Shinji Matou At Your Service

Chapter 288: Fierce Battle against the White Wing Lord

"How dare you - !"

Amid the roar, the column of white light dissipated, finally giving Shinji the chance to witness the true appearance of the King of the Dead Apostles.

Those who see Ortenrosse for the first time would not think he is a dead apostle, but rather an angel.

Yes, an angel - as absurd as it may sound, this is the first impression "White Wing Lord" Trhvmn Ortenrosseh gives Shinji.

Golden hair, fair skin. Not the sickly pallor of common dead apostles, but a complexion as smooth and creamy as milk, the makes envy of countless women.

A physique more perfect than Michelangelo's David, a face without a single flaw, exuding an aura of transcendence beyond the mortal realm.

Most striking is the pure white wings radiating a holy glow, identical to the angels of myth and legend - the very origin of his title, "White Wing Lord."

If he were to walk among humans in such a form, he would surely inspire worship and veneration from many.

But Shinji would not be among them.

Regarding Ortenrosse's "angelic" appearance, Shinji's mind is filled only with endless mockery.

"That saying is proven true - not everything with wings is an angel, some might just be a birdman. And this guy is not only a birdman but a dead apostle birdman. The extremes do meet, don't they?"

"And this guy is just way too handsome. I know the True Ancestors are all incredibly good-looking, regardless of gender, but does the oldest dead apostle have to be this gorgeous too? Is he a magus who transformed himself, not a servant chosen by the True Ancestors?"

Ah, Shinji would never admit he's jealous of the other's superior looks. While Shinji himself is quite the handsome fellow, compared to Ortenrosse the difference is like that between a world beauty pageant winner and the other school beauty pageant - one in the heavens, the other on earth.

Driven by these emotions (though only slightly), Shinji felt he couldn't afford to appear weak.

The divine lightning cage, its magic depleted, began to fade, and the golden artifact that had scattered the white radiance fell apart into spirit particles. The rumbling thunder grew silent, replaced by a grating, mocking laughter.

"I dare? What is there that I don't dare? Dead apostles scum who drink human blood, using humans as prey - why can't we humans hunt down these dead apostles? Do you think your dead apostles are superior? Ridiculous! The era of the gods has long since ended, the age of the fairies has passed, and now is the age of mankind. A group of parasites who rely on humans, hiding in dark corners out of the light, I don't know where this sense of superiority comes from. Hmph, vampire, no, vampire king, I spit on you!"

"I hope you can still say that after becoming my subordinate!"

Ortenrosse laughed furiously as he tore apart the last golden lightning bolt. He hadn't expressed such extreme emotions in a long time, but even so, his handsome and holy countenance remained unaffected.

"I'm sorry, but in this world, there is only one Ancestor that I would willingly serve. Unfortunately, that person is not you."

The left hand hidden in the cloak silently crushed a healing rune, and the internal injuries caused by the collision of powers were instantly healed.

Ortenrosse said no more, preferring to assist with actual action rather than mere verbal sparring.

His long fingers naturally curved, making a grasping motion. This is a weapon favored by most dead apostles - instead of swords or firearms, dead apostles trust in the formidable power of their bodies, such as claws and fangs.

As the King of Dead Apostles, the vampire among vampires, Ortenrosse believed that dead apostles did not need to rely on special transcendent abilities and that the strength of being a dead apostles species was sufficient. He had used his claws to tear apart countless enemies, and the terrifying power contained in those hands that no pianist could match was not to be underestimated, for those who dared would be dead.

With a casual pull of the curved fingers, violent ripples suddenly appeared in the air. The extension of the finger's trajectory seemed to be like five invisible blades cutting through the air, ready to split the human who dared to offend the majesty of the King of Dead Apostles from top to bottom.

Knowing full well that he was physically inferior to his opponent, Shinji naturally would not be foolish enough to meet force with force. He instinctively enacted his evasive steps, disappearing like a wisp of blue smoke from the range of the invisible slashing attack.

The five invisible blades struck the ground, leaving five clear furrows.

The first attack was missed.

However, Ortenrosse has more than one hand. As Shinji dodged the first claw, the second claw immediately swung out.

This time it was a horizontal slash. The invisible strike directly blocked the horizontal evasion space.

The moment Ortenrosse unleashed the second claw, Shinji knew he couldn't dodge it. The Harpe, taller than his height, thrust straight into the ground, like a flag. Shinji's Vajra's Lef Arm empowered by the Sarira advanced, forming a sturdy defense line together with the Harpe.

Scáthach had once taught Shinji that no matter how cautious one is, it is never too much when one has not yet grasped the depth of the opponent's abilities, except for one's trump card. Therefore, Shinji took up the most complete defensive stance he could muster at the moment.

The five slashes derived from the second claw arrived as expected. The sound of the invisible blades colliding with the long handle of the sickle was more crisp and loud than the clash of real swords. The power carried by the slashes was more fierce than that of tangible blades.

Of course, the swords here were ordinary, not divine weapons like the Harpe. The sharpest part of the invisible slashes was blocked by the handle of the sickle, and the fragmented slashes cut through Shinji's clothes but did not penetrate the skin protected by the Sarira.

The second claw was defended against.

However, the first two attacks were merely greetings for Ortenrosse; the real attack had just begun.

This oldest of the dead apostles spread the pure white wings on his back and swooped forward.

In the blink of an eye, he had arrived above Shinji's head.

Shinji, who had just blocked the invisible slashes, pulled up the sickle, slanting his hand to deflect it towards Ortenrosse's chest. The latter was well prepared, one hand turning outward, the other twisting inward, with graceful movements - a dangerous beautiful strike.

The outward-turning hand precisely struck the joint of the sickle's blade, while the elbow that twisted inward simultaneously struck and pushed away Shinji's attempt to parry with his right hand. Immediately, the elbow extended and fiercely grappled Shinji's arm, swinging him around like a warrior rather than a magus, and slamming him away.

Ortenrosse did not give Shinji a chance to catch his breath, repeating the same tactic, the white robe and white wings surging forward, unrelenting.

In another blink of an eye, a claw struck Shinji's left arm, pushing him dozens of meters away.

To the world, it was the speed of a split second, but for the two of them, it was a long enough time to determine the course of the battle.

The third split second was approaching.

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