Chapter 295: Escape
The blade flashed, but it did not sever the right arm.
Just before the blade touched his skin, a calm yet solemn voice echoed in Shinji's mind. This voice, he had heard it once a few months ago. It was this very voice that had reawakened the relic from its dormant state.
"The Supreme Master of Boundless Radiance, Enlightening All Under Heaven."
Accompanied by a chant whose origin remained unidentified to this day, Shinji's entire body was bathed in divine light for the second time. Unlike the battle with Riesbyfe, this time the divine light did not enhance his physical strength. Instead, it targeted the black line invading his body.
Under the illumination of the divine light, the decay and rot caused by the black line were effectively contained. Although the already corrupted parts remained unchanged, it at least proved that the power contained within the relic left by the Buddhist saint had some restraining effect on the White Wing Lord's curse. Now it was a matter of seeing how far the holy relic could go.
"Unknown Holy Monk, you can't lose to a vampire, or else Buddhism's reputation would be completely tarnished."
Temporarily spared from becoming a one-armed hero, Shinji's mood slightly improved. He continued to move through the water, finding some solace in his plight.
But he hadn't taken more than a couple of steps before he could no longer move forward. The black line, just suppressed by the divine light, began to stir once more, pushing upward against the pressure of the divine light. Though it had only moved a fraction of a hair's breadth, the clash of the opposing forces—one righteous, one evil, one life-giving, one life-taking—brought Shinji unbearable pain. If he had to compare, it was akin to the excruciating pain he felt during physical control training when Scáthach used magecraft to scrape his bones.
"I—glug glug glug—"
Shinji tried to vent the pressure of the pain through cursing, but unfortunately, his water-repelling magecraft was not adept enough. He could only maintain a small, clear area around his mouth, nose, eyes, and ears. Any larger movement let water rush into his mouth, and it took a while before he could recover.
Before he could spit out the water, the divine light began to exert its power again, pushing the advancing black line back down. This brought another wave of bone-scraping pain.
Shinji, now too exhausted to curse, sat down on the riverbed, enduring the dual torment of mind and body, waiting for the outcome of the struggle between the divine light and the curse.
If the divine light won, he would continue forward until he reached safety. If the divine light lost, he would cut off his right hand and return to Japan to have Touko make him a prosthetic.
Thinking of his family and friends back in Japan, a hint of color returned to Shinji's pain-stricken, pale face.
Touko would mock him, calling him an idiot. The cold but warm-hearted Justeaze would probably ignore him for days unless he provided a satisfactory explanation. Sakura and Fujino would surely cry, and their tears were what he feared the most. Kirie, who had battled illness for so many years, might not cry, but she would likely send her double to follow him, not allowing him to go anywhere alone.
A scolding from his father and uncle was inevitable, and his mother would probably say, "The Matou family is flourishing; there's no need for you to venture out and take risks." Of course, he would never agree to that, for his Shishou was still waiting for him in the Land of Shadows. After witnessing the stark landscape of the Land of Shadows wielding its power, and experiencing its millennia-old solitude, Shinji's heart was deeply imprinted with the vivid scenery of that black-and-white world.
Familiar faces flashed before his eyes, and familiar scenes surfaced in his mind. In a daze, he saw a ponytailed girl holding a whip, pointing at his nose, and saying in a cold, yet not chilling voice, "You can't lose. If you do, I won't forgive you."
For some reason, hearing these words inexplicably calmed Shinji's heart. Despite the escalating pain, he remained unwavering.
Amid this stark contrast between physical and mental states, the chant that awakened the relic ceased its mechanical repetition and began to change.
"The Supreme Master of Boundless Radiance, Enlightening All Under Heaven."
"At that time, the Buddha spoke to the Bodhisattva of Guanyin, and the four assemblies of heaven and men: 'In the countless past, I sought the Lotus Sutra tirelessly. Among the multitude, I often became a king, vowed to seek supreme bodhi, and my heart did not waver.'"
"At that time, the World-Honored One reiterated this meaning and spoke in verse—"
Shinji subconsciously followed the recitation. Unknowingly, he had already sat cross-legged with his hands clasped in prayer.
The radiance of the Buddha's bone relics penetrated through his skin and muscles, emerging from the palm of his left hand and entering through the palm of his right hand, like a wisdom sword severing the three thousand troubles. Silently, it sliced through the black line coiled around his right wrist, the decayed axis.
---
A thousand meters away on the riverbank, Ortenrosse, who also had a black line around his hand, had blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, the dark blood the same color as the black line.
The more powerful the curse, the more likely it is to backfire. That beam of Buddha's light not only harmed the tangible curse but also, through an invisible connection, affected the origin of the curse.
"Damn it! Still resisting! Let's see how long you can last!"
Blocked multiple times overnight, even the ancient king of Dead Apostles couldn't help but feel agitated, his voice tinged with hysteria.
As he grasped the black line, preparing to strengthen the curse further, the horizon began to brighten with a faint white light, blending with the last shining "Morning Star" in the night sky.
Then, the morning sun rose, ending the night.
In February in Italy, winter had not yet passed, and the first rays of morning sunlight were far from dispelling the cold accumulated overnight. Yet, this gentle, almost powerless sunlight made Ortenrosse feel as if his body, which had lost its warmth for millennia, was being scorched as if a fire was burning on his skin.
Compared to the flowing Po River, the sun in the sky poses a greater threat to the Dead Apostles. Under the sun, weak Dead Apostles would turn to ashes directly, and even powerful Dead Apostles would suffer a weakening of their physical strength and abilities, from body to soul. This is the price of immortality, a deficiency inscribed in their genes and souls, and the king of Dead Apostles is no exception.
"Magus, consider yourself lucky but don't think you're safe yet. You won't escape, absolutely not!"
Feeling the power continuously draining from his body, Ortenrosse's suppressed hysteria finally erupted fully. He sensed Shinji's direction one last time, flapped his bare wings forcefully, and left the place that had caused him so much frustration.
After his departure, a palm-sized black shadow emerged from a pile of rocks in the distance and disappeared in a flash.
Three days later, news of the White Winge Lord's failed ambush on Chelon Canticle Brigade spread across Europe.
A week later, there was an update to the news.
On the night of the ambush, the captain of Chelon Canticle Brigade, Death, battled the White Wing Lord on the Po River plain. The White Wing Lord was injured, and Death went missing.
The Dead Apostle community was shocked!
The Holy Church was shocked!
The Mage's Association was shocked!