Erica could breathe again. He stood before the storm, the overwhelming divine pressure crashing down upon his body, yet he was like a black reef on a storm-tossed coast, unmoving against the relentless waves.
From behind, he didn't look particularly tall. He wasn't radiant like Salvatore, nor did he possess the elegant, kingly air of Alexander. But in this moment, his stature was equal to that of a god.
He was the youth who called himself a Saint, bearing a name that signified the highest rank a mortal could achieve.
So the one with talent wasn't me, but him? The thought dawned on Erica as her mind began to clear. She couldn't help but think of Zola back at the witch's house. Had she seen this from the very beginning?
With Seiya standing before her, the pressure on Erica lessened considerably.
"May we humble ones be told your august name, O undefeated God of the East?"
Suddenly, Erica bent her knees and bowed her head respectfully. The youth—no, the young god—who looked down on her showed a flicker of interest.
"To think you would evade my binding spell with such etiquette. A clever little girl indeed, to have even guessed my true name. But let me warn you, that body you take such pride in is as fragile as glass before the likes of me. The paths of men and gods can never truly cross."
Erica said nothing more. Though there was much she wanted to say, the young god's gaze was not on her, and an invisible restraint forced her into silence.
—The youth and Seiya. It was as if they had returned to where they began.
"So, it is you. Are you another fool who has followed in my footsteps?" The young god narrowed his eyes. He seemed to be smiling, but all one could feel was a bone-deep chill.
Seiya didn't answer right away. He simply looked at the familiar yet strange white-robed youth before him.
There was a decisive difference between him now and the boy he had seen before.
He was slender and not very tall, yet he possessed an incredibly powerful presence. His features were as exquisite as those of a Maitreya Bodhisattva, yet they gave one the feeling that he was an incomprehensible, non-human entity. It was not the face of a human, but something crafted in a human's likeness, and thus was a work of art more beautiful than any mortal.
But the most important thing was that he had shed his humanity, now embodying an arrogant divinity that towered over all living things. Even the friendliness that had once been in his eyes had been replaced by indifference.
He had reclaimed his name. He was the ancient Persian god of war, the warrior god who held victory and ruled over kings—Verethragna.
"Could it be that you also wish to emulate that foolish witch beside you and attempt to challenge a god?" The young god flashed his usual, ephemeral, archaic smile. "Stand down. Though you and I have an unfinished promise, in my current state, there is no way you can achieve victory. What's more, you are still in an incomplete state yourself."
With the essence of a wind god who guides travelers and a god of victory who perceives the weaknesses of his enemies, the moment He met Seiya again, He had seen Seiya's most fatal flaw—
—he was missing his most crucial protection, the weapon that resonated with and sublimated his power. It was, presumably, a set of clothes.
In his current state, he was completely unqualified to complete their unfinished third match.
It was true. Could a Saint without his Cloth still be called a Saint? And trying to challenge a god with just a Bronze Cloth was indeed overestimating one's abilities. But—
"If victory and defeat, the outcome of a battle, were decided by such a simple comparison of strength, would there even be conflict in the world? Everyone could just show their power before a fight and be done with it."
The war god Verethragna narrowed his eyes, looking at the mortal with whom he had formed a not-insignificant bond.
"I'll only ask you one thing. Must you have your final battle with the God King Melqart on this island?" Seiya demanded.
"Have you forgotten? I am now a heretical being. It is true that I was once a guardian of light and justice—but now, I am a god of strife who walks a rebellious path. Hehehe, my boy, the time we spent playing together was truly enjoyable."
With an unprecedented air of exhilaration, the war god Verethragna unleashed the signal of his bellicose nature across the heavens and the earth.
"A short while ago, I had lost all my divine qualities, and so the aura of a 'Heretic God' was very faint, different from my true existence. But now that I have reclaimed three of my avatars, it is completely different. I have returned to the me I once was. I am now the Heretic God of Combat!"
He was indeed different from before.
Greater than before, stronger than before, more sacred than before. Non-human—a completely different person. And he was fully aware of the many liberties he had taken with him.
This—was a Heretic God, a god who defied the myths woven by humanity.
But the war god's laughter ceased. The divine pressure he had been expanding without restraint was suddenly brought to a halt.
Opposite him, a deep silver aura erupted like a vibrant volcano. The heat haze effect even distorted the atmosphere, carving out a domain that did not belong to him within the world already stained by his own divine pressure.
Starlight flowed in Seiya's eyes as he strode towards the war god. Things had come to this; the situation was clear. No more words were needed.
There was only one thing Seiya could say, only one thing he could do.
"Burn—"
Under the gaze of the Heretic war god Verethragna, the approaching Seiya spoke.
It was like a power word, but it wasn't directed at the outside world. It was a miraculous key turned inward, directed only at himself. It was the very essence of a torrent of power.
"—my Cosmo!"
A clash of auras, a conflict of bodies, a distortion of divine power.
Erica did not witness the subsequent scene with her own eyes. The shockwave that erupted from their collision sent her, still rigid and unable to move, flying. When she scrambled up from the ground and looked up again, what she saw was a scene from myth.
The young war god, wreathed in golden flames, was locked in a struggle with the Saint, who was erupting with a silver tide of energy. The Pegasus Meteor Fist was unleashed once more, a combat technique propelled by a fully burning Cosmo, its projectiles wrapped in fire and torrential rain as they shot towards the Heretic war god, easily tearing through the air and sound itself. But the war god offered no defense, simply swiped his arm and commanded the very air before him, whipping up a storm that swallowed the hundreds of light streams.
He laughed loudly. The terrifying solar-gold eyes of the Heretic Verethragna lit up. He had once again become that arrogant god of victory. He too abandoned any form of armor, engaging the Saint in a life-or-death struggle.
_____
Greetings! ✨ Walnut here with another translation! Saint Seiya united by their strength!
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