Chapter 361: The Claymore and Angel’s Prayer

Sword Saint Dragon Slayer.

While Finn didn’t dare to use this magic openly just yet—mostly because he had no desire to be hunted down by the terrifying, ancient creatures that still roamed this world—he never stopped honing its techniques. Unlike other Dragon Slayers who relied on raw elemental destruction or generating weapons out of thin air, his particular brand of Slayer magic was entirely rooted in absolute physical technique.

Instead of breathing fire or roaring, he tapped into the Sword Saint’s traits to become the ultimate, unrivaled swordsman.

Still, he had to admit, the technique he had just used to slaughter Erigor and Sawyer was incredibly flashy. Instead of drawing his blade from the hip like a traditional Iaijutsu strike, he drew it from his back. Naturally, this was an absurdly difficult feat, especially considering the massive, heavy Claymore he had chosen as his weapon.

In the original timeline, the user of the Sword Saint Dragon Slayer magic, Suzaku, had mastered the katana. But Finn didn’t feel a katana suited his monstrous physique.

It wasn’t that the katana was a bad weapon; it was just too light. It was designed for delicate, precise, cutting attacks. Finn’s fighting style—while requiring absolute control—was built on a devastating balance of raw strength, blinding speed, and perfect technique.

To maximize that balance, he chose the Claymore. It possessed the crushing weight and terrifying power necessary to cleave right through Erigor’s hurricane and slice Sawyer’s legs off like a hot knife through butter.

But was a quick-draw technique even physically possible with a massive Claymore?

For a normal human, it was absolutely impossible. The blade was simply too long, and human arms were too short. Attempting a high-speed draw from the back wouldn’t result in a lethal, invisible strike; it would likely just dislocate the user’s shoulder or accidentally sever their own neck.

Yet, having absorbed the sheer talent of the Sword Saint Dragon, Kurunugi, Finn could naturally execute movements that broke the laws of human anatomy. More importantly, he possessed the Manager, an ability that made whatever he visualized a reality.

By combining his magic with his newly forged back-draw technique, he created a high-speed, localized spatial distortion. The resulting strike was so instantaneously fast that Erigor’s torso and Sawyer’s legs were severed before their brains even registered the pain.

It seems I’m still not good enough, though.

While his sword technique was objectively terrifying, Finn wasn’t satisfied. Raw speed wasn’t exactly his primary forte. He was fast, yes, but he wasn’t trying to be the absolute fastest in the world. Instead, what he truly craved was perfect reaction speed.

He wanted to erase the time it took to go from zero to one.

When a person moves, there is an unavoidable biological lag. The brain issues a command, the electrical signal travels through the nervous system, and finally, the muscles contract.

If I can completely erase that lag...

If he could move the exact millisecond he thought of moving, his most basic, casual swing would be capable of cutting through the fabric of reality itself.

Well, facing this group, I don’t really need technique to begin with.

Finn casually drew his heavy Claymore, the massive blade resting easily in his relaxed grip as he turned his gaze toward the final two: Sorano and Macbeth.

Despite holding the massive weapon so carelessly, an overwhelming aura of lethal sharpness radiated from Finn’s body. The suffocating pressure brought the remaining members of the Reborn Oracion Seis to their knees in sheer horror.

There were only two of them left. Could they possibly escape?

"Angel. Run."

Macbeth gritted his teeth, his effeminate face contorting in despair. He knew it was mathematically impossible to defeat Finn. The only option left was to throw his own life away to buy Sorano enough time to escape.

"Wait!"

But before Sorano could even refuse, Macbeth had already thrown himself directly at the White Devil!

"Invisible Scythe!"

Thousands of ethereal, invisible slashes erupted through the sweltering air, shredding the stone pillars and tearing up the floorboards as they converged on Finn. Macbeth didn’t hold a single ounce of magic back; he burned through his life force to stop this monster!

"WE WILL REGAIN OUR FREEDOM! I WON’T LOSE!" Macbeth screamed, tears of rage gathering in his eyes.

Their beginnings were worse than shit. They were all slaves from the Tower of Heaven, a nightmarish hellscape built by Zeref cultists who kidnapped orphans and forced them to toil in the dark. Macbeth, Sorano, Erik, and Sawyer—their only goal in life was to erase that traumatic past and reclaim the future that was stolen from them!

They would gladly burn the entire world to the ground to get it!

Yet, this devil had sniffed them out and cornered them. Macbeth knew Finn didn’t just want to kill them; he wanted their absolute, degrading submission!

"I REFUSE TO GO BACK TO A LIFE IN CHAINS, YOU BASTARD!"

Reflector.

It was Macbeth’s specialty magic. It allowed him to distort, twist, and reflect all manner of inanimate objects and magic. It was terrifyingly powerful, especially when his lethal attacks were completely invisible. He sent a flurry of brutal, imperceptible strikes raining down on Finn.

Yet, it was all completely meaningless.

Reflector was impressive, but if it couldn’t hit the target, what good was it?

Finn, still holding his massive blade casually, didn’t even bother to block. He simply dodged. His body flickered, moving as if he had literally skipped frames in time, effortlessly weaving through the invisible storm of blades.

"Wait—?!"

In that split second, Macbeth felt a terrifying anomaly. Finn hadn’t just become fast; the rest of the world had become incredibly slow. Macbeth realized the horrifying truth, but it was far too late. The massive shadow of the White Devil suddenly eclipsed him from behind.

"It’s too late, even if you figured it out," Finn’s voice sent a shiver of horror down the dark mage’s spine.

Slash!

With a casual flick of his wrist, Finn laid Macbeth’s back completely open, slicing deep into the flesh and leaving him in a bloody, half-dead heap on the floor.

Yes, Finn fully intended to make them his loyal pets. But before he could properly train them, he had to completely shatter their spirits and show them true despair. If he didn’t break them now, these treacherous Dark Guild rats would inevitably try something stupid in the future.

Love was certainly a powerful emotion. It allowed people to grow stronger to protect the ones they cared for. But absolute, paralyzing fear?

Fear was the ultimate leash. It forced total submission. It ensured they wouldn’t even dare to entertain the thought of betrayal. Naturally, ruling purely through fear was inefficient, but relying solely on love was naive. Finn preferred a deeply intoxicating, terrifying mixture of both.

Now, only Sorano remained.

Finn remained perfectly calm. He didn’t consider this voluptuous woman a threat. She probably thought she could turn invisible and run away, but escaping him was physically impossible.

First, his avian network covered the continent; the moment a bird saw her, the Manager would alert him. Second, he had just perfectly replicated and mastered Sawyer’s Slow Magic. The moment he activated it, no one could outrun him, because they were forced to move at a fraction of his speed.

Yet, surprisingly, Sorano didn’t try to run.

Instead, her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the floor. Her breath came in heavy, desperate pants, causing her massive, sweat-drenched breasts to heave lewdly against the thin, clinging fabric of her white dress. Her plump thighs squeezed together as she raised her trembling hands, pressing her palms together in a deeply devoted prayer.

"Hmm?" Finn raised an eyebrow, watching the terrifyingly beautiful, submissive display.

Suddenly, an immense, blindingly holy aura erupted in front of her. The sheer power of the magic began draining her life force, her lush body growing weaker by the second as a desperate, ecstatic flush spread across her cheeks.

"Bestow upon me the Blessing of Light," Sorano chanted, her voice thick with dark devotion.

"I offer my body, my flesh, and my soul to the Being of Light."

"Descend upon this earthly realm... Michael."

At that exact moment, the very fabric of space violently trembled. A gigantic, awe-inspiring figure ripped through the air, bringing with it a suffocating wave of both salvation and absolute terror.