Unless there’s an overwhelming difference in power, battles with regeneration users usually turn into a war of attrition.
Unless they possess an anti-regeneration ability or have clear weaknesses, that is.
“Ugh…more offerings, I need more…!”
“Ahh! Let go! Please let go! Master! Pleeeease!”
Of course, this fight didn’t meet either condition.
The power difference wasn’t too big, and neither Friede nor I were fire starters, with Ganagl’s only weakness being a split skull would do him in.
“Damn, more regeneration…!”
“Stop hogging it, you drowned pig!”
Thus, the battle with Ganagl naturally devolved into a bloody attrition war, with flesh and blood flowing like rivers.
◆◆
The screams of the cultists echoed around us.
Having showcased the brain and alpha’s sacrificial burn, Ganagl started rampaging without a care left in the world.
Was he only trying to protect his brain? He bulldozed through all attacks like a wall and countered recklessly.
Which meant that every time we managed to stab a blade into him, Friede and I had to brace ourselves to take a hit back.
“Graaaah!”
Ganagl flung his tentacles wide like a blown-up octopus.
As spells were unleashed from each of his seven tentacle limbs, the surrounding space became a writhing, sticky mass of grotesque flesh.
Counting wasn’t even an option. It was like being stuck in a sensory deprivation trap, completely surrounded by thick, thin tentacles.
But my senses were sharper than ever. I managed to intercept most of their trajectories.
I danced my feet, swinging Mother’s sword again and again.
The light-gray afterglow flickered and twisted, while the dark waves tore through as they made contact.
Every time severed flesh shot up, putrid bodily fluid burst out, covering my armor in a sticky mess, which was mildly unpleasant.
I avoided the poison, but there was no way to dodge the regular bodily fluid, so I just took it. Eventually, I ended up bathing in it.
“The smell is just…!”
I’d rather be drenched in blood; the slimy tentacle fluid was uncomfortably sticky, smelly, and unbearable.
Thank goodness it wasn’t spawning fluid. If it had been that, I might have given up on fighting and retreated.
–Splat!
…Ah, missed one.
“Ugh…!”
A tentacle whip struck my chest plate directly. The shock delivered through my armor knocked the breath out of me and pushed me back.
“Are you okay?!”
Friede, hopping over my back, yelled out. The black iron greatsword descended like a guillotine and severed one of Ganagl’s arms as he desperately tried to evade.
“I’m fine!”
I steadied myself, gripping my toes to balance as I dashed forward, slicing at the incoming tentacle aimed at Friede.
I wasn’t bluffing. I couldn’t deflect all the tentacles, so I had taken quite a few hits already, but it was still bearable.
Thanks to my special armor.
Without the unique hardness of the steel alloy, I’d have long been left a mangled mess with broken limbs.
“Graaaah! Just… die already-!”
Ganagl regenerated his arm, flailing his tentacle as if enraged.
“Your posture is all wrong. You should kneel when begging. Oh, can’t do it because you lack knees?”
I smirked, taunting him.
Yeah, it must be frustrating.
Here he was, expending energy as if attacking royal knights, but all his efforts were stifled, causing just minor bruising.
His tentacles could easily pulverize a human in one hit, yet they couldn’t breach my armor.
On the other hand, my sword could slice through Ganagl’s body like clay.
Sure, he could regenerate again, but just being able to inflict damage was satisfying enough. His regenerative power was definitely not infinite.
‘If I keep cutting, he’ll eventually die.’
A spellcaster in a robe versus a knight armed with steel armor and a divine sword.
The overwhelming difference in equipment was closing the skill gap between Ganagl and me.
So I took on the defense, while Friede took care of the offense.
Her greatsword could carve out much larger sections of flesh than my slender sword, and I could endure attacks that would injure Friede thanks to my armor.
“Yeah, you die!”
Landing after slicing off Ganagl’s arm, Friede spun around, slashing at his thigh.
“Ugh, this little brat…!”
Ganagl lost his balance, and his retaliatory seeds of flesh shattered the surrounding ground.
“Good job! Keep it up! Leave the defense to me!”
“Okay!”
I charged forward, switching places with Friede, slicing at the black tentacles rising from the ground.
“Yaaah!”
The poisonous fluid burst out.
Friede was quick on her feet, swinging her greatsword like a fan to flick the poison away, while I cut away the deluge of tentacles aiming for her.
Like cogs in a machine, our attacks intertwined.
“Ugh…! I still have much to offer!”
Friede and I carved multiple wounds into Ganagl’s body, and each time the accumulated injuries neared fatal, he sacrificed his cultists for a quick fix-up.
“Ugh… this is grossly tough.”
While our power drained, the cultists were being wiped out. The outcome of our battle rested on which side faltered first.
“Well, that won’t take long.”
I figured it would be the latter.
While the Deep Sea cultists fell one by one to the assassins, Ganagl’s attacks still couldn’t crush us.
“Come forth-!”
“Elianel!”
The one technique we had to be cautious of, the Call of the Abyss, was successfully blocked by Edelmut’s holy barrier.
Of course, after using it once, I couldn’t block again, but that’s a secret Friede and I kept to ourselves.
“I blocked it again…!”
“Well, I had to block it. Am I insane to just take it?”
Ganagl hesitated over using the Call of the Abyss again, overly cautious of my holy barrier.
Yeah, he couldn’t help it. The Abyss Priest wasn’t restricted on spell casts, but his magic wasn’t infinite.
“Getting low on mana, huh, octopus-pig? Though being three times heavier doesn’t mean your mana is three times more!”
“You’ve been noisy since earlier!”
“Who’s talking? You’re the one being more annoying!”
If he unleashed high-level spells like the Call of the Abyss, he would run out of mana in no time unless he was assured it would kill.
“Ugh!”
“Oh God, please save me…!”
While he hesitated, the recently useless cultists of the Deep Sea were turning into corpses instead of potions.
…Looks like we could win without even unleashing the Holy Sword.
I’d been keeping the Holy Sword in reserve, wary of potential enemies fleeing upon sighting it, but maybe that wasn’t necessary after all.
The assassins were performing remarkably well, leaving the only escape route for the Deep Sea cultists as death, literally.
◆◆
“This is madness! I can’t keep doing this!”
“Are you betraying the cult? You dirty skeptic!”
One cultist, seemingly resigned, dropped his weapon to surrender, as a bishop-level cultist glared daggers at him.
“If you want to die, go ahead! Where’s the ascension in this?!”
“How dare you…!”
Just as they were about to hurl acerbic insults at each other, a swarm of assassins charged in, brandishing blood-soaked weapons.
“Wait, I surrender—”
Fool!
You need to check who you’re surrendering to! An assassin isn’t going to let you off easy.
–Crack!
A dagger plunged deep into the dumbfounded cultist’s forehead, and as the bishop was twisting to cast magic, his head rolled off like a floppy toy.
No doubt a lethal blow.
Over the twitching bodies of the two, the strugglers among the cultists bled out in despair.
They no longer had a chance of winning. Even trying to unite their strength would fall short of hope, as they were busy fighting each other or contemplating escape.
The cultists began to dwindle rapidly.
◆◆
The scales of victory started to tip uncontrollably at some point.
Our side suffered only seven casualties among the assassins, while the Deep Sea cultists were almost entirely wiped out, with Ganagl’s momentum also faltering.
On the other hand, Friede and I were somewhat tired but still standing strong.
The blood and sweat we shed in training wouldn’t betray its owner. The special training at the mansion had substantially raised our limits.
Even though I would have been panting in exhaustion before, I still had energy to spare.
“Augh! Lord Ganagl—!”
Before long, Aiden’s crossbow bolt struck a surviving cultist square in the head, while Baneum’s sword pierced the heart of the last remaining bishop.
The Deep Sea cultists of Svinarant were thus wiped out.
“Now it’s just you left. How do you feel?”
With no means left to recover, only the bishop Ganagl Peytan remained, surrounded by fourteen adversaries.
“If you have any final words, now’s the time. You’ll soon be unable to utter a sound.”
Amidst a lake of bodily fluids and flesh, the leader, who had lost all his followers, sweated coldly and whimpered.
Like a terrified beast, it wouldn’t take long for his whimpers to turn into pig-like screams.
