The Demon Monarch System

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A horrifying aura rose from within the dust of the prior strike. It resembled a demon seeking blood with undisclosed hatred. Three claw marks swiped the dust away, revealing Typhir with bloodthirsty eyes.

"Heh, good strike. Now it's my turn," Typhir said in a dark tone, cracking his neck at the same time. He then stepped towards the two, swinging his sword once. Despite the distance between them, an alarm rang in the Spirit's mind.

He dodged to the side, yet still felt the strike's residual presence. As he rubbed his finger against his chest plate, there was a small scratch upon it. The Spirit looked at Typhir with intrigue.

"I thought I dodged that, but it seems I was incorrect. What do you call that?" The Spirit inquired.

"Your demise," Typhir responded, swinging his weapon yet again. An identical feeling engulfed the Spirit, causing him to repeat his actions. Unsurprisingly, yet another scratch appeared on the Spirit's chest.

"Ainz, what's the issue. Aren't you dodging the slashes?" Aeon questioned, noticing the continually appearing marks on his Spirit's attire. Simultaneously, the marks led to slight discomfort in Aeon's mind. This was the weakness between a Spirit and its summoner.

"I feel as if I am, yet it doesn't seem to be the case. I think this guy is using some odd techniques. I can't sense them properly!" Ainz responded, narrowing his eyes while also tightening the grasp of his halberd.

Instead of dodging, he decided to react differently to the next strike.

However, his actions merely gained Typhir's amusement. Once again, Typhir utilized the same strike, remaining in the exact position. When the sensation encapsulated Ainz's mind, he reacted, slashing downward immediately.

A torrential stream of energy trailed his strike, yet Ainz wasn't satisfied in the slightest, 'That strike didn't confront anything, just what is happening-...'

"Agch!" Ainz exclaimed, a deep gash appearing on the back of his armor. Despite the lack of indication, the target of Typhir's strike altered. Ainz's mind raced to find an answer but was coming up short.

Meanwhile, Fuhrer grinned proudly when he witnessed this sight. Naturally, Apollo caught wind of it.

"Something you taught him?"

"That goes without staying. This is just the first Tenebrous Sword technique utilized well. Don't you recall when I used it against you?"

"I do, but I remember it differently. He's using it from afar whereas yours was used when our swords clashed," Apollo answered.

"Correct, but the true intended purpose is to create a strike capable of deceiving the enemy. In truth, it's not one but two attacks—a real one hidden within the shadows of the feint. Since he now understands part of the Baleful Steps, it wasn't hard to grasp this concept," Fuhrer answered.

"I see, but didn't you say he is a Berserker? Why does he seem so calm?" Apollo questioned. Back when Fuhrer revealed Typhir's identity as a Berserker, Apollo made a widespread assumption. Based on prior knowledge, he thought Berserkers were mindless individuals who grew stronger whilst lost in a frenzied rage.

However, from Typhir's current state and Fuhrer's expression, he could see his assumption was incorrect.

"Heh, how brazen of you. I'm guessing you saw him as a tool of mindless destruction, but that couldn't be further from the truth. In fact, a true Berserker is fueled by adversity, absorbing their rage and channeling it into inconceivable strength. Otherwise, how would I have become the Infernal Slaughterer?" Fuhrer answered.

"Then...a berserker who is calm…

"Is one of the most dangerous opponents, but an amazing ally. Their rage unshackles their ability to assess the current predicament with nonsensical precision. Take the Spirit's attack for example; Typhir hadn't altered the real strike until the retaliating strike had already begun," Fuhrer answered.

"Then, does that mean if Typhir enters this state in our spars, his victory is guaranteed?" Apollo inquired, intrigued by this thought. Up until now, Typhir hadn't won a single spar. However, he also never went berserk. Most of the time, Apollo didn't take it that far.

However, the discovery of this spectacle enticed Apollo to do so. After all, it was most beneficial to understand the intricacies of his subordinates' strengths. The system only revealed their state, not the true extent of their strength.

Although the system revealed the restriction placed upon them, that was only their resting strength. There were various techniques capable of amplifying a Demon's strength to new heights. For example, the Second Transformations of the Lost Council.

Each of them held a tiny fragment of the First Monarch's strength, but that same strength was also what made their loyalty ironclad.

"Not exactly; there are things capable of disrupting a Berserker's upper hand. For instance, your unique intent. Once you come in contact with its mystical powers, you will understand what I mean. In the meantime, let's watch the show."

Apollo agreed, shifting his attention back towards Typhir's display of power.

Ainz had determined Typhir's power to be too unpredictable, calling for Aeon's assistance. Standing next to each other, they gauged Typhir's strength.

Seeing as how there was no labored breathing or a change in attack strength, they were sure this wasn't hard for him to accomplish. But, to manipulate a strike like that should consume a decent amount of mental energy.

Hence, they didn't believe Typhir was capable of employing this strike haphazardly. Although they weren't far from the truth, they made a miscalculation. While it was taxing, it wasn't as strenuous as they believed.

In fact, Typhir held his hand back towards Fuhrer, "Master, may I borrow Brynhildr?"

With a nod, Fuhrer sent Brynhildr towards Typhir. Now equipped with two swords, Typhir let loose. While he used the long-range version of the first Tenebrous Sword technique before, now he clashed against his opponents directly.

This action fooled Ainz and Aeon, leading them to believe he was running on fumes. This misconstrued thought led to a seemingly victorious shift, but they couldn't be more wrong.

After Typhir had seen their unguarded rears, he had already determined his assured path to victory. While their weapons clashed physically—the feint of the First Tenebrous Sword—a collection of transient energy assailed their backs, opening two large wounds.

Each of them inhaled sharply as the stinging sensation in their backs grew more prominent.

"D-damn! What treacherous techniques are you employing? Fight us properly," Ainz snarled, lashing out his halberd in anger. Typhir defended with his greatsword while chuckling at the same time.

"How cute, you think I care about your temper tantrum. I'm not here to entertain you, I'm here for one thing and one thing only—to see you perish for your wrong deeds!"

Fwoosh!

An aura of destruction billowed from Typhir and infused into his weapons. This burst of strength allowed him to create numerous cracks in their weapons. At the same time, he continued to utilize his obscure swordplay. 

"T-Typhir...don't," Vellaria muttered weakly, extending her hands towards the battle. She didn't recognize the person before her. Not only was he too powerful, but he was also too focused on revenge! Although she understood why this was so, she didn't feel it would console his tattered heart.

Typhir turned towards the sound of her voice. It was only a fleeting moment, but with their current abilities, instances felt longer than what they should be. Nevertheless, Typhir looked at her with a plain expression.

Regardless of what he felt for her in the past, it was just a glimpse of the past. Besides his journey, there was his Lord—Apollo, as well as the woman in his sights—Nadida. There was no room in his mind for this empty relationship.

"I will," Typhir assured, resuming his unrelenting barrage. In the background, Lazaro held a grim expression as he clenched his fist. He could see the fear in Aeon's eyes clear as day.

'This was supposed to be a journey to strength for us! Just what has gone wrong? The enmity between us can't be this strong? All this over a small scuffle in Pangea Island's Pavilion?!' Lazaro thought.

Unbeknownst to him, his mind had been cleansed of a certain incident. 

"If we submit, you'll leave us be?!" Lazaro scowled, gazing directly upon Apollo. From what he saw, Apollo was the one in control. Typhir hadn't moved until he instructed him to do so. Admittedly, this meant Apollo held the authority.

Unfortunately, Apollo was even more heartless than Typhir was. "When did I ask you to submit? I'd much rather see you gone from this world."

"U-unreasonable! For what reason? I'm sure our enmity isn't that great!"

"On the contrary, I believe it is. After what happened in the Dark Ruin Labyrinth, our relationship is irreconcilable," Apollo responded. 

Lazaro and the others blanked at the mention of that place. Their sealed memories came rushing back in a torrent. All of their expressions paled when they recalled his form—an appearance of death!

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