Chapter 73

Hmph, figured as much.

The way one handles mana varies wildly.

There are types of mana, and each race has its own vastly different methods for wielding it.

Humans, with physical abilities that lag behind every other race, compensate by being incredibly reliant on mana—even simple running can see a vast disparity between those who use mana and those who don’t, far surpassing the gap between adults and children.

Thus, for any warrior or knight, enhancing their physical capabilities through mana is as natural as breathing or drinking water.

That’s why I was inevitably at a fundamental disadvantage in the academy.

In that sense…

…though my mobility might seem extraordinary, when compared to those who enhance their combat prowess practically in real-time…

I still fall painfully short in countless ways.

Still, if even those guys can’t catch up to him, what does that mean?

‘Same old story.’

Climbing buildings and leaping about with two feet—while his innate physical prowess plays a role, this is clearly the fruit of relentless training.

And while it may differ from me, his approach and effectiveness in utilizing mana probably resembles what I’ve been displaying all along.

However, the difference is clear: I simply cannot properly handle mana.

But if someone skilled in using mana were to wield swordsmanship akin to—or similar to mine—what then?

‘It’d be a waste, but…’

No regrets.

While checking the warehouse, I’ve roughly gauged how he handles his blade, though there are limits to what can be understood just from that.

We’ll see once we clash directly.

The positioning is decent enough.

An open space tucked away in a back alley.

The stench of filth hanging heavy in the air makes it an obviously secluded spot.

So.

“Where to?!”

Without warning, I halt my pursuit, stealthily suppressing my presence before reaching the exact opposite direction of where he came from.

As soon as I reach the target location, I lunge forward to cover him.

This isn’t an ambush meant to truly incapacitate.

And sure enough…

A sword flashes faster than the eye can follow.

I barely block it mid-air…

…and my whole body wavers.

“…The physical gap is…”

Overwhelming.

After dispersing the force into the air, I land simultaneously.

An overwhelming physical prowess born from both natural talent and grueling practice.

And the subsequent swordplay is…

“….”

Something’s off.

Though wielding the sword with both hands seems somewhat familiar, there’s definitely a difference in the connection and execution.

To begin with, initiating an attack with the intent to dominate and kill…

Is this really so inappropriate?

I parry and deflect with one hand, like flowing water…

Occasionally swirling like a sudden gust of wind.

Deflecting and scattering.

“What?!”

Seems like he’s noticed my intentions. Without using mana, he attempts to overwhelm me purely with physical power.

His rapid slashes resemble the weighty swing of a single-edged axe, paradoxically executed through sheer abnormality.

A calamity in close combat.

Combined with reckless momentum and astonishing senses, a relentless barrage unfolds with diabolical persistence.

Still…

With both hands gripping the sword, his movements and control remain somewhat predictable.

Or rather, that’s my perspective.

To begin with…

I became accustomed to hundreds, thousands of arrow barrages raining down from the sky until I could respond to each individually.

Only after breaking through waves upon waves of cavalry charges head-on did I finally escape that hellish training.

…So speed alone isn’t the problem.

Even in melee and chaotic battles, without allies, facing invisible weapons coming from all sides…

…I somehow managed to survive.

Though it feels like ancient history now.

Whenever I face such clear hostility and killing intent…

…It’s as if my senses awaken instantly, like waking from slumber.

For example, before fear stiffens the body…

Before tension shrinks it…

My temper flares first.

An uncontrollable rage tears through my chest, my very core.

I didn’t endure and train to cultivate patience and restraint.

Though I don’t intend to wildly swing my sword…

…this isn’t about intelligence, cleverness, or brains.

Enduring endlessly, bearing everything just to persevere…

Through dozens, hundreds, thousands of deaths…

…this wasn’t the point.

“You’re actually holding your own?! Outmatched in strength and agility, yet you’re still doing it! Is it skill proficiency?! Or how are you handling that sword so effortlessly with one hand?!”

Despite talking, his strikes show no mercy. Not a single moment of hesitation or wavering.

Even a slight lapse in focus could allow his attacks to penetrate like a snake’s fangs.

Once he gets in, it’s game over.

So I beat back his entangled blade, create distance, close it again, and tangle further.

Fighting purely with physical strength is pure torment, but…

…didn’t I recently learn a method to sustain these kinds of fights long-term?

Relaxing my shoulders, I absorb everything.

Does tightly gripping the hilt improve technique or make strikes stronger?

No.

Grip it firmly enough to withstand any shock but no more.

Don’t unnecessarily tense your arm or shoulder joints.

Even without forcing unnecessary tension or emotional spikes into my muscles…

…extending the range and arc of my swings would be far more effective.

Accurately targeting vital points or delivering shallow cuts would be more efficient.

There’s no need to unnecessarily strain my back, grip my abdomen tightly, or forcefully support my lower half.

Similarly, there’s no need to crush my chest either.

Use the shock transmitted through the sword as momentum.

Every small step, whether for evasion or movement, the length of strides, and wide foot placements…

Even the minor shocks and vigorous dragging motions—they all become power sources.

Even the smallest internal shocks generated from movement, slight pauses, rotations, excessive loads, large or small frictions…

Everything is utilized.

Rising and falling becomes part of the cycle.

It starts from sand. Dust. Specks.

Like water flowing downward…

And rising again into the sky after gathering together.

“Damn tenacious.”

Though wielding the sword with one hand, it doesn’t mean he’s only at half strength.

His empty left hand naturally follows suit.

When the right arm moves forward, the left naturally retreats.

When the right ascends, the left descends.

Of course, that’s not all.

Leg movements, posture, height, angles, balance distribution, direction of force, intensity of connections, fluidity, gaze management, breath control, seamless coordination of rebounding body and senses…

All while thinking.

All while moving.

Observing the enemy and introspecting on oneself.

Organically.

Without a single oversight.

Moving.

Circulating.

Entangling.

Reversing.

A straight line can encircle.

A point can color a line.

A void can be filled with a point.

Clash and flow inward, flow and continue onward.

Flowing.

Thus.

What goes up must come down, and what comes down must rise again.

What fills will eventually empty.

What leans will eventually tilt.

What empties will eventually fill.

What fills will eventually drain until nothing remains.

We.

Are born to die.

Possess only to lose.

Meet merely to let go.

Finally, we meet.

“Let’s stop.”

That voice snaps me out of it.

“…?”

What was that just now?

“That ghost has some feelings too, doesn’t he? You’re not a moving scarecrow, after all. What are you even doing? What is that?”

No killing intent, accepting everything thrown at him…

“…Do you really know Grandeous’ sword style?”

“…”

Who knows.

As long as it works, that’s all that matters.

The three things the Demon King taught me:

First is accuracy, second is efficiency, third is sincerity.

Accuracy means exactly that.

Efficiency maximizes it.

Sincerity means utmost dedication.

At some point, the Demon King explained it like this:

[Even in the smallest task, never be negligent. Always give your all. That consistency must remain unwavering.

That utmost dedication becomes sincerity, which forms the heart, manifesting outwardly.

When it manifests outwardly, change becomes possible. Only those capable of change can realize dreams and ideals.

Only they can resist fate.

This is merely resistance, not overcoming.

Yet, even this resistance is impossible for most.

Natural dispositions, habits, temperament, nature…

Talents are overcome, crushed under given circumstances, merely breathing until death.

Blinded by desire, wasting time, burning it away…

Living and dying swayed by such things throughout life—that’s what living beings are. Beings of intellect, organic matter, and such.

Will you be one who wields the sword or one who is wielded by it?

True dedication is precisely this:

Never losing sight of yourself in any moment.

Being aware of your presence in every instance. Knowing exactly what you’re doing second by second, knowing where you’re heading, walking the path with clear eyes.

Only then do you avoid wandering aimlessly.

Walking the correct path, pursuing efficiency to shorten the time to reach your destination.

Therefore, never lose sight of your position. For the moment you do, neither yourself nor the path will remain.]

“…”

Is the essence of Grandeous’ philosophy or sword techniques prioritized here?

No, that’s secondary.

For me, this is the priority.

Based on this foundation, I advance, retreat, and…

…rightfully hold my ground.

“You talk too much.”

“Hah!”

He seems to have plenty to say but doesn’t know how to phrase it.

Whatever.

“Guess fighting to the death is the only way to get answers, huh.”

“…Then prepare yourself accordingly.”

“Tch.”

The kid scans the surroundings subtly.

“…”

More spectators have gathered.

…But should I even care about something as trivial as that?

When it’s a fight to the death and all that jazz.

“The thing that pisses me off most is… learning something through you.”

“…”

“Rather die a dog’s death than be chewed up and used as daily rations.”

And with that, the kid lowers his sword, apparently losing motivation.

“See you again soon. If that damn prophecy holds true, next time we meet, we’ll see what lies beneath the shell.”

“…”

“Venus. Remember it or don’t.”

Snorting, he turns and walks toward the alley.

Watching him leave, I too leap off the building wall and immediately vacate the area.

====

“Crazy bastard.”

Similar, yet different.

Venus spat, repeatedly clearing his throat in disgust while facing Carriel.

“Really possible with one hand?”

Occasionally glimpsed, it was undoubtedly the same technique they had learned.

But something felt off.

…Carriel wasn’t the only one gaining insights during that insane battle.

Venus himself had experienced something truly bizarre within the chaos.

“What’s different? How can he achieve that level….”

Neither revealed anything remotely resembling their signature skills.

But that’s not something you can just choose to display.

It’s entirely dependent on whether the opponent allows it.

Whether manipulating mana, hostility, killing intent, or malice…

Their secret arts and hidden techniques could even reverse-engineer such emotions.

But what was that?

Nothing.

It felt like encountering a storm within a fog.

The absurdity of trying to slash underwater in a vast lake.

You can’t cut the wind.

If you could, it would require an exceptionally special technique.

Or perhaps something even more extraordinary if not technical.

“…”

None among them dared to replicate what they witnessed.

The dark star swallowing radiant light.

The trajectory gleaming with the brilliance of dark energy.

Equally devouring space, light, phenomena, and matter.

Black Light Star.

“…”

The youth, the man, remembers.

Even from his very early childhood.

The massive dark trajectory cleaving ruthless foes in one stroke.

The moment the black beam of light traced its path…

The cataclysmic magic and miracles threatening to consume the world itself…

All vanished, dissipated like foam on the waves.

He, Venus, hasn’t forgotten.

No, he couldn’t possibly forget.

…Living solely to recreate that moment.

Why then…

Does a similar scent emanate from that newcomer?

Why the hell…

From that son of a bitch!

And why the hell!

From the child of my sworn enemy!

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