# Chapter 134
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Eschatologist VI
Shin Noah
"Hwah! Eurghhhhh!"
The Sword Demon lunged at me.
But compared to when he sliced my neck in one clean stroke, his movements were no different from a grandpa earthworm.
In the worst possible sense, his footwork had changed. To avoid the landmines (sculptures) I had planted throughout the city, the Sword Demon was forced into inefficient movement patterns.
Of course, it was hard to believe that old man Sho, having fallen into a Degenerate, still possessed the same steadfast political ideology he had in life.
In truth, the sculptures I made most frequently were of Adele. That is, the bust of the old man Sho's wife.
Even now, behind the statues of Marx and Luxembourg, sculptures of his wife were peeking out.
About 90% of the reason the Sword Demon hesitated in his iconoclasm campaign was surely because of his wife's statues.
One might wonder, "Then weren't the communist statues particularly unnecessary?" But such a question itself went against the anti-communist ideology of the Korean Peninsula.
Why would I pass up the opportunity to legally humiliate and mock that senile old geezer? Especially when it was a fun event that came after thousands of years?
A regressor should enjoy themselves when they can.
Some of the wife's sculptures weren't just busts but half-body statues. I had to attach right arms to realize the "fuck you" pose.
Hundreds of middle fingers were raised proudly toward old man Sho.
In this utterly desolate urban ruin, having exterior props finally added made it somewhat worth looking at. This was environmental beautification, this was urban aesthetics.
"......! ......!"
The Sword Demon howled again at my thoroughly prepared gift offensive. He was clearly moved by his former comrade's sincerity.
Even if I couldn't quite understand the language spoken by the monster, if translated into German, it would probably be something like "Danke."
Behind me, Goyori murmured.
"How fascinating..."
Leaving the enjoying spectator behind, the exchange between our two swords—more accurately, cane-sword and steel pipe—proceeded fiercely.
No matter that my opponent was old man Sho who had reached max level potential, his movement patterns were forced, so it was a fight worth having.
"Grrrrrr!"
As if frustrated, the Sword Demon stomped on empty air and flew up.
His apparent intention was to not leave even a chance of stepping on the sculptures!
However, that was a scheme of knowing one thing but missing two. It seemed that geezer had been on vacation for so long he'd lost sense of what kind of person I, the funeral director, was.
"Look- at- me-!"
*Schwaack!*
Without a shred of hesitation, I tore off my upper garment. At the sudden shirt removal, Goyori behind me went "Oh my, oh my" and laughed.
But my disrobing wasn't for simple fan service. Nor was it performance to provoke enemies like some paladin tank.
It was purely from the artistic desire to show old man Sho the portrait drawn on my underwear.
My undershirt, white as drawing paper.
There, a portrait of Lady Adele was drawn.
"......!"
Old man Sho suddenly stopped in mid-air as if he'd collided with a car.
The fingers gripping the steel pipe trembled violently. From his foolishly gaping mouth, only strange sounds of "Ugh- ugh?" played.
From the geezer's perspective, he had unexpectedly witnessed a masterpiece of the century, so naturally he had no choice but to worship.
Moreover, not just on clothes but on my forearms, the backs of my hands, and even my feet, I had tattooed Lady Adele...!
The complete superior upgrade version of [Friend Shield], [Wife Shield], had descended here.
"Try attacking. Old man. I said try attacking? Where will you attack? My neck? Can you see the ADELE tattooed on my neck here?"
"U, ughhh... Ugh, heok...?"
"Try cutting it if you're going to cut! You rotten old man!"
The Sword Demon floundered, unable to advance or retreat. Even old man Sho, who had thrown away friendship and run away not knowing anything, couldn't move before 'love.'
Remember this. This is the textbook method for dealing with monsters.
It's not for nothing that Servants try to hide their true names tightly. The moment their identity is known, their weakness is exposed, and once you grab their weakness, a monster's stiff neck becomes a chicken's neck.
From now on, it was completely my turn.
I charged while draping an Anti-Old Man Sho AT Field like iron armor over my entire body.
"I've wanted to punch you in the face for a thousand years!"
"Euuuuugh!"
One strike. One strike. And one strike.
Each time I swung the cane-sword Doha, the Sword Demon was too busy trying to dodge.
Meanwhile, old man Sho's cloudy eyes swept over my skin. Probably checking if there was any gap to stab without hitting Lady Adele's portrait and tattoos.
But I didn't make the same mistake as the goddess who left only the ankle as a clean zone, claiming she'd make the baby invincible.
As a Korean who had learned dark content as early education while reading
"Huuuuugh...!"
In the end, old man Sho couldn't find any weakness on my body. The Sword Demon couldn't maintain aerial walking and crashed.
Only one option remained for him—getting beaten by me.
The target of that beating was不分肉体 and精神. Because I wasn't a mind-body dualist like Descartes who treated matter and mental separately.
"Emmett, what's going on with you?"
"......?!"
"I'm at a conference right now! Good heavens. Did you drink? Why are you acting like a child? Hmm? Wait, Emmett. Something strange is coming from the sky!"
The lines flowing from my mouth.
It was a complete copy-paste of the 30-second phone conversation old man Sho had with his wife long ago.
A highly developed plagiarism was indistinguishable from the original.
I didn't just copy the conversation content but perfectly mimicked the voice too. I succeeded in reproducing 'Lady Adele's voice' by converting the vibration of sound waves into aura.
This strategy was born from inspiration during the battle with the Saint's corrupted version, the Executor, in the 107th loop. Using a tactic created by a Degenerate on another Degenerate—this could truly be called an achievement of human intellect.
"My brother's name is Maximilian! God! Emmett, what are you suddenly saying?! This is crazy. Wait, let's talk about this in person later!"
"Ugh, ugh, uuugh...?"
Old man Sho was defenselessly hit by my 'voice phishing' tactic.
The German mentality was being shaved away in real-time by the Korean K-fraud attack.
"Oh my, oh my..."
Goyori, watching our fight, how should I describe it. Ecstatic color was floating across her entire face.
It was like the expression you make when you buy and eat those fragrant bully breads at subway stations and they actually turn out really delicious. Just watching seemed to give a feeling of fullness.
The battle continued for one day, two days, three days, four days.
In this bloody battle, I hadn't just been relieving thousands of years of stress on old man Sho. That was only 85% of the battle's purpose.
The remaining 15% was, as I had told Goyori, to visually learn the 'answer sheet.'
'The monster before my eyes is, in any case, a real-life version of the talent old man Sho might have awakened.'
*Huuu-*
I exhaled, letting the opponent's aura flow, and caught my breath. Then looked straight at the Sword Demon.
Rather than orthodox methods, unorthodox ones. Rather than righteous faction, demonic faction. Rather than Saber, Berserker.
It was closer to a realm built through wicked demonic energy rather than pure upright energy, but even so, the Sword Demon was undoubtedly one of the possibilities of the martial artist named 'Emmett Schopenhauer.'
My gaze sharpened.
'I must remember as much as possible.'
The way of gripping the sword hilt.
The direction of swinging. The ratio and method of mixing feints into attacks. The angle of loading weight into the sword and the speed of skillfully letting it flow. The method of utilizing aura in swordsmanship.
The swordsmanship he would have eventually discovered on his own if old man Sho hadn't escaped from the game starting from the 23rd loop.
'Seeing that, remembering it, and passing it on.'
For the old man Sho who would return someday.
That was why I extended the battle as long as possible when I could have ended it a bit faster.
I introduced countless variables. How does he react when attacked from the left?
How does he defend when I pretend to cut with the sword but suddenly fire invisible aura?
If I respond like this? What about in this case? Oh, even this?
I threw countless question marks at my enemy.
"Euuuuuuugh!"
Countless exclamation marks answered from my comrade.
If one hammered out countless curved question marks and refined them into one's own exclamation marks, that was the path that martial artist had walked.
Even if a human fell to become a monster, even that blade didn't bend.
'I don't know what kind of principle is contained in it.'
Honestly, I admit it. As old man Sho said, my martial talent was truly hopeless.
I had hopes just in case, but even at the dazzling display of swordsmanship and footwork unfolding before my eyes, my five senses weren't particularly dramatically moved.
The moment of enlightenment commonly found in martial arts, or the breakthrough of a realm, or such fortuitous encounters didn't seem to have any connection to me.
Below average as a martial artist.
'But well, if I just accurately imitate even the outer appearance and demonstrate it, the geezer will figure out the hidden meaning himself.'
But as a supporter, supreme talent.
There were few moments when [Complete Memory Ability] was as welcome as now.
I was faithful to the role given to me, a regressor, in this world. I helped other comrades. Supported them. Connected them to each other.
I served as a bridge like a single thread, making the absolute cliff given to mortal humans—the severance called time and death—into stepping stones.
"Old man. Old man, you're not fighting me right now, nor are you fighting to defeat me."
The ink-colored aura and night-sky-colored aura crossed.
"Ughhh! Huu, huuuuugh!"
"You're fighting with the future version of yourself who will become a bit better than current you. Actually, it's quite fitting. Isn't all fighting originally a duel with oneself?"
"......!"
"I'll make one prophecy. Someday, old man, you will lose your life beneath your own blade."
The battle that had continued throughout the night for four days was gradually coming to an end.
I thought of it as a long letter that the current old man Sho was sending to his future self.
In the past, people would write game records in letters to play Go across distances.
If so, it wouldn't be strange for two martial artists to exchange martial arts letters across a slightly longer span of time.
"...... Ugh, ugh......"
The Sword Demon was completely exhausted.
Even for a killing machine that operated on the single principle of 'love for his wife,' limits existed.
Due to the inherent limitation of being designed based on a human body, the Sword Demon's muscles suffered from endless residual damage, and the Sword Demon's heart groaned from ceaseless fatigue.
The aura wasn't infinite either.
In an environment thoroughly manipulated to be favorable to me, it was old man Sho whose engine cooled down first.
*Fzzt, fzzzt- fzzt-*
The Sword Demon's aura, once magnificent enough to turn midday into night sky, was now nowhere to be found, having become shabby.
Like a broken TV occasionally showing noise screens, the night-sky color around old man Sho's shoulders flickered on and off.
If that monster was old man Sho's corruption.
That appearance was that monster's downfall.
Right. For a regressor like me to say this might be considerably paradoxical, but countless events have their ends.
The time to bury a small time capsule in my head was also approaching.
"Ugh, ugh... uuugh..."
As I stepped back, the Sword Demon reflexively swung the steel pipe.
*Wobble-*
That strike was so shabby it only stirred the empty air.
The Sword Demon tried to chase me. But his steps collapsed and he fell. His ankles bore dozens of wounds like the base of a tree a clumsy lumberjack had failed to fell.
The Sword Demon tried to crawl even using his hands.
But due to clumsy aura manipulation, all his fingernails were broken.
*Gack!* Each time the Sword Demon clawed, blood burst from between ten broken fingernails.
The Sword Demon's blood was pitch black and smelled of briquette.
Ash extended in a long line.
"......"
I raised Doha.
I made up my mind to deliver the final blow to old man Sho, to old man Sho's remains, to his bad ending.
If old man Sho died, I had thought for a very long time that I was the only one qualified to hold his funeral.
But I had no choice but to pause in bringing down my sword.
His destination, crawling if not with his feet then with his arms, if not arms then hands, if not hands then fingers, if not fingers then even fingernails, wasn't me, whom he'd been fighting to the death for four days.
"......Ah......"
It was a little further behind.
"......dele...... Ah......"
He was heading toward Goyori.