Ji.
Usher recalled the past.
The simple happiness of childhood, the day everything was ruined, the memories of fleeing, and the time spent trying to forget Baern.
The source of it all was right in front of him.
At this moment, he finally realized—he had never truly forgotten anything.
The moment he saw Grost, emotions surged.
Resentment and hatred toward him resurfaced as vividly as that day.
The difference now was that he wouldn’t throw himself away for revenge.
Usher had a place to return to now.
No matter how strong his enemy was, no matter how much he resented him, he wouldn’t be consumed by it.
Crash!
Swords clashed and separated.
A single misstep in judgment could mean death.
It felt like walking on a blade’s edge.
Now, he understood why his opponent was so confident.
Undoubtedly, this was the strongest foe.
Neither the sorcery of heretics, the sinister grudges of the unclean, nor brute force and curses were stronger than Grost’s sword.
No one had told him, but Usher realized the root of his corruption—at the core, he was once a First-Class Knight of the heretics.
But defeat never crossed his mind.
He could win.
Usher was used to this.
From the start, he had never faced an easy opponent.
His entire life had been spent studying how to defeat stronger foes.
Slash—!
Blood sprayed into the air.
It wasn’t Usher’s. It was Grost’s, and his blood was black.
[…!]
For a fleeting moment, Grost’s body trembled—it felt like eternity to Usher.
He unleashed the Vice-Commander’s swift sword technique.
Tatata—!
He slashed through the joints of Grost’s armor.
The armor was fused with his body, so it wouldn’t fall off, but severing the joints was enough to draw blood.
Grost counterattacked.
With that massive sword, he increased his speed, ignoring the pain in his wounded joints as he struck back.
Usher responded with even more techniques.
He stomped on his solar plexus, used Hwaran’s assassination sword, and when Grost struggled and lost balance, he employed Kyle’s naval swordsmanship.
And in the moment that an opening appeared—
“It’s open.”
His sword cut straight down.
—Usher, this is a downward slash.
Slice—!
It was the first sword technique Usher had ever learned from the Commander.
His sword cut straight from Grost’s right shoulder through his chest.
And with unwavering force, the blade passed through his body entirely.
A fountain of black blood erupted.
Grost’s eyes widened in shock.
He dropped his sword, desperately trying to hold his severed body together.
Then—crack—his jaw split open, revealing a mouth that had never been there before.
[Aaaaaah!!!]
Boom—
The vibration shook the air.
A black divinity exploded outward like a shockwave.
Usher shielded himself with divine power.
He covered his mouth with one arm and looked straight ahead.
What he saw in that moment—
Was pity.
“What a wretched sight.”
[Not yet, not yet…!]
Grost had sprouted membranous wings.
His severed body was held together by tentacle-like appendages.
Black liquid dripped from his gaping mouth like saliva.
But Usher’s attention was drawn to something else.
“So, in the end, you never wanted to surpass the Commander—you only wanted to catch up.”
Behind him, his tattered cape spread out like a mane.
And in his hands—
He held the Commander’s greatsword, so wide it looked more like a shield.
His grotesque, heretically-fueled transformation had led him to imitate the Commander.
[Not yet… I…!]
“This ends here.”
Usher’s sword tip scraped the ground.
He took his stance, sealing his divinity within.
Silence.
The mist-like divine energy that surrounded his body settled like a still lake.
His eyes shone with unwavering clarity.
Grost attacked.
It was nothing more than a crude imitation of the Commander’s swordsmanship.
And with that, the battle was decided.
A man who had lost even his own vision and was merely mimicking another—
“You.”
Could never defeat Usher.
Swish—
Usher’s sword slipped past Grost’s greatsword with effortless grace.
The motion was like a river’s current—smooth, unhindered.
By the time Grost realized he had been struck, it was already too late.
It was inevitable.
This was neither the sword of the mercenary corps nor anyone else’s.
It was a technique Usher had forged himself.
A man trapped by the ghosts of his past could never consider new possibilities.
[Ugh, ah…!]
Usher’s blade touched Grost’s waist, severing the tentacles that held his body together.
This time, it was not a simple cut.
Like a sponge absorbing water, the divinity severed by Usher’s blade was drawn into Grost’s body through the wound.
His entire being was consumed by divinity.
And with that, it was over.
Crack—!
Golden fractures spread from the cut across his entire body.
He staggered and fell to his knees.
Thud, thud, thud—!
The undead Grost had raised collapsed all at once.
Stripped of their power, they returned to lifeless corpses and finally found rest.
Usher looked down at Grost.
Even as his body crumbled into dust, he glared at Usher with resentment.
In that moment, as their eyes met, Usher felt something in his heart dissolve—something that had been lodged there for a long time.
It wasn’t joy from victory or the thrill of avenging the past.
There was only a faint sense of emptiness, a touch of pity, and mourning for the dead.
Grost had simply been a man consumed by obsession until he destroyed himself.
The Lion Knights of Therbion had merely lacked the same degree of malice.
Realizing this, Usher let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing.
His sword tip lowered toward the ground.
And then—cheers erupted, spreading like wildfire.
“U, Uwooooo!!!”
“Therbion! Therbion! Therbion!”
“Waaaaaa!!!”
Usher lifted his head.
The mercenaries of Big Ten—Gester, Nowang, and Jeren—were all looking at him.
Their triumphant cheers imprinted themselves onto his vision.
Some could not even bring themselves to shout, lowering their heads as tears streamed down their faces.
Some frowned, struggling to hold back their tears.
Perhaps they were the ones who had once fought against the Lion Knights in the catastrophe ten years ago.
But Usher no longer resented them.
Revenge had been fulfilled, and they too were merely small figures swept up in the tides of history.
Gester approached him.
He pulled Usher into a tight embrace.
“You… you really went through so much…”
Usher patted Gester on the back.
But it was too soon to celebrate victory.
“It’s not over yet.”
Usher placed his hands on Gester’s shoulders and gently pushed him back.
Then, in a way that was so utterly like him, he smiled and said—
“I’ll be back. The Saintess is waiting for me.”
It was a bright, innocent smile, one that had no place on the face of a knight known as the Bloodstained Warrior.
Gester’s eyes widened, then he, too, smiled like a child.
“Now you finally look like the Usher I remember. This suits you more.”
Well, that was because until now, someone else had been wearing this body and smiling.
But there was no need—or time—to say that.
Still, he found it a little annoying that his old friend had never once considered that he had been trapped in Bersia’s body.
If it were him, he would have figured it out immediately.
“Go on. Kill that damn woman.”
“Yeah.”
Usher turned around.
The mercenaries of Big Ten cheered him on, their voices roaring through the battlefield, even as they began clearing up the aftermath.
And just as he stepped toward the main headquarters, still shrouded in a black veil—
Flash—!
A beam of light pierced through the sky, striking the veil.
It was Bersia’s prayer.
It was time to hurry.
The moment Usher left, Bersia steadied her breathing and moved.
Cursed or not, she had no intention of waiting like some princess locked in a tower for a prince to come rescue her.
After all, this so-called curse was nothing more than a fever rising or a dull ache in her lower abdomen.
To put it crudely, it was simply a state of arousal.
The idea that lust alone could render someone completely immobile only existed in novels.
She had no experience, so she couldn’t say for sure, but that was probably the case.
She needed to go deeper inside.
If she were in her original body, Bersia had no doubt she could defeat anyone.
Of course, it wasn’t as if the path ahead was empty.
There were quite a few… rather indecent traps.
“Tch.”
Tentacles slithered toward her.
The area was filled with traps that evoked unmistakably lewd imagery.
You must have known about the curse of longing.
Clicking her tongue, Bersia uttered a prayer.
Nothing could harm her.
Hiss!
The mere unleashing of divine power was enough to exterminate the infidels of space.
Such was favouritism.
Bersia strode into the heart of the core, displeased.
Tehra, the witch she’d heard of, greeted her with a smirk.
‘My dear, did you not use the gift I brought you?’
‘Do you think I’m a beggar? I’m hungry, take whatever you want.’
‘That’s a shame, because I did you a favour.’
‘Oh, you poor thing. You’re in a chicken coop and won’t play with me unless you have tentacles, so I don’t know how you feel.’
‘Hoo-hoo, you’re a dick.’
It was a seemingly mundane conversation.
But she knew it wasn’t, and he knew it wasn’t.
The heat was not yet gone.
Even now, when we talked about it, I kept seeing Usher’s face.
I wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.
Kiiiiiiiiiii.
Halo came to mind.
Unlike before, it was a golden halo that hadn’t yet turned to blood.
Bersia was in a hurry.
She had only one thought.
‘Let’s get this over with. I need to wash up.’
She would go back and fuck Usher.
This time, I can’t hold back.