Chapter 143: The First Prince's Sword
The fight in the open ground had been going for some time.
Every swing of the Wrath Demon General's fists carried a tearing force that ripped through the air.
Blue Roses was giving everything they had. It wasn't enough. The gap in strength was not something willpower could bridge.
Gagaran had clawed her way out of the rubble. She spat a mouthful of blood-tinged saliva and tightened her grip on her warhammer again.
Tina and Tia pressed attacks from both sides in alternating rhythm, but their breathing had grown ragged and their movements had lost the crispness they'd had at the start.
Lakyus held the front. Her golden hair was plastered to her face with sweat. The repeated impacts had left her hands completely numb — but her grip on her sword hadn't loosened by a fraction.
"This thing doesn't even feel us." Gagaran growled.
Evileye was still airborne, but the drain of sustained spellcasting was starting to show.
Brain was lying in the blacksmith's shop rubble. Getting up was not happening anytime soon.
The Wrath Demon General stood where he was. His opponents were far too weak — he was running out of ways to make the performance look convincing.
Then Barbro arrived to save the scene.
The First Prince came striding down the street from the far end, steps measured and sure.
He had exchanged the gaudy formal wear of the daytime for a close-fitting dark battle coat, an ornate sword hanging at his hip.
That square face wore a confident smile. The arrogance that usually lived between his brows had been replaced, just now, with something that almost looked like composure.
Gazef noticed him first.
"Your Highness!" Urgency edged into Gazef's voice. "What are you doing here? It's too dangerous—"
Lakyus turned as well, watching that figure walking toward the center of the battle. Her brow drew in.
Then she remembered what had been circulating in the capital recently — that the First Prince had spent a considerable sum to bring in a newly promoted Adamantite-ranked adventuring team, Darkness, from E-Rantel. A team that was said to surpass even Blue Roses.
If Momon and Nabe were coming too, a fresh Adamantite team entering the fight might actually shift things.
Lakyus's gaze moved past Barbro, searching the space behind him.
There was nothing.
Barbro had come alone. Behind him: burning wreckage and drifting smoke.
"Your Highness," Lakyus couldn't help asking, "where is the Adamantite team you hired? Where are Momon and Nabe?"
Barbro stopped. He raised a hand and made a smooth, dismissive gesture.
"The Hell Reapers on the civilian side aren't fully cleared yet. I've already told Momon and Nabe to stay and help the citizens."
An expression passed across everyone's faces — not quite the same expression on each, but unmistakably the same category.
Surprise? Something like being moved? Confusion?
Was this the same First Prince they knew?
Gazef's gaze stayed on Barbro's face for a moment. He didn't know whether to believe in this apparent change — but at least right now, nothing the First Prince had done was objectionable.
"Your Highness..." Gazef said, with a reluctant, complicated kind of respect. "You—"
"Say no more." Barbro raised a hand and cut him off.
The First Prince stepped forward. His gaze moved past Gazef and settled on the enormous figure standing in the center of the open ground.
The Wrath Demon General's golden-flame eyes looked down at this human who had just appeared.
Barbro didn't flinch from that gaze.
He squared his shoulders and looked back, the weight in his eyes something close to appraisal.
Barbro addressed Gazef and Lakyus without turning away from the Demon General.
"You've both held him long enough. Well done."
"What comes next — leave it to me."
Gazef's pupils contracted sharply.
"Your Highness!" The words were out before he could stop them. "This isn't wise — his strength far exceeds anything we've faced. Even with you added, it would be difficult to—"
"Warrior Captain." Barbro's voice came in steady and firm, talking straight over him, his expression entirely serious. "Don't worry."
He let the pause sit there deliberately, taking in the feeling of every eye in the clearing turned on him.
"The strength I have kept hidden for many years." Barbro's voice sharpened.
"Today — for the people of this city — I will show it."
The words landed. A brief silence fell across the clearing.
Even the crackle of the burning fires seemed to quiet for a moment.
Gazef looked at the First Prince's profile.
Those blue eyes were locked onto the distant demon general. Not a trace of fear in them. The confidence was almost spilling over.
Gazef had never seen that expression on the First Prince's face before.
Could it be...
A thought surfaced in Gazef's mind — one he half-felt was absurd even as it formed.
Could he actually be strong?
Gazef thought of the stories about great heroes — how they so often only revealed their true strength in the decisive moment.
Maybe... the First Prince was that kind of person?
Lakyus had gone still as well.
She thought of something Lucian had told her once, during one of their private conversations between siblings.
"Stay away from the First Prince, Lakyus. He's a useless fool. Getting involved with him only leads to trouble."
She had nodded at the time. She trusted her brother's judgment.
But right now —
She was looking at the First Prince's bearing — that posture of a man willing to reveal long-hidden strength for the sake of ordinary people — and a thought had risen in her, unbidden.
Could her brother have been wrong?
Barbro's hand closed around the sword grip. The blade slid slowly from the scabbard, catching the firelight with a cold gleam.
It was a new sword. Not a single mark of use on the blade.
"Demon Lord Rashaelle!"
Barbro's voice rang out over the night.
"Your opponent — is me!"
The sword tip leveled at the Wrath Demon General.
Then Barbro raised his right hand and worked the dark battle coat off his shoulders.
The fabric slid from him, spread in the night wind — like a black flag being unfurled.
It hung in the air for a moment, then he tossed it back behind him with a casual flick, the motion entirely easy and natural. It was the product of a full day of quiet private practice.
The Wrath Demon General raised that enormous open hand slowly, five fingers spread, reaching toward the First Prince.
Deliberately slowed. As if giving his opponent time to prepare.
The First Prince watched that vast hand descend, and the smile at the corner of his mouth deepened.
"Come on then!"
He shouted it and charged forward, his bearing gallant, his stride sure — every inch the hero storming into the fray in an epic poem.
Every eye in the clearing fixed on him.
The next second.
The Wrath Demon General's hand closed.
The First Prince hadn't even managed to swing the sword. That enormous hand snapped shut around his entire body like a predator taking hold of prey, and Barbro was sealed inside a clenched fist.
"—"
Whatever sound the First Prince had been about to make didn't make it out of his throat before the grip cut it off.
The Wrath Demon General didn't pause. He raised the First Prince high — then swung him down hard toward the ground.
***
hahaha...."puny god"