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After defeating Nekator, Leon and his party chose to rest and recover rather than rush to advance further.
The Holy Iron Inquisitors, who had fought valiantly throughout the battle, maintained a perimeter while assisting with cleanup.
Dominic, who had blocked the Six Realms Annihilation and was left unable to fight, wasn’t the only one in poor condition. Even Leon needed nearly half an hour before his ragged breathing finally steadied despite having the Stigma of the Guardian constantly restoring him.
Elahan, who had joined the fray late, was also exhausted from rushing to the field. Only Karen, who had used Pitch-Black Dance a few times and little else, was in decent shape.
Elahan remarked, “The devastation is incredible... So that was the power of the second of the Nine Hells...”
Something about their final exchange must have left an impression on her. Instead of calling him a heretic, Elahan seemed to refer to Nekator as a fellow human.
He was a man born human, yet unable to live as one. His sins were unforgivable, but not beyond pity. Leon could still picture his face, smiling as he fell into the Asura Realm.
“Yeah… He was terrifying,” Leon murmured.
He could still feel the phantom ache in the wrist of the hand that had cleaved through Nekator’s darkness. The pain was so vivid it bordered on illusion.
Even sparring with Irexana had never felt like that. If...
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