NOVEL NEXT WORLD Chapter 859
Park Jinseong and Ashtosh Singh face each other.
Park Jinseong’s eyes, dripping with blood, meet the two flames collected above the monitor like eyes.
They explore each other.
What kind of magic will be used, and what spells should be countered with?
They analyze the symbols that have emerged so far, paying close attention to even the smallest actions.
Thus, they meticulously calculate their moves in their minds.
It’s more intense than the fights of warriors and more intricate than the battles of wizards.
The slightest oversight could be a deadly dagger; even a minor mistake could strike like swallowing potent venom.
Thus, their probe against each other becomes inevitable.
However, even in their fierce competition, there is always a more desperate side.
And if one were to ask who among them is more desperate, it would undoubtedly be Ashtosh Singh.
“What kind of spell will I use?”
Magic is a strange and mysterious power.
As long as one knows the method and can bear the cost, anything can be used.
Thus, it is famously known as a type of ability that is tricky to deal with.
Yet, even so, those who use it are human, and humans possess tendencies.
Just as Ashtosh Singh is called a ‘Flame Sorcerer,’ and Pierre Martin is known as a ‘Spirit Sorcerer.’
Sorcerers choose magic as a means to achieve their goals. Naturally, the magic they learn is often related to their objectives, forming a pattern and direction.
Therefore, when facing a sorcerer, one can at least make minimal predictions, thinking, “The author will probably use magic of this nature.”
But how about that young sorcerer?
There’s a lack of information.
What is that young sorcerer’s goal? What kind of spells does he enjoy using? Why are the obedient insects he used to summon not coming now?
Ah!
They say the most fearsome enemy is the unknown!
Indeed, it is so.
How tricky it is to confront that bizarre young man, who exudes an inscrutable aura and whose magic is unpredictable—
Moreover, look.
That confidence radiating from the author’s body.
It’s not merely confidence born from courage.
It comes from experience and knowledge.
Not the confidence that looks down on others but the confidence that believes in what one has built.
It’s not a narrow-mindedness that tries to elevate oneself by looking down on the lowly and shabby structures of others, but the self-assurance built upon the tower of knowledge one has constructed.
Some might dismiss the young sorcerer’s youthful face as mere brashness—
“He looks like a monster in the fog.”
Ashtosh Singh, facing him, could certainly feel it.
The horrific scent of death emanating from Park Jinseong’s body.
A layered, unremovable scent of blood, dyed into his mind and soul.
Ah!
This moment, eternal yet fleeting, where they gaze at each other, is unbearably prolonged.
Yet, everything must come to an end.
The blood flowing from Park Jinseong’s body becomes a pool, and the chunks of flesh flowing down with it exude a revolting smell as if they were from the trunk of a dead sinner. How can the blood smell so fresh yet emit such an unpleasant odor? Just how many unspeakable things does it contain to smell that horrific?
Once, the monks of old said,
“All the unpleasant things of the world arrive with a foul stench. Just as demons appear exuding the scent of sulfur, festering plagues come with a nauseating aroma, and epidemics come alongside the scent of excrement, fierce beasts appear, bringing the stench of their urine.”
At the very center of that unpleasant aroma, Park Jinseong murmurs the incantation.
Then, he begins to gather telekinesis, making the blood float in the air.
The sight of the raindrops flowing in reverse seems like a miracle that turns back time.
Ashtosh Singh watches it.
He watches, judging what spell Park Jinseong is trying to cast.
Just a moment longer.
As soon as he sees the blood shaped like a stick that Park Jinseong gathered, he moves the fiery serpent, causing it to open its mouth, and begins to recite his own incantation.
“To the King of Yehudim, hung upon the hill, I say, look upon the one nailed to the cross, seeking to confirm his death. Therefore, you shall take the whip made of bone and leather, and strike him down with all your might.”
A devilish form.
Flames all around.
An unpleasant odor.
The blood that sacred sorcerers of Christian ordination commonly use as a medium.
And even the shape of the stick being formed from that blood.
Ashtosh Singh is convinced that what Park Jinseong is creating is a spear or an enormous arrow that could be used for a ballista.
And among those possibilities, it seems most likely to be ‘Longinus’ spear.’
He thought it was magic using the symbol known for piercing Jesus long ago.
Thus, he used magic to block it, and simultaneously prepared to use the serpent surrounding him for alternative spells at any moment.
Ashtosh Singh’s judgment seemed correct.
What Park Jinseong crafted was a long body with a sharp end.
It looked like a spear or a massive arrow suitable for a ballista.
As soon as the spear took shape, Ashtosh Singh shaped flames to create a cross behind him. Then, he encased nails melted from metal in a fiery force and floated them in the air, looking at Park Jinseong.
“If that spear bound in blood is Longinus’ spear, who would the target be?
With the cross and nails behind my back, trying to bind me, dare I not go against that spear? I will be unable to resist being pierced by that spear, unable to resist until the moment the blood and water flow from my body and it turns into wine.”
Amplification of the sacred!
Ashtosh Singh role-played as Jesus nailed to the cross, while Park Jinseong took on the role of a soldier trying to pierce him. And like a play, it was an act of symbolization, mimicking the roles.
As the magic to mimic another being and utilize their powers manifested, Ashtosh Singh’s magic, now endowed with the symbol of the ‘Son of God,’ began to amplify tremendously.
Flare.
Just moments ago, the flames were undeniably sacred.
But now, they boasted the grandeur as if a celestial archangel descended to purify the earth.
Exceeding the level of erasing spaces, they began distorting them, turning the foundation of the collective unconscious formed by the unconscious into ashes—’information.’
Is it because of this?
The parts close to Ashtosh Singh turned into black voids, while far-off areas melted into metallic chaos, mixing information in a way that created a bizarre landscape.
Such power achieved by only the element of ‘fire’ is almost unbelievable.
Flames so intense they destroy and distort the intangible simply by existing.
The repeated amplifications of the fire are terrifying.
It is overwhelming power in itself.
A fierce flame capable of swallowing even tactical advantages whole.
The method that Ashtosh Singh chose to counter the unknown was indeed the direct approach.
Instead of laboring to exploit others’ weaknesses, he chose to amplify his strengths.
In the moments of crisis, isn’t oneself the most reliable?
And Ashtosh Singh’s very nature resembles that of fire.
Is fire any less weak, targeting weaknesses and burning things?
It engulfs everything with hot heat.
Such is the phenomenon of fire.
Like the sun heating a frozen universe with its intense flames.
Just as it devours the solid ice chunks and hard stone, making them its fuel.
Ashtosh Singh chose to become the sun.
He chose to become the divine sun.
And against such a sun, Park Jinseong raises the spear made of blood.
What foolishness it is to oppose the sun in the sky with just a skewer!
It evokes the tale of the mantis trying to stop a cart!
But still, Park Jinseong does not use any magic, nor does he recite any incantation.
Like the ancient warrior who named his act of shooting at the sun ‘Shooting the Sun,’ he seems to suggest he could shoot the sun down with his spear, almost reenacting the myth where someone shot down the sun with arrows.
He steps out of the magic circle.
Screech.
The heated metal, influenced by the flames, scorches Park Jinseong’s feet.
The molten metal begins to flow down like lava, igniting flames upon his legs.
In just a few seconds, Park Jinseong’s feet will be reduced to ashes.
From flesh to bone, reduced to ash, he will lose his balance and collapse.
Thus, he is destined to meet a horrific end like a prisoner being tortured on a hot iron plate.
Screech.
Yet even so, Park Jinseong begins to run towards Ashtosh Singh.
Like an arrow released from the bow, piercing the sun.
His very existence is the arrow, and the tip of the spear he wields is the point.
Ah, so reckless and foolish.
As foolish as a moth flying into the flames.
Ashtosh Singh waits patiently until Park Jinseong approaches him.
Then, he directs the fiery serpent to gaze at Park Jinseong and recites an incantation.
“In the primordial garden, there was no ignorance, no wicked wisdom, nor sin.”
It’s a strike meant to weaken the symbols Park Jinseong holds.
And at the same time, a backup to prevent Park Jinseong from countering his sacredness.
Flare.
The flame roils.
The fiery serpent flicks its tongue.
The sound from the fire transforms into the noise of a serpent slithering, and soon, Park Jinseong hears the wicked whisper of a snake.
“Where is the place of the wicked serpent?
It is the hill of beginnings, paradise.
Its name is Eden.”
That whisper arrives too late, at a point where it cannot change direction.
Thus, a symbol of sin is imposed upon Park Jinseong right before the flame.
His heart becomes an obstacle to using sacred magic.
Ah.
The fate of that one holding a mere skewer is all too clear as if one could see the flames.
Just like the bug that jumps into the fire.
This reckless one shall end the same way.