Reincarnated as a Duck: A beast progression litrpg isekai-Chapter 287 - 278: Leaning over the edge

Thrust was coming for his head, but Ultium didn't falter. He should probably pinch it. Stopping it and avoiding it were other answers, even though he hated doing it. Why not ignore it, skip this bullshit, and confront it?

He faced it with a finger just because he felt like it, making a single point with his Blood Fist. It wasn't his primary fighting technique; it was just something he had learned to depend on when fighting all sorts of opponents, as it felt right.

It was enough for everything. Was it because the weight and acceptance were more pleasing, or was it because his primary methods were too savage or too good to pass? In a way, he was falling into the pit of his devilish instincts and felt really good by doing so.

David often said that having flexible moves was better than being too focused. Ultium agreed, though he preferred a less bulky technique. It felt tighter and required less blood.

Blood against the red-colored Sharpness made quite a spectacular clash, and David went back into hiding.

Ceila relaxed before a pillar, facing the wind and the aftermath of this explosive strike as if she had yet to decide on her choice. As they battled, she made up her mind and walked forward, figuring this was enough watching and waiting.

Then, a loud noise echoed, and the swirling motion of claymore slashed around the ground and walls, followed by red lines that cut apart the arena.

Ultium clashed against everything until his suit took a bunch of cuts, though that alone wasn't an issue. His finger managed to survive this even better; part of the Blood Fist was gone, and Ultium's palm was injured.

"What the fuck are you made of?" Razmund cursed when his claymore stabbed into Ultium's abdomen, yet it penetrated shit even when his lines swirled and cut forth like an explosive meat grinder.

"Don't know. Ask my boss," Ultium answered, swinging his finger behind him, and punched him with a single finger straight to his chest.

Blood Lines spread next, looking like explosive little points that cut deep. Wounds spread, and Razmund felt alive once more. This was what he lacked with Bagus. The true threat and pressure stemming from Bloodlines. That required a fine enemy, but it was pretty darn stupid on his part, because Bagus was also a threat.

A Step behind rippled him with a cold sweat the moment he stabilized his stumbling.

Ultium positioned his finger and closed on leaking his blood to kill him for good.

But Ceila, now standing behind Razmund, eyed him, hence stopping everything he planned to do.

Ceila spread her palm next, forcing Razmund to instinctively back away like a frightened puppy. He didn't sense her at all.

"You run and run like a wild dog," Ceila said with disappointment. "I heard you've run away from your prey. Now, you run from me, so how should I think about it? Is that dice one reason?"

"After," Razmund gritted his teeth before answering, "killing it, well, almost killing it. Also, you are not my problem. You shouldn't be here, so I don't think about you at all."

"Or so I've heard. How cold yet bold," Ceila frowned, nodding for Ultium to stop this charade. What was there for them here?

Ceila needed to confirm it and had to do it better.

Now, considering the situation, she figured that letting things go further wasn't her goal, but it was close. Vermillion said it was possible and part of her final ambition.

Of course, it wasn't ideal to go against what was right, but it was something that her Lady mentioned multiple times.

She said it multiple times, and one instance was more important than the others.

*Use the time and situation well and present bliss carefully. Be a devil for my sake, even, or go wild and frail when needed. Use wit and ruthlessness. Find my ways, and if others won't, then look for a way to work. The Sides are tough, not yet refined, but broken. We have ours as invaders. The others might go if it is safe or well. How? Well, learn. Then, others will do it back, and the aftermath shall allow us to exist because we are strong. That is our justice. Always and forever.*

Razmund touched his chest with his left arm, forcing a breath in, but ended up coughing, splashing blood on the ground. Then, the strong push to replenish the blood seized his wind, and he clutched his fist and Dice.

"Never felt better to feed this madness," he said. "Don't get me wrong, sunlady," he smirked and angled his claymore at her, "but I will clash even against godly desires that are borderline insane. You don't know me, but I am kind of good at that sort of thing."

"Says you of all people? You have no idea what you're playing with."

Razmund swung his blade against the air, which did nothing. "I kind of do. Also, that fucking skull said the same thing. It's useless. Whatever it is, it is true."

His actions weren't just for stalling, but for healing and regaining his breath. Those bloody finger strikes went deep and pushed his Revolving Core quite far against the norm, and that was after eating that fruit. It felt surprising, but Ultium did leave a strong first impression, and there was a point in Ozeki's fears.

Raging Bull didn't protect him at all, as it lost the majority of its part, so he began to walk in a circle around Ceila. His Ravings straightened his body, but it was too late to play every little game. He already had new wounds, so time or creation didn't matter.

The ravings were weird. How long could they last? A minute? Not at all. They could go on for a while, yet Lurius was never keen on the time or fairness of the Ravings since he didn't create them.

This was about people. He was never wrong to judge someone, be it the devil or beings in the shreds of realities. It was said that he even understood Resonances and beings hiding within them.

That was weird. Were these things people in there, or just concepts or large-scale beings of Affinities and various little aspects that went through the Beginning of Everything?

Such thoughts were neither blasphemous, wrong, nor right. They were honest. That was it, but this appeal would seriously piss off many cultures.

It was perspective that acted as truth, while what was who, or who was what, mattered from a person to a tool. In fact, the Resonance and Hiding Realms didn't give a shit about such thoughts. They would keep going and living, doing whatever they had to or couldn't do.

Razmund didn't care if a person, ghost, frog, or the mightiest being in the universe was before him. Ravings were just another layer to forget, or an outside force, not his own, so it didn't matter to him if he couldn't use them.

By now, he wasn't sure how well his body had improved. His Voice would've told him, but it hadn't worked for quite a few days. He ended up failing his body again, taking yet another injury, but at least his Physique was churning and working as it intended.

Slowly, he would endure and turn the tides of any defeat, for that was his Path and what his Physique loved.

This is never-ending... damn it. Can't rely on this forever, but it was expected when I decided to go in alone. Ozeki was just variable, and the last Spot I had. This isn't it anymore. I have to rely on Paradise. Let's hope it won't end up too flawed.

With his conditions and styles, it was no surprise that Raymund was used to fighting like this. Wounded and on edge, those were his tokens to remember, yet he held no dear scars to his heart. Frankly, he didn't remember what a normal body was like anymore.

For him, when his body didn't hold the subject of injuries, it was a time that he squandered, or it was a time no longer honorable. It wasn't about the wounds in specific. It was about ways to judge them and act.

Wounds tell stories. Strikes and power moves wound the pride. Then, one shall act accordingly and do the right thing, or become a madman, since what is blood or wounds than a given opportunity? Be a gruesome winner or a flawed loser? What is it that is flawless?

That was a passage from his Manual.

It had its shortcomings and issues, but thanks to his mental fortitude, yet tense lunacy, it wasn't bad, like torture. There were so many worse pains than physical wounds that Razmund grew numb to this shit.

As he circled the inner arena, Ceila watched him. "What is it that you are getting, exactly?"

"What do I get? Where? How?" Razmund asked. "Nothing. What is there for you? A church like yours is a joke. Always has been. Your Lady was never keen on anything. Old yet neutral, she never does anything but make amends or work in shadows. I suppose there are dreams in there, yet I don't have to understand it."

"You seem to know a lot about it."

Razmund scoffed. "Better be aware and know history than be horny and forceful like this. Isn't it embarrassing to do this now? She is either unaware, or she looks for a beating after everything is back on track and the winners are called."

Razmund had no idea how right he was, but depending on the winners, there might be no losers either.

Ceila didn't show it. "Indicating power is?" She shook her head. "No. We are done with that very much. It is good that you are letting us be like that. It is so easy to move when you are like your sword. Broken, yet straight, but still broken and useful. You make this possible, so I must thank you."

This brief chat gave Razmund enough power to go at them again, yet he had no idea how to approach Ceila, who had not been this powerful in the past. As of now, he doubted the news, himself, Centralis, and a whole bunch of other shit.

Who was she? An old priestess devoted to a church. That could mean anything. He knew that Ceila was more than five times his age, so this pressure felt both assuring and right, yet also ridiculous. What was her public Level and vision anyway?

Her visor in Wars was more outward, acting as a medic or a tool that multiple powers purchased. Many Churches provided such services for many powers in times of Mortal or Holy Wars, where not acting wasn't very smart.

This felt wrong. So wrong, Razmund bet he hadn't seen enough of this priestess, or Centralis was mistaken about this church. Everything might be hiding, waiting, but some matters must be impossible!

Smiling and almost laughing, he glanced at his hand. It was full of vigor and pink waves. He pointed it toward her, angling it close to his face. "Tell me, Dice, where this one goes and leads me, or what to take it for? This woman, I mean."

Still confined, yet happy not to be used, the Dice giggled softly, sounding like chimes of rolling pebbles. [Sick,] it told; [Weird,] it whispered; [Majestic, but both wrong!] it shouted, [And I am getting hungry. Feed me... Just a snack.]

Razmund pinched it. "Tell me."

[Uh,] the Dice whimpered as if hurt. [They move. Like Fate. Dancing around the edge of this world yet within, for they do know of what Fate brings, but they don't know what it hides and prevents. They don't know. They better do not.]

Razmund didn't know what that meant.

"Like a baby," Ceila considered that Dice since she had known about it for a long time. "It led you by your nose, yet it led you right. How to call it?"

"Silly," Razmund said, "at best. However, this is how I do things, and barely anyone shall refute it. What is wrong with it? I paid the price. Now, you dare to mess with me? No. Not that. I know it is right, so... where will this go next? I can fight my way outside just fine...with force. Blood. Pain. I will make you suffer so that you won't ever be safe."

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Razmund stopped, stabbed his claymore to the ground, and rested both palms on the handle.

"I want to see that," Ceila said. "I shall be the first to deny it. And?"

Strength was hard to read in the Old World. Aura or mana aside, taking care of a person's perception, idea, face, emotions, and how one handled their posture, actions, and many merits and helpful ideas. Assumptions could be great and helpful, but also foolish.

Ceila was like a different person, yet Razmund was sure it was not as if she were the Avatar of her Lady at the moment. He would know it immediately; he had heard plenty about how Avatars and Gods worked together. They were proclamations. Touch and possession, as well.

A God could move well in the Battleworld by using Avatars, but such acts had deep repercussions and could be quite hefty in costs.

Since the issue was mortal, they had limited capacity for Divine Power and Authority. And they should be compatible, great in vigor and lifespan, and groomed for that purpose.

Those required quite special subjects and care, or a vessel to put their Divine Will into. So yes, this priestess was adequate, yet also not right. This wasn't clear, or Razmund wasn't able to be certain. It was no wonder.

Razmund clutched his Dice again. It screeched in less joy than ever before. Oy, that was unsightly. Tell them to go away. They stink. Move them! DO something!]

"Husch," Razmund took his new Ravings for nothing miraculous besides their loose service. Getting it wasn't easy, as neither regeneration nor powerful Vitality saved him. But not even scars remained, and his body remained firm and ready. It was miraculous, so could Raving desire be a power? What would happen then? Would it transform him or even change his race?

It sounded wrong, but it was honest and possible. How much? Could he Rave for deep and raw strength and change completely? Wasn't it too vague for the rules of this fruit?

There were some lines in that idea that he couldn't see, though Lurius did try to pry for the great truth. He said those seeking Ravings should know themselves first, for the world was full of liars and fake goals. Nobody wanted everything, but everyone had multiple sides and faces within them, and many couldn't stop their desires.

Battleworld was quite a forceful place, often misleading or leading somewhere, so he must be right. Razmund breathed in, and his body tensed and eyes closed. The moment he opened his eyes, a blank blackness spread within, and he looked at Ceila, who couldn't tell it straight away, but she felt what was right and wrong within them.

That heavy weight and eyes without any whites or blues, or any veins, were quite special and marked. They were pure black but did not change his entire aura.

"What might this be? A threat?" Ceila asked, still not convinced by his words. She was halfway through leaving anyway, so she might as well let him do his barking before leaving.

"It is a warning," Razmund said. "I put serious thoughts into it, and this Encounter is my life on the line, or my Ends, for that matter. Where or how matters. You are not a player. I am."

"How melodramatic," she said and walked around him, eyeing Razmund's head. His posture was relaxed, but something about him felt much wilder and dangerous than before.

Just from changed eyes, however, so that might be a Blessing or a Curse, or...well, those two could often be mingled together and do just as well as any direct power. Like Bloodrush that Murai had, some costs and benefits followed a whole lot of abilities or just one particular direction.

And Ceila wasn't sure what those eyes meant. At least her Lady hadn't said anything specific, so it was either unimportant or not possible.

*Just don't push it beyond the edge, dear,* Vermillion's voice said days ago.

"Is that all? Just glare?" Ceila taunted him a little, trying to discern his actions.

Razmund shrugged and aimed his hostility somewhere else. "Well, I guess I will ditch you for now if you want to be like this. If I remember it right, killing fuckers who wasted my time sounds like fun. While those shitty Hunters shall become Hunted, it is ironic to be involved with one true hunter. They aren't ready for what that brings. Death is mercy."

Razmund turned to look at the only opening in this large room.

Ultium was in the way, standing straight and with bloody arms ready. Why not both?

What a stubborn devil, Razmund sighted.

Throughout this madness, everyone ignored the large corpse of a glowing golem, which ended up in the corner after numerous clashes of powerful fools, looking like a tossed tool in pieces.

"You will leave like this? After such a failure and meeting this party?" Ceila asked.

"If you wanted to stop me, your Paladins would've done so earlier. You don't want to do that, which is respectable, or you can't personally see it through."

"That means you can't do much against anything either, yet you bark as if you can."

"It is called a barking for a reason," Razmund said. "Threat too, if you may."

Ceila impatiently tapped her arm against her armor, unsure about her actions once again. How to approach this, I wonder. Just what have you planned for this Blessed, Lordis? Is he a fool to go through this just for the Old One? He doesn't get it, yet he is so desperate that it messes with most logic. What a glorious purpose. How unusual, godly, yet forceful.

"You don't want to stop me, right?" Razmund said. "You fear the Judgment. You want the other side. The one from mine, if I recall it right. What is there for you? We must be enemies, right? You aren't a Helper, and you can't afford to lose that act. Pity. Could you do it? The Voice or not in here isn't a Judge. We are still here, being judged by Levandis, who alone isn't an empty threat. You should not take it lightly."

Razmund spread his arm, leaving his claymore sticking from the ground, and kept his eyes black.

"You sure think far too much," she said. "For a tool, fool, and bunch of other things, it makes everything much worse."

"Well, you don't desire to stop that. That much means it isn't worth it, or that something else is going on with it. Makes me wonder what." Taking the claymore to both hands, he eyed Ultium. "And you. Come to Paradise if you want a good time. I will give it to you there. Not now."

Ultium grunted and looked away, displeased that his fight hadn't gone how he had hoped.

At this point, Lint began hovering above the arena, looking anxious in his soft, glowing Soul Flames. "On Gods, this is nerve-wracking. You all are leaving? That is kind of anti-climactic, isn't it? Disengagement is what you wanted, Sun?"

Ceila watched him. "I remember making a deal with the owner of this little place, isn't that correct?"

Lint nodded, but it was hard to point it out on his skeleton.

"Then don't judge me for taking anything for what I want, because there has never been anything specific stated between us. The world is broken, like words. There is a vague sense of reason, while this guy is right. Judgment is tight. Almost fitting and sitting between mouths and heads."

"Huh. Is that how you have no problem with that?" Lint asked Razmund, who passed Ultium, to leave. Lint couldn't believe this guy, out of everyone present, acted like this.

Wasn't Razmund far out of his mind to disengage with this priestess? Mindarch bet he would trouble them, but it didn't seem to be the case. It must be part of their meeting, or where Razmund died with a bloody hand stuck in his chest.

That did not happen again, as even fools could learn and know where some actions were worth more than others.

"They wanted to see me. They did," he said simply. "That's that, but before going further... I think I forgot about one remaining scrap." Razmund turned on the spot, Stepped aside, and stomped on Lorry, who was crawling around the ground, trying to disappear into the portal.

He was an idiot for not doing it earlier or when Razmund was busy with Ultium, yet he wasn't sure what to expect from this sudden party and him talking to Razmund.

It seemed that Ceila had changed her mind about dealing with that guy, or she hadn't planned to do anything harsh from the very beginning, which was bizarre.

Were they pinning him against Murai for a reason? He thought they were doing something else. Ceila couldn't be another enemy pinned at that little duck, right? That would make their previous hunt weird.

Her party was coming forward until they arrived at Gate 3, yet many times, it was rather slow and deliberate, whilst she did crash numerous issues and gangs and made a weird example of herself.

She stopped many Hunters until nobody stopped her, which further moved until it eclipsed the whole setup parade of Hunters and Hunted. For some reason, Mindarch didn't make her known or set any kind of bounty on her head. Probably on Levandis's depend, Lorry assumed.

No military. No Lurr. Nobody harsh was implicated.

She hadn't caught Murai either, yet she could've done so quicker than this, similar to Razmund, whom she could've also caught up to sooner. So why did she do this the way she had?

It reeked of questionable reasons or one giant, complex, godly plot with multiple layers.

Of course, Lint knew such deals were heavy and irritating, and that something was amiss with Vermillion. That wasn't an exaggeration if Ceila was here with quite good toys from the Sky, which even Lorry had realized a while ago.

Was it good or bad? For whom? Lorry couldn't tell, but he was curious about their reasons and what would happen next.

Murai was gone from the picture, but Hell Party would never stop against anything incoming. It was unfortunate timing that could involve outside Challengers in a rare event, though it also presented excellent possibilities to those clashing against it.

Of course, that was if things were normal, fancied to the Voice and deep Boosts that could gift deserving prospects.

The Encounter was not normal. Hell Party stayed and played a usual route, but devoid of any usual businesses, apart from what it challenged and initiated.

It was there, waiting, and Murai was coming at it. To the Paradise! Right under many eyes and dangers, and Razmund's palm.

Now, Ceila was apparently involved. Perhaps she wanted to see this from the start, see Murai struggle, and know Razmund was close and watched over by the Gods. Which of them was important wasn't an issue, for they were there, distant, and had no attraction at all.

This clash without her involvement seemed emptier, or it was what Vermillion wanted. Seeing if it was worth acting, doing a savior-like favor, and making a move on Murai

sounded feasible.

Lint and Lorry couldn't see into her. Even Mindarch didn't know where she was going with her Paladins all the freaking time, or why. Her aim or desire was farther than anyone could imagine, but it was always relatively close.

Many bet on disturbing Razmund's Side or, straight up, killing him to do even more disturbing changes to this entire Encounter, or an eventful gaze for Gods and anyone close or far.

They were wrong.

She had other nefarious ideas, which were possible under such circumstances.

Perhaps she wanted Razmund to do dirty work. In that case, Lorry wouldn't be surprised by her messing with pretty much everyone.

The amount of flow his End would change was enormous, but no Judge would beat this idea apart. Not when Vermillion had a much bigger issue with what she had done.

Not when the Voice of countless reasons had been stolen. Ceila did what she did, and she did it without shame, since her opponents had none either. That much was appropriate.

What was even right? Without the world's rightful gear, Razmund's death would be a momentary rise to a worse scenario, or an interesting event would change everything in a completely unexplored direction.

Razmund was just an Origin, while the Reason kept proceeding to the weird place Vermillion had granted, as one fiddled with both causes.

New Origin would bring about a new change and even a greater perspective if one looked at it well enough. While the Encounter would keep going, the end would not come unless both Sides were pretty much dead. That happened sometimes. There were plans for it, too, just in case. A complete end, for example.

Cursed Centralis.

Crashing the Encounter and calling it a day was a nice, feasible idea, but what if it ended? Timing and clauses mattered, so one of the Guides, Lint, realized bits of doubt filled with debatable truths.

It couldn't be everything all at once, Lint thought, betting Ceila's ideas on potentially worse matters. On a choice that only she knew. Not him. Not Levandis. Not Lordis. They were outside

because they were greedy and different invasive forces.

"I don't want to give a chance where there isn't one, and some second-rate church better leave me alone," Razmund said, blinked, and let his eyes turn back to normal. It was a waste to show it; he wasn't willing to reveal it unless he had no other choice.

So far, Ceila hadn't shoved him to that edge. None did. Not Bagus. Not Zao. Just himself, where he failed to catch his prey after playing around the Hellscape because he was never sure what was hiding around the corner.

"I don't doubt Gods, by the way, nor your Lady. I don't doubt Centralis either, as nobody is alone in trust. You, Guide, are yet another party in this mess; don't forget that. Levandis is watching it all, isn't she?" Razmund eyed the surroundings and stomped Lorry to the ground, who kept his silent apprehension to himself.

"You can't take it there," Lint declared, floating forward. "Guides are Guides. Gods are Gods. Encounters are pretty much workings of mortals and them alike, well, however they can be. It won't help you be like this, so you'd better leave that head alone!"

Razmund pondered over it, pressing light steps on Lorry.

"Punishment and God's Wrath are wild, but pushing it against the edge is something even I could do. Why? Nobody knows the boundaries until they are there. Myself included. Levandis won't find it appealing, yet what is there for me and us in this manner? She is pitiful if she lets this holy party in and lets them roam free. Makes me wonder if I am free myself. Guides. Mindarch can be one true mastermind."

"He is but a spirit! Don't engage in this. Don't try to touch the flame without expecting to burn yourself," Lint said firmly, pointing at him with his last arm.

"Sure, but she still finds this holy party fine, so," Razmund murmured, letting Lorry go from his tight push. "That makes me wonder what else is going on between you, me, us, and them. Or everyone, frankly, and this room, or that old devil, or that piece of rubble aside? I know of Sun God, obviously, and how his tools and fabled tales make the stories out of the Older World. Still, it is like dust to me. We don't look at it. We have our purposes somewhere else, right, sun?"

Ceila was looking at him and reached numerous realizations and mistakes.

"Nay. It is still to be decided who will be the winner of this charade or what goes around the corner, or down," Lint argued, turning his head to see Ceila, who observed them both.

"It is interesting to see another set like this. Also, your case is as intriguing as it is terrible, you sun of a fox. We certainly wish and wonder if you will even get out of Ip'ur Mountain, but Razmund is right. What you do has its consequences. Levandis might reconcile, but someone else might not. Us, perhaps? Others, probably? There are a whole bunch of fools who hate the divine ways and play with fire to burn because they find a thrill in that. They like it. Enjoy the pain."

"That is fine," Ceila said as if she didn't care about anything. "Do whatever you want, as I do the same. Everyone is a bringer of their lines in this era. All eras, in fact."

Lint almost laughed in mockery, though he forgot this involved him as well, and not a little bit at all.

The whimpering skull below hadn't found it joyful or right, though it clattered its teeth, afraid of Wrath and failures of any kind. Some of them could be very enjoyable, for Death wouldn't come for him.

Without a word, Lorry flew onward to the portal, cursing Razmund in a strange language, but before getting close, Razmund stopped him by almost slicing him with his claymore. It stopped a centimeter from his nose hole. If he had a nose, it would've been cut in half or gone altogether.

"There is just one last thing," Razmund said coldly. "I won't kill what is already dead. Tell the little animal that you guide through this mess: I am coming, so it should prepare itself. It has a couple of hours left, and considering my failure in this room —if that's even the case— that is my message. Tell it to try its best to survive out there, not die a miserable End, and it should deal with my gifts as well. It is my surprising blessing. You must know plenty about it yourself, yet it is how it goes. When one hunts, fairness is gone."

Lorry nodded, and so did Lint. Ceila knew of it too, though she had all the plans to involve herself in what was coming between what Razmund had said and had yet to do.

The Hell Party was left, and it was her problem to deal with it, not because of Murai, but for what should be achieved.