There Is No World For ■■-Chapter 204: What Remains in the End (4)
Yeomyeong fixed his gaze on the mace in the Commander’s hand.
A shaft slightly longer than a forearm, a handle, and a blunt iron head at the end.
It looked like a cheap mace meant for training use—but weapons are always judged by the hands that wield them.
As Yeomyeong pondered how to deal with that mace, the Commander who had been charging at him suddenly straightened his back and pulled his shoulders back.
A stance that blatantly telegraphed the attack he was about to make.
In a battle fought at frame-by-frame speed by superhumans, it was the kind of move even a novice wouldn't dare attempt. Was it a mistake brought on by dementia?
No. It wasn’t.
The raised mace turned red, spewing sparks—
“Hup!”
And then it struck the air with full force.
It wasn’t like sword energy—where you simply release mana outward. It was closer to a high-level martial technique or a large-scale spell, akin to a comet strike.
By the time Yeomyeong realized what it was and raised his sword, the mace’s technique had already torn the space apart.
BOOM!!
A thunderous roar rang out, flames erupted, and everything in front of the Commander was obliterated.
The road spewed asphalt like waves, and villas crumbled, throwing debris everywhere.
It looked like a bomb had dropped. Everyone outside the blast radius stared in stunned silence.
The only one who spoke, his brow deeply furrowed, was Jeon Yongseop.
“Completed Pyroclastic Devastation...?”
Unfortunately, no one heard his muttered words.
Everyone’s eyes were locked on the center of the explosion—on Yeomyeong, who was still standing.
Cough.
Covered in dust and debris, Yeomyeong coughed and raised his sword.
The sword aura gathered at his blade explained how he survived the explosion—but only just.
Fighting in that shredded body was impossible—
“Oh?”
The Commander’s face twisted in surprise as he watched Yeomyeong’s body regenerate in real time.
In the blink of an eye, a broken arm returned to place, and torn skin grew back over muscle.
“...You’re practically a monster.”
Yeomyeong didn’t respond. The Commander grinned at his silence and charged again.
“In that case, I’ll beat you until you can’t regenerate!”
He closed the distance in an instant and slammed his mace downward.
Unlike the explosion-inducing technique from earlier, this time the mace moved in an elegant, fluid arc. Yeomyeong swung his sword as if he’d been waiting for it.
His target wasn’t the Commander—but the mace’s shaft.
CLANG!
Mana collided as the two clashed. At that precise moment, Yeomyeong added more power to his swing.
His mana pushed back the Commander’s, neutralizing it—and their weapons met directly.
Under normal circumstances, it would’ve been a wasteful move.
But right now, the Commander was holding a training mace made of scrap metal, and Yeomyeong’s sword had been forged by a dwarf craftsman, using pure manametal.
In the next moment, Yeomyeong’s sword sliced cleanly through the mace’s shaft without so much as a chipped tooth.
Thunk. The mace’s head tumbled across the ground.
The Commander stared blankly between the severed weapon and Yeomyeong.
“That’s a fine sword. Did you steal it from the dwarves?”
“It was a gift.”
“A gift, huh. That’s the same thing America says. They didn’t steal the elves’ elixirs—they ‘received gifts’ from the forest dwellers.”
Whether he sneered or not, Yeomyeong didn’t care. He charged the Commander.
Now was his chance—while the man was unarmed.
Whether he could land a blow or force him to waste mana—anything to close the gap. If the Commander started spamming that explosion technique, there’d be no chance of victory—or survival.
Yet the unarmed Commander didn’t retreat or look for a new weapon.
Who knows what he saw through those crazed eyes—but he clenched his fist and faced Yeomyeong head-on, with no intention of backing down.
Yeomyeong didn’t hesitate either. He summoned sword aura, gathering every martial technique he had—except for Jugasibili—and swung his blade.
In his accelerating vision, a pale yellow blade, like mustard gas, flashed toward the Commander’s neck.
The gleaming arc of energy closed the distance—but the Commander didn’t dodge. Instead, he reached out, trying to grab Yeomyeong’s sword.
In that split-second, Yeomyeong thought—Fine. I’ll slice off his fingers and cut straight through his neck.
At that moment, the Commander’s hand turned red and sparked with embers.
The same signs from the explosion technique earlier.
He can use it barehanded? What the fuck is—
That’s as far as Yeomyeong’s thought went before the Commander’s fist exploded with a deafening bang.
!!!
The impact was weaker than when he’d used a mace, thankfully. Yeomyeong wasn’t sent flying—but even as he blocked with his sword, he lost his balance.
And that was exactly what the Commander had aimed for.
He darted in close, so near their elbows nearly touched—too close to swing a sword.
Yeomyeong used a short-range movement technique to target the Commander’s groin just as the man’s hand once again flared red.
And then—
BOOM! A thunderclap erupted between them.
From Yeomyeong’s knees, to his thighs, to his chest—he launched counters while fending off the blows, even using telekinesis in a desperate defense as their faces were inches apart—
Amid the chain of explosions, Yeomyeong was the first to slip.
Just once—he failed to catch the Commander’s incoming punch, dulled by the sensation of another blast.
And that one failure was devastating. The Commander’s fist slammed into Yeomyeong’s chest.
CRACK. His ribs shattered on impact. But it didn’t stop there—another explosion followed.
The shockwave struck his lungs, his stomach, his heart—organs screaming all at once. His solar plexus collapsed inward, and blood gushed from Yeomyeong’s mouth.
Not even a superhuman could survive a blow like that.
“That was a good fight, Earthling. I’ll send a flower to that woman Seti, as promised.”
Watching Yeomyeong fly and roll across the ground, the Commander turned away, convinced of his victory.
The war wasn’t over. Plenty more Earthlings still needed to die. Especially those soldiers who had just fled like cowards—
His thoughts were cut short by a small coughing sound behind him.
Cough.
When he turned his head, Yeomyeong was getting to his feet, coughing up blood mixed with flesh.
“...How the hell?”
As if answering the question, a crimson aura rose from Yeomyeong’s body.
Jugasibili.
Standing on death’s doorstep, Yeomyeong clenched his teeth and forced himself back into a combat stance.
“That regeneration... Has America allied with vampires?”
There was no longer any surprise or delight in the Commander’s voice. Only horror and disgust at something no longer human.
“Disgusting. How many lines did you cross to gain that power? Aren’t you ashamed in front of your lover? No—does your lover even exist?”
This time, both his fists and feet turned red. Yeomyeong responded in kind, stacking layer after layer of sword aura over his blade.
Blazing sword energy. Mana moments from detonation.
As the two killing auras surged and aimed at one another—
A familiar voice shattered the tension between them.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Sancho—blown away in the Commander’s first strike—landed on the war-torn road, armed with sword and shield.
****
The Commander’s expression changed when he saw Sancho.
The tension from a moment ago, when he had been targeting Yeomyeong, evaporated. A smile bloomed across his face.
“Sancho, what are you apologizing for? Who cares if you were late helping an ally retreat?”
Sancho stopped cold and looked straight at the Commander. The sword in his hand twitched, and slowly, he stepped forward.
“First, let’s take care of that monster toge—”
Just as the distance between them closed, and the Commander opened his mouth again—
Sancho suddenly slashed at his neck.
A perfect ambush.
The Commander reflexively dodged—but Sancho, too, was a master-level superhuman.
SPLAT—! Blood sprayed from the Commander’s side.
Their faces flashed across each other—one in shock, the other a storm of emotion.
“Sancho, why?”
The Commander staggered back, clutching his side. In just a few steps, he widened the distance, staring at Sancho in disbelief.
“Don’t tell me... you’ve betrayed the Order?”
“Betrayal? Absolutely not.”
A mix of confusion and pain swirled in the Commander’s eyes. As the atmosphere grew tense, Sancho raised his sword and shield and spoke.
“Commander, do you remember what I once told you? That this world isn’t real?”
“Sancho... Have you lost your mind? What the hell are you babbling about at a time like this!”
No matter what he yelled, Sancho infused his sword with mana and went on.
“You told me something then. That whether this world is real or fake doesn’t matter. That a knight only needs to uphold honor—wherever they are.”
“What? I said that...?”
“Yes. You did.”
Confusion rippled across the Commander’s face. Sancho gave Yeomyeong a quick glance before continuing.
“I’ve lived by those words every day. Even now—I am still a knight.”
“Sancho, my friend. What the hell are you saying? What honor do you think you’re upholding by attacking me—”
Sancho cut him off.
“Your honor.”
“...”
“The honor of a man who endured humiliation for his comrades. Who swallowed his pride for his people.”
Sancho stopped walking. Just a few steps remained between them—close enough to hear each other breathe.
“As long as I live, no one will attach the word ‘mass murderer’ to your name. If chivalry still truly exists in this world—then it cannot be allowed.”
At those firm words, the confusion vanished from the Commander’s face. His eyes were still clouded—but he looked at Sancho with a deeply peaceful expression.
“Sancho... Is that your vow?”
“Yes, Commander.”
“Beautiful. You’ve truly become a knight.”
At that, both of them smiled. As if nothing had happened—as if it were just an ordinary day.
And in the next instant—
The senile old man and the fake knight charged at each other.
The two Imperial knights unleashed the exact same martial art.
Pyroclastic Devastation—a rejection of traditional Imperial swordsmanship, born from mimicking Earth’s artillery shells. A symbol of obsession forged in fire.
That technique, which the Commander had suppressed for years so he wouldn’t hear its explosions, now erupted from Sancho’s sword—and from the Commander’s fist.
!!!
Two explosions collided and consumed each other. The air spasmed. Sound was pushed aside.
The victor of the first clash was Sancho. While he held a large rectangular shield, the Commander was caught directly in the blast and sent flying.
But Sancho steadied his sword and shouted to Yeomyeong:
“He flew straight into the villa on purpose! He’s going for his weapon! We must stop him!”
Yeomyeong was already in motion.
While Sancho and the Commander exchanged words, Yeomyeong had gathered comet light at the edge of his blade—and now unleashed his sword aura.
Flash—! The Comet Blade surged toward the spot where the Commander’s mana had disappeared.
The blade of light sliced through not only the lingering dust of the explosion but also the entire villa the Commander had fled into.
But the comet light didn’t bring victory.
The Comet Blade curved away, as if slipping on ice, the moment it touched something.
Underneath the fading arc of light sailing uselessly into the sky, the Commander stepped out—shield in hand, the same design as Sancho’s.
...Did he really deflect the Comet Blade with that shield?
While Yeomyeong blinked in disbelief, the Commander drew a mace from behind the shield.
Not the cheap training mace from before—this one was his true weapon, ornately adorned.
Sancho said, “That’s the mace bestowed by ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) the previous Emperor himself... Be careful. Unlike the last one, that thing won’t break.”
Just as Yeomyeong was about to reply that he could figure that much out, a strange voice whispered in his ear.
[Capture the Commander.]
A voice transmitted directly through magic.
The sender didn’t even try to hide their location—Yeomyeong could clearly sense the direction the mana came from.
He turned his head slightly and saw Jeon Yongseop in the distance, lips moving faintly as he stared at him.
[This is not a suggestion. It’s an order.]
“...”
[I am Jeon Yongseop, mage of the U.S. Department of Defense. I have the authority to grant you whatever you want. Money, fame, elixirs... Whatever you desire, I’ll promise it in the name of the federal government.]
The same guy who escalated this mess by firing artillery is now trying to talk like he’s in charge?
Yeomyeong frowned as the next warning came.
[I repeat: cooperate in capturing the Commander. This is for the sake of Earth and all of humanity. He is—]
“Bullshit.”
Yeomyeong cut off the magic transmission with a flick of mana.
He didn’t care that Jeon Yongseop’s expression twisted with rage. He turned to Sancho and said,
“We won’t sync well in a head-on pincer. I’ll strike from above—Deputy Commander, cover the front.”
“...Above? What do you mean—”
Instead of answering, Yeomyeong conjured a field of ice spikes and leapt skyward.
At the same moment, the Commander—who had already closed the distance again—charged Sancho like an arrow, swinging his mace.
There was no explosion this time, but the sheer force behind the mace could crumple a tank. Sancho threw up his shield and slashed with his other hand.
“You haven’t been slacking off. Your reflexes are still sharp.”
The Commander’s voice cut through the air alongside his mace. Sword flashes between strikes, the thud of heavy blows against a shield.
The two men exchanged blows like a pair of seasoned go players—each move calculated, familiar with the other’s tricks.
When one pushed forward with a weapon, the other blocked with a shield. When shoved, they retreated. Sometimes they advanced a step ahead to control the space. Shield corners stabbed in at angles—
It was a clash forged from decades of shared experience and countless battles fought side by side.
And the moment both judged they’d tested each other enough—their shields flared with embers at the same time.
Pyroclastic Devastation, not with weapons, but with shields.
Unleashed mana erupted between them, detonating with a thunderous BOOM that shredded the air.
The explosion was so intense, both men had to back off. The Commander retreated a single step—Sancho took four.
A clear indicator of who held the upper hand. But the Commander didn’t let his guard down. He could feel Yeomyeong descending from above.
When he looked up, a torrent of ice spikes rained from the sky like a storm.
“That level of martial arts and magic? A monster with too many tricks.”
The Commander raised his shield above his head and casually unleashed Pyroclastic Devastation.
BOOM! The exploding shield wiped out the ice spikes—basic spells, unable to withstand the blast, simply vanished.
“So all that jumping into the sky was just a waste of mana—”
His comment didn’t last long. Through the flames of the explosion, Yeomyeong descended, sword in hand.
The ice was a distraction? Not bad.
Just as the Commander thought that, Sancho rushed in and stabbed with his sword.
A feint followed by a two-pronged attack.
The Commander responded instantly. He angled his shield to deflect Yeomyeong and swung his mace to block Sancho’s blade.
It was a feat that required reading both attack trajectories simultaneously—but the Commander pulled it off effortlessly.
Years of training, endless real combat—it all made it possible.
Of course, Yeomyeong wasn’t done yet.
The moment his attack was blocked, he fired a hyper-condensed ice spike—thin as a needle—straight at the Commander’s eye.
A triple-layered surprise attack.
At the very least, he’d hoped to destroy an eye—but the Commander effortlessly neutralized it.
Did he dodge? Block?
No—the Commander’s method was beyond imagination.
He simply opened his mouth... and bit down on the incoming ice spike.
“....”
CRUNCH. Watching him chew the spike like it was nothing, Yeomyeong’s face twisted in disbelief—but the Commander spoke casually, like it was no big deal.
“You thought that would work? I survived battlefields where bullets rained like storms. Compared to American snipers, this is just child’s play.”
“....”
Boastful words—unbelievable coming from a senile old man. Yet Yeomyeong couldn’t deny them.
The Commander was different from anyone he’d fought before. A man who’d reached the pinnacle in both martial arts and battlefield experience.
To beat him, a simple plan wouldn’t be enough. He’d need an attack the man couldn’t even imagine.
Luckily, Yeomyeong had just such a trick.
His talent in martial arts.
The thought was brief. The action, immediate.
Yeomyeong widened the gap and called to Sancho.
“Sancho, when I give the signal—use your shield to trigger that explosion technique.”
“...With the shield? Understood.”
No sooner had Sancho answered than the Commander charged at them.
He targeted Yeomyeong relentlessly, trying to prevent him from leaping into the air again. Despite their numbers, the unfamiliarity between Yeomyeong and Sancho made it easy for the Commander to push them both back.
CLANG—!
The shield slammed down on Sancho’s sword. The mace crashed into Yeomyeong’s body.
How efficiently was this man using his mana? Even while stopping the bleeding from his side, the Commander was still dominating them.
“Sancho! What are you doing? Was that your vow? Is this all your oath amounted to?!”
As the Commander roared, both his mace and shield turned red, glowing with embers.
A clear sign—Pyroclastic Devastation.
Seeing the sparks, Yeomyeong shouted, ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom
“Now!”
Immediately, Sancho’s shield turned red and began to glow with embers. Just as he was about to unleash Pyroclastic Devastation on the Commander—
Yeomyeong reached into his Inventory with an empty hand and pulled out a grenade.
“A grenade?”
Sancho’s eyes filled with disappointment—he had expected some clever secret weapon. But that disappointment was quickly replaced with horror.
Because in the next moment, both his sword and the grenade began to glow red, spilling sparks.
