Chapter 270 - 268: Border Of Sangali Karuppu... No Boon Can Save You...

(A/N):

Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.

Guys I hope you put more comments and power stones... Which will encourage me...

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Devaratha’s gaze slowly shifted away from Pushpasura.

For the past one hundred days...

His attention had been consumed entirely by the Rakshasa King.

But now...

His emerald eyes swept across the battlefield.

He saw the allied soldiers.

Men whose armour had long since lost its shine.

Faces covered in dust, dried blood, and exhaustion.

Many stood with fresh bandages wrapped around their bodies.

Some leaned ever so slightly upon their spears, hiding their fatigue from their comrades.

Others had barely slept throughout the campaign.

For one hundred days...

They had marched.

They had fought.

They had buried their friends.

Then risen again with the next sunrise to continue the war.

They had already given everything they possessed.

Devaratha slowly closed his eyes.

’Enough... They have carried this burden long enough.’

When he opened them once more...

There was no hesitation.

If the ordinary soldiers continued fighting the endless tide of Rakshasas...

The allied army would undoubtedly win eventually.

But the price...

Would be thousands more lives.

That...

He refused to allow.

The chains wrapped around his body gave a heavy metallic clang as he slowly raised the spear in his left hand.

Pushpasura frowned.

"What are you..."

Before he could finish...

Devaratha moved.

With a single powerful motion...

He hurled the spear.

BOOOOOOM!!

The divine weapon exploded from his hand like a blazing comet.

It tore through the rain, leaving behind a brilliant trail of orange-red fire.

The sheer force generated by the throw split the clouds overhead for several moments.

The spear didn’t fly towards Pushpasura.

Nor did it aim for the Rakshasa army.

Instead...

It struck the earth several hundred metres away.

THOOOOM!!

The moment its tip touched the ground...

It didn’t stop.

Instead, the spear began racing across the battlefield at an impossible speed.

It skimmed across the earth as though guided by an invisible hand.

Wherever its blade passed...

A glowing line appeared upon the ground.

Not a deep trench. Not a crack.

A single burning line of molten orange-red light.

The spear continued its journey.

It travelled around the entirety of Malikavana.

Around the ancient temple.

Around the hidden sanctuary beneath it.

Around the allied camps.

Around every formation belonging to Devaratha’s forces.

It moved so quickly that, from a distance, it looked like a ring of fire was being drawn upon the earth by an unseen artist.

Neither army dared interrupt it.

Everyone simply watched.

The spear completed its enormous circuit around the battlefield before finally returning.

It spun several times through the air.

Then, as though recognising its master... It flew directly back.

Devaratha calmly extended his hand.

The spear settled perfectly into his grasp.

Not even his arm trembled.

The blazing circle upon the ground remained.

It stretched across miles of battlefield, surrounding Malikavana and the entire allied force.

The glowing line pulsed gently.

Like the heartbeat of some ancient guardian.

The Rakshasas looked at one another in confusion.

"...That’s it?"

One of them laughed.

"He drew a line?"

Another snorted.

"Has the king finally gone mad?"

A larger Rakshasa carrying a massive mace grinned cruelly.

"Move!"

"What can a glowing mark on the ground possibly do?"

Without waiting for orders...

Several Rakshasa warriors charged forward.

They crossed the blazing line without the slightest concern.

The instant the first foot touched the burning boundary...

The line erupted.

WHOOOOSH!!

Orange-red flames exploded upward.

Not outward.

Straight upward.

Like countless pillars of divine fire.

The Rakshasa didn’t even have time to scream.

The fire wrapped around his body in an instant.

"No...!"

His roar became a shriek.

Within the span of a single heartbeat...

His flesh disintegrated. His armour melted. His bones blackened.

Then...

Nothing remained.

Only a small pile of grey ash scattered by the rain.

The warriors charging behind him instinctively halted.

But momentum carried several others across the boundary.

The same fate greeted every one of them.

The moment they crossed... The flames embraced them.

There were no prolonged screams.

No struggle.

The divine fire consumed them with merciless efficiency.

One after another... Rakshasas vanished.

Their towering bodies crumbled into drifting ash before even striking the ground.

The rain continued falling.

Yet...

It could not extinguish those flames.

The divine fire burned only its chosen targets.

The earth itself remained untouched.

Weapons lying upon the boundary remained intact.

The grass beyond it did not catch fire.

Only the Rakshasas...

Only those carrying the taint of Adharma...

Were judged.

Panic spread rapidly through the front ranks.

"Don’t cross it!"

"It’s burning them alive!"

"What kind of barrier is this?!"

Several Rakshasas desperately tried leaping over the glowing line.

The result was no different.

The moment they attempted to pass...

The flames engulfed them.

Others tried tunnelling beneath it using Yogic Energy.

The fire simply erupted beneath the ground itself, reducing them to ash before they could emerge.

Within moments...

Dozens...

Then hundreds...

Of Rakshasas had vanished.

Their ashes mixed with the rainwater, flowing silently across the battlefield.

The entire Rakshasa army instinctively retreated several steps.

No one dared approach the boundary again.

At the centre of the battlefield...

Pushpasura watched everything unfold.

His face slowly darkened.

The veins across his forehead bulged.

"...."

His fingers tightened around the handle of his axe until the metal groaned beneath the pressure.

Every few moments...

Another one of his soldiers disappeared in flames.

Like insects flying blindly into a sacred fire.

His jaw clenched. His crimson eyes burned with fury.

"Enough..."

he growled.

"ENOUGH!"

His roar shook the battlefield.

He turned toward the burning boundary, watching yet another group of Rakshasas become ash before they could even reach the allied soldiers.

His expression twisted with barely restrained rage.

For one hundred days...

His army had relied upon overwhelming numbers.

Upon endless waves of warriors.

Upon exhausting the humans through sheer attrition.

Now...

With a single throw of that spear...

Devaratha had rendered that advantage meaningless.

The battlefield itself had become a fortress.

The ordinary allied soldiers, battered by a hundred days of war, finally had a moment to breathe.

Meanwhile...

The Rakshasa army could do nothing but stare at the burning ring of judgment.

Devaratha slowly rested the spear against his shoulder.

The chains wrapped around his body gave another calm metallic clang.

KLANG...

His deep voice carried across the battlefield.

"My soldiers have fought your endless hordes for one hundred days."

"They have earned their rest."

He looked directly into Pushpasura’s burning crimson eyes.

"So..."

"There shall be no more insects sent to die against exhausted men."

He slowly pointed the tip of his spear toward the Rakshasa King.

"If anyone wishes to cross that boundary... They must first cross me."

The rain continued to pour.

The circle of divine fire burned steadily around Malikavana.

And for the first time since the war had begun...

The allied soldiers felt that the burden of the battlefield had shifted from their shoulders...

...onto the shoulders of the Guardian who stood alone before them.

The sight before him made Pushpasura’s face grow even darker.

The burning boundary continued to encircle Malikavana, swallowing every Rakshasa foolish enough to cross it.

The overwhelming advantage he had relied upon throughout the war had disappeared in the span of a few breaths.

Meanwhile...

Devaratha merely watched him.

A low chuckle escaped his lips.

It wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t arrogant.

It was the quiet amusement of someone who had finally taken away his opponent’s greatest weapon.

Rainwater trickled down his face before dripping from the edge of his thick moustache.

With complete composure,

Devaratha slowly lifted the back of his right hand and casually groomed his moustache, smoothing it into place as though he were standing in the courtyard of his palace instead of the middle of the greatest battlefield of the age.

The heavy iron chains around his body gave a soft metallic echo.

KLANG...

His emerald eyes never left Pushpasura.

That simple gesture...

More than any insult...

Was enough to ignite the Rakshasa King’s fury.

The veins on Pushpasura’s forehead bulged violently.

His breathing became ragged.

His crimson eyes burned with murderous intent.

"...You..."

His voice trembled with rage.

"...You’re looking down on me."

The muscles in his arms tightened until they resembled coiled serpents beneath his skin.

Without another word... He exploded forward.

BOOOOOOM!!

The earth beneath his feet shattered.

His gigantic body shot across the battlefield with terrifying speed, closing the distance between them almost instantly.

Unlike before...

There were no tricks.

No flowers. No illusions. No long-range attacks.

He intended to tear Devaratha apart with his own hands.

His massive axe was already swinging downward, powerful enough to split mountains.

"I’LL CRUSH YOU!"

His roar echoed across Malikavana.

The allied soldiers watched with widened eyes.

The surviving Rakshasas erupted into deafening cheers.

Yet...

Devaratha never moved.

He simply watched Pushpasura charging toward him.

Only when the distance between them had almost vanished...

Did he act.

His left arm moved.

Not hurriedly. Not desperately.

With the effortless confidence of someone repeating a motion he had performed a thousand times before.

The spear left his hand.

SHHHHOOOOOM!!

It didn’t fly. It vanished.

Pushpasura’s instincts screamed.

His eyes widened.

The spear was no longer merely fast.

It had become a streak of orange-red light tearing straight toward his forehead.

For the first time in the entire war...

Pushpasura abandoned his attack.

He forcefully twisted his body.

His neck bent backward at an impossible angle.

The divine spear missed him...

Barely.

Its blade passed so close to his face that he felt the scorching heat brushing against his skin.

A few strands of his wild hair were sliced away.

The spear continued flying into the distance.

Pushpasura’s lips curled into a savage grin.

"So close..."

He immediately turned his head, intending to continue his assault.

Then... His grin froze.

"...."

The place where Devaratha had been standing only a heartbeat earlier...

Was empty.

"...What?"

His pupils contracted.

His instincts roared louder than ever before.

Before he could even search...

A calm, deep voice sounded directly beside him.

"You looked away."

Pushpasura’s entire body stiffened.

His head snapped toward the voice.

Devaratha...

Was standing beside him.

No...

Standing so close that only a single arm’s length separated them.

There had been no flash of light.

No visible movement.

No teleportation.

One moment he had been several dozen feet away...

The next...

He was already within striking distance.

Pushpasura’s eyes widened in disbelief.

’How...?’

He hadn’t seen him move.

Not even for an instant.

Before the question could fully form...

Devaratha’s right arm had already begun moving.

The massive Aruval described a beautiful crescent through the rain.

It was neither extravagant nor wasteful.

Every inch of its path was refined.

Every movement flowed into the next with frightening precision.

It looked less like an attack...

And more like a ritual performed countless times across generations.

The curved blade silently cut through the falling rain.

Pushpasura’s instincts finally caught up.

He immediately leaned backward while twisting his torso, desperately trying to escape the strike.

He succeeded... Only partially.

The Aruval passed across his chest.

SLASH!!

The sound was clean. Almost gentle.

For a heartbeat... Nothing happened.

Then...

A crimson line slowly appeared across Pushpasura’s broad chest.

Blood began seeping from the wound.

Then... It burst forth.

A torrent of dark blood poured down his body, mixing with the rain before splashing onto the battlefield below.

Pushpasura stumbled backward several steps.

His free hand instinctively pressed against the wound.

His breathing became uneven.

Yet...

His expression wasn’t one of pain.

It was disbelief. Utter disbelief.

His eyes remained fixed upon the blood covering his hand.

"...No..."

He had been wounded countless times during the last hundred days.

His head had been severed.

His limbs torn away.

His neck broken.

Every single injury had regenerated within moments because of the boon protecting him.

Every time. Without exception.

So he waited. One heartbeat. Then another.

His flesh should have begun knitting itself together by now.

The wound should have closed.

The blood should have stopped.

It didn’t.

Instead...

More blood continued flowing between his fingers.

Pushpasura slowly looked down at his chest.

The deep slash remained exactly as it was.

Raw. Open. Untouched.

No black roots emerged.

No flesh regenerated.

No divine boon answered his call.

Nothing.

His breathing became heavier.

"...Regenerate."

He whispered unconsciously.

Nothing happened. His voice rose.

"REGENERATE!"

Still...

Nothing.

For the first time since receiving Brahma’s boon...

His body refused to heal.

Pushpasura’s crimson eyes slowly widened.

An emotion he had not felt in centuries quietly crept into his heart.

"...."

Confusion. Then doubt.

Then...

The first unmistakable taste of fear.

Across from him...

Devaratha calmly rested the Aruval upon his shoulder.

The rain washed the Rakshasa’s blood from its curved blade.

The heavy chains around his body gave another slow metallic echo.

KLANG...

His emerald eyes met Pushpasura’s.

There was no triumph in them.

Only certainty.

In a calm, unwavering voice, Devaratha finally spoke.

"For one hundred days... You trusted your boon more than your own skill."

"You believed that no wound could ever truly reach you."

He slowly lowered the tip of the Aruval toward the blood dripping onto the ground.

"So I endured. I waited. I learned."

"And now..."

His gaze sharpened.

"...the protection you relied upon has finally found someone it cannot deceive."

Pushpasura instinctively took one step backward.

Not because he wanted to.

But because, for the first time since the war began...

He no longer stood before a man he believed he could eventually outlast.

He stood before someone who had just proved a terrifying truth.

He could bleed.

And worse...

He might finally be able to die.

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(Author note:)

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