The moment I blocked all senses except sight. Taking steps without tactile sensation, relying solely on my sense of balance, having removed even the pain that would restrict my movements.
Without hearing, there was no noise. The last sound I heard was that creature's roar, tearing through the mountains—perhaps it was better this way. The pain from that roar was gone too.
The tingling sensation across my skin had disappeared. I was finally free from the pressure of its presence.
This is always how it goes when facing the immortal with a mortal body. Eliminating what's lacking, abandoning what's unnecessary, taking just one step forward.
One more step forward.
In this moment, a person who has shed all unnecessary things becomes a dagger. A dagger meant only to plunge into the heart of a god.
I know that dagger. Ivan still remembers. Though the scenery and circumstances were different, he knew the daggers that had advanced to confront beings like this.
They're gone now.
That fact causes irrational pain. Since I've removed all sense of pain, this must be phantom pain. Yes, I've suffered this phantom pain for many years, so it's familiar.
So it's fine.
Ivan gripped his axe and struck down once more.
It was an attack without sensation, a strike that ordinary swordsmen could never complete. The weight on fingertips, the sense of balance on toes—all those sensations had been removed.
All that remained was perfectly mimicking the posture from that day, which remained vivid in memory.
Since it wasn't his own martial art, instinct wasn't necessary. Only reason. Following another's technique perfectly, as if replicating a photograph.
Arm angle at 87 degrees from the starting position. Wrist extended to 110 degrees. Weight distribution from index to ring finger at 1:1:1:2. Direction perfectly along the median line.
-Crack.
My shattered right arm screams. But it's fine. Because I can't hear it.
Because I can't feel it. Pain is an unnecessary factor in this strike I'm mimicking.
Right foot forward 23cm. Weight on the toes, heel slightly raised, facing forward.
The posture I'm visualizing is like an arrow being shot.
An arrow shooting toward the sky, tearing through dark clouds. Ultimately seeking the morning star. Toward that streak of light shining through the darkness of the night sky.
When the weight distribution became perfect, in that single moment crossing an instant. Aligning the flow of magical power.
One strike.
-CRASH—!!
The forward strike cuts through a pillar. Each scattered fragment is larger than a human body. Snow and ice spray everywhere, and when the silhouette appears again—.
'About 1%...'
Compared to that massive body, it's just a fingernail-sized wound. The giant tree-like being begins to twist its body toward him.
The surrounding snow scattered in an instant. His body was pushed back two steps.
'It roared.'
Even with his hearing blocked, his auditory sense wasn't completely lost. He had only severed the nerves that perceive sound, while the eardrum and sensory organs still existed beyond his awareness.
So, had he faced this level of noise head-on, he might have lost his hearing completely.
His vision briefly turned red. Tears of blood flowed, temporarily blocking his sight. He quickly wiped them away and resumed his stance.
'It's coming.'
He quickly kicked off the ground and twisted his body. A small branch extended and struck the spot where Ivan had been standing. The air around it froze and came crashing down.
All kinds of spells scattered like fragments. Lightning, flames, cold—even occasional explosions and powerful telekinetic forces.
Every type of spell used by the Elven schools swirled chaotically. From the movement of a single small branch. That branch was three times larger than a human.
Three days, perhaps? Since Elfihera escaped this space.
He could count time down to the second, which made this all the more strange. Even if this space was the king's domain of the Seven Dragon Lords, twisting normal "spacetime," it was still strange.
Because there was no hunger, no thirst, no magical exhaustion anymore.
Despite constantly jumping to avoid attacks and pouring out all his magical power for each strike, there was no energy loss.
'No, rather...'
A feeling of growing stronger with each fight.
A surge of vitality throughout his body with each strike. No fatigue despite not sleeping, and no deficiency in movement despite his body's injuries screaming in protest.
A well-trained agent knows how to quantitatively assess their physical performance. The body is the tool that most reliably guarantees minimum performance.
And Ivan was a "very" well-trained agent. Therefore, he knew more precisely than anyone what his body could and couldn't do.
From that perspective, his current combat endurance was beyond expectation.
And that pale afterimage flickering at the edge of his vision, following him.
After becoming increasingly clear over several days, that afterimage now began to take on a human silhouette, bothering him so much that Ivan finally turned his head.
"Finally looking at me. I was feeling neglected."
The afterimage spoke to him in a familiar voice. Ivan quickly wiped the blood from his eyes and turned his head again.
There should be no way to hear sounds in this situation. That being's roar should still be shaking the mountains, yet this voice came through clearly amid the silence of his blocked hearing.
"Oh, ignoring me again?"
"Beolgrin."
"Yes, our scout. Have you been well?"
"Are you dead?"
"Me? Or you?"
"Stop playing word games."
The silhouette wavered at Ivan's words. He must be laughing. What an annoying fellow. Ivan grumbled and jumped sideways again.
A deep furrow formed where he had been standing. Telekinetic force was twisting and tearing up the ground.
It was becoming increasingly skilled at using magic. That being was like a newborn cub. Panicking and rampaging without knowing what it could do.
It was becoming sharper, more precise. That meant the creature was gradually realizing its power.
How much time had he bought?
Had Elfihera succeeded in escaping?
Had she succeeded in rallying the elves?
Had the other agents retreated safely?
Was this enough?
It would be better to hold out a little longer, just a bit more. Fortunately, his arms and legs were still moving.
Until that thing started moving more efficiently.
"You're alive. Dying, but alive. Same for me. Both dying and living."
"The elves?"
"Five of the twelve academies have gathered. The remaining seven are conserving their strength and amassing forces. As soon as this crisis ends, civil war will break out. The academies that saved their strength will win, and the elves will be governed by a Privy Council of seven academies."
Even if they win this battle, even if they defeat the monster before them, even if they finally stop the Seven Dragon Lords who have arrived in Kalion—there would be no victory.
Ivan couldn't help but smile at Beolgrin's words.
The Hero Party that defeated the Seven Dragon Lords and the Demon King only to be discarded afterward looked exactly like this. So elves aren't any different from humans after all.
"I wanted to apologize to you."
"Go ahead."
"My, you're not asking why?"
"Not interested."
Beolgrin gave a bitter smile at Ivan's response. It was the answer of someone who knew that no apology could resolve anything.
If a mistake was made, an apology is merely regret for something that has already passed. What's needed is prevention of recurrence or resolution of the situation. That's all.
Therefore, Ivan has no interest in anyone's apologies. He only focuses on handling what has happened. He was an incredibly efficient man.
"I drew you to this place. Into danger. Before the eyes of the Seven Dragon Lords. I'm sorry. All the hardships you've endured were ultimately caused by me."
"What's the solution?"
"What?"
"If you needed me, you're asking me to kill that thing. Since I can't defeat it with my power, tell me the solution."
Still no interest in apologies.
Beolgrin briefly bowed his head. After a moment, he continued calmly.
"Patricia helped. If everything in this world can be recreated with magic, wouldn't divine power be the same?"
"And?"
"We confirmed that divine power can be recreated. But a mage must consider not just possibility, but practicality."
"Conclusion."
"Divine power is a fragment of god's blessing. Compared to a real god, it's incredibly insufficient and trivial, but its origin lies with the gods, doesn't it?"
"Conclusion."
At Ivan's urging, Beolgrin smiled bitterly and said:
"If magic can create divine power, and divine power is a fragment of god, consider the syllogism. Doesn't it mean magic can manifest a god?"
"So you created a god, is that it?"
When Ivan nodded toward the distant monster, Beolgrin shook his head and reached out toward Ivan.
"I twisted the structure of your soul."