yasinovel Chapter 204: Bastard! What Have You Done?
Chapter 204: Bastard! What Have You Done?
The sudden turn of events left everyone stunned.
Im gasped, "My lord, why… why is this happening? Weren't they supposed to…"
Roya sighed softly and explained,
"Those two were bound by fate as enemies.
From comrades fighting side by side, to sworn foes consumed by hatred… human destiny is always so easily twisted and toyed with."
Roya knew that when Griffith was cornered by the Mythic Squad and forced to awaken his Wings of Darkness Form, the nightmare aura it released completely reignited Gars's obsession!
In Gars's eyes, the battlefield around him had already transformed into that hellish mountain of corpses, where he had once tasted despair beyond measure.
Beneath his feet lay the bones of fallen comrades, and before his very eyes Griffith was desecrating the woman he loved most—Casca.
This was the greatest nightmare of his life, the wound that never healed, the vision that haunted his dreams every night.
Even though his consciousness had long since dissolved into little more than a single thread of vengeance, the obsession to climb that mountain of corpses and bring his sword down upon Griffith had only grown sharper and more absolute.
That strike, once prevented by the Skull Knight—the incarnation of the Silent King—could no longer be stopped. Not now. Not by anyone.
Even as Griffith's bio-metal left arm flailed, trying in vain to catch hold of anything that might halt Gars's advance—
Even though Gars had never been skilled at wielding the greatsword with his right arm, and even though the killing red glow had vanished from his blind eyes—
This strike blazed with unprecedented ferocity and resolve, aimed straight at Griffith!
For the first time in tens of thousands of years of ceaseless slaughter, Gars was fully awake. Every fiber of his being, every shred of his obsession, now focused solely on this final, fated blow!
And Griffith, too, seemed to remember this old companion as that obsession surged toward him.
The corner of his lips curved faintly—whether in mockery or self-derision was unclear—as he raised his arms, as if once again holding Casca close in his embrace.
That gesture, as always, ignited Gars's fury anew.
"Casca!!!"
He roared, and a red gleam flared once more in his blind eyes. Then, shifting his grip, he placed the greatsword once again into his left hand.
Griffith's smile deepened. In his mind, so long as Guts wielded that bio-metal left arm, higher intelligences within it would distort his judgment and compel him to once again misrecognize Griffith as an ally.
That was Gars's destiny as Griffith had planned it: to become nothing more than a berserker, forever enslaved by rage.
Whether or not the Silent King existed made no difference to Griffith—or to the fate he had written for Gars.
But this time… he had miscalculated.
The red light in Gars's blind eyes did not consume his will, nor twist his strike away.
That bio-metal arm, instead of halting the swing, exceeded Griffith's every prediction—bringing the greatsword down in a perfect, unstoppable arc!
"Silent King!!!"
Gars cried a name he should never have uttered, as the blade closed the final gap and cleaved into Griffith's chest!
The eyelid-face that had once resisted Odin's full-force strike could not withstand the terrible obsession embodied in this blow. The red eye it guarded shattered with it—both exploding into nothingness!
"Bastard! What have you done?!"
Griffith's black wings lashed furiously, blasting Nuwa, Whitebeard, and the others away.
Clutching his chest, he screamed in madness,
"You… you actually destroyed the gift bestowed upon me by the True God… Unforgivable! Unforgivable!!!"
But the red light in Gars's eyes suddenly turned pure blue—and then faded away.
That one strike had fulfilled his wish. With his obsession finally released, the soil in which it had rooted crumbled, leaving it no place to remain.
He raised his left hand, twisted the joint at his right elbow, and detached the bio-metal arm.
Then he lifted off his helmet, revealing a square, steadfast face.
From the corners of his tightly shut eyes, two tears traced down, sliding to the curve of his faint smile.
Time had finally run its course upon his body. In an instant, he dissolved into nothingness.
Only the left arm remained—still gripping the greatsword with unyielding strength.
Griffith stared blankly at Gars's complete annihilation, and only then realized that this fleeting return of consciousness was nothing more than his own obsession reawakened by Gars's primal surge of will.
Long ago, he had already been utterly defeated by the Silent King.
His body, and the battle instincts controlling it, had long since become a tool—an instrument of slaughter contested endlessly between the Silent King and the True God.
For a moment, Griffith seemed to return to the day he first met Gars.
That clumsy-looking youth, swinging a greatsword taller than himself, charging without fear of death against a band of raiders terrorizing peasants.
The black of the Wings of Darkness faded. Griffith looked down at his chest, at his body crumbling away along with that shattered red eye. A serene smile crossed his face.
In but a moment, he too dissolved into nothingness—his bio-metallic wings vanishing with him.
Nuwa, the Mythic Squad, Whitebeard, and the other warband leaders all returned to the bridge of the Hades.
The short but fierce battle had ended in such a way that every heart was left heavy with a sense of emptiness.
Roya cleared his throat gently and encouraged them:
"Don't hang your heads. You fought well.
These two enemies were far more complex than the Seventh Overlord. In terms of individual combat strength, they would rank among the top two of the Silent King's Eight Overlords—capable of crushing the rest outright!
To force Griffith into his Wings of Darkness form, and in doing so awaken Gars's obsession—you achieved a victory without the slightest embellishment!
And I believe that the next time you face opponents of this caliber, you will perform even better."
Nuwa and the Mythic Squad exhaled in relief. Roya's recognition was the best reward they could hope for.
But Whitebeard and the others were ashamed.
In this battle, they had been little more than bystanders, contributing almost nothing—and worse, exposing numerous flaws.
They exchanged glances, each silently resolving to quickly adapt to the new form of psionic warfare.
Suddenly, Im reported:
"Lord Roya! Two enemy ships are retreating! Without an Overlord commanding them, their speed cannot exceed triple warp. Should we pursue?"
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