NOVEL WEB Chapter 18: Throne of Dread
"If you believe in gods, then know—today, one dies."
The door shattered behind us.
What we entered… wasn't a throne room. It was an altar of doom.
Pillars twisted upward like black ribs of a sleeping titan. Symbols burned across the ground in crimson, pulsing patterns. The air? Frozen, yet thick with decay.
And at the end—
Vermund.
The fallen god. Wrapped in royal indifference. Draped in violet robes that whispered with each shift. His silver eyes were ancient. Smiling with venom.
He leaned lazily against his throne, legs crossed.
"You made it," he said. "I thought you'd all rot outside like the rest."
I stepped forward. My blade dragged behind me. My coat—half-burned. My arm—wrapped in scorched fabric.
"You should've sent more of your circus," I spat blood.
He chuckled. "Why would I waste them?"
He gestured lazily.
Beside him emerged a new nightmare.
The Elite Knight of Dread.
Towering. Wrapped in obsidian-steel armor with crimson trim. His sword—an Imperial relic, long as a man's body, humming with hunger.
He wore a white half-mask—only his left eye showed, glowing like a cursed star.
He didn't speak. He didn't bow.
He stepped forward with purpose.
"I am Ashgar," he said. "Executioner of kingdoms. Slayer of betrayers. And tonight, I carve your story into failure."
I cracked my neck.
"Let's make history bleed."
His sword moved first—like a whip made of lightning.
I blocked.
Too slow.
My ribs screamed. I flew back. Crashed into stone.
Before I could breathe, he was above me. His blade came down again.
Clang.
Kagetsura met it—but the pressure cratered the ground beneath me.
"I expected more," Ashgar said coldly.
"You'll regret that."
We separated—only for a heartbeat.
He slashed three times.
I blinked sideways—managed to dodge two—caught the third on my shoulder.
Steel cut through cloth and muscle.
Blood poured.
"First cut's free," I said with a grin I didn't feel.
He stomped and the ground exploded beneath him—he rocketed forward.
I went on the defensive. Speed. Precision. Aura dancing at my fingertips.
But he was perfect. No wasted movement. No emotion.
Every block shattered bone.
Every dodge cost blood.
We clashed again.
His blade ran across my side, deep. I screamed.
Still stood.
He kicked me—hard. I flew, crashed into a column, landed on my back.
Couldn't move.
Vision blurring.
He walked toward me.
"This is mercy," he said, raising his sword.
Then—
Darkness.
There was no pain here.
Just cold.
Just weightless floating in pitch black.
No floor. No sky.
Just me.
And the echo of every failure.
Lysaria... she trusted me.
Eve... she's going to die.
I've trained. Fought. Killed gods. And it's still not enough.
I floated there, skinless in my mind, stripped of aura, power, and pretense.
Memories flickered.
— Me, staring at the ceiling in my tiny NEET room, thinking I had no future.
— Her, descending in that blinding light, offering me a contract I never understood.
— The first time I held a blade and felt alive.
— The warmth of her hand when I saved her.
...Was it all just luck?
Was I ever strong?
Why am I always late to save them?
A voice echoed—mine, but twisted.
"You're nothing but a borrowed sword. A clown in divine armor. Take the loss."
And another—her voice.
"No. Stand. You are not done."
"I've lost before."
"I've bled, failed, broken."
"But if this is where I fall, I'll fall standing."
"If I lose, I'll lose trying."
"If I die, I die facing forward."
"I… still… fight."
My eyes snapped open.
Ashgar's blade was inches from Eve's neck.
The others?
Collapsed.
Eve's arm hung lifeless. Her blood soaked the stones.
Time slowed.
Then stopped.
Not for the world.
For me.
Aura exploded from my chest—deep violet, edged in black lightning.
My sigil morphed, crowned with divine script never written in any known tongue.
I rose.
Every wound closed with ethereal threads of purple flame.
My fingers reached behind.
Twin Ethereal Blades appeared—short, thin, glowing with otherworldly luminance.
Ashgar turned.
But it was too late.
I blinked.
Time cracked.
My blade whispered once—his right arm hit the floor.
He roared.
I sliced his thigh—then blinked behind him and carved an X across his back.
"You… DARE—"
"I dare more than you've bled," I said, smiling like death.
He tried to block.
Too slow.
His sword clashed—but shattered under the sheer velocity of my strikes.
I carved his chest. Stabbed his knee. Crushed his helmet.
Blood poured.
"Ashgar!" he screamed his own name in despair.
"Wrong," I said, stepping in. "My name is Kaito."
Then blinked forward—twisted mid-air—and sliced him 40 times before he hit the ground.
He collapsed in chunks.
Meat. Steel. Screaming aura. Nothing left but regret.
His torso twitched, mouth trying to curse me—but it couldn't.
I sliced once more.
Silence.
The throne room was painted red. Corpses steamed. Blood ran in rivers.
I dropped to one knee—exhausted, hollow.
Then—
Clap… clap… clap…
Vermund stood at the throne's edge, slow clapping.
"Beautiful," he whispered. "Tragic. Intoxicating."
I looked up. Eyes dead but burning.
"Your knight begged louder than I expected," I muttered.
Vermund's smile widened.
"Oh, Kaito… you've grown. From a NEET to a nightmare."
He stepped down.
"But are you ready for the end?"