Chapter 258 — Decisive Battle (決戰)

“Haa… haa…!”

Batu dropped to one knee, gasping for breath. Each exhale came out as a white cloud in the frigid air, while the demonic energy surrounding him only thickened—rising higher and higher until it nearly touched the heavens.

“Damn… it…”

His face had gone pale, veins standing out like dark lines beneath his skin. Scales covered nearly his entire body now; he no longer even looked human. Yet his eyes still burned with ferocity.

BOOOOM!

Batu stomped down, the frozen ground cracking beneath his heel. The frost that had encased him shattered and scattered like glass, leaving jagged fractures in the ice where he stood.

Elric could tell—this was his final act of defiance.

[I’ll take it from here.]

This time, it wasn’t Tsepes but Damir’s voice that echoed inside him—one of the Six Winds of Winter, known as the “Iron Commander” of Mervingor’s legions.

[Everything’s basically over, and you want to cut in now?]

[Hey, you hog all the fun, I suffocate. Let me breathe a little of that fresh air, will you?]

When Tsepes refused to yield, Damir snapped, his tone half-complaint, half-plea. Tsepes merely chuckled, amused by his friend’s impatience, and sank quietly back into the ether.

In his place, Damir emerged — and possession began.

The instant it did, Elric felt his entire body harden like tempered steel. It was still the same flesh, but every movement, every muscle fiber, every subtle shift of weight felt alive and precise.

[You’ve already surpassed my magic, so there’s little left for you to learn from me. But there’s one thing I can show you.]

[What’s that?]

[Strength.]

Damir laughed, bright and reckless.

[Sheer, unyielding strength — enough to crush any resistance.]

Elric pressed his twin blades together. The two swords fused into one, lengthening into a massive weapon — a two-handed bastard sword, like Batu’s own.

It was heavy, yet Elric gripped it easily in one hand and swung upward with all his might.

The flow of mana was different now — not into the weapon, but through the joints, bones, and muscles that moved it. Mana flooded every cell, every capillary, doubling — no, tripling — his physical power.

This was Iron Transform — the technique that had once allowed Damir, despite his mediocre spellcraft, to stand shoulder to shoulder with the other Six Winds of Winter.

CLAAANG!

Their blades met. The collision shook the air itself as shockwaves rippled across the field.

Batu staggered back, his balance broken. He had already burned through most of his stamina, and now Elric, empowered by Iron Transform, struck like a mountain descending.

WHOOSH—!

And Elric wasn’t done. He had layered his Body-Strengthening arts with the technique “Spirit of the Falcon.”

SWISH SWISH SWISH!

His movements were blinding — too fast, too sharp.

[Wow — already improvising? Now I see why Nahatram and Mia reacted the way they did.]

Damir muttered in disbelief, half admiring, half exasperated.

Iron Transform required fine control; even seasoned warriors risked tearing their bodies apart without precise calibration. He hadn’t even taught Elric the control incantations yet — but the boy had already grasped it by feel, from the memory of a single strike.

He had stolen the essence of Damir’s life’s work in mere moments. And yet, Damir couldn’t help but smile.

[So it really is him … the one we’ve been waiting for.]

CRASH!

Elric’s sword came down again like a hammer. Batu reeled, sliding backward as shards of ice exploded around him.

“N-no…!”

SHING—!

Elric slashed diagonally for the legs. Batu strained to parry, muscles trembling as he forced his greatsword up — but again he was driven back. A hairline crack split his blade with a brittle sound.

“Can’t be—!”

Snowflakes burst upward, mingling with the lingering frost of Seoljungmae — the Plum Blossom in Snow.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Elric pressed the attack relentlessly. Batu deflected blow after blow, but his body swayed like paper in a storm.

“I… must… protect them…!”

All around them, snowflakes shattered and reformed endlessly, filling the air with swirling fragments of light. Through them, Elric glimpsed fleeting visions — memories bleeding from Batu’s soul.

— He saw Batu as a small child.

The boy trudged alone through a barren white wasteland. The blizzard howled, erasing his footprints as fast as he could make them. No shelter, no village, nothing but endless snow.

He stumbled — and fell.

The snow gently covered him, tucking him in like a frozen blanket. If left there, he would have simply… vanished beneath the storm.

— Then, Batu at seventeen.

Gone was the timid boy. Now his eyes burned with rebellion. An orphan from birth, he had survived in cruel mountains, learning only bitterness.

The village youths hated him — the boy who fought like a warrior without a teacher, who beat them despite never being trained. They decided to break him.

They set a trap. When he fell into it, they beat him mercilessly.

Batu fought back at first, knocking a few down — but his breath gave out. Soon he was on the ground again, curling in on himself, arms shielding his head while boots crashed down upon him.

Yet his eyes never broke.

Scene after scene — every fragment told the same story. Batu was always alone. No one reached out to him. And still, he never yielded. He kept swinging his blade. Driven, angry, but alive.

Elric’s heart clenched as he watched. Lonely. Desolate. Empty — like a true winter.

Batu had lived in endless winter — yet he never believed himself trapped there. He believed that someday, spring would come.

That belief alone kept the warmth in his soul.

— “Hey, are you okay?”

It was the first voice the child Batu ever heard as he lay dying in the snow. He thought it was his mother calling him from beyond. But when he lifted his head, he saw a girl — blind, about his age — smiling faintly in the storm.

Years later, after another beating from his peers, she was there again — handing him a handkerchief, scolding him gently.

“You got hurt again. I told you not to fight.”

Embarrassed, Batu snatched the cloth and wiped his face, grumbling under his breath. He bragged that he’d gone easy on them, that if he’d fought seriously, they’d be the ones lying in the snow. She only nodded and said, “You’re right — but still, don’t fight, okay?”

Even in that frozen world, Batu had found warmth — the blind girl, old Otto who shared his food, kindly Madam Saren, his friend Amra. He had people who cared, even if he was an orphan. And with them, he climbed upward, step by step.

When the day finally came, even those who had tormented him knelt and asked forgiveness. And Batu — the Batu who once knew only winter — forgave them all.

He no longer wanted to give anyone else the same cold he had endured. He waited for spring — and became it.

Now, in this battle, Batu fought to bring that same spring to his tribe — to melt their long winter.

But the outcome…

THUD!

The shards of ice that had been swirling from Batu’s body all burst at once. Elric’s blade had pierced his right chest.

The frost venom spread rapidly, freezing not only Batu’s flesh but even the demonic energy within him.

“Why… !”

Batu coughed blood, glaring up at Elric. He couldn’t form the words, but Elric understood the question.

Why you? Why not me?

Batu knew Elric’s story — a fallen noble, shamed and ridiculed, yet risen again through sheer will. They were the same — born in winter, fighting alone.

So why was one still standing, while the other fell?

“Why?” Elric answered flatly. “There’s no reason.”

Batu’s gaze trembled.

“I’m just a little better than you,” Elric said lightly. “And you’re just a little worse. Simple as that.”

It was half joke, half truth — but his face remained solemn. To Batu, it was almost funny.

“So that’s… it.”

He smiled faintly. If we hadn’t met as enemies… maybe we could have been friends.

And with that thought, Batu’s head bowed.

Tap.

A single snowflake drifted down from the sky — not conjured by magic, but real. The first snow of the season.

Elric stood silently, watching it fall.