The Insane Regressor: Throne of Pride

Ravian returned one dagger to its sheath at his waist, choosing to fight with just one for now, and let the spear’s tip pass in front of him alongside his shoulder before seizing the shield’s upper rim, catching it before its wielder could tilt it away. Aura flowed over the orc’s arm and intensified around its shoulder and feet as it tried to brace itself, and Ravian felt the resistance build against his hand, the wooden edge pressing painfully into his fingers, so he pulled harder and tore the orc off its feet.

A tall human youth lifting an orc more than two meters tall like that was quite a sight.

It was hardly a graceful movement; he had to spread his feet and nearly struck his head against the top of the shield when his opponent lurched toward him faster than expected, but he kept his hold on the wood and drove his knee upward with all the strength he could muster, striking the shield bearer he held aloft like a small child despite their difference in size.

This time, the cracking came from inside the orc’s body, and its laughter broke off in a wet cough before the weight hanging from Ravian’s arm went limp. The overwhelming force of his blow had shattered its entire rib cage.

He did not let it fall, instead swinging it toward the axe wielder and driving both body and shield into the approaching weapon. The two orcs collided, the iron band reinforcing the wood buckled, and the spear bearer had to retreat to avoid being caught in the same collision.

The shield bearer had undoubtedly been more skilled at using its aura than Ravian, and moments earlier, it had successfully redirected his blows and exploited the openings he left afterward, but none of that had given it the strength to resist him once he had secured his grip.

Ravian looked at the body he had released, then at the axe wielder rising behind it, its grin now completely gone.

The spear bearer lunged before its companion could fully stand, thrusting once and then again from a different angle. Ravian swerved away from the first attack but was late reacting to the second, allowing the steel to slit his sleeve and scratch his forearm, though his hand closed around the shaft before the orc could regain the distance it wanted. His opponent tried to turn with the pull, drawing on the aura covering its legs, so Ravian let it complete half a turn before violently driving it into the nearest log in the barricade.

The wood broke behind its back, and Ravian pressed his attack, burying the black dagger’s tip beneath the orc’s jaw before it could scream.

The last of the three Ninth-Rank orcs froze in shock at the change in the human’s fighting and the way he had killed two of them before they even realized what was happening, but it had no chance to escape.

Ravian pulled his weapon free and kicked the body clear of his feet, then faced the orc as it raised its axe in both hands. He could see the power gathering in its arms and the way it shifted its feet to place him in the path of the descending blade, but he made no attempt to match its movements; he shoved the spear bearer’s corpse into its path, then surged after it and slammed into the axe wielder before it could regain its balance.

The axe wielder’s knee struck Ravian in the stomach without warning, driving air out between his teeth, and he seized his opponent’s shoulder to keep it from pulling away. The orc tried to strike again, but Ravian’s dagger-wielding fist reached its chest first, crushing the bones beneath it with enough force to arrest its entire body, before he drove it to the ground and buried the blade at the base of its neck, wrenching it free as he rose.

His strength was simply overwhelming to those in the Ninth Rank.

This was the Sovereign Pride Physique he had earned through blood, tears, and even death.

By the time he straightened, the nearby faces had changed; an orc carrying a club backed into the one behind it, while another let out a sharp cry toward the distant tents. Ravian did not understand the words, but he did not need to understand them to notice that some were looking behind them for someone who could do something about the human who had suddenly appeared in their midst and begun slaughtering them.

Ravian seized their hesitation and charged.

The first to stand in his way was unawakened; he sensed no trace of developed soul energy within its body, only the large muscles and bones of a creature that had been born an orc and had yet to advance beyond its natural state. His fist struck its face, bending its head to an angle from which it never returned, and he shoved it into two others behind it before burying his dagger in the nearer one’s chest.

An Awakened attacked from the side, trying to exploit his distraction, so Ravian caught its wrist and crushed it, then hauled it into a shoulder strike that left it sprawled beside the fire.

Spiritual awakening did not make them capable of enduring what Ninth-Rank orcs had failed to withstand moments earlier. When Ravian needed a second blow to finish one of them, it usually meant he had misplaced the first, and whenever a line of orcs tried to block his path, he left bodies piled over one another, obstructing those who came after them.

Suddenly, a sword sheathed in flame swept out from between two tents, its fire brushing his sleeve and burning its edge before he pulled away.

Ravian turned toward its wielder and detected the flow of mana over the steel; it was a Ninth-Rank orc that had chosen magic, and it had coated its weapon skillfully with its element, but when it tried to draw the sword back, its body had no way to match the speed with which Ravian reached it.

He caught its wrist just above the hilt and twisted the arm until the burning edge turned away from him, then struck with his dagger, severing the arm at the shoulder.

The flames dimmed as he drew his blade back, and no aura appeared to reinforce his opponent’s muscles or give its legs the extra strength needed to escape; the mana that had carried its element onto the weapon offered no physical reinforcement. That was the price of choosing mana: abandoning aura for good.

Another orc retreated with an axe whose head was coated in ice, then hurled it at Ravian and ran.

The weapon flashed close to his face, and Ravian raised a hand to catch it, crushing it in his grip, but he did not pursue its wielder; an opening ahead of him widened with every body that fell, and behind him lay more than ten orcs that would never rise again.

He reached the wagon, having regained some of his composure despite the blood clinging to his fingers. Those few minutes had not turned him into a skilled fighter; he still misjudged distances and took blows he could have avoided, but the price his opponents paid for getting close had become far greater than they could bear.

He took hold of the wagon’s crossbeam to push it out of his way and leave, and at that moment, the flap of the largest tent near the lower edge of the camp stirred.

An orc emerged from the tent, one hand holding a piece of armor it had not even finished fastening, and flung it aside in anger when it saw the corpses. It was not much larger than the axe wielder and did not immediately shout as the others had; its gaze passed over the massive, shattered wooden shield and its owner before settling on Ravian, and it opened its empty hand.

Dense soul energy gathered above its palm, taking the shape of a broad, curved blade with a thick spine and an edge that caught the firelight. There was no steel supporting that power, no weapon concealed beneath it, yet Ravian heard a very real scrape when the tip touched a stake driven into the ground and sliced through it as the blade rose.

’Eighth Rank...’ Ravian realized instantly, his eyes widening.

’Damn...’ Ravian desperately wanted to run now.

Yet somehow, he could no longer bring himself to act on that urge.

Was it because he thought he could defeat that thing, which stood nearly three meters tall?

Not at all. He truly wanted to escape; fighting something that powerful would be idiotic, and there was no possible way he could win.

The problem was that his soul would not let him flee, as though doing so were forbidden.

How could the heir of Sovereign Pride turn his back on an enemy at the mere sight of it, without even fighting?

Ravian could find no answer to that question.

He recognized what he was seeing from his reading in the Archive, but knowing that soul energy could manifest physically was nothing like standing in its path. The orc’s hand moved, and the blade detached from the spot where it had formed, crossing the distance between them before Ravian could shove the wagon aside.

He raised his dagger to intercept the flying blade, but part of the dagger’s black edge shattered, and the impact jolted through his arm before the blade slashed his chest open. His back slammed into the timber, and he tried to pull away, but his legs managed only a stumbling step as blood filled his mouth, coming from his internal organs this time rather than his lip.

He saw the orc curl its fingers again and the manifested blade change direction, then raised his uninjured arm in a desperate attempt to protect his neck, only for the flying blade to pierce his arm and, immediately afterward, his throat.

[Host death confirmed.]

[One additional life consumed.]

[Remaining additional lives: 9.]

[Regressing to the beginning of the current day.]

Air returned to his lungs with the smell of scorched fat, and he found an orc sitting before a black pot, holding the same piece of meat that should have remained in a day that had already ended.

The image of his room at Viola Manor rushed into his mind, complete with its walls, bed, and the place where he had left his Archive badge, yet he remained standing on soft earth. The orc dropped its meat and reached for the club, so Ravian struck it in the throat before it could grab the weapon.

’Huh? What? Why am I back here?’

[The Host has returned to the beginning of the current day.]

”What?! How can this be the beginning of the day?!” Ravian shouted aloud this time, unable to process the crushing sense of helplessness welling up inside him.

[Void Traverse was completed at exactly midnight, at the beginning of the current day. The return point falls immediately after its completion.]

”...Just kill me already.”

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Author’s Note:

Thank you all for your support and for the Power Stones and Golden Tickets.

I truly appreciate it.

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