bdsm-fiction Chapter 64 The Hero's Final Trial
Chapter 64 The Hero's Final Trial
Tokyo Bay Port Area.
The waves crashed against the rusty shipping containers, producing a dull, rhythmic roar.
There was no heartbeat within a radius of several hundred meters, only the cold sea breeze and the salty air.
Arthur landed steadily in the center of the open space in the harbor, his star-studded cloak fluttering in the sea breeze.
A hundred meters directly in front, Hercules, who had fallen from the top of the building, had already climbed up from the rocky beach.
His heavy body smashed half of the reef, dark green seaweed hung from the gaps in his shoulder armor, and seawater flowed down his bronze skin.
The berserker's entire body emanated a viscous, black mud-like magical power, and the ground beneath his feet kept cracking under the immense pressure.
He stood there, and even the earth seemed to strain, his empty eyes filled only with pure, compressed fighting spirit.
Arthur slowly exhaled a breath of stale air.
"In this deserted land, I can finally pay you the highest respect, great hero."
He closed his eyes, and the Dragon's Furnace in his chest began to pound wildly, each beat like a muffled war drum, striking outward from the depths of his marrow.
The scalding magic power, no longer restrained, erupted from his entire body as visible golden flames.
The puddles at my feet evaporated instantly, and the rainwater turned into white mist before it even reached my shoulders.
Golden flames formed a semi-transparent spherical force field around him, enveloping the entire dock area in scorching light.
"roar--!!"
Hercules was the first to move, his massive body springing off the rocky beach, creating a vacuum hurricane that sent several empty shipping containers flying like cardboard boxes along the way.
The axe-sword, as large as a door panel, was raised high above the head, sparking a crimson flame as it rubbed against the air.
Arthur did not retreat; deep within his emerald irises, his dark golden dragon eyes were fully ignited.
"Those who enter the Land of Shadows must first learn to sever the weight of their souls."
Arthur's figure suddenly became illusory. In that instant, he was not moving, but rather seemed to have vanished into a crack in space.
As the axe and sword struck, the entire dock seemed to be struck by an earthquake, with the concrete ground cracking in all directions from the point of impact.
The cracks extended dozens of meters to the warehouse foundation, and several shipping containers were thrown into the air.
At the same time, Arthur appeared above Hercules' broad back.
The sword in the lake did not reveal its true name, but the tip of the sword was wrapped with the light of "annihilation" specifically for high-ranking deities.
Every being possessing divinity has a gap between its soul and body filled with divinity.
Normal attacks can only hit the physical body; divinity will automatically repair everything.
The blade of annihilation cuts through that very gap.
"The first strike."
The holy sword swept across, its tip slicing into the back of Hercules' neck and drawing a straight arc down his spine.
The restorative power of the Twelve Trials was running wildly, but it found that there was nothing to repair.
Conceptual defenses that could disregard attacks below rank B were as thin as paper in the face of this sword.
The divine restraint combined with the violent dismantling of the dragon's magic took away the first life of this demigod with a single blow.
Hercules' body instantly reassembled after being transformed into spirit particles, and his resistance was frantically evolving against Arthur's attacks.
"roar--!"
"It's no use, Hercules, my magic has no limit."
Arthur's speed increased again; he abandoned complicated moves and instead used the purest, most indiscriminate violence.
"Unleash the magic—burst forth!"
Golden light exploded beneath his feet, and Arthur, like a retrograde comet, crashed head-on into Hercules' arms.
The sword in the lake unleashed twelve consecutive slashes in a very short time, each one precisely severing the magical energy pathways.
Hercules roared in agony as his twelve trials were being consumed at an alarming rate.
Each repair is a rebirth, and each rebirth makes the magic circuit more resilient, but Arthur infuses more dragon power into each attack than the last.
Hercules' "Twelve Trials" are being consumed at an alarming rate: six, eight, ten...
Arthur created some distance, holding his longsword to his chest, and the power of the Wind King's barrier began to peel away from the sword.
Countless transparent wind pressures dissipated layer by layer on the surface of the sword, emitting an extremely faint sigh.
The blade revealed its true form; the golden sword, engraved with the brilliance of stars, was rising in the port at dawn.
"It's over. As a hero, you shouldn't have continued to succumb to this twisted festival."
Arthur raised his longsword high above his head, and golden light expanded outward from the blade.
The seawater in Tokyo Bay began to surge to both sides, and wherever the brilliance of the star-made weapon shone, the seawater parted on its own.
"Ex——calibur!!!"
A massive golden pillar of light pierced through the heavens and the earth; it was no longer a mere torrent of magic, but a judgment bearing the will of the stars.
The light engulfed everything in its path, and Hercules laid down his axe and sword in that light.
In the final moments, a sense of relief and tranquility appeared on that frenzied face.
Under this devastating blow, the strongest heroic spirit of Greece transformed into countless spiritual particles and vanished completely on the horizon.
The light slowly faded, the sea lanes on the surface began to close, and the seawater once again covered the dark bed.
The sea breeze blows across the pier, carrying a very faint scent of evaporated seawater mixed with spiritual particles.
Arthur gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands, his breathing rapid, as the frantic pounding of the furnace slowly subsided.
Twelve trials, twelve all-out attacks—his willpower was nearly half depleted, but the dragon power in the furnace core was still plentiful, enough.
Meanwhile, on top of a container on the other side of the dock, Sangreed Farn was frantically pressing his Command Spells.
Cold sweat soaked through his priest's robes, and his once meticulously trimmed beard was stuck together in clumps by the sweat.
He witnessed firsthand the entire process of his strongest trump card being decisively defeated.
It wasn't through opportunism or luck; that man, sword by sword, wiped the greatest demigod of Greek mythology from the world.
"Impossible... What kind of monster is that? How could it shatter that great hero's twelve trials head-on? How dare those bastards, Caster..."
Before he could finish speaking, a cold gust of wind whistled behind his neck.
"Oh, looks like your 'god' is too busy to save you tonight, Father."
Sangreed turned his head stiffly, and there was Cú Chulainn, holding his crimson spear upside down, crouching on the edge of the shipping container next to him.
The dark blue-clad spearman appeared out of nowhere, his red eyes filled with a chilling killing intent.
"Lancer? You're from Linglong Pavilion..."
"Correct, but there's no reward." Cú Chulainn yawned, glancing sideways at the shadows not far away.
There stood Reiryukan Misaya, holding a staff and with an icy expression.
"My young lady said that someone like you who only knows how to scheme behind the scenes is better off leaving the stage sooner rather than later."
"Wait...wait a minute!" Sangreed took a step back, his heel hitting the edge of the container.
He frantically drew the name incantation on the back of his hands, but the third stroke had already faded. He raised his hands to his chest, as if that would block something.
"I can join forces with you! I understand the Church's secrets, I know the truth about the Holy Grail! I can help you deal with that Arthur..."
"Pfft."
The sound of a spear piercing a heart was clean and crisp.
The crimson spearhead pierced through Sangreed's chest, drawing out a cloud of blood mist. The mist was dispersed by the sea breeze, landing on the metal of the shipping container, where it was quickly diluted by the night dew.
Sangreed's mouth was still open, his eyes filled with resentment.
Cú Chulainn sheathed his gun, flicking away the blood on the tip, leaving a dark red arc on the metal.
The fanatic's body slid off the edge of the container and crashed onto the concrete floor with a dull thud.
Cú Chulainn didn't even glance at the corpse. He turned to look at the silver figure on the beach who was slowly sheathing his sword, a complex expression flashing in his eyes.
Arthur survived the twelve trials without collapsing, and was even able to stand and sheathe his sword.
"That guy... he's practically a monster." Cú Chulainn slung his spear back over his shoulder, his short blue hair blowing in the sea breeze, obscuring one eye.
"Hey, young lady, are you sure you want to keep playing with him? That guy is the one who cut down Hercules twelve times in a head-on fight."
Misaya remained silent for a long time, gazing at the coastline scorched by the holy light.
The concrete ground at the edge of the dock was grazed by the beam of light, leaving a scorch mark several feet deep that stretched from the dock all the way into the sea.
The sea breeze was still blowing. She recalled the scene that her familiar had just transmitted: the golden pillar of light that pierced the heavens and the silver knight standing in the center of the pillar, holding a sword.
"...The Holy Grail War is not over yet." She said coldly, "Let's go, Lancer."
"Yes, madam." Cú Chulainn followed behind her, carrying his gun, and grinned.
The port returned to silence. The sea breeze was still blowing, but the heat of the berserk magic and the metallic hum of clashing Noble Phantasms were gone.
All that remained was the rhythm of the waves crashing against the rocks and the bloodstains gradually drying on the metal container.
Arthur stood on the beach, watching the faint light gradually appear on the horizon.
The sword in the lake had completely withdrawn its golden light and hung quietly at his waist, while the sword in the stone remained unsheathed from beginning to end.