Max Level Miscellaneous Character - Chapter 64: Will become a torch

Chapter 64: Will become a torch

Philane Greywood looked at the Lich floating in the air. This place was still the realm of the Lich, and it was full of the magic he radiated, but Philane stood proudly as if it was not affected by it at all.

Sussuk!

Four spirits appeared around him.

It shook Lich’s barrier and pushed away the evil magic. Ivan, who was crushed on the ground, regained his composure and got up.

Tch!

Ivan, who was bleeding on the ground, said to Philane Greywood.

“It wouldn’t have been easy, but you came quickly.”

“It was nothing.”

“The others?”

“They’re still captured. We’ll have to break the barrier first.”

Ivan glanced across the wall he had broken through. It was full of fragments of corpses, rotting blood, and traces left by evil demons.

He seemed to have rushed through a pretty intense battle.

‘He is strong.’

Indeed, the hero of the elves, the fairy knight Philane Greywood.

He didn’t change his expression even when he saw the Lich radiating terrifying magic. The elf’s characteristic indifferent face was now very reliable.

“There is an altar behind him. We must first destroy it.”

“Let’s try together. I’ll go first.”

Tak!

Philane Greywood, who had jumped into the air, approached the Lich as fast as he could.

-No way.

As the Lich waved his hand, space overlapped, blocking his way. Exactly the same situation as Ivan a while ago. However, as the spirits of Philane moved, the distorted space was broken.

Bang!

Philane Greywood’s sword stopped right in front of the Lich. He couldn’t break through the shield, but it was clear that the sword had touched it. The attack needed to be fired without being pushed back by the spatial distortion. (dlazarturead(dot)wordpress(dot)com)

Philane shook the Lich’s Grasp of space. It means that you have created a gap in Lich’s realm.

Ssskk!

Ivan stretched out his hand to the side. His right eye flashed goldenly. The spear left in the distance appeared through the space and he grabbed it.

On the left is the blood sword Brika, and on the right is the spear of the lost warrior.

Powerful weapons that are hard to find, easily gave him strength. Ivan’s body was energized.

Crackle!

Bang!

Thunder steps. He moved forward as fast as lightning. He kicked the ground and narrowed the space.

The goal is the altar. To stop the ritual that was still ongoing.

Pierre Lorraine soaked in blood and the red goblet next to him, the dark evil’s flames burned around him.

The moment Ivan got closer, the evil’s flame rose higher. It became a wall and blocked Ivan’s path.

“There are others besides him! We must find them and deal with them!”

shouted Philane Greywood, who was busy fighting the Lich.

Hearing this, Ivan called out the name of the god.

He prayed to the gatekeeper of Asgard, who would be watching him from heaven.

‘Heimdall, please give me your power!’

Woo-.

From the depths of Ivan’s body, the power of the god overflowed. His senses opened, and he felt everything around him.

Ivan has eyes that can see to the ends of the world and ears that can hear even the sound of wool growing. He had the power of the watchman of the gods who looked at everything in the world.

It became much easier for him to accept the power of the gods after he absorbed the fragments of the divine and healed the broken vessel. So Ivan was able to use Heimdall’s powers even better.

Whoo!.

He gained a sense similar to that of a Transcendent and peered through the blinded space for a moment.

He heard an inaudible sound.

There were warlocks in an overlapping space that was not normally reachable. They surrounded the altar and continued the ritual of offerings to the demon.

As Ivan swung his sword and tried to break it, the Lich exclaimed grimly.

-Don’t disturb me, little warrior.

The Lich memorized a spell, not minding one of his arms flying towards Philane Greywood. He exuded a sultry, slimy magical energy. The space shook, pulling Ivan’s body away.

Cak cak cak!

The space continues to thicken with a strange noise. What he could see was right in front of him, but the distance was so wide that it could not be reached on foot.

Ivan could see the red goblet emitting ominous magic and felt Pierre Lorraine’s soul half drawn out. The ceremony was almost coming to an end.

Pak!

Ivan drove the blood sword Brika to the ground. He devoured the evil magical energy that was full around him, preventing further space from being pushed back.

And he grabbed the spear with an enormous force.

He looked at the warlocks conducting the ceremony. He recognized the enemy’s positions. Then his spear could reach them.

Ivan gripped the spear tightly and murmured.

“Bastard Odin, if you’ve been fooling me in the past, please use your powers properly this time.”

He felt the gaze staring at him.

Far, far away, Ivan knew that the one and only eye of the great God, who would sit hunched alone on a heavenly throne, was looking down upon him.

God of Magic, God of Wisdom, God of Storms, God of the Wanderer, God of War, God of the Dead.

Anyway, the great Lord of the Nords, who had all kinds of titles, didn’t say anything.

He just got up from his seat with a gaze that had no meaning, without joy or sadness. He lent his help to his pathetic warrior.

Whew-.

A gentle wind blew. A cold wind blew past that would terrify even the worshipers of death. It soon became a storm and nestled in Ivan’s spear.

Whoa!

Ivan gripped the spear, which trembled with excessive force. And one foot forward, the other foot backward. He stood firm on the ground and twisted his back. His gaze towards the enemy, looking at the warlocks.

Crack!

Ivan’s twisted waist unwinded in the opposite direction, moving forward. As if pushing the mountain, he jumped forward and moved his arms. His muscles twitched against the spear. And he threw it.

“Gungnir!”

For a moment, the spear that became the weapon of the gods, Gungnir, did not fly away. Yet, it pierced the overlapping space at once, appeared far away and pierced the hearts of the warlocks.

The lost warior’s spear did not get lost.

They couldn’t escape from the spear that received the power of Gungnir, which always hit.

Shook!

“Ugh!”

The spear blade pierced the hearts of the warlocks at the same time. The twelve warlocks who were conducting the ceremony fell down, bleeding from their chests.

It was impossible to pierce the hearts of the warlocks who were separated from each other with a single spear at the same time, but Gungnir was different. The Lord’s Spear made the impossible possible.

Regardless of where it stands, it ignores the walls, barriers, and magical powers that stand in front of it.

Bang!

A strong shock wave swept the surroundings as the overlapped space returned to its original state. Ivan held out with his left hand, the blood sword Brika, which had lodged in the ground.

His right arm, who threw his spear, was numb. It seemed to have recovered after a momentary dislocation.

That strong body was enough.

-How dare you!!

Kieeeeek

A shattering scream rang out. Evil spirits were shouting along with the Lich’s wrath.

The limbs that had been cut off by Philane reappeared. Lich came down to the ground, emitting a stronger blue light than before. (dlazarturead(dot)wordpress(dot)com)

-I am reborn by death!

Ivan, who was preparing for his attack, suddenly frowned. Powerful magic flowed from Lich’s body, but instead of an attack, his bones were scattered little by little.

Instantly realizing what was going on, Ivan clenched his teeth.

“He is sacrificing himself to finish the ritual quickly! We must stop it!”

At those words, Philane moved. The 4th Spirit, which was pressing the barrier from all directions, radiated more power, and Philane’s sword swung through the light.

It was swordsmanship that ordinary humans should train for many years while being born and dying several times. It was drawing a truly admirable trajectory but was caught by the hand that appeared through the black flame.

Aaaaaah!

Kieeeek!

The evil spirits that were shaking the whole place howled with fear and despair. The souls of the fallen warlocks bowed their heads to worship.

The hands of the corpse, with only the bones left, ripped the space.

He opened the narrow gates of hell and manifested in this place.

A demon, wearing a skull with a rusty scythe. Instruments, fraud, and the scream of the dead.

It was a familiar face to Ivan. Because he once dealt with his clone in a dungeon.

Rotting Grasp.

It was an evil and destructive demon whose name remained in old books. And he was also the most faithful servant of the Great Demon Deathbringer.

-Sigh

The Rotting Grasp that breathed in deliberately said slowly.

-It’s still disgusting air, you punk.

The Rotting Grasp looked at the Lich, who disappeared into dust. A fallen soul greeted him with joy.

The demon, Rotting Grasp, took the soul in his hand and nodded his head.

-Loyal slave, I will drink your death and give you a new life.

Lich’s soul let out a painful scream and disappeared with those words. Since the devil had not taken his soul, it was certain that he would be resurrected somewhere.

It’s a pity that the Lich could not be completely dealt with, but it was not the time to worry about it. How are they supposed to deal with this demon that appeared before their eyes?

It was completely different from the traces of the guy Ivan had dealt with before. It was a fake that was forcibly created by the dungeon’s magic, and this one was a real demon that lived and breathed in the Demon Realm a while ago.

“Calm down. He hasn’t been summoned normally. The ritual isn’t over yet.”

Ivan, who heard Philane’s words, suddenly looked over somewhere, and the red goblet and the soul of Pierre Lorraine were still there. It meant that the ceremony was coming to an end, but it wasn’t finished.

-These little punks are noisy.

Sasasa!

A Rotting Grasp wrung their hands, and Ivan and Philane retreated in an instant.

“Ugh!”

Ivan’s skin was momentarily wrinkled, then bouncy again. He had been deprived of his vitality for a while and then recovered.

Fortunately, this was because he resisted by maximizing his magical power. Ivan could see the whole forest in the distance withering away.

The Rotting Grasp did not use that skill anymore.

Because he was summoned with insufficient sacrifices, his active time was limited. He had to quickly take the offerings.

‘…. That’s not going to happen.’

Ivan clenched his teeth and glared at the demon.

And he memorized the spell.

“Olgr (The guardian).”

The spear of the lost warrior who had penetrated the warlocks and had been embedded in the altar trembled and created a translucent shield. But that thin barrier could not stop the devil’s touch.

Clink!

The barrier collapsed with the sound of glass breaking. The devil’s hand touched the red goblet and the soul of Pierre Lorraine.

Philane said when he thought it was the end.

“We are not weak enough to kneel at a demon that hasn’t been summoned properly.”

Then a voice echoed through the forest. The sound of the fairy, the sound of the Spirit, the sound of the forest.

As the distant elves approached, a thin stream of spiritual power stretched out from behind Philane’s back like a tree root. His Spirit and soul were connected with others and completed in a new form.

That was the world tree. Their tribal god was created by the elves themselves.

All the elves connected to the World Tree were like incarnations of gods. If you have the qualities, then you are qualified to have the power of the World Tree, you will become even stronger.

Whoops!

The withered tree stretched. The world tree shook the leaf and looked down at the demon. Its roots suppressed the evil beings.

As the clear energy of the World Tree touched Pierre Lorraine’s soul, his blurry eyes became clear.

His mind, which had been clouded by darkness, was freed from the power of the evil demon. (dlazarturead(dot)wordpress(dot)com)

Whoosh!

Pierre Lorraine’s soul, half shrouded in darkness, burned with divine flames. It drove away the evil spirits and purified the soul with glorious fire. He burned the demonic hand that held his soul.

Woo woo woo woo-.

Brika, the blood sword, howled. Sensing the end of his own former master, the sword’s body trembled.

Pierre Lorraine’s gaze looked at the sword, perhaps feeling it. And his lips moved.

“I will be the torch.”

Whoosh!

The demon that lost the soul of Pierre Lorraine, Rotting Grisp, was furious.

-My offering!

He held the red goblet firmly. The magical power contained in the goblet gave strength to the rotting grip.

-This time, you have won, you punks. But, in despair, ponder whether that victory is really sweet!