040 Final Adjudication
So why was I not wearing my helm? Was it vanity? No. I simply wasn't accustomed to it. My vision narrowed when I wore one, the stifling weight pressing against my skull like a cage. A weakness, one I would have to overcome—just not today.
"ARROGANT. ARROGANT HUMAN."
Brukhelm seethed, his molten eyes burning with disdain.
The Great Barrier flared, its golden light pulsing with a divine resonance that hummed through my bones. The air stilled, as if the heavens themselves had taken notice. Ren Jin had acted. For once, I didn't mind the interference.
Brukhelm tested the barrier with a lazy swipe of his greatsword. The corrupted iron met sacred radiance, and the impact sent ripples across the dome—but it did not break. The demon snorted, his gaze flickering toward the cultivators hovering above.
"A clever trick," he mused. "But tricks will not save you."
I tightened my grip on my sword. The weight was familiar, the energy coursing through it an extension of my will.
"You talk too much."
Brukhelm grinned. "And your mother did not love you enough."
I blinked. A demon, resorting to such petty insults?
Then he lunged.
Our blades met in a clash that shook the ruined arena. Cracks spiderwebbed through shattered stone as force rippled outward. His strength was monstrous, but I had faced worse. Pivoting, I let his momentum carry him past, striking at his exposed ribs. He twisted unnaturally, evading at the last moment, but a thin line of black blood marked where my blade had found purchase.
Brukhelm chuckled, more amused than enraged. "The paladin draws first blood. Good. I would have been disappointed otherwise."
I did not answer. Words would not change the fact that he had to die.
His greatsword moved in a blur, faster than something of that size should. I met each blow, redirecting rather than contesting, but every clash sent a jolt through my arms. The air between us crackled with raw energy. The world shrank to just the two of us.
Then he feinted—an overhead strike that twisted into a backhanded sweep. The corrupted blade arced toward my midsection. I twisted, barely avoiding the edge, but his clawed hand lashed out, raking across my chest. My armor held, but the impact sent me skidding back, boots digging into shattered stone.
Pain flared, shallow cuts burning where his claws had grazed flesh. I ignored it. There were worse things to concern myself with.
The armor would repair itself.
What I needed was focus.
Brukhelm rolled his shoulders, his grin widening. "You're durable. Good. I'd hate for this to end too quickly."
I exhaled slowly, centering myself. Around us, city guards and sect cultivators worked frantically to maintain order, their efforts strengthened by the Great Barrier. Ren Jin held the formation steady, keeping his people alive, giving me the space to do what needed to be done.
Holy Wrath.
Golden radiance flared beneath me, illuminating the broken ground. Azure feathers drifted upwards, dissolving into light.
Radiant Dawn.
I shifted my stance, lowering my blade. Divine power surged, golden light gathering at the edge of my sword, condensing into a single, blinding arc.
Blessed Weapon.
Brukhelm's grin faltered.
Zealot's Stride.
I moved.
Flash Step.
The world blurred. Faster than before. Faster than he could react. My blade cut through darkness and malice alike. Brukhelm barely managed to bring his sword up, but the impact sent him hurtling backward, crashing into the ruins at a sharp angle. Dust and debris exploded outward, shrouding his form from view.
Silence.
Then—low laughter echoed from the rubble. The dust settled, revealing the demon rising from the wreckage, his grin still in place. A deep gash marred his torso, black blood dripping onto shattered stone.
He licked his lips. "Now we're getting somewhere."
I tightened my grip.
Hmmm… Maybe I could go a bit faster…
Brukhelm rolled his shoulders, the unnatural motion making his wound seem almost insignificant. His molten eyes burned—not with fury, but exhilaration.
"Almost made me feel alive," he murmured, his voice thick with anticipation. Then his grin widened, splitting his face into something monstrous. "Almost."
He charged.
Faster this time. Each footstep cracked the ground, his greatsword sweeping in a brutal arc meant to carve me in two. I stepped into his swing—not to block, but to slip past it, angling my blade toward his exposed flank.
At the last moment, his free hand shot out, clawed fingers reaching for my throat.
I twisted away, barely escaping, but his strike still clipped my shoulder, sending a shockwave through my body. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, but I bit down on it and retaliated.
My sword pierced his ribs.
Divine energy burned along the blade's edge, searing through flesh and bone. Black blood sprayed, sizzling where it met the sacred light. Brukhelm snarled, but instead of recoiling, he surged forward—driving himself deeper onto my sword.
His greatsword swept toward me in a wild, crushing arc.
I let go.
His blade cleaved through empty air as I rolled backward, golden energy crackling to life in my palm.
Searing Smite.
My sword still jutted from his side, radiant power coursing through it, scorched him from within as Searing Smite activated through the sword.
Brukhelm let out a guttural laugh. "Paladin tricks."
He grabbed the hilt of my sword and wrenched it free, black blood gushing from the wound. "Not bad."
Then, to my disgust, he ran his tongue along the flat of the blade before tossing it aside.
I tensed. That wound should have slowed him down.
Instead, he took a step forward—and his injuries began closing.
Not instantly. But fast enough that my advantage was slipping.
"You thought this would be simple?" Brukhelm tilted his head, mock sympathy lacing his voice. "Paladin, Zealot, Hero—whatever title they branded you with, it makes no difference. I've fought your kind before."
The ground beneath us cracked, his aura pressing down, suffocating and oppressive.
"The difference is, I survived. I always survive."
I steadied my stance, my mind racing. If he could heal this quickly, there was no time to drag this out. I had to end it before he regained control.
Golden light flared around me once more.
Brukhelm grinned. "Again?"
I didn't answer.
Calm. Steady. Loose. My limbs felt numb, my focus narrowing to a single point.
Brukhelm cocked his head, molten eyes narrowing at my empty hands. "No weapon?"
I ignored him, irritation rising as the golden barrier shimmered around us. It pulsed with divine resonance, its radiance clashing against the demon's corrupted aura. The cultivators had done their job well—too well. I wasn't worried about them interfering, but that barrier meant my some of my strongest techniques—ones that have 'problematic' animation sequence—were useless.
Heavenly Punishment? The dome would soak it up before it even reached him… probably.
Still, if I wanted to kill this thing without reducing half the city to rubble, I had to do it the old-fashioned way. So that limited my Ultimate Skills again, which helped me narrow what to use against this demon.
It made me curious though.
Brukhelm wasn't using any Ultimate Skills either. Why?
I took a step forward—and vanished.
Flash Step.
Brukhelm was fast, but I could be faster. Spamming Flash Step for years had done that to me. Also, I had Divine Speed equipped on my TriDivine Skill.
I reappeared at his side, my fist already poised to strike—
His greatsword lashed out.
Expected. His Second Realm cultivation, stacked atop his demonic origins, gave him absurd reaction speed. He didn't just see my movement—he predicted it. But so what?
A massive tower shield materialized before me, intercepting his swing with a resounding clang.
World Aegis.
The sheer force of his strike sent tremors up my arm, but the shield held firm, absorbing the impact like an immovable fortress. It was a Legendary-grade artifact, one of the strongest in Lost Legends Online—a relic tempered by countless battles, forged to withstand divine punishment.
Against a demon?
It would hold.
Thank you, Item Box.
Brukhelm grinned. "Oh? You're full of surprises."
His greatsword pressed against my shield, sparks flying, but I wasn't done.
With my free hand, I reached into my Item Box once more.
A mad cackle filled the air.
Hellcleaver.
The demonic greataxe materialized, its jagged, twisted blade humming with dark energy. An eerie eye embedded in the weapon's head snapped open, unblinking, staring at Brukhelm with a gleeful malice that mirrored his own expression. The moment my fingers wrapped around the hilt, a chorus of laughter rang through my skull—Hellcleaver's eternal madness.
A normal player wouldn't be able to wield both a tower shield and a two-handed weapon. But I wasn't normal.
Monkey Grip.
With this skill, weight and size restrictions meant nothing to me. I hefted Hellcleaver in my right hand, World Aegis in my left, and squared off against Brukhelm.
For the first time, his grin faltered.
I smirked.
"Fuck. You."
Then I attacked.
Brukhelm's greatsword met my axe in a clash that should have sent shockwaves through the battlefield. Instead—
Hellcleaver bit into the corrupted steel.
A horrific screech rang out as the demonic axe didn't just cut—it devoured. The greatsword snapped in half, severed like brittle bone. The jagged edge of my weapon didn't stop there—it carved into Brukhelm's shoulder, slicing through flesh like paper.
Black blood sprayed.
Brukhelm staggered back, eyes widening in disbelief.
And Hellcleaver laughed.
Not metaphorically.
The damned weapon laughed—a chilling, distorted sound that echoed inside my skull. The eye embedded in its head twisted, its pupil dilating like a predator savoring fresh blood.
And then, I felt it take hold.
Frenzy.
This wasn't just berserk mode.
Every successful hit didn't just restore my health—it stole his strength, his speed, his endurance.
I was cutting him down, piece by piece, with every swing.
Admittedly, the weapon had low accuracy.
Brukhelm noticed.
His molten gaze flickered—something close to wariness, his arrogance slipping for just a moment.
But I didn't let up.
Shield raised. Axe poised.
Hellcleaver was screaming for blood. My instincts roared to kill.
And yet—
Even as the hunger clawed at me, even as battle-lust surged through my veins, my mind worked through the problem.
This wasn't over.
Not yet.
I wasn't big on lore, even with my Linguist subclass. I didn't waste time dissecting every scrap of in-game mythology or arguing over divine texts.
But that didn't mean I was clueless.
Because while lore-obsessed players debated the meaning of ancient scriptures, I was out there fighting the things those texts warned about.
PvE knowledge came naturally to veterans.
And I knew exactly what I was dealing with.
Demons in Lost Legends Online weren't just monsters. Their origins mattered.
Some were born from corrupted ideas, taking form from twisted beliefs. Others came from eldritch forces, entities beyond the cycle of life.
But the most dangerous?
Fallen Angels.
Once divine warriors, they had been cast down—tainted by sin, betrayal, or defiance. They weren't just strong; they had been designed for war before their fall. Their base stats were absurd, their power monstrous.
But they had weaknesses.
They relied too much on raw stats and invested little in actual skills.
Brukhelm growled, his shoulder wound already closing. Not fast enough. I saw the shift in his expression—he knew he was at a disadvantage, even if his arrogance wouldn't let him admit it.
I smirked.
"Something wrong, Brook Helm?"
Deliberately twisting his name just to piss him off.
His molten eyes flared.
I hefted Hellcleaver once more.
"Let's keep going."
Brukhelm braced himself, stance shifting as he prepared to parry another devastating swing. I saw the flicker of expectation in his gaze. He thought he had me figured out.
He thought I was trapped in Frenzy, locked into my own rhythm—just another mindless berserker.
So I played along.
I tensed, muscles coiling as if committing to a wide cleave. I let him see the attack—let him anticipate it.
Then—
At the last moment, I dropped low and rolled.
Mid-roll, I dismissed World Aegis back into the Item Box and swapped my free hand for Silver Steel, the longsword I had left idle in the rubble. The weight of the shield vanished, replaced by the familiar grip of a sword honed for precision.
The moment my fingers curled around the hilt—
Silver Soul activated.
A rush of clarity burned through me, purging the lingering bloodlust of Frenzy without dulling my focus.
And just like that—
I was in control again.
The rage from Frenzy left me instantly—like stepping out of a storm into calm, crisp air.
That was Silver Soul, the unique ability of Silver Steel.
Yet most importantly—the buffs remained.
Unlike Hellcleaver, which thrived on bloodlust, pushing its wielder into a berserker's trance, Silver Steel granted immunity to mental effects, even those I inflicted upon myself. It fortified my mind, raising my resistance to external influences.
It was my answer to mind-warping foes.
It kept me in control when the battle turned chaotic.
Brukhelm realized it too late.
His ruined greatsword cut through nothing but empty air. His momentum carried him forward, leaving his stance open for a brief instant.
I saw the flicker in his eyes—
Anticipation.
Realization.
Rage.
He snarled. "Clever."
I thrust forward, aiming straight for the wound I'd left on his shoulder. He barely twisted in time, avoiding a fatal blow, but my blade nicked his side.
More black blood splattered across the shattered stone.
Brukhelm hated that.
His fingers twitched in irritation. But instead of counterattacking—
He clapped.
The sound wasn't just noise—it was power, rippling through the air like an earthquake.
The ground shuddered.
The heat intensified, suffocating, pressing against my skin.
Then—
The stone split.
Dark flames erupted from the fissures like hellish geysers, their scorching heat warping the very air.
From within the infernal blaze, shadows crawled forth.
Hellhounds.
Massive, coal-black beasts wreathed in fire. Their eyes burned like molten gold, and their maws dripped with searing saliva, sizzling against the broken battlefield.
They were fast.
They were vicious.
And they were self-destructive.
If they latched on, they would detonate upon death, taking their prey with them.
Brukhelm smirked.
"You think too much, little Paladin. Let's see how well you think while burning."
The hellhounds lunged.
"Time's up."
I let go.
Both Hellcleaver and Silver Steel vanished, recalled into my Item Box.
My hands felt light—too light—after wielding such destructive forces.
But I didn't need them anymore.
Not for this.
:: FINAL ADJUDICATION ::
The charging hellhounds never reached me.
Mid-leap, their snarling faces twisted in agony, their bodies flickering—then collapsing into black ash.
What had been a pack of demonic beasts was reduced to nothing more than scattered embers in the wind.
Brukhelm's molten eyes narrowed.
"What did you—"
The sky darkened.
Not with night.
With judgment.
Golden cracks split the air, fracturing reality itself, bleeding radiant power.
A colossal presence loomed over the battlefield, unseen yet undeniable—an overwhelming weight of divine authority.
Fucking hymns resounded.
Brukhelm froze.
His confusion turned to something deeper.
Horror.
Rings of celestial scripture spiraled around me, inscribed with ever-shifting verdicts, glowing with pure law.
The air thrummed, vibrating with absolute power, as golden chains of light lashed out, seeking the guilty.
They snared Brukhelm, binding him in place—his sins laid bare.
For those steeped in negative karma—demons, fiends, the truly wicked—Final Adjudication did more than restrain.
It burned.
The space around Brukhelm ignited with divine flames.
The greater the sins—
The hotter the fire.
I exhaled slowly, watching as the flames rose higher, as Brukhelm struggled against the chains of light—as realization dawned in his eyes.
I met his gaze.
"Just so you know," I said between steady breaths. "I never held back."
Brukhelm stared at his own hands.
His iron-red flesh, once solid as tempered steel, split apart—fracturing, cracking, revealing... nothing.
No bone.
No muscle.
No soul.
Only emptiness.
The fractures spread. His fingers peeled away in flakes of gray and black, crumbling like the remains of a burnt-out pyre.
"Ash to ash," I murmured.
Brukhelm snarled, his body tensing—then lunged at me.
Or at least, he tried.
His legs buckled. His own body was betraying him.
"Dust to dust."
The snarl choked off in his throat.
His fingertips crumbled, the decay creeping up his arms in an unstoppable tide.
Brukhelm's teeth clenched. "What… is this?!"
"Your Final Adjudication." I held his gaze. "Also, this was for insulting my mom, you uncultured swine."
He staggered. His whole left arm had vanished, carried away by the wind like dry autumn leaves. His chest heaved, his body straining—but there was nothing to regenerate.
Final Adjudication wasn't something you could out-heal.
I had hoped to interrogate him—to figure out why a great demon had been hiding among us.
But in the end, I had no choice.
A colossal Scales of Judgment materialized in the heavens above, weighing his karma.
The wicked were erased.
The righteous remained untouched.
The world itself had passed sentence.
Those steeped in sin burned away—lesser evildoers disintegrating to ash, while true abominations were engulfed in celestial conflagration, their forms reduced to nothingness.
Brukhelm gritted his teeth. His molten eyes blazed with fury—but his legs no longer existed to support his weight.
I clicked my tongue. "Tch. Two major rank-ups in cultivation really made a character below level 200 feel like a genuine threat, huh?"
Brukhelm shot me a hate-filled glare, even as his body unraveled.
"You…"
He tried to take a step forward. His leg disintegrated beneath him, his knee snapping into nothingness as golden flames devoured him from the inside.
"RHAAAAAG~! HELL WILL HURT YOU! THE DEMONS WILL CLAIM THIS WORLD! DO YOU THINK THIS IS OVER?!"
He crawled now, dragging himself forward like an insect, his form barely holding together.
This guy either didn't have an ultimate skill or was too arrogant to use one.
Either way, it didn't matter.
His molten eyes dimmed. His voice—quieter now, but still dripping with venom—whispered, "You think this… is over?"
I tilted my head. "No. But you are."
A final gust of wind swept through the battlefield.
Brukhelm vanished into dust.
And then—
Silence.
A resounding chime marked the end of everything.
Leaving behind only silence… and the lingering echo of divine retribution.