Swords clashed, sending out a large cluster of sparks, and with just one strike, Malin confirmed that the person before him did not have the upper hand in strength.
All of them were giants, and even now that the paths of the living and the ghosts diverged, it was impossible for a change in appearance to yield a terrifying effect of adding 10 points of strength. Thus, Malin swung his longsword, beginning to overpower his opponent with sheer force—this sword was made by a Demon Hunter blacksmith for the old Hoffman, said to have chopped off quite a few unlucky heads, including those of different kinds and Spirits. Surely, it would claim another one today.
The undead bride screeched as she clashed with Malin—as the perpetrator who had desecrated her lover’s remains, her only thought now was to kill Malin. This was very important because if the undead bride were to escape the manor, no one knew how many innocent unlucky souls she could kill before being purified.
So, Malin had no choice but to adopt this strategy.
The large clusters of sparks and the grating metal clangs were somewhat distressing to Malin. The undead bride was unaffected, but her longsword, after all, was just a decoration from the weapon rack, structurally no match for the one in Malin’s hands. Therefore, during the ninth clash, Malin broke the longsword in the bride’s right hand.
Thinking the battle was over, Malin’s longsword whistled through the air as the undead bride retreated from the combat zone. She dropped the broken sword and then gripped her longsword with both hands, launching a thrust.
Malin had to step back and then quickly chose to dodge to the right. His sword dance skills brought him to her side, and this time, it was Malin’s turn to thrust.
The undead bride did not retreat but used her longsword as a shield, parrying the thrust and colliding with Malin.
The undead bride was much shorter than she had been in life, but to Malin, who was also tall, she was still taller, and he, not at all lacking in strength, pushed the bride away and also spared himself from her fervent tongue kiss.
The undead bride had lost her life and the ability to speak; she could only utter simple words. Her memory of hatred towards Malin made her swing her sword at him again, the horizontal slash aimed to cut at the waist was blocked by Malin. Pushing her away at the same time, Malin drew his Revolver from his waist and opened fire on the undead bride.
The first bullet screamed through the air, then the bride quickly retreated into the void, causing Malin’s second shot to send a dish flying off the table.
Quickly holstering the Revolver, Malin turned around, and the flame in his hand, under the effect of an Enhancement Spell, became a pure white Holy Fire. His outstretched hand ignited both Malin’s back and the undead bride who leapt out of the void.
Of course, such damage was still not enough to kill her totally. Malin still held the longsword and swung it toward the pitiful girl.
Wrapped in holy flames, the undead bride did not sustain fatal injuries. Her sad Fate, besides changing her shell, also made her one of the very few completely neutral Undead Spirits. Holy fire could indeed cause her harm, but it could not achieve the effect of ending her with one strike.
The undead bride retreated two steps, her longsword once again blocking Malin’s slash. This time, her sword broke again.
Meanwhile, the sinister Negative Energy in her right hand flashed as though about to release a burst of light. The touch of Negative Energy within the Curse Formula could bring a curse and harm to the opponent, the most headache-inducing presence in the eyes of any warrior who wished to survive the battle.
As Malin cut through her sword, her hand touched him, and then the next second, the child in his eyes burst out with a dazzling light. Caught off-guard, blinded by the Holy Light, the undead bride flailed wildly with the broken sword in her hand, not realizing Malin had moved to her side, raising his longsword to first sever her left hand, letting the broken sword and limb fall together.
Then Malin cut off her left leg, achieving a perfect amputation. The undead bride, caught off guard, lost her limbs and fell to the ground.
She tried to fade into the void, but this time, the Holy Fire still burning on her prevented her from jumping back into the void.
The next second, Malin’s longsword was endowed with the special effects of holy weapon.
"May the god of love forgive my transgressions," Malin lifted his reversed sword.
"May the War God forgive my sin of desecrating a body," Malin continued his eulogy, thrusting his sword into the waist of the struggling undead bride, who screeched at the action.
"I have witnessed your love," Malin withdrew his sword from the decaying body.
"And I have witnessed your end," he then thrust it once more into her back and twisted forcefully.
The undead bride’s screams stopped, and she began burning uncontrollably, her soul thoroughly infiltrated by the divine Spiritual Energy, starting to wail.
Perhaps the divine Spiritual Energy was purifying her pitiful soul. She struggled to crawl towards Bobuka.
Malin did not pursue to end her but stood there in silence, facing reality as he watched the undead bride, missing a leg and an arm, crawl to her lover’s side. Her voice faded away, holy flames bursting from her eyes. Sitting up, she leaned on the spot she should have been leaning against, searching until she touched her lover’s skull—Malin used his Spiritual Energy to push the skull that lay far from her to her side.
In that moment, she no longer made those meaningless sounds, but instead struggled to hold his head close to her chest.
For some reason, Malin didn’t want to deal the final blow to the bride himself. He stepped back twice, leaned the longsword against the sofa, then walked over to the dwarf, fired a bullet into the forehead of the zombified dwarf, putting an end to the uninvited performance, and then fished a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket.
Then, after a thought, he tossed the lighter away, took out a cigarette, and with a snap of his fingers, lit it with the holy flame at his fingertips.
At this time, the sacred fire began to engulf the entire frame of the undead bride. Within the pure white flames, spirits and creatures of a different kind were ultimately purified completely.
Scratching his head, Malin turned to look at the enforcers from the Church who had burst in, armed to the teeth.
You really took your sweet time getting here.
Then he saw the old Hoffman walking in.
Like a student caught by a teacher in the restroom, Malin quickly plucked the cigarette from his lips and tossed it aside.
Hoffman didn’t care whether his apprentice had a cigarette or candy in his mouth; his gaze instantly landed on the undead bride holding her head: "Did you kill her?"
"I purified her," Malin nodded.
"Where are the apprentices from the Church of the War God?" He looked around, noting the dwarf hanging freely in mid-air, the decapitated werewolf, and the elf that had chosen to end its own life.
"They’re all here." Malin pointed to the still self-combusting undead bride: "This is Sara, and the head in her arms is Popoka."
"All the apprentices from step eight are dead! How am I supposed to explain this to those idiots at the Church of the War God?" Hoffman frowned, seemingly troubled by the matter.
"You can just tell the truth. If it were me, I’d tell them, ’Sorry white beard, but your apprentices were too dumb to survive,’" Malin said and, noticing that Hoffman had finally seen the pack of cigarettes in his hand, took one out, snapped his fingers, and lit one for his mentor.
"Then I’m certain that the white beard would kill you first, even if it meant starting a war with the Church," Hoffman said after taking a drag from the cigarette, slightly pleased—not with the cigarette, of course.
"If I could, I’d also like to find him. If he had arrived on time, at this moment we should be sitting together, happily debating where to go for a meal to celebrate the end of the fight," Malin shook his head. The only thing he had miscalculated from beginning to end was why the Duke’s second son disappeared after leaving them.
At this time, the Punishers dragged the daughter of the Gungel family before Malin and the old Hoffman: "Your Excellency, this should be Mr. Gungel’s daughter."
"Was it you who tore her?" Hoffman naturally asked Malin upon seeing the wounds on her body.
Malin shook his head naturally—if it had been him, he would have simply smashed the foolish girl with a hammer. There was no need to tear her apart with his hands—tearing was something you did as a last resort when you had no weapon at hand; with a weapon, Malin didn’t want to be so brutal.
"Does that mean the boys from the Church of the War God took down her and her companions, and the last survivor, little Sara, transformed into the undead bride?" Hoffman wrinkled his brow: "Isn’t that a bit too dramatic? Do you think the Church of the War God will believe your story?"
"The Upper Detection Spell will know. I have a clear conscience," Malin said, pulling out the sheet of paper from his pocket and handing it to old Hoffman: "At Sara’s request, I held a perfect funeral for her and him, because I thought that was the only way they could truly die together. Otherwise, a poor boy and the daughter of a duke could never be together. If you say marriage is the grave of love, then they really couldn’t die together."
His mentor read the contents of the paper, shook his head, and said: "Are you that pessimistic about love? You really don’t sound like a kid."
"No, mentor, it’s just being self-aware," Malin said with a smile, handing the pack of cigarettes to old Hoffman: "When Brother Colin comes back, you’d better hide this stuff well."
"...No problem." The old man nodded, then motioned to his Church Punishers to close the case.
As for those lying on the ground, except for Mrs. Gungel and her daughter, who needed the Church enforcers to drag away and burn for purification, the rest would of course go their separate ways.
As Malin followed his old mentor out, he turned for one last look.
With an empty hand, he lifted an equally empty hat.
Good afternoon, Mr. Popoka, and Mrs. Popoka.