Regressing as the Reincarnated Bastard of the Sword Clan

Chapter 277

As the oppressive force lifted, it felt as though a set of sandbags had been removed, leaving Theo’s body light as a feather. Unlike before, he now had the speed to evade the fanatics charging at him from the front, slipping behind them to sever their throats with precision. His sword strikes grew sharper and more destructive with every movement.

But that wasn’t all.

“These enemies… they’re too weak.”

While many encounters ended in just one or two exchanges, Theo noticed that the enemies seemed to grow progressively weaker. They now seemed so feeble that they could easily be mistaken for civilians.

“Feeling full of energy, are you?” Lodbrok asked with a slight smirk.

“There’s that,” Theo replied, “but the enemies keep getting weaker as we go.”

There weren’t even any clever tactics, like shooting arrows into allied ranks to sow confusion, as they had encountered earlier.

“Have you heard of the boiling frog?” Lodbrok asked. “First, they send the weakest. Then, the mediocre. They do this repeatedly to wear us down. But this tedious formation will soon reach its end.”

“So, the strongest forces will be waiting for us just ahead?”

It was only natural for the enemies near the heart of the formation to grow stronger. After all, this was the core—a critical area where a single misstep could lead to catastrophic losses. It was only logical that elite forces would be stationed there.

But Lodbrok laughed.

“Hmph. Do you truly believe that? I already told you, that bastard is brimming with arrogance. He likely thinks there’s no need for any guards.”

At that moment, a chill swept across the back of Theo’s neck.

Whoooosh—

“This aura… it’s terrifying.”

A memory of his battles with the Blood Fiend and Turange flashed through Theo’s mind. But the energy emanating from ahead made those formidable foes feel like nothing more than a mosquito and a dog.

“Should I avoid this? No, if this is a grand spell prepared in advance, dodging it would be meaningless. It’s something on the scale of high magic, crafted with intent.”

The three of them quickly deliberated their next move.

“Seems he’s arrogant enough to think he can pull this off,” Lodbrok remarked. “This grand spell… it’s leagues beyond what that lich cast before.”

“Could it be? The Bluebeard’s Grand Spell from the report?”

Theo recalled the detailed accounts of Bluebeard’s magic that had decimated the allied forces’ air units. Grand magic was a dire threat if not countered properly. And the caster this time was an elf. That alone raised the stakes—severe injuries, or even death, had to be expected.

“We’ll have to face this head-on,” Lodbrok declared, a faint note of solemnity in her voice.

The magnitude of the energy ahead was so overwhelming that it demanded their utmost focus.

“That torrent ahead—it looks like a tidal wave,” Harald said as he matched Theo’s pace, running alongside him.

The oppressive energy emanating from their target was palpable, and tension was visible on Harald’s face.

“Do you know how dangerous it is to face a tidal wave at a harbor when there’s a barrier ahead?” Harald asked, his voice steady.

But his expression wasn’t one of fear. No, it was something else—exhilaration. His face lit up with a strange joy, as if the situation thrilled him.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Harald’s heartbeat grew louder, his mana surging outward in waves before converging on his axe.

“Well then, let’s see what that bastard’s face looks like,” Harald growled.

For a brief moment, Theo felt as though Harald’s massive frame had grown even larger. The veins across his body bulged, pulsating with energy as a vortex of mana swirled around him, drawing everything nearby into its pull.

“I thought those reports were exaggerated… but he really could split the sea.”

Theo recalled reading about Harald’s legendary feats before his regression. He had assumed the claims about splitting the sea were metaphorical, a reference to his immense strength. But now, seeing Harald’s mana-infused axe brimming with the power of a crashing wave, Theo realized the reports were literal.

The sound of crashing waves seemed to fill the air.

In an instant, all other noises disappeared.

VROOOOM—

The only sound left was the immense vortex of Harald’s power, channeled into his weapon. The energy erupted forward, obliterating everything in its path.

BOOOOM!

The towering tree blocking their way was obliterated. Beyond it, a vast, black torrent came into view, and Harald’s crescent-shaped wave of blue mana began cleaving through it.

“So this is the infamous Second Apostle,” Harald remarked with a grin. “Finally, we meet.”

The once-dense obstacles were cleared, revealing the Second Apostle standing at the heart of the torrent. His crimson eyes glowed ominously, exuding a malice that sent shivers down Theo’s spine.

Clang! Clang!

Harald’s massive energy strikes began to weaken, their power diminishing with every clash against the torrent.

“Did you really think something of this level could stop me?” the Apostle sneered, his voice cold and biting, sending chills down their spines.

“They call elves mad about magic… and I can see why.”

The Apostle’s overwhelming presence prickled Theo’s skin, and his instincts screamed at him to retreat. Harald’s axe strikes were being completely absorbed, and the black torrent grew fiercer, surging toward them.

A strange chant filled the air.

?……?

The dense mana in the atmosphere became suffocating, as if the very air itself were composed of pure magic. The chant emanated from the Apostle’s lips, a grand incantation taking form.

“Hmph. Such arrogance,” Lodbrok scoffed, stretching her hand toward the black torrent.

“Begone.”

Golden light enveloped Lodbrok’s body, a radiant brilliance unlike the ascension magic they had seen before. It carried an almost divine beauty, so profound that it seemed to cleanse the black torrent before them.

“A dragon’s incantation.”

Dragons, the originators of magic, needed no chants or incantations. A single command sufficed, and that command held absolute power.

With a single word from Lodbrok, the Apostle’s incantation was obliterated. The black torrent veered off course, crashing behind them and carving a massive canyon into the earth.

“Well, well, so this is the power of a guardian dragon!” the Apostle exclaimed, his voice filled with unbridled glee. His fiery red eyes blazed with excitement as he laughed like a madman.

Theo gritted his teeth as he felt the Apostle’s sheer, overwhelming presence.

“He’s completely different from the Apostles I’ve faced before.”

The Apostle’s aura was nothing like the savage greed of the Blood Fiend or Turange. Instead, it was controlled, refined, and cold—a presence as unyielding as iron.

“You dared to come here, knowing it was me?” the Apostle mocked. “Your arrogance is truly boundless.”

“Keh… Two worms and a dragon. Do you really think I need more than myself to deal with you?”

His confidence was staggering, as though he considered himself invincible even against the likes of a guardian dragon and two of the continent’s greatest warriors.

“You know,” Theo said, his voice cutting through the tension, “mosquitoes and dogs also wag their tongues before they die.”

“Hmm? Ah, yes. I’ve heard all about how those pests troubled you so,” the Apostle replied with a sneer. “Pathetic creatures they were.”

Theo felt a cold laugh escape him. The Apostle’s arrogance was almost admirable in its scale.

“Well, you’re about to die a death even worse than those ‘pests.’”

Srrring—

The sound of Theo’s sword being drawn echoed crisply. He locked eyes with the Apostle, whose composed demeanor grated on him.

The tension reached its peak as the four figures unleashed their energy, the atmosphere trembling under the weight of their power.

The clash began in a blinding flash. Their forms vanished, and the battlefield erupted into chaos. Sparks flew, but their weapons were impossible to track. The Apostle’s strange black torrent responded to every strike, intercepting each attack with precision.

Theo’s blade, sharper and faster than before, grazed the Apostle’s cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.

A single drop fell.

“Arrogant wretch!” the Apostle roared, his voice shaking the battlefield as the black torrent surged wildly around him, preparing for his next move.