“W-wait a moment. You mean to say you’re going to fight that demon alone?”
Sedina asked in disbelief.
Zantman was an excellent Dreamwalker, but not nearly enough to face Nirva by himself.
Hadn’t he himself said that even if everyone here joined forces, they wouldn’t be able to stand against him?
Yet he still insisted on going—that was nothing short of suicide.
“What’s this, are you worrying about this old man?”
“O-of course I am! Who wouldn’t worry about someone going off to die? How is this any different from a moth throwing itself into a flame!”
“Heh.”
At Sedina’s honest reply, Zantman stroked his beard with a smile, as though he found her endearing.
“When you said you were Julia’s friend, I thought you’d have a similar personality. But you’re a very straightforward child. Or maybe you could be friends precisely because you’re so different.”
Why was Julia suddenly being brought up?
Just as Sedina was about to speak, Zantman’s words cut ahead of her.
“Once that demon fully recovers his strength, running away will do us no good. Before reinforcements arrive, we may well become the first example he sets. In that case, isn’t it better to at least hold his ankle and drag him down?”
“Even so, there’s no reason you need to do it alone.”
“No. It must be me alone. If not me, then who?”
“We can fight too!”
Sedina’s voice was firm.
Though still inexperienced, they had learned how to wield power inside Dreamland. If refined just a little more, it was only natural they would become a formidable force.
Zantman agreed with that part, but unfortunately, they did not have time.
“Your heart is admirable, but to speak coldly, right now you’d only drag me down. Going there, it is enough that I go alone. No—it must be me alone.”
“That’s...”
“Keep that Siesta close. It will protect you from the environment of the depths. It won’t hold for long, only a single part of your body, but it’s more than enough until reinforcements arrive.”
Sedina looked at the Siesta glove in her hand and asked,
“Why are you going this far for us?”
She simply couldn’t understand Zantman’s kindness.
Ludger, with whom he had some connection, was already down, and the three of them had only met him today.
Yet he handed over the Siesta and worried for their safety.
It wasn’t duty—it was pure goodwill.
Sedina wasn’t so naïve as to miss that.
That was why she asked.
Why go so far?
“Why else?”
Zantman answered as if it were nothing.
“Because you’re our youngest’s friend.”
“For... such a reason?”
“‘Such a reason,’ you say. Our youngest always acts prickly and haughty on the outside, but in truth, he’s terribly lonely. And you’re the first friend he ever made. Of course, you’re someone precious beyond anything.”
The words were embarrassing, but Zantman’s expression was utterly sincere.
“If I couldn’t protect that friend, how sad do you think our youngest would be? I tease him often, but not once have I ever truly hated him. Well, maybe once or twice... but even then, it was out of affection.”
He laughed playfully like a child, then erased the smile and looked at Sedina with a calm gaze.
“That’s why I’ll help. Because if you live, our youngest won’t be sad. We can’t let him grieve. As for the other two—well, to be honest, that’s just incidental.”
Though he openly called them incidental, Hans and Seridan didn’t get angry.
How could they be angry at someone who chose sacrifice for their sake?
“Our youngest will surely come here with the Master. Even if he talks that way all the time, he’s a responsible child. So when you see him, make sure you tell him this properly. That Zantman, a splendid and strong senior, was incredibly cool even at the very end.”
Zantman turned his back.
None of them stopped him.
They weren’t shameless enough to block the path of someone who had resolved everything.
“Oh, right.”
Just as he was about to leave, Zantman turned his head slightly toward Sedina.
“Take good care of our youngest from now on.”
* * *
Nirva opened his closed eyes.
His golden irises fixed on the old man standing before him.
“So the bug I thought had fled appears before me of its own will. Are you not afraid of death?”
“Afraid? Hell no, I’m scared out of my wits.”
Zantman made a fuss with a grin.
But even if his words said so, his posture was perfectly upright.
Nirva’s brow twitched slightly.
From Zantman’s bearing, he sensed a resolve that words could not describe.
“Still, what can I do? I’m not the kind of man lenient enough to sit back and watch a demon do as he pleases.”
“Hmph.”
Nirva let out a faintly irritated sigh.
He broke from meditation and shifted his stance.
Hands folded behind his back, he gazed at Zantman, a trace of displeasure on his face.
“To be honest, I’m in a very foul mood right now.”
“I know.”
At Nirva’s words, Zantman nodded.
“That’s exactly why I came. You’re openly trying to recover your strength—how could I just sit and watch?”
“Even so, you alone cannot oppose me. You’re nothing but a moth leaping into the fire.”
“Even so, I can still make the flame waver.”
Yes—that was the problem.
To Nirva, who was attempting to restore his power, this Zantman was like a bone stuck in his throat.
If ignored, he’d surely attack. If captured, it would break his focus and make recovery difficult.
If only he had fled in fear or hidden himself, Nirva wouldn’t have had to bother.
But Zantman had come and stood before him.
Even knowing he would lose if he fought.
Even knowing he would die ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) if he fought.
He had come here anyway.
That irritated Nirva.
To him, humans were no better than insects.
He tolerated them only because his Goddess embraced them—otherwise, he’d have wiped them all out long ago.
And now, such a human dared to obstruct his grand design.
If they had brought an army, he might have begrudgingly acknowledged it.
But now there was only one.
And he had come when Nirva was at his weakest.
Did this mean he had fallen so far? The thought of it fueled his self-loathing, while his murderous intent surged toward the human before him.
“Oh? How frightening. What happened to that relaxed air you showed when fighting the teacher?”
Feeling Nirva’s razor-sharp gaze, Zantman sneered.
“Very well. Let’s see how far that relaxed face of yours lasts. The crime of disturbing my meditation is great indeed.”
Zantman laughed as though in defiance, but inwardly, he thought otherwise.
‘He’s absolutely furious. I did mean to anger him, but at this rate, my body won’t last.’
The moment Zantman took his stance, Nirva’s attack came.
In an instant something filled his vision, and Zantman twisted his body aside.
Shaaak!
A colossal blade of sand cleaved through the spot where he had just been.
So sharp that the ground beneath the cut was left with a smooth surface.
‘If I had reacted a second later, I’d have been split like firewood.’
Zantman clenched his trembling hand into a tight fist.
Before Nirva could launch another strike, he immediately pulled out Dream Threads and cast a spell.
Zantman’s green dream aura stretched like long strands of thread, encircling Nirva in an instant.
Dream Magic.
[Entangled Yarn]
The fluttering threads tightened, binding Nirva’s body.
Layer upon layer piled up over him, forming a massive green cocoon of thread.
But Zantman didn’t stop there.
Dream Magic.
[Stitched Knot]
A gigantic needle formed above the cocoon, stabbing downward inside.
It was a technique to trap the enemy within and unleash a one-sided assault, yet Zantman felt no relief.
After all, in the Sacred Library, Nirva had endured even greater attacks unharmed.
And sure enough, the cocoon restraining Nirva began to snap apart from the outside, threads breaking with sharp cracks.
“Not so fast!”
He had to stop him from breaking free.
Zantman quickly drew out long strands of dream-thread and wove them into an object.
What he completed was a vast sheet of green cloth, large enough to cover the entire cocoon.
One layer, then another.
The cloth kept draping over the cocoon, covering and covering again.
This wasn’t ordinary fabric—it was cloth spun from dream-threads.
Its strength, elasticity, and tensile force were at a level unimaginable in reality.
Dream Magic.
[Bundle Wrapping]
But merely covering it wasn’t nearly enough.
On either side of Zantman, huge needles and threads appeared.
The needles, trailing threads, darted swiftly across the cloth, stitching every gap closed.
Dream Magic.
[Herringbone Stitch]
The stacked layers of fabric were perfectly sewn together.
“Hahh... hahh... at least this should buy us some time, right?”
Zantman gasped for breath.
His aim was never to defeat Nirva, only to interrupt his meditation and buy time until reinforcements arrived.
If worst came to worst, he was even prepared to run.
‘If I bind him like this, then flee, and each time he tries to recover I strike and retreat again...’
As he planned his next moves, that moment of thought made his reaction too late.
Thunk!
Two massive sand blades burst from inside the bundle.
Like a stag beetle’s pincers, the blades clamped together.
It was a colossal pair of sand scissors.
From the cleanly severed cocoon of dream-threads, Nirva walked out unharmed.
With each step, golden light bled faintly from his eyes.
“Th-this...”
Zantman looked down at his left arm.
He had failed to dodge—the scissors had sliced everything clean below his left shoulder.
Losing part of his body should have been enough to send him into panic, yet Zantman calmly drew out more thread.
Dream Magic.
[Running Stitch]
Tiny dream-needles and threads stitched up the severed stump, sewing the limb back together in an instant.
Watching this, Nirva sneered.
“Well now. To stitch a severed arm back so lightly... commendable for a bug.”
“Tenacity happens to be one of my charms.”
Though he said it lightly, cold sweat streamed down Zantman’s back.
All the dream-magic he had layered—cut apart with a single snip.
And Nirva showed not the faintest sign of strain. That alone proved how vast the gap in power truly was.
‘Unbelievable. Just how did that teacher ever manage to gain the upper hand against this monster?’
And that teacher was far younger than him.
Zantman gave a wry laugh and lifted his eyes.
Nirva frowned at the undying spark still in his gaze.
“You don’t know how to bow even at the end. Very well—let’s see how long that look of yours lasts.”
“Too bad—you won’t get to see me sniveling!”
A massive shadow loomed over Nirva’s head.
The moment he tilted his head up to check—boom!—something enormous crashed down on him, shaking the ground and raising a choking cloud of dust.
What had fallen from the sky to crush Nirva was a gigantic industrial sewing machine.
“Ever been hit with a sewing machine? No? Then have a taste.”
The sharp needles of the machine aimed down at Nirva.
Zantman’s magic activated.
Dream Magic.
[6000SPM Overlock]
Tatatatatatatatata!
The machine roared with the harsh whine of its motor.
It was the maximum-output magic Zantman could muster.
One hundred stitches per second. Six thousand in a single minute. The relentless pummeling gave no room for Nirva to respond.
Each strike of the sewing needle hammered Nirva with such force that the earth itself trembled and dust clouds billowed.
It was less stitching than the pounding of enormous stakes into the ground.
Sweat poured down Zantman’s forehead, but he did not let up.
“Just... a little longer... just a little more.”
His desperate eyes weren’t fixed on Nirva, but on Ludger.
And he saw them—three people running toward Ludger.
Hans, Seridan, and Sedina Roschen.
His true goal had never been victory—it was to buy time so they could rescue Ludger.
When Hans hoisted Ludger onto his back, Zantman gave a small nod.
‘Go.’
Sedina hesitated at the sight of him, but she bit her lip and followed after Hans.
When Ludger and the others vanished from sight, Zantman finally felt he had succeeded. He released the spell.
Though it would have been ideal to keep pressing Nirva while the momentum was his, he no longer had any strength left.
The sewing machine stopped, and almost at once a wave of sand surged up, shattering it into pieces.
From the heart of the sandstorm, Nirva stared down coldly at Zantman.
“So. Have you finished your little display?”
He had poured out every last drop of strength—and Nirva dismissed it as nothing more than a display.
Hahh... hahh...
Zantman could only pant for breath.
Whatever he said now, it wouldn’t change the future looming over him.
‘Still... before I go, I wanted to see those fools’ faces one more time.’
Even so.
He couldn’t allow himself to end disgracefully.
Zantman clenched his teeth and stirred up dream-force once more.
Nirva’s brow twitched—then his gaze turned aside.
‘What? What’s he looking at?’
Zantman was puzzled that Nirva suddenly lost interest in him.
A shell, trailing smoke, streaked in and exploded against Nirva’s face.
The shockwave hurled Zantman backward.
But his body was caught and held aloft by roots that rose from the ground.
“...You idiots.”
Realizing whose doing it was, Zantman couldn’t suppress his shock.
“The fools I wanted to see weren’t you. Damn fools.”
“What can we do?”
Sedina, who had come up beside him before he knew it, smiled and said,
“This is exactly what I learned from you, teacher.”
