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Chapter 279: Happy End (4)

“……”

Dust stared at the newly arrived prey, but soon lost interest.

For all their confident intrusion, their level was pathetic.

“Well, I suppose the rest of them weren’t much better either.”

He slowly turned his gaze around.

More than ten mages already lay sprawled across the floor, among them, the strongest of the group, a 7-level mage.

Now, only a few pathetic remnants remained, barely reaching level 6.

“Tch.”

Needless to say, mages were generally an arrogant bunch.

But look at them now, trembling, powerless, eyes wide in fear.

He could feel their bodies flinch every time his gaze brushed over them.

That gave Dust an almost intoxicating satisfaction.

‘So this is what it feels like to be strong… damn, it’s exhilarating.’

Even when he had reached level 7, he had always felt as though a heavy stone pressed on his chest —

considered himself strong, yet constantly belittled by knights and mages alike.

Not merely because he was a criminal.

‘They were on another level.’

Knights learned swordsmanship steeped in the profound arts of ancient houses.

Mages inherited magic refined over centuries of history.

In comparison, his crude, self-taught brawling barely held together.

Against the polished swordsmanship and spellcraft of geniuses, his fists were nothing but flawed tools.

At one time, that truth had filled him with unbearable inferiority.

“……”

But not anymore.

He had just slaughtered the so-called noble swordsmen of the revered Heavenly Sword Clan.

Now it was time to kill the colorful little mages of the Tower, a full gift set of targets.

‘Once I kill them all, even my inferiority will be washed away… like dust in the rain.’

A thrill welled up inside him.

His mind began to picture the future awaiting after their deaths.

‘Heavenly Sword… I want to fight him.’

He wanted to test the limits of the power bestowed upon him by that great being.

Though aged and frail, the Heavenly Sword was still called the pinnacle of humanity.

If he could tear off that man’s head and offer it to his master—

surely he’d be granted even more blood, more power.

‘Then I’ll be one of the mightiest even in the Demon Realm.’

In the new world soon to dawn, he could rule like a king.

Such heady hopes swirled through his mind.

The thought that he might lose never even crossed it.

‘No matter who I face, I can’t even imagine defeat.’

At worst, a draw, because he had already transcended death.

A mere human, no matter how strong, still dies eventually.

That is the law of nature.

But he had shed the weak shell of humanity.

‘Even if I lose a hundred times, winning once is enough.’

A grin crept across his lips—

“Water Spray!”

Shaaah!

Without warning, hundreds of droplets erupted from the rooftop floor, drenching him.

Dust simply stood there, watching them fall.

“Hm?”

An animalistic instinct pulled his gaze to one side —

and in the midst of all those drops, he saw it: a single bead of blood.

Then, all the droplets slammed into him like bullets.

‘Blood?’

The bead struck his left wrist.

Before he could even think whose it was—

Anatol Kincess of the Blood Tower, coughing blood without end, clenched his fist.

“Good… job! Blood Explosion!”

The high spell of the Blood Tower, its destructive force rivaled the Red Tower’s fire magic.

“Damn.”

As soon as his wrist flared red, Dust cut off his own arm without hesitation.

Before it even hit the ground, his new hand caught it—

and hurled it straight at the mages ahead.

“Wh—?”

“What the hell—”

KWAANG!

A deafening blast shook the rooftop, followed by screams.

“My arm— my arm’s broken!”

“My ribs— can’t breathe—”

Nine mages were instantly disabled.

The encirclement collapsed.

“That monster—!”

“It’s fine. That’s enough of an opening.”

Yellow Tower’s 6-level mage, Betin Marcos, pressed both palms to the ground.

Bzzt—!

Lightning crackled and raced toward Dust, the wet floor its perfect conduit.

“I’ll scorch your soul!”

Perfectly controlled currents struck only Dust.

Crackle—!!

Smoke filled the rooftop, reeking of burnt meat.

“Wind!”

Oscar swept the smoke away— revealing Dust, charred black.

At a glance, he looked dead, but he was an 8-level martial artist.

“What are you standing there for? Keep firing!”

Anatol’s shout jolted the others to action.

Dozens of spells shot toward the black silhouette— but none hit.

“Ha… I can see why you’re all so proud.”

His skin regenerated in a blink; his legs swelled with power.

Then, boom!, he broke the sound barrier and dove into their ranks.

“Still, you’re all nothing but small fry.”

Crack! Boom!

Each punch sent a mage coughing blood, their shields shattered like glass.

“Wind Archive!”

Oscar opened his book as Killian dashed forward, his feet skimming the slick floor.

In three bursts of acceleration, his body became a streak of light—

Kaaang!

His claw of condensed mana met Dust’s thick forearm.

“And who the hell are you?”

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A 5-level mage moving faster than a knight— ridiculous.

Dust laughed, then grabbed Killian’s throat.

“Kh—!”

Killian kicked at his chest, desperate—

Bam! Bam!

Dust didn’t even flinch.

Grinning, he slammed him into the floor.

“Guh—!”

Pain exploded through Killian’s body as blood spurted from his mouth.

A massive fist filled his vision— but it never struck.

“……”

A steel-like whip coiled around Dust’s wrist.

He glanced at its owner, then yanked the whip—

“Whoa—!”

The mage was pulled in like iron to a magnet— Dust’s fist swung—

but before it connected, the opponent dissolved into wind, slicing across his body like blades.

‘Turned into wind?’

Dust let out a laugh.

“White Tower sure has some fun toys.”

A fast one, a wind-born one, mildly amusing, at best.

Clack!

“Wh-what—?”

He grabbed Fran, the wind mage, by the arm mid-air and threw him upward.

Then, leaping after him—

‘One down first.’

Just as his fist was about to crush the man’s heart—

Shraaa!

A page of Wind Archive flared bright.

“Weight of Wind!”

Chains of air wrapped around Dust’s limbs and neck, each ending in a massive wind-forged weight.

He frowned.

‘But… it’s still just wind.’

What could mere air do?

As he swung a fist at Fran—

“Breath of Steel!”

The five great wind weights suddenly gained mass.

“Ghh—!”

Dust’s body trembled.

Each weight pressed down so heavily he couldn’t even move his arms.

‘If this keeps up…’

He fell.

Dragged by the immense weight, he plummeted toward the street below.

KWAANG!

The ground cracked as he slammed into it.

“Not bad.”

Above him, Veronica raised dozens of spells that merged into a single, radiant spear.

“Spear of Promise.”

The colossal weapon descended— and impaled the bound Dust.

“Damn it all!”

The 8-level warrior’s snarl was not of pain but rage —

rage at being toyed with by 5- and 6-level brats.

“Uaaaaagh!!”

He screamed, struggling to rise.

Oscar shook his head.

“It’s no use. That’s not something you can just brute-force.”

Once Weight of Wind hit, breaking free was nearly impossible.

Each weight had 15% of Oscar’s total mana, five weights meant 75% of his power spent.

Considering his vast reserves, it was a massive investment.

‘But worth it.’

It was enough to restrain even an 8-level warrior, if only for a while.

“Anatol, please finish—”

“W-what in the world—”

Veronica’s gasp cut him off.

Oscar looked down again— and his pupils quivered.

“...That lunatic.”

“Heh… said brute force wouldn’t work?”

Dust slowly raised his left hand.

The chain cut into his flesh, crushed bone, tore muscle—

until his hand dropped off entirely.

“There. How’s that?”

His wrist regenerated instantly.

He cracked his remaining limbs and neck; by the time he stood, he was whole again.

“Fun while it lasted.”

BOOM!

With a single leap, Dust landed back on the rooftop, meeting Oscar’s eyes.

“If you’ve got nothing left— I’ll end this.”

“……”

The killing intent radiating from him made their skin crawl, their lungs tighten.

Oscar exhaled deeply.

“I think you’ve gathered enough data on his strength, haven’t you?”

“What?”

“So please… lend a hand.”

Oscar lifted his head toward the stormy sky.

“Otherwise, we’re all dead.”

“Have you lost your mind? Who the hell are you talki—”

Dust cut himself off mid-sentence, eyes darting upward, pupils shaking.

—How arrogant.

The voice rolled across the heavens.

PAANG!

Every raindrop vanished at once.

The clouds split apart— and from the gap, a sword descended.

“Kh—kugh!”

Dust’s eyes bulged as the blade pierced his throat clean through.

Cold sweat streamed down his brow.

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