Otaku Translation: Lone Adventure V4C13

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Once again, I managed to deflect another crushing blow from Marquis Menewal. By now, the adventurers had grown accustomed to his rhythm and immediately relaxed, swarming around him with renewed confidence—including me, despite my injuries. Though this strike had drained over a third of my life, I stood safely within the range of the tauren shaman’s Life Totem. As usual, it would restore my health before Menewal could attack again.

I landed several solid blows on the vampire lord’s thigh, each strike fueling my determination. But just as I was finding my groove, Menewal swung his massive sword at me once more—far earlier than expected. Caught off guard, my remaining life plummeted below half. To make matters worse, the Life Totem had entered its cooldown phase, leaving me without its healing embrace. Panic began to creep in. I opened my mouth to call for Longbow Sunshot’s aid when, unexpectedly, Menewal unfurled the massive wings that had sprouted beneath his arms during his transformation.

These grotesque appendages weren’t merely decorative; no one grows wings solely for aesthetics. Yet throughout the battle, he’d never used them, so we’d all but forgotten their existence. Now, they flared to life, beating powerfully and stirring up a violent storm of wind and sand. The swirling chaos engulfed us entirely, obscuring our vision and disorienting everyone caught within.

Amidst the confusion, I heard sporadic explosions—Black Aurora’s fireballs still detonating somewhere beyond the tempest. He had been stationed farther away, unaffected by the blinding gale. Then, suddenly, an irresistible gust slammed into me, lifting me off my feet and hurling me backward through the air. Suspended helplessly, I curled into a ball, bracing for impact.

When I finally crashed onto the ground, I rolled instinctively to absorb the shock and scrambled to my feet. The winds had carried me far from the maelstrom, depositing me near the wall of the great hall, roughly twenty paces away. From here, I could see vague outlines of Long Triangle, Longbow Sunshot, and Clado struggling blindly inside the whirlwind, their eyes squeezed shut as they groped uselessly in place.

Above them, Menewal hovered triumphantly atop the domed ceiling, his expression a mixture of mockery and rage. Watching the dust settle below, the vampire lord drew in a deep breath and unleashed a piercing shriek.

This sound was unlike anything I’d ever heard—not a deafening roar nor a soothing melody, but something razor-thin and insidious. It wavered between audible and imagined, like whispers carried on the breeze or faint tinnitus humming at the edge of perception.

I suspected it was some form of mental assault designed to hypnotize. Under its influence, Long Triangle and the others froze mid-motion, their faces blank and vacant. Even Black Aurora succumbed, abandoning his spellcasting mid-incantation as drowsiness overtook him. He slumped where he stood, dozing lightly.

Seeing his magic take hold, Menewal threw back his head in laughter, then flapped his wings and descended straight toward me.

“No one will stand in the way of the Apocalyptic King’s arrival!” His voice boomed arrogantly, vibrating with each beat of his wings.

Now utterly alone, I had nowhere left to retreat and no allies to rely on. All I possessed were a battered shield on the verge of collapse and a trusty longsword that had seen countless battles alongside me. I’d just consumed my last health potion, but whether its effects would fully manifest before Menewal struck again remained uncertain. Even if it did, the boost wouldn’t save me from more than one additional hit.

This was my inevitable endgame. Words like “luck” and “miracle,” which had saved me so many times before, felt hollow now. Perhaps there comes a moment when you simply know your time has come. Maybe facing certain doom awakens a primal surrender—not out of cowardice, but as an innate recognition of mortality.

I don’t recall what Menewal did next. My memory of those final moments is reduced to a single act: swinging my sword wildly, ceaselessly. With reckless abandon, I hacked at him, ignoring defense, disregarding survival.

I wish I could say I fought for something meaningful—for my companions, perhaps. For a fleeting moment, I even convinced myself of this lie: that every ounce of strength I expended brought them closer to victory. But the truth was stark—I wasn’t thinking about anything. My mind was a void, empty and unthinking.

Though I’d witnessed death countless times—and resurrection too—I understood intellectually that dying might feel akin to falling asleep. When you awaken anew, everything remains unchanged. But facing death directly is different. You can feel its icy grip tightening around your throat, and in that instant, you realize death is nothing like slumber.

The threat of annihilation unleashed a ferocious savagery within me. What I did wasn’t fighting—it was thrashing, a desperate attempt to escape an incomprehensible terror.

In my final moments, Menewal’s colossal blade cleaved into my left arm. The shield I’d trusted for so long shattered alongside the remnants of my vitality.

As darkness closed in, a stray thought flickered through my mind: What does Longbow Sunshot’s “Sister Death” really look like? Is she truly as beautiful as legends claim? Strange how such trivial musings surfaced even now.

Then, abruptly, all light faded from my vision, dissolving into oppressive shadow. A final glimmer pierced my eyes—a shard of brightness that seared like a blade. Dizziness overwhelmed me, followed swiftly by oblivion. And then… there was only silence.

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