The False Hero, Volume 12, Chapter 21 pt1

Chapter 21

----- King Edgar -----

Sharp pain flares on the back side of Edgar’s knee. Without looking, he reaches down and grabs the hilt of former Duke Bradley’s sword. A quick yank, and the blade comes free from the joint in the armor that protects his legs.

“Starting to slow, are you?” Bradley stands on the far side of the small arena, smiling. “It won’t be long now.”

Edgar holds tight to the hilt, the sword’s hum turning into powerful vibrations as it tries to free itself from his grasp. “You’re a fool if you believe this battle is going in your favor, Bradley. Even if you were never a warrior, your upcoming death should be obvious to you by now.”

A stream of blood crosses Bradley’s smile, the head injury severe enough that even the Archfiend-level opponent can’t ignore it. Yet his smile never fades.

“You still don’t understand, Edgar.” Bradley shakes his head, but there’s no disappointment in his face. “Do you believe that you are only fighting me?”

Edgar doesn’t even look around, knowing that no other warrior stands in the arena with them. “I’m not interested in hearing another spiel about your new god, Bradley.”

“Poor fool. Still beholden to a dying deity. Have you ever felt the rush of power that a true god provides to his most loyal followers? Have you ever spoken with a divine and obtained knowledge that has long been forgotten? I truly pity you, Edgar. Worshipping a goddess who cannot even exert a single thread of influence in this world.”

Power begins welling up within Bradley. “But my god is different. He’s here, with us. And he’s not just watching. Tell me, Edgar. Do you truly believe that a suit of armor and an oversized warhammer is enough to fight a god?”

“I don’t need to defeat a god.” Edgar’s arm shakes like there’s an earthquake that only affects it, the sword in his grasp still trying to free itself. “I just need to defeat you.”

“Ah, and that is where the problem lies. The truth is, Edgar, that no matter how many times you hit me with that hammer, it won’t be enough. It will never be enough.”

Edgar frowns. “You seem to be bleeding quite thoroughly already.”

Bradley’s smile only widens. “I was warned there would be discomfort. But it’s of no consequence to me.”

The former noble doesn’t just have a massive head injury. His entire body is bloodied and bruised. So much so that even a seasoned warrior wouldn’t be able to ignore the wounds. Yet somehow, Bradley carries himself no different than when he had just stepped into the arena.

Edgar knew a noble who never once fought his own battles wouldn’t be capable of standing tall after taking such a beating. It was obvious that something was fueling his confidence. Something that Edgar couldn’t see.

“Lutz.” He reaches out through their shared connection. “Do you know the root of Bradley’s confidence?”

“That guy definitely has a strong connection to the mad god. It’s not like the Archfiends, who are under his direct control, but it’s similar. Chances are, that connection gives him some really powerful abilities.”

“He speaks as if that connection makes him an Immortal Being. Could that be the case?”

“Hah, no way. If the mad god had that much influence to exert, none of us would be alive right now. But that doesn’t mean he’s bluffing. There’s even a chance that he really believes he’s immortal.”

The sword begins to slip from Edgar’s grasp. “He stands unfazed even now, his body so damaged that he walks with a limp. Even an S-Class adventurer would show some concern in his condition.”

“Ah, I think I know what’s going on. Bradley can’t feel pain.”

“No pain?”

“Even with his limited power, the mad god can at least stop Bradley from feeling any of his injuries. If you didn’t have any pain no matter how much you got hit, wouldn’t you feel immortal, too? And if his god made a few promises on top of giving him all that power and so many new abilities, it’s easy to see why he’d be so arrogant.”

“Yet despite that, all I need do is crush him with my warhammer?”

“Yep. Just keep hitting him, and he’ll eventually go down. Though from the spell he’s channeling, I’m wondering if he plans on taking himself out…?”

“A bluff, surely.”

“Well…” Lutz sounds unsure. “If he really thinks he’s immortal…”

Through the slit in his helmet, Edgar stares at Bradley as the former duke gathers mana for his spell. Bradley shows no signs of pain. As Lutz suspected, the man seems to be unable to feel the condition of his body at all.

Meanwhile, Edgar himself aches. Because he is in Lumina’s sub-party, he has the effect of Lutz’s [Pain Resistance] Unique Skill, though at a reduced effectiveness. It’s enough to greatly dull pain, but he’s well aware that it doesn’t reflect the true state of his injuries.

Bradley’s divinely-enhanced sword finally pulls itself free from Edgar’s grasp, flying off into the sky as it has done many times before. The weapon has proven itself quite a nuisance, inflicting more wounds on his body than the former nobleman he’s supposed to be dueling.

Despite the danger the blade poses, Edgar pays it no mind and instead focuses his attention on the man who just completed an extremely dangerous spell.

“If you were a wiser man,” Bradley says, “you would be the one standing here, preparing for victory. Fortunately for me, my new god made the better choice.”

“You insult my intelligence, yet you intend to cast such a spell now? What do you think will happen, Bradley?”

“It’s simple. You will perish. I will not.”

“Is that what your god whispered in your ear? The duke I once knew would never entrust his life to another, even a god.”

Bradley shakes his head, still smiling. “You simply don’t understand, Edgar. You have not yet experienced just how capable our new god has become. I have. Oh, I have. My body, shredded. Torn asunder. I was dead, Edgar. Dead. And then…”

His expression falters just a bit, as if remembering a painful experience. “I was reborn, given life anew. My body restored, my soul filled with power. The duke you once knew is gone, I’ll admit. But in his place, someone else was born. Someone stronger than any warrior, more influential than any king. And all I must do to secure my place as our god’s highest servant is to…”

Bradley raises his arm, palm facing Edgar. “...Kill you.”

The former duke unleashes his magic, a torrent of mana flowing from his battered body. It can’t be seen, but it can certainly be felt, especially by the one chosen as the spell’s primary target.

Edgar looks up. The sword without a wielder has distanced itself from the duel. Seeing that, Edgar can’t help but think that the blade may be the wisest amongst the three of them.

Directly overhead, something else appears in Edgar’s vision. It’s small, no larger than the size of an average man’s head. But contained within is a power that, until recently, had only been spoken about in legends.

The Divine-Class spell, [Meteo].

“Goodbye, Edgar.” Bradley casts one, final spell, and a series of magical barriers surrounds him.

“Like hell I’m going to die here!” Edgar doesn’t take cover. He doesn’t cast a barrier, nor does he take out the shield he has in his [Inventory].

Edgar de Eldridge, King of Orakio, tightens his grip on his warhammer–and attacks.

“What are you–guh…!” Bradley’s shocked voice is cut off when the huge chunk of metal at the end of Edgar’s hammer slams into his chest, knocking him out of the magical barriers he thought would protect him.

“I hope you don’t mind a heavy rain, Bradley!” Edgar can only take a single step toward his opponent before the sky falls on his head.

The first meteorite hits the ground just in front of the king, the deafening explosion more than bright enough to blind him like a man stepping out into the sun after spending days in complete darkness.

Edgar can’t see, can’t hear. He can’t even be sure that his feet are still on the ground. Yet he doesn’t stop moving his legs, pushing himself toward his opponent.

“Hahaha–” Bradley’s laugh is interrupted by another impossibly powerful explosion.

Edgar’s ears ring, his eyes closed now that his vision has been rendered useless. Among all the warriors at the battle, the king is a contender to be the absolute toughest to bring down.

He spared no expense in the creation of his royal fullplate mail, even before Lutz recrafted it. With the formerly unworkable material known as sagestone being used liberally in its recreation, the armor has become as much of a bulwark as Orakio’s castle walls.

“BRADLEY!” Edgar roars as he rushes towards the former duke’s mana signature.

“Step into your death, Edgar!”

A massive impact shakes Edgar to his core, as if his entire castle had just collapsed atop him. Even the king adorned with the most powerful suit of armor in the world is brought to his knees when finally struck directly by one of the meteorites.

“Ugh…!” Still blind, deaf, and now disoriented, Edgar can only hope that he managed to catch himself with the hand he pressed against the ground.

Another explosion. Close, but not direct. He feels the flames from the collision wash over him, heating his metal armor and searing his flesh.

Still, he pushes with his hand, knees straightening.

And he begins to run again.

There’s no more light, no more sound, no more feeling. Only the path forward.

Even after being burned and broken, Edgar has only one focus. With that singular goal in mind, he activates an ability that even many of his personal guards have yet to see in action. One observing his fight would see an aura surrounding him glowing red, then shining yellow, and finally a radiant blue.

Edger begins to feel again. Not the ground beneath his greaved feet, nor the pain that he knows should be flooding his body. No, Edgar only feels one thing.

Power.

A surge of strength flows through his limbs into his hammer. Bradley’s mana signature is a crisp and clear beacon in the haze of darkness, guiding his steps.

Another explosion. This time, it hurt. Really hurt. But he could worry about the injury later.

“If you love your new god so much…!” Edgar raises his warhammer high, the former noble a mere step away. “I’ll send you to meet him this instant, Bradley! [Gigaton Quake+++]”

Powered by his Unique Skill, [Boost], the Divine-Class Warhammer Skill evolves. When his hammer slams into the ground, even the earth-shattering explosions caused by the falling meteorites seem like common drops of rain by comparison.

Edgar can hear a grunt. Not a scream of pain, only a small, unintentional sound from Bradley’s mouth. That’s all the confirmation Edgar needs to know that his blow has landed.

The next few seconds are a haze, like a dream that he’s only vaguely aware he’s having. Edgar loses count of how many meteorites hit him, each one as heavy as the weight of the world he’s shouldered for the last five years.

Perhaps that’s why no matter how many strike him, the best they can manage is to bring him to his knees.

Blessedly, the rain finally stops. Panting, bloodied, and exhausted, Edgar raises his visored face, and for the first time since [Meteo] began, he opens his eyes.

“You’re…” Edgar places the head of his warhammer on the ground and pushes himself to his feet. “...Still alive.”

“Ha … haha–ack…” Bradley lies broken on the ground, his body battered into a bloody pulp. “You’re … a fool … Edgar…”

“This fool is still standing, while you lie defeated.”

“De … feated?” Bradley tries laughing again, but it only comes out as a cough. “I told you … Edgar. Death is … nothing to my god. Defeated … such a thing … is impossible for me now.”

“Then I don’t want to hear any complaints.” Edgar raises his warhammer one more time. “Goodbye, Bradley. [Bonecrusher].”

He lacks the strength to even yell the skill’s name. But it activates nonetheless.

The warhammer falls, and true to its name, one bone is crushed. Bradley’s skull.

The former duke no longer laughs, no longer moves. He simply remains on the ground, his mana having completely vanished from Edgar’s detection.

“Seems your immortality was lacking, Bradley.”

King Edgar hoists his warhammer, resting the shaft on his shoulder and turning from the corpse. Bloodied and exhausted, he takes his first heavy step back toward his soldiers.