WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Ryuu

Editor: Ilafy

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ I Pulled Out Excalibur

Chapter 131

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Demon Hunting (5)

Zarkan was a troublesome foe.

Despite his ridiculous and almost comical introduction, his power was no laughing matter.

Even Najin, who had reached the rank of Sword Seeker and wielded two stars, found that Zarkan was no small threat.

“What a nuisance.” As the battle continued, Najin frowned.

Zarkan's mastery of forcefield-based magic made him a particularly vexing opponent.

Unlike most spells that inflicted damage only when they struck a target, Zarkan's magic wasn’t so straightforward.

Each of his fingers could control one forcefield. With ten human fingers and an additional twenty-one demonic ones, Zarkan controlled a total of thirty-one forcefields.

Each of those forcefields was a large, solid bludgeon. They pounded the ground relentlessly, blocked Najin’s sword strikes, and served as both offense and defense.

Even at a distance, they acted as a deterrent, leaving no opening for Najin to exploit.

“Their power isn’t negligible either. The way they chip away at my Sword Aura with each clash...”

On top of that, the forcefields were nearly invisible to the naked eye, making them even harder to deal with.

Though Najin was steadily reducing their numbers, he was losing the war of attrition. At that pace, he would be defeated.

Still, did Najin feel a sense of crisis?

Not quite. His gaze remained calm and unwavering.

He narrowed his eyes.

The thunderous thumps and crashes from the thirty-one forcefields didn’t capture his attention. Instead, he focused on a different sound—the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Listening to his own pulse, he judged he still had some margin. In the past, that would have been his limit. Pushing his body further would have led to strain and breakdown.

Even then, he felt the potential strain... but for some reason, he also felt like he could push harder.

He trusted his instincts.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

His heart pounded faster. Blood coursed rapidly through his veins. Muscles stretched, nerves fired at heightened speeds, and his entire body felt taut enough to snap. Surrounding it all, mana acted as a buffer, protecting his straining body.

BOOM!

He stepped forward.

His intention was to move as he usually did, but even he was startled by his speed.

Where his usual movements produced a sharp "tap," that time, the sound was akin to a cannon blast—BOOM.

Slash!

Najin cut through a forcefield, sliding across the ground in a burst of acceleration.

He wasn’t the only one shocked. Zarkan’s eyes widened in disbelief, wondering if Najin had been holding back.

Najin, who had initially been taken aback by his own speed, soon broke into a grin.

‘So this is how it feels.’

It took him only a few exchanges to adjust to his newfound capabilities. He quickly grasped how to move his body and began to understand the changes brought about by the stars and the dragon blood coursing through him.

“It’s not just that my body is strengthened...”

- The vessel itself has grown larger.

Najin realized that Merlin was right.

The changes to his body weren’t simply about increased strength. His very being, his "vessel," had expanded, allowing him to contain and wield far greater power.

When he acquired a star, he earned the right to challenge the heavens. It wasn’t a metaphorical or abstract idea—it was a tangible change to his existence.

Though he wasn’t yet sure how to fully utilize the power of his star, his body had evolved to accommodate it. His vessel had grown, enabling him to handle immense power with less strain.

Najin could push himself further than ever before.

Focusing inward, he examined the pathways through which mana flowed within him.

The main channels remained largely unchanged, but smaller offshoots had sprouted around them, like roots spreading from a tree.

Though small and seemingly insignificant, the branches enhanced the precision and efficiency of his mana control.

He planted his foot firmly against the ground.

Mana, which had been evenly distributed throughout his body, surged into his legs.

The branches of mana flowing into his limbs allowed him to accelerate with pinpoint efficiency.

By the time Zarkan’s forcefields struck, Najin was already gone.

The distance between them vanished in an instant.

Zarkan’s gaze remained fixed on the wrong place. He hadn’t even realized Najin was already upon him, and he paid dearly for that lapse.

Thud.

Najin stomped down, redirecting mana into his torso, arms, and shoulders. With a precise swing of his sword, he cut through one of Zarkan’s arms in a clean motion.

Slash.

The blade sliced through flesh and bone, sending the severed limb flying.

Black ooze—demonic energy—poured from the stump, attempting to reattach the arm, but Najin wasn’t about to let that happen.

He grabbed the dismembered arm and slammed his foot against the ground, widening the gap between himself and Zarkan.

Slashing at the trailing ooze, he severed the connection entirely.

It all happened so quickly that Zarkan only realized his arm was gone when the pain set in.

Splat.

Sliding to a halt, Najin casually tossed the severed arm aside.

“One down,” he said, a smirk spreading across his face.

The sudden acceleration, achieved by concentrating mana into a single point, pushed Najin beyond the limits of his physical body. However, since the mana acted as a buffer, the strain on his body was minimal.

Realizing this, he began to employ the technique more aggressively.

For Zarkan, who had barely been keeping up with Najin's movements, it was a nightmare. Losing one arm was already a significant blow. Luckily for him, it was one of his human arms, not a demonic one.

Even so, the loss was costly—five of the forcefields tied to that arm had disappeared.

As an experienced mage, he quickly adapted. Without panicking, he used a forcefield to crush the bleeding stump, staunching the wound.

Crunch.

Pain twisted Zarkan’s face into a grimace, but that was as far as it went. Gritting his teeth, he swung his remaining arms to unleash a barrage of forcefields.

Crack crack crack!

Forcefields scraped the ground and surged toward Najin.

Transparent cubes radiated destructive energy, pulverizing anything they touched. Buildings crumbled into dust with faint cracking sounds as the forcefields rolled over them.

Anything caught in their path—be it flesh, bone, or steel—would be obliterated.

Najin was never where the forcefields struck.

Was it because his movements had grown faster? That wasn’t the full story. He didn’t move quickly at all times. Instead, he conserved his strength, only accelerating at the perfect moments, slipping through the smallest openings in Zarkan’s attacks.

Blood dripped from Zarkan’s shoulder as frustration mounted.

It felt as though Najin was toying with him, moving unpredictably, accelerating only when necessary. Fighting such an opponent was maddening.

With each exchange, Zarkan’s injuries multiplied.

Blood flowed steadily from his wounds.

Up to that point, a drawn-out battle would have favored him, but the situation had reversed.

Najin’s newfound efficiency and precision had turned the tide.

Zarkan realized the grim truth.

“Damn it. This is just ridiculous.” He decided to unveil his trump card.

The technique, one that consumed an extreme amount of mana, had been reserved for a decisive moment.

It was time to wield the authority of the demon, Marphos.

Marphos, the Demon of Refraction, governed the concepts of bending and distorting.

The demonic hands protruding from Zarkan’s back moved on their own. His forcefields, which had previously retained their cube-like shapes, suddenly began to warp and twist.

The once-static fields bent, turning at impossible angles to match Najin’s movements.

Thud!

Najin’s eyes widened when a distorted forcefield struck his shoulder. Though he reacted quickly, it wasn’t enough to evade entirely. Flesh tore from his body, and blood gushed from the wound.

It wasn’t a one-time attack.

26 forcefields moved erratically, constantly changing shape and trajectory. They bent, twisted, and refracted unpredictably, attacking Najin from all directions.

For Zarkan, controlling such chaos wasn’t easy.

Blood trickled from his nose, and veins bulged in his reddened eyes. Every bit of his 7th-circle computational ability was focused on controlling the distorted forcefields.

Even with Marphos’s demonic hands assisting him, the toll was immense.

Each adjustment to the size or shape of a forcefield consumed enormous mana. If he couldn’t end the fight quickly, he’d be drained completely.

Zarkan unleashed his ultimate spells.

3rd-circle magic: Fragmentation.

6th-circle magic: Forcefield Storm.

The twenty-one forcefields split in half, increasing to forty-two. Then, they fractured again, multiplying into eighty-four smaller forcefields. The fragments spun wildly, creating a storm of destruction.

Buildings caught in the storm disintegrated into powder, leaving no trace behind.

That was the power of a 6th-circle spell.

There was no place for Najin to run.

Taking a long breath, he charged directly into the storm.

Within the whirling chaos, flashes of white light flickered. Each time a light appeared, the storm grew smaller and weaker.

Finally, with a resounding crack, Najin tore through the storm and emerged on the other side.

He wasn’t unscathed.

Blood dripped from his legs and shoulders, where chunks of flesh had been torn away, but none of the injuries were life-threatening.

Without hesitation, he sprinted toward Zarkan.

That's when he saw it.

Zarkan extended his arm toward him.

Of the twenty-six forcefields, he had used twenty-one for his Forcefield Storm. That left five forcefields unaccounted for, all concentrated in the hand of his human arm.

He snapped his fingers.

6th-circle magic: Refraction.

The five forcefields merged into one, twisting and bending as they surged toward Najin.

Their distortion turned them into a deadly weapon, capable of breaking and scattering anything in their path. Enhanced by Marphos’s authority, the spell’s power rivaled that of a 7th-circle technique.

Zarkan had overlooked one thing: the concepts of bending and breaking—refraction itself—were ill-suited against Najin.

The boy had never bent or broken under any circumstance.

Najin’s sword shone with unwavering light, and he firmly planted his foot, drawing his blade into a stance that symbolized defiance.

It was a sword meant to slay demons.

With a clean swing, his blade shattered the forcefield head-on.

Once, his name had been Zarkan Blen.

He had been a promising prodigy.

Like everyone, he had his own story. Whatever the weight of his past, he had lived his life with purpose.

Zarkan Blen, a rising star of the Field Magic School, possessed undeniable talent, reaching the 6th Circle at the age of sixty-seven—a feat that few could achieve after a lifetime of study.

Talent is both a blessing and a curse.

Zarkan’s abilities marked him as exceptional, yet they also made his limits painfully clear.

For thirty years, he toiled without progress, unable to break past the 6th Circle. By ninety-seven, he realized the truth: his potential had run dry.

Once hailed as a genius, he became nothing more than an aging mage.

To escape death and decay, he chose a different path.

He abandoned his principles, betrayed his master’s teachings, and sacrificed his soul to forge a contract with a demon.

In the end, all his efforts crumbled.

Najin’s unwavering blade severed his neck in a single, decisive strike.

With a soft thud, Zarkan’s head fell to the ground.