Sacrifice's Rise: I Became Invincible After Entering Godslayer Temple Chapter 686 Devil

"War?" Gick chuckled, as if the notion were absurd.

Ali, despite her own non-human origins, had not truly navigated the complexities of human society. Furthermore, owing to her unique race, any revelation of her identity within human domains would likely provoke curiosity rather than animosity or contempt. Consequently, she struggled to grasp the profound despair experienced by those subhumans dwelling in the societal fringes.

"Have you truly known despair?"

"Facing a precipice with no family, cast aside merely because of a lineage from a bygone era. Society labels you a harbinger of misfortune, leaving you without sustenance or shelter..."

"The most pitiable are not those born as subhumans, but rather humans who manifest alien bloodlines!"

"It's not only they who suffer, but also their parents, their kin, and their companions... None are spared!"

"Such a world is fundamentally flawed; it is perverted!"

This perversion is the true catastrophe!

Ali considered Jelia; weren't the subhumans Gick described akin to her situation? She lowered the sword she held.

Meanwhile, across the vast expanse of the continent, a young boy once again lifted his gleaming sword.

...

The terrain bore a deep crimson hue, with rivulets of flame flowing like liquid, meandering erratically. Wherever their fiery path led, the earth became parched and split asunder. All creation seemed to succumb to destruction amidst the ascending inferno.

Within this scene of utter devastation, a gaunt young boy stood, propped against his longsword. Despite bearing numerous wounds, his breaths came in ragged, heavy gasps, akin to a dying beast. One eye was sealed shut by dried blood, yet he stubbornly tilted his head upwards, fixated on the ferocious, humanoid silhouette wreathed in dark crimson flames, positioned approximately a hundred meters distant.

The monstrous entity surpassed five meters in height, crowned with a pair of curved, spiraling horns, and possessed a lower body of reverse-jointed goat legs. Its eyes, cast in a deep crimson, shimmered with molten gold, and its exhalations carried the acrid scent of sulfur and impending death. These features bore an uncanny resemblance to the devils depicted in ancient legends. This was, indeed, a devil.

This was not the boy's first encounter with a devil, but it was undeniably the most formidable. Its imposing stature exceeding five meters signified its full maturity; the gold-red depth within its eyes hinted at a lineage of pure-blooded devils; and the dark, almost blackened, crimson flames indicated a destructive capability sufficient to annihilate an entire city.

Confronting such a devil, even an army of tens of thousands might prove insufficient, yet the boy had only his solitary longsword. Gazing intently at the motionless devil in the distance, the boy attempted to stand straighter, but a searing pain from his wounds caused him to emit a muffled groan, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. It appeared this might be his final moment.

A mature devil was far beyond the capabilities of a level 2 magus; a mere probing exchange had reduced him to this grievous state...

"I am sorry, Morena. It seems I will not be able to keep our promise. I cannot bring you back."

The mana, not yet fully depleted, began to surge anew, converging towards his eyes.

"I never saw myself as a hero, a valiant warrior, or any kind of savior," he articulated slowly, carefully so as not to exacerbate his injuries, though blood persistently seeped from his lips. "Such roles are far too distant for someone like me. They are arduous and draining, not to mention lacking in benefits like health insurance or a pension, and the fatality rate is alarmingly high. It’s hardly a stable career choice."

"My only desire was to lead a peaceful existence. It need not be grand or extraordinary. As long as I could be with the people I love, growing old together, I would have been content. Such a humble aspiration, yet it now seems utterly out of reach... I cannot help but feel a sense of bitterness."

Finally, the boy managed to stand erect, at the cost of renewed bleeding from wounds across his body. He slowly raised his longsword, adopting a defensive posture. Though his gaze seemed unfocused, his stance was unwavering, as if his feet were anchored to the very ground.

"You know, Mr. Devil, I'm usually quite mild-mannered, but there are times I can become a bit unhinged," he stated. "And when that happens, I tend to do rather irrational things. Like attempting to play the hero, for instance, or perhaps becoming a demon hunter."

"But that title doesn't truly fit me, does it? Not nearly as well as 'avenger' sounds."

"Yes, 'avenger.'"

"You comprehend, do you not?"

"Everything you have inflicted, everything you have done to those people over there!"

All residual mana finally concentrated in his eyes as the boy's lips curved into a faint smile. While he felt a measure of pity for Degur, this strategy at least offered a slim chance of survival, a single, potent strike. Focusing internally, he perceived a magic array, no larger than his fingertip, slowly rotating between his eyes, emitting a faint luminescence with each cycle. This was a 'seal array,' designed to contain the immense power latent within his eyes.

Once, the young man had lost his sight. Though the eyes later implanted were from a formidable spellbeast, their immense power came with a volatile side—they were prone to losing control, a risk that led to their power being sealed away.

However, the prospect of losing control held no sway over him now.

Whether it led to blindness or utter madness, his sole desire was power!

The strength to bisect his adversary!

Retribution in kind was the only path forward!

With a decisive move, he shattered the seal in a single, powerful act!

The instant the suppressed power erupted, the boy’s vision dissolved into impenetrable darkness as his very eyes burned out. It was a searing pain that clawed at his very soul.

Yet, this suffering was inconsequential; a single swing was all he needed.

To execute that one decisive strike was sufficient.

Whatever awaited him—blindness or oblivion—it ceased to matter.

The inferno of his wrath consumed his very reason.

Deprived of sight, his target remained discernable.

His direction was dictated by loathing and the specter of death.

A searing gale swept past as he charged through the temporal rifts...

Hatred and the precipice of death charted his course.

The blistering wind whipped past him as he surged forward and brought his blade down!

The confrontation commenced with startling suddenness, concluding just as swiftly.

Despite staking his all, not every endeavor yields commensurate success.

Crimson fluid traced a path along the steel, reminiscent of a venomous serpent sensing its quarry, or ancient glyphs writhing and extending, radiating the primal essence of demise.

Accompanied by a deathly chill, the subsequent agony was less intense than the young man had anticipated.

He perceived a piercing sensation through his torso; though robbed of vision, he could not lose his foe, yet strangely, pinpointing the adversary’s strike became impossible.

Held in the fiend's grasp was a short dagger, appearing magnified to more than double its actual size.

"I have dedicated many years to honing this blade, anticipating precisely this moment."

This was the fiend's inaugural utterance, arresting the boy’s assault with surprise.

Did fiends possess their own form of communication?

"What do you perceive us to be? Mere beasts? Savage creatures? That incident in the village—do you genuinely hold me accountable? Did you witness it firsthand, or was it merely hearsay? Can you present any corroborating evidence?"

The fiend took a half-step back, its gaze descending upon the boy, who barely reached its waist.

Pupils like molten lava, burning red, remained utterly devoid of discernible emotion.

With a simple flick of its wrist, its inherent monstrous strength hurled the boy more than ten meters.

"You materialize from nowhere, obliterate my human vessel, and unilaterally initiate hostilities. Tell me, young man, are you truly so audacious, or perhaps simply thoughtless! I have graced this realm for less than a fortnight, yet you claim to have sought me for half a month!"

"Merely half a month ago, I was immersed in a pool of magma!"

The fiend’s fury seemed boundless, its curses accompanied by a torrent of fiery embers erupting from its maw.

It was a marginal mercy that the surrounding terrain had already been devastated by fire; otherwise, another conflagration would have ignited within minutes.

The boy’s lips parted; the fiend's pronouncements held a veneer of logical consistency, yet who could attest to its veracity?

It felt akin to a solitary recitation, culminating in his own ignominious defeat.

This realization resurrected a suffocating sense of helplessness within him, plunging him into profound despair.

"Indeed… In such a ravaged state, even a potent healing spell would prove insufficient."

With earth-shattering tread, the fiend advanced toward a section of the battlefield where the ground remained relatively undisturbed.

There lay a youthful form, dismembered, belonging to someone of similar age to the boy.

The lifeblood had long since drained from its veins, leaving minimal evidence upon the desolate earth.

This fragmented remains had served as the fiend's initial guise, a deception the boy, piercing through the façade, had recognized for what it truly was.

Thus, with two swift strikes, he obliterated the illusion, immediately engaging the fiend in its true form with his sword.