face twisted with sorrow as he whispered,
"I am sorry, my Lord... I have failed you."
****
Leon slipped back into the manor without a sound. The evening air clung to him, carrying the faint tang of the forest, but he brushed it aside. His steps were steady, unhurried, the weight of hunt left outside the gates.
’I wonder how James and the others are faring.’
The thought came idly, not out of worry but habit. He had sent his copy with them, after all. It wasn’t him, but it was strong enough. Stronger than anything that prowled the Tyrant’s Forest. Peak B-rank creatures ruled these lands, and the copy carried that much in raw strength. More than enough, or so he believed.
Leon didn’t linger on it. He pushed the thought away as he entered the manor, his eyes catching on the courtyard floor. Shattered wooden targets lay scattered in uneven pieces, their surfaces split clean by precise strikes.
"Racheal must be done with training," he murmured, a faint curve at his lips.
He moved on, passing through the silent hallways, his mind turning back to the larger problem at hand. "I need to inform her about the plan to track down our squadmates," he said to himself, voice low but certain.
The original idea had been simple. Wait until his combat ability reached S-rank. Then begin the search. But despite the battles, the grinding, and the endless honing of his edge, his combat strength lingered just above A-rank. It gnawed at him, this invisible ceiling.
And yet—
He felt something different. In the spars he’d exchanged with Nikko, in the pressure that pressed against him when he crossed her path. A Supreme S-rank was no ordinary foe, but Leon had measured himself against her presence all the same. If he couldn’t meet that standard, then he wasn’t S-rank. Simple as that.
The thought settled into him like iron, his jaw tightening with resolve.
Then, a shift.
A scent drifted into his nose, warm and savory, cutting through the stillness of the manor.
Leon stopped, inhaling. "Hm? What’s that?"
His curiosity sparked, as he followed the trail down the corridor, each step drawing him closer to the kitchen. He didn’t need food, not anymore. The void inside him made certain of that. But needing and wanting were different things. The aroma was too rich to ignore.
His hand brushed the doorway as he leaned in, drawn toward the source of that tantalizing smell.
****
High above the ruined city, a figure hovered in the night sky. Golden armor gleamed faintly under the fractured moonlight, a crimson cape rippling in the wind behind him. His presence alone felt heavier than the air, like a divine weight pressing down on the world.
Cold blue eyes scanned the battlefield below, James’ squad locked in endless combat, Leon’s copy carving through the horde with bloody precision.
"So, they are not the ones," the man murmured, voice carried by the wind. His blond hair glowed faintly against the darkness, a sharp crown of gold. His gaze sharpened. "But... there are traces of that anomaly clinging to them."
He said nothing more, only folded his arms and watched.
The first wave rose. The squad endured.
The second wave came, heavier. Still, they held.
The third wave crashed against them like a tide, and yet the city did not fall.
Wave after wave. An unending trial of steel, fire, and blood.
At last, the man’s lips curved into something between a frown and a smirk. "As I thought. Despite carrying the scent of the anomaly... they cannot bring true destruction."
His eyes drifted, narrowing on Leon’s clone. The imitation was a shadow of its master, yet every strike shook with unnatural force, every movement carrying a weight no mere Rank 3 should possess. The figure tilted his head, studying it with keen interest.
"And for a clone to hold such power at Rank 3..." His words were low, almost reverent. "How terrifying will the master himself be?"
For a moment, silence lingered, then a soft chuckle slipped past his lips. He spread his hand casually, as if brushing dust from the air. "It doesn’t matter. I’ll find out soon enough."
His voice dropped to a whisper, heavy with command.
"—Holy Seal."
The world itself seemed to shudder.
A colossal pressure poured from him, flooding the city like a divine tide. The ground cracked. The air thickened. Every undead froze mid-charge, their snarls and screeches caught in their throats. The horde, endless and tireless, was locked in place as if carved into stone.
The battlefield fell silent.
Only the golden figure remained moving, his cape whispering in the stillness as he looked down upon James, his squad, and the broken clone.
****
A/N: Half way their