A dull longsword and a heartbroken villager

Even Bray could reach the third rider in five seconds.

But that's under normal circumstances.

The space around Huangquan was frozen, making every movement incredibly difficult for Bray.

Just as the Third Knight disregards the meaning of his means in pursuit of his goals, he similarly doesn't care whether his actions are honorable or dishonest in battle.

If you can restrict the opponent's actions, then restrict them; if you can weaken the opponent's abilities, then weaken them.

This was never a heated battle where soldiers clashed weapons together.

The battles here are life-or-death, and will determine who goes to the underworld.

So, in this situation, how exactly should one wield the sword?

There's no need to think about complicated things beyond swinging the sword.

The pain from the broken bones and the weakness from blood loss did not distract him.

Focus all your energy and effort on that one simple sword strike.

How to make the cut depends on all the sword techniques you know.

Even if the final strike is not even worthy of being called a swordsmanship, it doesn't matter.

Break free from the shackles of the underworld and take a step forward.

Behind him appeared overlapping phantoms, each one a different version of Breclas, yet none of them were the Breclas present.

The only thing they have in common is their appearance.

They had appeared more than two years ago, and then disappeared without a trace.

And in that instant, they appeared silently once again, without even Bray himself being aware of their presence.

They are phantoms, afterimages, remnants that should not exist here.

"..." Bray's pupils contracted, and he unleashed a sword strike.

The longsword was incredibly difficult to swing at first, as if it were being blocked by a thick membrane.

But after breaking through the constraints of the entire Yellow Springs world, a silvery-white stream of light appeared.

Seemingly to compensate for the initial stagnation, the blade swept past faster than the limits of the Bray after the breakthrough.

This sword strike was that simple; it was just swung out.

It contained a dark, internal energy, but nothing else.

Although it was fast, from any angle, this sword strike was too simple.

But with just this one sword strike, those spheres were frozen in mid-air.

At the same moment, the phantom behind Bray also swung its sword.

Unlike before, this time, the countless phantoms no longer repeat the action of laying mines.

They each drew their swords.

There are sword techniques that Brei knows, and sword techniques that Brei doesn't know.

Each sword strike was distinct, but the objective was always clear.

That is the sphere in the sky that can destroy everything.

A sword dance, accompanied by a thunderous roar, unfolds above the Yellow Springs.

The thirteen spheres shattered, and a huge gap appeared in the Yellow Springs.

Bray trailed a silver streak as he swept past beneath the shattered sphere.

The sword in his hand was pointed directly at the third rider!

Those terrifying forces burst forth from the shattered sphere, hindering Bray's advance.

His face was ripped open by the blast wave, his eye mask was torn apart, revealing a prosthetic eye burning with purple-blue flames.

The hand not holding the sword was twisted off and bent in the opposite direction.

His feet were under extraordinary pressure, and his bones were on the verge of breaking.

Nevertheless, the fortress has not collapsed, and the gloom awaits to be dispelled.

The demon, wielding a sword, ignored all its injuries and charged straight at the third rider without hesitation.

It was as if, at that moment, he had forgotten the word "retreat."

How exactly were they able to achieve this?

They can't even feel the passion in their own blood, yet they choose to do something that others find so crazy.

Even after his sword had cut through all obstacles and brought him to the third rider, his eyes remained as calm as still water.

Bray's actions are often perplexing.

The third rider was also puzzled by Bray.

However, Blakeras seems to be the kind of person who wouldn't choose to do something he'd regret.

He watched silently as Bray approached, making no move to resist.

Because he had no chance of resisting.

The attack just now, if placed outside the Yellow Springs, would be enough to destroy a city, crush any defense, and kill a demigod.

But Bray pulled through, so what could the third rider say?

Haha, as expected, even ordinary people can be very strong.

There are plenty of people more talented than me, and even more talented people will be born in the future.

Given enough time, it is possible for a person to touch the unattainable gods.

If one isn't enough, then ten, a hundred, a thousand.

The first person I saw who could stand tall before God made me believe even more in what I was holding onto.

"As expected, mortals are still too weak." Dizoka's voice entered the Third Rider's mind.

"Let me tell this mortal that the existence of the Yellow Springs is unshakeable."

His consciousness sought to seize control of the physical body and launched another counterattack.

The underworld is extremely important; if order is destroyed, it will lose its chance to descend.

He cannot be arrogant.

"Don't talk nonsense. Even if it's your avatar, the result will be the same." But the original prop refused to hand over the body to Him.

Did you see him? Did you understand him?

“You think he’s funny, but… hahaha.” He forcibly ripped the mask off his face, making the already hideous scars on his face even more horrifying.

But that doesn't matter anymore.

This time he lost, and the order of the underworld is destined to be destroyed.

Dizoka lost his chance to come.

Therefore, his method also meant failure.

The only method we knew of failed miserably; what a pity.

He threw away the indestructible mask and placed his severed hand on his abdomen.

“Stab here,” he said softly.

Bray closed his prosthetic eye and opened his right eye to meet the gaze of the third rider.

The outcome is decided, but this is not a result to be happy about.

Whether they succeed or fail, only a group of inferior beings will be held accountable for being manipulated.

Bray sighed deeply, changing his original intention of slashing the opponent in half to stabbing.

The longsword easily pierced through the shield, which was barely supported by the remaining divine power, and went straight through the third rider's abdomen.

The concept was suppressed in that instant.

Without that concept, the third rider will soon become just an ordinary corpse again.

That black robe had also begun to decay, hanging like a rag on the third rider's mutilated body.

Then, Bray noticed the wreath hanging around the neck beneath the black robe.

A wreath with rough workmanship but a wide variety of flowers.

The wreath was too large to be worn around the neck, but the third rider still wore it.

That's why I had him stab his abdomen.

The third rider, having lost all his strength, stumbled back a few steps.

The longsword also left his abdomen.

Freed from his predicament, he slowly fell backward—

But Bray helped him up.

Why did he help the murderer? Bray himself didn't know.

The third rider didn't know either.

He tried to touch the wreath around his neck, but found that he had lost both hands, and then he looked dazed.

This wreath was given to her by a girl from that town who had lost her father.

The girl probably felt that the wreath had lost its original meaning, so she casually handed it to the third rider.

The third rider was speechless when he accepted the wreath.

But in the end, he obediently put it on.

It's true that wreaths should be worn, rather than left to gather dust in the house.

He had no connection with that girl, and he hadn't even saved her father.

But for some reason, he unconsciously began to regard this wreath as very important.

"The wreaths...are not damaged...nor have they withered."

The third rider, a man whom Bray had only met once, murmured in a hoarse yet unusually gentle voice.

"For someone like me who deserves this punishment, this is truly the best gift..."

He always felt that one day he would be cruelly punished, and it would be perfectly normal for him to be cast into hell.

He even imagined in advance how he would be nailed to a pillar and burned alive.

He felt that no amount of suffering was too much of a punishment for him.

Because it is what I deserve.

However, the wreath woven by his clumsy little hands made him feel that his life wasn't so bad after all.

This may be the gentlest way the world has ever treated this beast.

Unfortunately, I can't even touch the wreath now.

Thinking of this, he couldn't help but feel a little dazed.

From a consequentialist perspective, everything he did was in vain; the people he killed were simply killed.

There is simply no moral justification to cover up this crime.

Just as Blakes said, in the end he was just a simple murderer.

"Is there any hope for this world?" The third rider repeated, in a daze, the question he had once asked Bray.

“There must be.” Bray nodded.

“We won’t be kept like this forever, waiting to be harvested by those so-called gods, right?” he said in a weak voice.

“Absolutely not,” Bray said solemnly to the third rider.

"No, no, definitely not, just as I thought..." The third rider gave an awkward smile.

"Although I am not qualified to say this, but... this world will not be filled with only despair, there will always be hope."