I Became a Dark Fantasy Villain-Chapter 728

Of course, Ian knew this was not the rational choice.

He was neither under the Blessing of Battle nor activating the Avatar of Platinum, and he wore nothing but Northern formal garb. Whatever supernatural ability the archduke had unleashed did not look like something that could be sustained for long.

Under normal circumstances, he would have deflected that brutish charge first and dragged the fight into a drawn-out battle of endurance.

But that butcher bastard wouldn’t want that, would he?

He had no desire to give Karha an excuse to interfere.

Clicking his tongue inwardly, Ian kept his eyes fixed on the rapidly approaching giant.

Rumble—

Despite his massive frame, Olaf’s charge was vicious and astonishingly fast. Yet to Ian—whose Concentration, Intuition, and even third eye were fully active—it looked slow and obvious.

Of course, if that fist drawn back behind him were to land cleanly, even Ian would not walk away with nothing more than a bruise.

However, Olaf was not the only one with extraordinary power.

Crack!

Ian flung out the Willful Grasp with full force.

The moment it collided, it tangled with the reddish haze and shattered apart, but it was enough to make Olaf falter, his drawn-back fist stalling mid-motion. His face twisted in shock at the unexpected impact.

Crunch—

Into that wide-open torso, Ian drove himself in, leading with his left shoulder and forearm.

Boom!

Their momentum screeched to a halt, and a dizzying shock tore through Ian.

However, it was nothing compared to what Olaf endured.

"Ghk—"

The haze erupting around Olaf exploded outward, and his head snapped forward under the force, a strangled gasp tearing from his throat.

Thud—

Ian’s boots hit the ground almost at the same time. Gritting his teeth against the recoil, he twisted his waist and launched his right fist upward.

Whoosh—

Olaf’s face, eyes wide and spraying a crimson arc of blood from his mouth, loomed directly above him.

Ian’s fist drove cleanly into the bearded center of the archduke’s face without obstruction.

Thud!

The recoil felt like striking solid iron. Even so, Ian followed through to the very end.

Thwack—

Olaf’s head snapped backward, flung by the force of the blow. Blood burst from his nose in a red arc across the air.

Skrrrk—

Even after Ian stopped advancing, Olaf continued sliding back. At last, he slammed his head forward again, forcibly halting his retreat. Somehow, he remained standing.

The crimson haze around him flared brighter once more. Through it emerged a face with a caved-in nose and a beard soaked in blood.

Ian did not rush in again. He withdrew his extended fist and casually shook out his tingling left arm. Time was on his side.

Crack—

Olaf did not move either. He gripped his broken nose and shoved it back into place, glaring at Ian with blazing eyes.

"...Tch." He spat the blood pooling in his mouth onto the ground.

The sounds of bone grinding back into alignment and of blood striking the earth were sharp and clear—not merely because of Ian’s keen hearing.

The clearing had fallen into complete silence. The spectators, forming a vast semicircle, watched without even daring to breathe.

The clash had left a deep impression. After all, Ian had driven back Olaf even while the power of his bloodline was active.

"An interesting trick. Is that a power you were born with?" Olaf wiped the blood from his beard with the back of his hand.

"Not born with, but close enough," Ian answered evenly, then jerked his chin toward him. "You’re using tricks too. So I assume you won’t call it cheating."

"Of course not!" Olaf snapped his arm down from his mouth and kicked off the ground again.

Whoosh—

As if determined not to be caught twice, he launched his fist forward immediately this time. Dirt exploded behind him once more as he closed the distance in a blink.

It was nearly a surprise attack.

However, Ian did not flinch in the slightest.

This bastard.

Ian snorted inwardly and, once again, charged straight in instead of retreating. Rather than projecting his Willful Grasp outward, he swung it like a whip, striking at the forearm of the incoming punch.

Crack—

Even though Ian concentrated the force into a far narrower range, the Willful Grasp shattered the instant it collided.

However, that was enough. The trajectory of Olaf’s fist twisted slightly to the side.

Whoosh—

Brushing past the redirected strike, Ian slipped into Olaf’s guard and drove his fist toward the center of the man’s face once more.

Crunch!

Olaf’s nose broke again. Their opposing momentum canceled out, and a shockwave mixed with dirt burst outward in a widening ring.

This time, however, Olaf did not stagger backward.

Instead, he tucked his chin and endured the blow head-on. At the same time, he bent the arm he had thrown and tried to wrap it around Ian’s back, clearly intending to seize him and snap his spine.

Thud!

Ian was faster again. He thrust out the Willful Grasp, and Olaf’s bending arm froze midair.

Shhh—

The crimson haze blazing along his trembling forearm intensified at once. The Willful Grasp faltered, unable to withstand the pressure, and scattered.

Crunch!

However, by then, Ian’s left fist had already driven deep into Olaf’s abdomen.

"Ghk!" A low groan burst through Olaf’s clenched teeth. Blood streamed from his broken nose, and red veins spidered across his wide-open eyes.

Crack—

Even so, he managed to wrap one arm around Ian’s back at last.

Unfortunately for him, that was the extent of his success.

Smack!

Twisting his waist in the opposite direction, Ian swung his right arm and drove his elbow into Olaf’s temple. The archduke’s head snapped sideways as if it might tear free from his neck.

This feels like fighting some kind of demonic bear.

The numbing recoil spreading through his fists and elbows made Ian’s eyes twitch. The power of Olaf’s bloodline clearly granted more than brute strength.

Crack, thud!

Still, Olaf continued to take a one-sided beating. He attempted counterattacks even as he absorbed blow after blow, but not a single strike landed cleanly.

It was no mystery. Olaf had sat on the throne for years. It had been far longer since he had last fought on a true battlefield.

No matter how much bloodline power he unleashed, he could not match someone who had survived countless life-and-death battles.

"Demigod of the North."

"Your Grace."

Soft gasps and murmurs began to ripple across the field and along the wall as the outcome of the duel became clear to all.

But even so.

Yet Ian’s eyes narrowed slightly as he continued hammering Olaf without pause. Despite his increasingly battered state, the shimmering haze around him had not faded in the slightest.

I didn’t expect him to hold his ground like this in raw strength.

Even without using his Willful Grasp, it was not particularly difficult to shake off Olaf’s grasp or block his punches. At some point, Ian had grown strong enough to unleash near-monstrous power with his full effort alone, without relying on blessings or external aid.

It was likely the result of his steadily rising stats, accumulated bit by bit through countless quest rewards.

Crack—

Mixed feelings stirred within him, but Ian did not slow.

Thud—

He continued doing what he had come here to do—beating Olaf down.

By now, the archduke was pinned to the ground by his collar, crushed beneath Ian’s weight. Pressing him down with one knee, Ian drove his fist relentlessly into the man’s swelling face.

The surrounding silence deepened, as if the sheer brutality of the one-sided violence had stolen everyone’s breath. Some were likely simply unable to look away from the sight of their lord being beaten senseless.

Smack—

Either way, it did not matter.

Ian continued doing what he had to do. He was not enjoying this either, but this was something that had to be finished. If nothing else, it was for the sake of the barbarian warriors who had lost their lives.

Crunch!

The recoil traveling through his fists was diminishing rapidly.

Through the ruined mess of a face, Olaf’s eyes no longer burned with a desperate fighting spirit. Instead, pain and fear were spreading.

The crimson haze that had wreathed his body flickered and thinned. It did not feel like he had reached his limit; rather, it seemed as though his will to fight was collapsing.

Ian finally paused, having rained down blows without mercy.

Olaf, twitching beneath him, had raised both arms—not to counterattack, but almost as if pleading.

"S-Stop... enough...."

He could not even finish the words.

Turning his head, Olaf coughed violently. Blood, saliva, and fragments of broken teeth sprayed onto the dirt.

He looked utterly wretched, yet Ian’s gaze as he looked down at him remained cold and sunken, without a trace of sympathy. And in truth, there was none.

"Now... enough... stop...."

Olaf panted, eyes wide with terror as he stared up.

"I... lost. I concede—" His voice faltered.

Ian’s eyes twitched almost at the same instant Olaf’s own widened to the brink of tearing.

Above the archduke’s slick, blood-streaked head, the steel circlet, which had never once slipped off during the beating, darkened to a blackish red.

Swoosh—

A deep, blackish crimson bled across its surface. The divine energy blazing within surged outward, spilling over Olaf’s head like molten shadow.

"Ghk— gkk?"

Olaf’s eyes rolled back. His upper body convulsed violently, jerking upward despite Ian’s weight pinning him down.

So you weren’t going to let it end like this.

Ian’s face fully twisted. Karha had clearly begun throwing a tantrum. He did not wish for the duel to end like this.

However, Ian had no intention of dancing to its tune.

Thud!

Even as Olaf’s body spasmed, Ian maintained his balance and reached for the steel circlet.

He meant to rip the damned thing off and throw it away. Sacred relic or not, it could not act alone without its vessel.

His eyes narrowed the instant his fingers closed around it.

It was not only that the crown refused to come free.

Rumble!

As if sensing his intent, the crown unleashed a torrent of crimson-black divinity like a bursting floodgate.

Heat seared his palm as though it might burn through flesh. Olaf’s convulsing body was swallowed in the flood of dark red light, which coated him completely. The surface of it writhed and bubbled with a sinister churn.

You’ve got to be kidding me!

He released the crown at once and leaped back, instinctively raising both arms to shield his face.

Boom!

An explosion of dark crimson divinity tore outward, engulfing the entire area in its wake.