Absolute King Ch. 18

Chapter 18: Summoning.

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The battle erupted in a storm of steel and claws as the demons charged with unrelenting fury.

Mark’s breaths came ragged, his body straining under the overwhelming onslaught. Worse still, the creatures had grown grotesquely larger, their hulking frames radiating raw malice.

Their axes and claws tore through the air with brutal force, each strike heavier and sharper than before. Mark twisted and parried desperately, his blade ringing against theirs, but the shock of every clash reverberated through his arms, threatening to shatter his grip.

With a sharp movement, he vaulted backward, flipping high into the air. Landing on the broad back of a demon, he plunged his sword into its spine with all the precision he could muster. For a fleeting moment, he thought victory was his. But as he wrenched the blade free, the gaping wound closed in an instant. The flesh knitted together seamlessly—faster, stronger, deadlier than before.

Mark’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit… I’m screwed.”

Before he could reposition, the same demon whirled with frightening speed, swinging its axe in a wide arc. Mark barely managed to raise his sword to block, but the force sent him skidding across the battlefield, boots digging trenches into the dirt.

His lungs burned. His body screamed. His mana reserves were nearly gone, flickering like a dying flame. He couldn’t even maintain the magical circuits that reinforced his sword’s durability—without them, the blade was little more than fragile steel against monsters like these.

I have to think… now, or I’m finished.

The demons didn’t give him a moment’s respite. Their attacks crashed down like a relentless storm, each strike aiming to crush, tear, or end him outright. His armor was beginning to crumble, shattered pieces falling away with each glancing blow. His body ached, exhaustion creeping in like poison. But even on the brink, he clenched his teeth. He refused to fall.

Laughter split the chaos—mocking, triumphant.

Faust’s voice echoed across the battlefield, a sound so drenched in arrogance it felt almost rehearsed. He laughed like a villain savoring his moment of glory, like the final boss in some twisted MMORPG. His eyes gleamed with sick delight as he watched Mark falter.

Mark met his gaze. No hatred. No rage. Only unshakable intent.

If I can’t even handle someone like Faust, then I’ll never stand against what’s coming…

Tightening his grip on Clarent, he prepared his last desperate gamble. He would burn his very life away, transmuting it into raw magical energy for one final strike. One burst, one swing, enough to obliterate Faust and his demonic pets in one suicidal blaze.

Faust must have sensed it. His smile darkened. He barked an order, and the three demons lunged forward as one, their axes descending in a synchronized execution.

Mark lifted his blade, heart pounding. His lifespan would wither. His soul would fray. But it didn’t matter—if he didn’t act now, he was already dead.

Then, at the brink of release, a chime echoed within him.

“You have a new notification,” the System’s voice rang.

Mark froze, startled.

“You have attained the spell of Summoning,” it continued.

His eyes widened. The words it spoke were etched into his memory. Words he had read, words he knew by heart.

“My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny. If you heed the Grail’s call and obey my will and reason, then answer me. I hereby summon ....”

The System added coldly, “The user may summon only one Servant at a time from among the Kings in the chat group.”

Mark’s mind raced. This was it. The counter he needed. Without hesitation, he chose.

As the demons closed in, only meters away, Mark’s lips moved in urgent chants. His body flared with searing heat—life force burning away, transmuted into mana to fuel the ritual. His vision blurred, his veins scorched, but he didn’t falter.

At the final word, a crimson glow seared across his hand, blazing into existence like molten fire. It etched itself into his flesh, burning a crest that pulsed with power.

The demons swung their axes, only inches from splitting him apart—

—and then time seemed to fracture.

The monsters froze mid-motion, their snarls trapped in distorted echoes.

Across their bodies, wounds bloomed—deep, clean cuts slicing through flesh and bone. In the next heartbeat, their massive forms collapsed into bloody chunks, scattering across the battlefield.

Faust’s laughter choked into silence. His eyes widened, disbelief breaking his composure as he stared at the figure now standing amidst the carnage.

A young woman. Golden hair cascaded around her shoulders, braided neatly, framing a face of noble beauty. Clad in shimmering blue armor, she carried herself with an aura of absolute authority. And in her hand—an invisible blade, its presence marked only by the distortion of air, like heat shimmering above a flame.

Mark’s heart thundered. The spell… it worked.

The woman turned, her piercing gaze softening as she approached him. Slowly, gracefully, she knelt before him.

“I ask you,” her voice rang with regal clarity, “are you my Master?”

For a moment, Mark almost broke into a grin of pure joy. But he steadied himself, masking his exhilaration with composure.

He cleared his throat. “Yes. I am your Master. Arise—and serve me well.”

Her head bowed, accepting his command. She stood, eyes burning with the pride and resolve of a knight who had lived and died for her ideals.

Mark studied her, entranced. Her eyes shimmered with shades of blue and green, fierce yet gentle. Her doll-like face radiated beauty, but her gaze held the determination of a true king. She was more radiant in reality than any depiction he had ever seen.

But Faust’s fury snapped the trance.

“You dare!” he roared, rage twisting his features. His hands crackled with dark energy as he poured the last of his strength into the remains of his fallen minions.

Flesh and bone reformed grotesquely, the demons rising again, axes gripped tight, fueled by his desperation.

“I won’t quit!” Faust howled. “Not until you’re crushed beneath me!”

Mark didn’t flinch. He raised his hand, the Command Seal glowing upon it like a brand of destiny. His voice was steady, resolute.

“Artoria. Cut them down.”