Damn Reincarnation-Novel

The altar's flame burned for a long time, extinguishing only at sunrise. The warriors left the capital, leaving behind a lingering scent of herbs and ashes. While the warriors of the Zoran Tribe were the majority, their allies were also numerous. Thousands of natives began their march forward.

Despite their large numbers, the warriors' equipment was lacking in quality. Iron armor was absent, and many relied on leather armor. While some warriors didn't have any armor at all, instead using tattoos or combat makeup to invoke the protection of spirits.

Zoran Tribe's leader, Ivatar, also lacked protective armor as he rode atop a trained monster while leading the army. His upper body was adorned with numerous tattoos, which multiplied as they approached the Footprint of the God of the Land, a result of the sorcerers blessing him with the protection of spirits.

[Amazing,] Tempest remarked.

The warriors of Samar were deeply loved by the primal spirits, and their strong affinity with these spirits was a defining characteristic of their talent as warriors.

The primal spirits lacked clear egos and were more akin to a natural form of energy, such as mana, with their own unique characteristics. Receiving their favor and blessing and borrowing their power was a separate power from the Spirit Magic utilized by those on the continent.

[That barbarian is receiving a simple yet powerful blessing. He is loved by many primal spirits. The power of the primal spirit that is blessing Ivatar Jahav is no less than the other Spirit Kings or me.]

Countless primal spirits empowered Ivatar, lending him power as he dashed over the ground. The spirits of the land would aid him, while the wind would allow him to fly. At his request, flames would appear, lightning would strike, or rain would fall, all at the whim of the powerful spirits.

The Magic Tower Masters and Kristina were busy even during the march.

Kristina was occupied receiving Anise’s teachings regarding divine magic suited for wars. This would be Kristina’s first war, and frankly, she would be placed in an extremely harsh condition. Not only was she solely responsible for the production and distribution of holy water, but she would also be the sole caster of divine magic in this war. She would have to tackle everything alone without the assistance of any other priests.

The same was true for the Tower Masters of the Magic Towers. The Kochilla Tribe used demonic beasts. It was difficult to estimate their numbers, but in order to counter the demonic beasts they used, Lovellian would have to put in a lot of effort as a summoner.

The group found a silver lining when they discovered that the sorcerers of the Zoran Tribe were more skilled than initially expected. Although sorcery was quite different from traditional magic, both trades relied on the use of mana. Once taught a few tricks, the sorcerers were able to provide valuable magical assistance.

Naturally, the Tower Masters had to provide the formula for the magic. Lovellian worked on defensive magical formulas, even reducing the number of hours he slept. It was in preparation for Edmund’s bombing magic from the skies above.

On the other hand, Balzac devoted himself to preparing defensive black magic. In addition, he revealed his Signature, Blind, to everyone as well.

“Hehe. Hmmmm~” Melkith seemed relaxed, and she kept grinning like an idiot. Whenever someone asked her why she was so happy, she would reply that it was a secret with a stern expression, but everyone could guess what had happened from her blatant attitude.

[I can’t… understand….] Tempest would mutter so from time to time, but Eugene ignored the voice.

With Ivatar taking the lead, the group managed to reach the Footprint of the God of the Land in only a week. They had wanted to occupy the battlefield in advance and had truly believed that they would beat their enemies to it. They had taken the shortest routes with the blessing of the forest, and the spirits had been pushing their back to speed them up. It had been natural to think that they would arrive before their enemies.

It had been a miscalculation.

The enemies would have never set the scene of their battle in a place that they could not occupy first. Even though the allied forces had yet to arrive at the location, everyone could tell through their skin that the Kochillas had already set up camp.

The forest had taken on a strange and eerie quality. Silence hung in the air like a thick blanket, without even the sound of insects or birds breaking it. The trees and foliage were lifeless, and the usually vibrant colors had faded away. The only plants and trees with color were artificial, and the fragrance of the forest had been replaced by the stench of death. It was as if the life force of the forest had been drained away, leaving behind a barren wasteland.

Anxiety settled on the expressions of the warriors as they marched. They broke cold sweat, not because of the hot and humid weather, but because of fear.

A loud noise erupted from the front. It wasn’t an ambush or anything, but rather Ivatar suddenly thumping his fist against his chest.

“Woo! Woo! Woo!” Ivatar roared while thumping his chest and stomping his feet. The short, curt cry pushed away the fear of death from his troops and regenerated their morale.

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“He’s like a gorilla,” Melkith commented from not too far away with a grin.

Eugene felt rather puzzled. Melkith wasn’t showing any trace of fear.

“Isn’t it your first time participating in a war of this size, Lady Melkith? Are you fine?” asked Eugene.

“You’re saying something so innocent, little bro.” Melkith chuckled and responded after lowering her voice. “It’s natural for geniuses to be hated by others. Geniuses are usually lonely, and normies form groups. What about me? I’m not just a regular genius but one of the greatest geniuses in history. How often do you think they tried to keep me, Melkith El-Hayah, in check before I got to where I am? I can easily count dozens of assassins who came to kill me before I was even an adult.”

Lovellian did not comment, but he nodded after hearing her words. Although they had never experienced a war like this, every day had been no different from a war until they stabilized their position and power with the overwhelming talent they possessed.

“I see. You’re bound to be experienced with how old you are,” said Eugene.

“And what about you? Are you okay, little bro? Aren’t you just pretending to be strong? If you’re scared and tired, you can hide behind my back as much as you want,” said Melkith.

“Well, I’m used to it, so it’s fine,” Eugene said.

The forest came to an end.

Ivatar looked down with glaring eyes.

This was the only place in Samar that was not forested, a valley reaching down dozens of meters. A few months ago, Ivatar fought against the warriors of the Kochilla Tribe in this place, the Footprint of the God of the Land.

However, the scenery he saw back then could not be found. The Footprint of the God of the Land was pitch black, as if someone had painted it with the night sky, and the vast land was filled with the warriors of the Kochilla Tribe.

The sound of the beating drum began to reverberate from the depths of the valley. The drum, which was made from human skin, vomited a dull, gloomy sound.

There were other instruments as well. A whistle created from drilling holes in a human skull created a terrible harmony with the drum.

Looking at the scene unfolding before him, Ivatar grimaced, leaving his smile distorted. He then took the horn from the warrior next to him and took a deep breath before blowing into it.

With a mighty blast, the horn shattered into pieces, unable to withstand the force of Ivatar's breath. However, its sound had drowned out the drums and whistles of the Kochilla Tribe, silencing them momentarily.

As the warriors at the rear of the Kochillas raised their tribe's black and red flags, Ivatar grabbed Zoran Tribe's flag from his shoulder. But instead of waving or raising the flag, he reared back and hurled it down the valley like a spear.

“Ahhhhhhh!”

As soon as he hurled the flag, Ivatar galloped down the cliff with a roar. The flag of the Zorans was planted in the land, and as if on cue, Ivatar kicked off the ground.

The blessing of the young forest that enveloped Ivatar caused the earth to shift. The spirits that accompanied him seeped into the dead land, causing the steep slope to soften for the warriors to descend.

The warriors of the Zoran Tribe and the allied tribes echoed Ivatar’s roar when they saw his charge. Then, following this brave warrior, they charged down the slope into the Footprint of the God of the Land.

Edmund was there, at the rear of the Kochilla Tribe’s army. He adorned a graceful purple robe instead of a black one, a favorite of many black wizards, and held Vladmir in one hand. Around him stood the sorcerers of the Kochillas, who had been educated in black magic from an early age.

Hector and the Death Knight stood in front of them. The Death Knight would move according to his own will, and they would not need Hector to stand guard either. The two entities would move around the battlefield and kill of their own accord.

“So you didn’t run away,” muttered Edmund while caressing his trimmed beard. Even though he stood far away, Edmund had installed magical eyes on all sides of the battlefield, identifying his enemies in detail. Although he had shown them mercy, warning them to run away… none of them had chosen to do so.

Edmund smirked while channeling Dark Power into Vladmir. He had twisted the Earth Veins in the region in advance and connected it to himself and Vladmir. The land was already prepared for the ritual.

Regardless of whether the warriors of the Kochilla Tribe or the enemies died, the blood and soul spilled in the land would be sacrificed for the ritual. It would allow Edmund to complete his ritual before the outcome of the battle could be decided.

Instead of running, they had foolishly chosen to attempt to hinder his ritual. Edmund chuckled as he raised Vladmir high. Maybe Eugene had made this choice because he was the Hero.

In a battle between wizards, and between Archwizards in particular, taking the initiative with one’s Signature was the most important in determining the outcome of the battle, as well as the inherent advantage of certain magic over others. In that respect, Edmund’s Signature — Cube — was almost absent from any weaknesses, exuding the arrogance of the Archwizard who had created this magic.

There were black lines all around Edmund, connecting to form the shape of a cube. What Edmund’s Signature pursued was simple — absolute defense and immortality.

It was nigh impossible to magically pierce through the cube once activated. It would be impossible for anyone to leave even a scratch on the cube without far exceeding Edmund’s reservoir of power, which included his use of Vladmir and the Demon King’s Dark Power. In addition, Edmund possessed immortality far exceeding that of high-ranking demons while he was inside the cube. Even if an attack penetrated the cube and damaged Edmund’s body, the Dark Power filling the cube would instantly heal his wounds.

Edmund’s Signature was arrogant. It was near perfect, offering him an invincible shield against any and all attacks. But while it provided him with immortality, it offered him nothing in terms of offense. This was by design, for Edmund considered himself the embodiment of the ultimate attack.

But even though he was arrogant in his creation, he wasn’t mistaken. Edmund did, in fact, possess an absolute level of attack.

Vladmir was brimming with Dark Power, and the sorcerers of the Kochilla Tribe chanted and synchronized with the Dark Power in a formation around Edmund.

“I'd be happy to just sit around like this,” Edmond commented.

No one could break through Cube anyway. Edmund could simply rest and watch everything unfold from inside the cube until enough offerings were gathered. But why would he? He already possessed an overwhelming advantage, so why would he remain inactive and watch?

A fierce smile appeared on his lips. A large gathering of Dark Power stretched long and sharp in the sky, transforming into spears of death that would extinguish everything in their paths.

Kristina Rogeris was capable of engaging in direct battle. She was a competent wielder of the flail reworked from Anise’s mace, and even if she wasn’t against demonic creatures, she could intercept them with divine magic.

However, Kristina remained behind on the cliff instead of heading down into the Footprint of the God of the Land. She was the sole priest on the battlefield, and she needed to be more rational and objective than anyone else on the chaotic battlefield before she intervened.

The battle was already underway, with the two opposing sides locked in a fierce struggle. Ivatar was a fearsome sight to behold, wielding two massive axes with incredible strength and precision. He charged into the fray without hesitation, tearing through the Kochilla Tribe’s front lines with ease.

The warriors and the demonic beasts became entangled, and the Kochilla Tribe’s warriors followed behind the demonic beasts. Far up in the sky, spears of death took form.

The death spears aimed for the rear of the allied army, attempting to destroy them with a single blow.

[Kristina.]

Kristina took a breath, then grabbed the rosary hanging around her neck. She started to shine brilliantly with divine power, and Anise further fueled the fire, providing Kristina with her own divine power unsparingly.

still reminded everyone of Anise the Faithful. However, once this little war in the forest came to an end, the natives of the forest, the surviving warriors, would think of someone else when they heard the word, Saint. Anise herself was determined to make it so.

Eight wings unfolded behind Kristina. Anise’s consciousness merged with Kristina's. When Kristina raised her hand, the light swirling around her concentrated on her fingertips. A brilliant cross appeared in the sky, acting as a huge shield that blocked the rushing spear of death.

Light and darkness became entangled before dispersing into nothingness. There were no other priests to assist Kristina in this place, but Anise the Faithful was providing her with power. Edmund’s spear of death was purified without penetrating the Cross of Light.

Kristina wasn’t the only one who remained behind on the cliff. Lovellian stood not far from her, and he could not help but show awe for Kristina’s brilliant miracle. He had heard in advance regarding the Signature of the Staff of Incarceration, Edmund Cordeth. Absolute defense and immortality were powers that any wizard vulnerable to close combat would die for.

Although Yggdrasil was an ability that focused on defense and immortality, it was somewhat ambiguous in nature. The user had the power to transform their body into a massive tree, providing protection from harm. However, the ability set too many goals beyond the user's capacity, and the tree itself was too massive. Its defenses were easily penetrable, and although the tree could regenerate, it did not grant the wizard immortality.

But what about the Cube? It formed the perfect size cube around Edmund, just large enough to encompass Edmund. It was simple and neat, pursuing only absolute defense and immortality with its small size. It did well to demonstrate Edmund’s abilities as a great wizard.

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Well, Lovellian couldn't help but express his amazement as a wizard, impressed by Edmund’s remarkable ability. As an Archwizard himself, he knew that creating a Signature of that level was beyond his capabilities. Yet, he didn't feel any hint of jealousy towards him. Magic was an endless study, something that couldn't be confined to any specific framework. The Cube, while impressive, wasn't the kind of magic that he personally pursued.

Without saying a word, Lovellian joined his hands together.

Archwizards would only experience it a few times in their lives, usually when they made a breakthrough from the seventh to the eighth circle. When they managed to overcome an apparently impenetrable wall and ascend to the next level, their consciousness would be lost in the union of mana, Circles, and magic.

This wasn’t a phenomenon that affected only wizards, either. Knights and warriors would also experience Ecstasy when they gained profound enlightenment that allowed them to reach the next level.

The same was likely true of this war. The state that Edmund would reach in a bloody war, granted to him by the excitement and madness born at the moment when life, blood, and soul became insignificant, was what he pursued. Only in that moment would the souls gain their superior value as sacrifices.

Once such saturated souls died on the battlefield, Edmund would assert his dominance over blood and soul. That was the law Edmund imposed on the ritual, and it was impossible for nearly anyone to interfere with a ritual of such scale and completeness.

But if that were the case, you simply needed to bring another law into coexistence. If death was a preemptive condition to be met, then one simply needed to take befitting countermeasures.

“Pantheon.” Lovellian’s Signature did not require any complicated techniques or chanting. It simply allowed him to call his summons created beforehand.

A huge door was summoned from a different dimension and stood tall on the ground. The red door, which was etched with complex patterns, began to vibrate. Lovellian disentangled his hands and grabbed his staff.

Pantheon’s doors opened. Lovellian’s consciousness was already synchronized with Pantheon, and countless summons subdued or created by Lovellian cried from inside the door. The creatures mixed and synthesized at a command from Lovellian.

He did not bother combining all the creatures into one but instead formed them into the best combinations for this particular battlefield.

He focused on predation.

He did not plan on allowing any corpse to touch the ground or their blood to soak into the soil. He would not allow their souls to spill.

The combination of his creatures would devour corpses and trap souls in their stomachs. It would be impossible to completely prevent Edmund’s ritual from progressing, but he could still delay it by slowing the collection of offerings.

The “cleaners” poured out of Pantheon.

“Yaaaaaaaahh!” Melkith uttered a near-screaming cry. She was already elated as if she were in a state of Ecstasy.

It was only natural. She was more absorbed in her greatness than she cared about the war, the corpses, and the sacrifices. In truth, she had been lucky. She had tried all sorts of things with the Fire Spirit Stone to no avail, ultimately failing to sign a contract with Ifrit at first.

The Samar Forest was renowned as the paradise of spirits, a place teeming with mana and spirits. But now, darkness had descended upon the forest as black magic seeped into its core, twisting the Earth Veins and polluting the natural balance. A dark ritual was underway, one that sought to create a Demon King and unleash untold horrors upon the world.

Levin, the Spirit King of Lightning, and Yhanos, the Spirit King of Earth, were infuriated with the situation. The same was true for Ifrit, the Spirit King of Fire. As a result, Melkith succeeded in contracting with Ifrit on the condition of saving the forest and stopping Edmund’s atrocities.

“Spirit Combination! Infinity Force!” shouted Melkith. Her Signature had been called Trinity Force when she merged with two Spirit Kings. But now that she had three of them, she could no longer use the same name.

That’s why she had changed the name to infinity, a representation of her endless potential!

Melkith’s eyes glimmered, and the soaring earth engulfed her. A bolt of lightning descended and struck the giant body of soil, then Ifrit’s fires covered the entire body of the giant.

“This is perfect!” Melkith shivered with ecstasy. The Earth Spirit King had imbued the form with a striking likeness of Melkith's alluring body and beautiful face. But that was just the beginning — lightning crackled and surged through the giant's body while flames danced and roared with enthusiastic fervor. The intense heat of the flames transformed into a garment that draped the giant's immense frame, while lightning gathered in the giant's left hand and flames blazed in its right.

“Kyaaah!” Melkith advanced while screaming with joy, trampling on the army of demonic beasts.

Balzac stood behind Melkith’s tumultuous advance, his palms resting against the ground. His Signature had many shortcomings. It took a long time to prepare, and the activation was slow. It was usually difficult for him to grasp any advantages in a battle between Signatures, but his Signature was a reflection of his character as a wizard.

Balzac did not prefer to fight on the front lines. He enjoyed creating and observing situations rather than fighting directly. In that respect, his Signature truly reflected his personality.

“Blind.”

A curtain of darkness descended from high in the sky.