Translator: CinderTL
"Look, even the darkness can't resist making way for this dance of dawn, my dear child."
Before Roland could even ponder these words, a warm, vibrant force surged through his body, as sudden and radiant as the first rays of sunrise.
This wasn't the dragon force he himself had summoned, but rather the power emanating from that peculiar blessing:
Lothander's Morning Delight.
The warm current flowed through his limbs and bones with lively purity, like molten gold—swift yet gentle.
Finally, it coursed through the veins of his arm, surging joyfully toward the Mithril Longsword clutched in his hand.
Hum!
The sword shuddered violently!
The soft, steady glow that had clung to its surface suddenly blazed with boundless vitality, becoming so blindingly intense that it was impossible to look at directly.
But this was far from over.
The searing golden light grew denser, flowing and coalescing like liquid gold. No longer merely clinging to the blade, it now used the sword as its core, frantically building and extending upward.
The brilliant light materialized, outlining the massive, nearly transparent blade of a colossal sword. A sacred and majestic aura radiated outward like a tidal wave.
In the blink of an eye, the finely crafted Mithril Longsword in Roland's hand had vanished, replaced by a colossal blade forged purely from the light of dawn. Its dazzling brilliance forced Gloria to crane her neck to gaze upward.
The light-forged greatsword towered over two men in height, its edges shimmering with flames that danced like the morning sun, bathing Roland in a radiant glow as bright as day.
The sacred light also enveloped Arno's twisted figure and his face, etched with shock and uncertainty, leaving him clearly exposed within its divine radiance.
Gloria gazed up at the brilliant light that had nearly banished the night from the entire valley, and at the colossal lightsword at its center, forged as if from dawn itself.
The Holy Mark Power within her stirred with unprecedented intensity—not in resistance, but in a resonance and elation as if it had finally found its source.
She whispered involuntarily, her voice trembling with disbelief.
"This light... it's a blessing from Lothander, the Lord of a Billion Lights..."
In that instant, Roland's towering figure, bathed in radiant light, seemed to momentarily overlap with the image of a deity draped in dawn's power, his smile both gentle and majestic, stirring her heart to its core.
"The protagonist! This is what the true protagonist of my story should look like!"
At the edge of the battlefield, Galvis, unable to approach due to the lingering shockwaves, trembled with excitement. His eyes gleamed as he frantically pulled out parchment and a charcoal pencil from his pouch, as if afraid to miss a single detail.
"A hero emerges from the long night, wielding dawn's power to cleave through the darkness! A legend is born this very moment! The poems I write will endure through the ages because of you, Roland!"
Standing beside him, Theresa gazed at the godlike spectacle, a fleeting, complex glimmer flickering in her eyes. She silently watched the familiar yet unfamiliar figure at the center of the light. Her lips, which had been pressed into a thin line, gradually relaxed into a faint, relieved curve.
It was as if a silent farewell had settled in her heart.
The surrounding soldiers stared in stunned silence, their awestruck whispers and heartfelt praise spreading through the ranks.
"By the God of Light..."
"Are... are we saved?"
"That man... he's like a legendary hero reborn!"
At this moment, Roland, standing at the center of all the awe and attention, felt something truly extraordinary.
The massive sword of condensed light in his hand had no physical weight, yet it radiated an immeasurable, warm, and vibrant sense of power, as if he were holding a living dawn.
This immense strength was not scorching but rather gently permeated his limbs and bones, instantly dispelling the lingering fatigue from the prolonged battle.
He could clearly feel the gazes of everyone around him: shock, reverence, fervor, and hope.
Yet, enveloped by the playful divine power emanating from Lothander, his heart remained remarkably calm.
It was as if he were bathing in the first rays of morning sunlight, his mind clear and focused.
Before Roland could fully grasp the profound power contained within the luminous greatsword, Arno's renewed assault came crashing down upon him.
Even though Arno clearly sensed the immense positive energy radiating from the light sword—a force that would make any creature of darkness tremble—his mind, utterly twisted by abyssal power, allowed his boundless arrogance to overwhelm his instinctive fear.
With a roar that mingled fury and hubris, the pitch-black energy surging around him erupted anew. His twisted, fleshy wings beat violently, transforming his body into a living arrow as he charged fearlessly toward the radiant light.
Faced with this suicidal assault, Roland's gaze remained calm, showing no sign of retreat.
He swung the colossal sword forged from pure light.
The motion appeared slow, yet it carried an irresistible divine power. With solemn majesty, he brought the blade down against the onrushing darkness.
Boom!
Light and darkness—two diametrically opposed, mutually destructive ultimate forces—collided in the most primal and violent manner imaginable.
A deafening explosion reverberated through the valley, sending shockwaves rippling outward in concentric circles, scouring a layer of earth from the ground.
Brilliant golden light and viscous darkness clashed, frantically eroding and annihilating each other with a sickening hiss.
For the first time, the abyssal power's previously infallible corrosive properties proved ineffective.
It attempted to entwine and corrupt the massive blade of light, just as it had previously devoured holy light.
But Lothander's Dawn's Power was so immense and pure that the darkness melted away like ice in sunlight the moment it touched the blade's edge.
The light pressed down relentlessly, forcing the darkness into a steady retreat.
As time passed, the stalemate was broken.
The blade of light, with unstoppable momentum, slowly but firmly pressed down toward Arno.
The vast, sacred energy seared his abyss-corrupted body, emitting acrid black smoke.
As the blade drew closer, the arrogance on Arno's twisted, imperious face was finally replaced by incredulous terror.
He could feel his strength being rapidly purified and evaporated.
"No... impossible!" he roared hoarsely, his voice distorted by fear.
"The abyss... its great power... how could it be defeated by someone like you...?"
But the outcome was sealed.
Roland channeled more power, intensifying the radiance.
In the instant the blade's descent brought them face-to-face, Roland suddenly noticed something.
Beside Arno's face, another blurred, phantom visage had materialized without warning.
The shadowy figure was shrouded in a faint black mist, revealing only the jagged outline of demonic horns and a pair of eyes burning with crimson, infernal flames.
In stark contrast to Arno's expression of terror and fury, the demonic visage appeared composed, even...
A sinister smile, brimming with amusement and scrutiny, curled at the corner of its lips.
Those double-pupiled eyes, burning with infernal fire, pierced through the blinding light, locking precisely onto Roland.
A low, mocking whisper, tinged with curiosity, echoed directly in Roland's mind:
"Intriguing human..."
Sensing this sudden shift, Roland's instincts screamed danger.
Yet he pressed his attack relentlessly, focusing his mind and channeling all his strength into his arms. The lightsword descended with even greater ferocity.
"Ugh... Aaaaaah!"
Arno howled in mortal agony, desperately drawing upon every last shred of abyssal power within him to resist.
But it was futile.
Sizzle!
A horrifying sound, like a red-hot branding iron searing flesh, filled the air.
With irresistible sharpness, the colossal sword of light sliced cleanly through Arno's arm—a limb covered in crimson lava-like fissures and marked with bizarre abyssal stigmata.
Arno's arm, severed at the shoulder, flew into the air, trailing a plume of instantly scorched black blood.
The suffocating demonic aura that had enveloped Arno began to recede with alarming speed, visible to the naked eye.
The crimson lava-like fissures on his skin faded and vanished as swiftly as dirt washed away by water.
His twisted, fleshy wings convulsed in agony, then dissolved into wisps of black smoke that dissipated into nothingness.
His pure, pitch-black eyes reverted to their original color, now filled with disbelief, pain, and utter exhaustion.
In an instant, the terrifying half-demon form completely collapsed, revealing Arno's original appearance as a human duke.
Yet his face was as pale as paper, blood gushed from the severed stump of his right shoulder, and his breath was so weak it barely stirred the air.
Roland showed no mercy or hesitation.
At the very moment the giant sword of light, its energy surging from striking its target, abruptly dissipated,
the real Mithril Longsword in his hand maintained its momentum, transforming into a cold silver streak that pierced straight toward Arno's unguarded heart.
But just as the sword tip was about to pierce Arno's chest...
Roland's pupils constricted sharply as a primal sense of danger pierced his mind like an icy needle.
Without hesitation, he abruptly halted his forward momentum, digging his toes into the ground and retreating swiftly.
Almost simultaneously, a blurred, pitch-black phantom streaked past his temple with impossible speed, the frigid gust of wind it generated sending shivers down his spine.
Yet the shadow's target wasn't Roland himself, but Arno, who lay paralyzed on the ground, clinging to life by a thread.
Roland's gaze sharpened, his heart sinking.
The projectile hurtling toward Arno was none other than the severed arm he had just severed.
Now, the limb—which should have been lifeless—radiated an ominous black light, as if possessed by a malevolent will.
Instead of reattaching to Arno's body, the arm exploded upon contact, transforming into a massive, writhing mass of ink-black shadow.
Like a living cocoon of darkness, it instantly engulfed the dying Arno.
Without hesitation, Roland channeled his strength once more, preparing to cleave through the grotesque black cocoon.
Before Roland could act, the black shadow enveloping Arno vanished in an instant, as if wiped away by an invisible hand.
Without a sound or any energy fluctuation, the shadow abruptly contracted, faded, and disappeared completely before his eyes, leaving no trace behind.
In its place remained only a pool of glaringly crimson blood, quickly seeping into the parched earth.
And a faint, nauseating abyss aura lingered in the air, barely perceptible.
It was as if nothing had ever happened, yet it also felt as if some deeper, more sinister darkness had quietly slipped into the unknown shadows.
(End of the Chapter)
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