Chapter Fifty-Five: Sounding the Horn That Heralds the End

Had she reached her limit?

Her slender, fragile body was flushed an abnormal red, like an old machine pushed beyond its capacity. Yet, as if a string inside her had snapped, the girl floating in the air felt no pain at all; every sense was dulled to numbness, her soul and consciousness seeming to transcend the flesh, commanding her actions with the detachment of a distant observer.

Still… even so, she could feel the boundaries of her endurance.

Even with the stigmata implanted, a swordbearer remained, in essence, mortal. Perhaps, when the stigmata was activated, she could rival descendants of the Glorious Lineage, but at the core she was nothing more than an ordinary human wielding divine authority. To surpass her natural station and channel the powers of relics left by saints, she had to endure pressures unimaginable to any normal person. Even though each of them had been carefully chosen for compatibility, awakening these abilities always exacted a price—pain as if her heart were being shredded, as if her veins were being severed inch by inch, as if her blood were boiling away. Most promising candidates perished at the moment of stigmata transplantation, and even among the lucky few who survived, many would never adapt to the rigors of combat.

Mia, who had undergone the baptism twice, was a paragon among her peers, both in stigmata compatibility and strength of will. Even within the whole Order, few could surpass her save the Grand Swordbearers themselves. Yet even Mia had her limits, her own unreachable ceiling—just like now.

She could go no further.

To deliver a fatal blow to the monstrous demon lurking in the depths, her resonance with the stigmata had long exceeded the safety threshold acknowledged by all swordbearers—and it was still climbing. Even if she could transform agony into power through sheer, tempered will, her body was failing. It was impossible now to maintain, let alone amplify, the furious currents she commanded; even sustaining the current resonance was slipping beyond her grasp.

She knew, without needing to think: she was about to die.

The stigmata began to reject her flesh, her strength ebbing away, her senses turning ever more sluggish. Her heart hammered like a pile-driver, threatening to burst at any moment. More chilling still was her skin; crimson beads of blood welled from every pore, staining her completely, turning her into a figure of blood. If she did not strike now, death would claim her before she could wound the demon.

That was something she could never accept.

The demon—must die!

Hemtyka was not Milly’s homeland. Mia was born far away in Nathanael—a simple border town, unlike the enigmatic Hemtyka. There, the spark of order had all but guttered out under the fog of the Nameless Ones. The last drop of blood from the Glorious Lineage, inheritors of the ancestors, was shed for this ancient city now almost swallowed by darkness, and the cathedral at its heart stood as the final bastion of hope.

And yet…

The world lost its light.

An endless night descended silently over the dying city. The world beyond the window was eerily still; now and then, indistinct shadows flitted by, and sometimes a screeching, owl-like cackle or even the sounds of screaming and flesh being devoured could be heard.

It was hell.

Despair and terror lay heavy on every heart; no one knew when the fear would end, though all harbored a silent answer—one too dreadful to believe.

Nathanael’s reign was over, and with it, the city’s people were swept into the dustbin of history.

What awaited them was only death.

Yes—only death! With that resolve, the Order’s swordbearers swung their blades, unleashing a storm that swept across the heavens.

And the world was suddenly clear.

The rampaging currents descended like a tornado, and from afar, it seemed as if the girl brandished a blade able to split the world in twain. Her small, frail body channeled the wild winds with the force of mountains and seas, pouring them down like the Milky Way crashing from the sky. Then—for a moment, the world lost all sound, even time seemed to pause, until—

The "earth" was severed.

Terrifying red eyes, like searchlights, darted in agony; pitch-black, viscous fluid spattered from the wounds. The boundless, indescribable body of the high demon shook in pain, and monsters from the depths swarmed everywhere.

So many—too many.

Surprise lasted barely a heartbeat, and Mia did not falter. She saw only the demon incarnate as the earth itself.

Not enough, not nearly enough!

She gritted her teeth, every muscle spasming; for a moment, she could hardly control her greatsword, lacking the strength to strike the final, fateful blow.

But only for a moment.

Mia took a deep breath, mustering her last reserves as if for one final surge. The raging storm did not dissipate but grew ever more condensed, and with a sound like the world's end, the ultimate blade of wind cut through the demon’s body as easily as slicing buttered bread. Foul, black ichor sprayed like fountains, dyeing the severed earth in deepest black.

Then—

The ground erupted in furious waves; the high demon, dormant until now for unknown reasons, finally lashed out in retaliation. Giant tentacles, thick as pillars, burst forth, flailing blindly in agony like a wounded beast deprived of sight.

It worked.

Mia’s vision was stained red with blood, her body’s functions failing, even her consciousness fading. Yet in that moment, a faint, ethereal smile touched her lips. Summoning her last strength, she gripped her cross-shaped greatsword, and whispered the word she would speak before death:

"Overdrive—"

At that instant, her body, already at the brink, shattered its final limit. The stigmata etched on the back of her right hand, symbol of "Overdrive," fully ignited. A howling gale swept the entire chamber, its shockwaves alone tearing monsters from the earth and hurling them into the cyclone, where pressure pulverized them into a rain of blood that drenched the shattered ground.

What followed was a strike with nothing held back.

The sword of wind from the heavens would shatter all.

Mia could no longer hold her blade; fully unleashing the implanted stigmata was a measure tantamount to mutual destruction within the Order. The damage it wrought on herself was no less than her earlier overdriven use of "Overdrive"—at best, she would lose the stigmata permanently, at worst, her life. But no consequence could worsen her fate; she had long foreseen her own death. So when the moment came, she did not hesitate to turn the stigmata into kindling, channeling her mightiest blow.

This was—

The Howl of the Wind King!

Her purpose fulfilled, Mia lost consciousness. The unbound Sword of Dacmos fell to earth, and the winds that roared around its illusory blade tore open wounds, drilling through the world, the sword of ending that carried the swordbearer's hopes reducing all that dared oppose it to dust!

This was a power beyond mortal comprehension, a force of catastrophe itself. It was the absolute end Mia bought with her life, her hope, her everything.

With that one strike, heaven and earth crumbled!

Yet Mia did not witness the outcome. Like a kite with its string cut, she plummeted from the sky. The stigmata on her hand still glimmered faintly, shielding her just enough to spare her from being swept away like the monsters below. But that was all. The blood that covered her, the internal hemorrhaging of her organs—these were not wounds that any field medicine could mend. She still lived, but only as the fading echo of a girl named Mia; her life would vanish into the darkness.

Unless time reversed or the dead rose again, it was irreversible.

But perhaps, this was what the girl had wanted.

Perhaps, this way, she might be reunited with her parents and sisters in heaven.

In a haze, the swordbearer seemed to glimpse a magnificent golden gate opening atop the distant firmament. As holy chants rang out, endless light poured from the world's end, and a winged messenger of God descended from the heavens, taking her by the hand and lifting her higher and higher…

—Thud.

Lost in her vision, the girl felt no pain as she closed her eyes in peace.

She was dead.

And with her, the world fell silent.

The sword of ending, bought at the cost of everything, slew the high demon and doomed the tribe of monsters bound to it by strange ties. The vast underworld fell mute; no birds, no insects—only the ragged breath of the youth who staggered to his feet.

What had happened?

Wiping sweat and blood from his eyes, the young descendant of glory surveyed the empty world.

“Mia—”

He called for his companion, but nothing answered. The deathly stillness around him sent a chill of foreboding through his heart. Guided by intuition, he stumbled forward, searching for the swordbearer.

Then he found her body.

She looked at peace.

His hands clenched, and for a moment he could not ease the sorrow within.

“She’s dead…”

That was all he said, repeating the cruel truth—then fell silent.