A human cannot defeat a priest.
Even if they were a veteran, it would be the same.
Much less an old man on his deathbed.
In Eternal Dominion, where the old man’s stats barely reached 1 to 2 on average, he could not defeat two martial artists specialized in full-scale combat.
He couldn’t even buy time.
At least, not usually.
KUO-O-O!
An incoming punch. Before it could land, what extended was a calloused hand. The moment that hand rested atop the fist, the entire body relaxed.
When the dark-skinned arm moved, the force flowed through the relaxed body. Twisting his body and hips, he deflected the force without resisting or submitting but by yielding.
KWA-A-ANG!
Like drifting with the wind, I’taar’s arms moved gently, and the martial artist was slammed into the ground.
Between the rising clouds of dirt, the startled expression of the crab-like martial artist who had been standing at a distance with his arms crossed came into view.
“…Wha, what…?”
As the dust settled, the shrimp-like martial artist rose from being slammed into the ground, his face drenched with confusion and humiliation as he turned toward I’taar.
Without any thought for follow-up attacks—or perhaps believing such things unnecessary when dealing with a lesser opponent—he merely stood poised, looking at I’taar.
All traces of pity or respect that had been on his face moments ago were gone. The long shrimp-like beard of the martial artist quivered as he grew angry.
“Did you go easy on me… I’taar!”
I’taar did not respond. He simply adjusted his stance slightly, letting his arms hang loosely, as if devoid of all strength.
Seeing this, the martial artist clenched his teeth audibly within his shrimp-like face and charged forward.
The stance taken while charging was one of a downward strike. A punch loaded with his entire weight—an attack no human could withstand.
As the fist was raised high, there was a sound like clashing pincers followed by a snapping noise akin to fingers being flicked.
—!
An indescribable roar erupted and accelerated. Richard, lying on the ground, saw the crimson-hot descending fist along with the sound.
It seemed impossible for his frail teacher, nearing death, to withstand such an attack.
Clutching his throat as blood welled up, Richard tried to shout for him to flee.
He wanted to say that his teacher didn’t need to die.
But the words wouldn’t come out, and the urgency didn’t reach him.
Finally, the moment the martial artist’s fist struck I’taar’s abdomen—
With a soft inhalation, I’taar moved. It was as though he had just slightly shifted, stepped back with one foot, swung his long sleeves, and deflected the blow.
KWA-A-A-A-ANG!
The all-out attack missed, and the martial artist crashed into the ground.
Dodging the rising dust cloud, I’taar stepped forward.
Facing this advancing I’taar, the martial artist now swung his fists from behind. Raising both fists, he unleashed a rapid barrage.
“GRRAAAHHH!”
With a cry filled with anger and humiliation.
Fists moving so fast only a red afterglow remained—a flurry of strikes powerful enough to turn a human into paste.
Certainly invisible not only to I’taar but also to the martial artist himself wielding them, these relentless blows met resistance as I’taar extended his arms.
And the sight that unfolded surpassed the comprehension of everyone present.
KWAAAAAAA!
A fierce sound of destruction accompanied by swirling dust. To the untrained ear, it might seem like I’taar had been crushed. But within the dust, I’taar’s shadow continued to move ceaselessly.
Parrying attacks with extended arms, deflecting them with the backs of his hands, redirecting rising punches with his knees, and slipping through the gaps to strike the martial artist’s face multiple times with his own fists.
“Ugh, UGH, AAAAHHHH!”
The speed of the martial artist’s swinging fists gradually increased, becoming faster. Now, even the wielder couldn’t control their trajectory.
Not martial arts anymore, but pure violence. Overwhelming violence. The martial artist was afraid.
“Roim, Roim! Calm down! Roim!”
The late-arriving crab martial artist shouted as he approached, but Roim, resembling a mantis shrimp, showed no sign of stopping.
The continuous assault grew faster and faster. And yet, I’taar still stood amidst it.
“Why, why won’t you die?! Die! DIEEE!”
Roim, the monster capable of destroying an army alone, feared this single old man. No longer thinking about showing respect, he blindly attacked.
As Roim raged like a storm, I’taar’s movements became increasingly still. Like a mountain enduring a typhoon, he yielded.
Using only his arms, shoulders, elbows, and knees, he became steadfast like a mountain.
“Ugh, UGH, Demis! Help! Help!”
“Damn it, don’t mess with the head! We need to show respect!”
When the polite mantis shrimp martial artist Roim and the brash crab martial artist Demis joined forces, the attacks grew even more intense.
Demis’ punches, unlike Roim’s, weren’t dramatically powerful.
But they were faster.
Instead of overwhelming power, they possessed overwhelming speed.
Combined with the crimson-colored shell, the sight of Demis swinging his fists could be likened to a storm. Trapped between a typhoon and a storm, I’taar greeted both with the calmness of the eye of the hurricane.
Roim and Demis were here for a reason.
Expected by the Executioner to possess overwhelming firepower and killing capability, they were supposed to easily subdue even someone as skilled in combat as I’taar.
But the Executioner’s expectations were wrong.
KWAAAAAAA!
An overwhelming roar. The earth sank inward, and the rising dust cloud was as violent as if a bomb had exploded.
Through the thick dust cloud, only the movement of three figures could be seen.
To Richard, watching from outside the dust, the scene was surreal.
While I’taar’s form remained steadfast, the two martial artists were repeatedly slammed into the ground. At the center, Roim and Demis were deeply terrified and confused.
Things were unfolding entirely contrary to the Executioner’s expectations.
A single human, a master martial artist expending his final life energy, displayed an artistry far beyond expectation.
By simply moving his knees a few inches, extending his arms, pushing with his wrists, suppressing, striking, and pounding, I’taar withstood the deluge of violence.
No, he dominated it.
“GRRR…!”
“Ugh, GRRAAH…!”
Deflecting Roim’s shockwave-laden punches to the side and striking his eyes with the back of his hand, then pushing away Demis’ clenched fists with his legs while delivering a blow to his neck, I’taar deflected the rain of punches with his elbows.
Unaware even to himself, I’taar parried this intense violence purely through technique.
Through seventy years of cultivating overwhelming fundamentals, through a lifetime of loving his martial arts, I’taar burned brightly.
Collapsing from within, his vision blurring, his heart slowing, he endured endlessly.
At the moment of burning his last reserves of life, I’taar’s martial arts reached a certain realm.
The realm Aslan called “special.”
Killing knights, piercing hearts, flipping shadows, Mooncutting, summoning Thunder.
Like the five divine techniques created by the God of War and Knowledge—the king of gods and the strongest god who once was human—I’taar’s yielding reached the divine realm.
Technique surpassing perfection.
Through accumulated fundamentals, a lifetime of experience, his own desperation, and burning emotions, I’taar’s martial arts transcended himself.
“Master… sir…”
Richard lost his words upon witnessing the scene. He realized that no words could possibly describe the current situation.
For just as war and knowledge touched the human body, I’taar was overwhelming the divine priest with human techniques.
BOOM!
Deflecting an upward punch and leaving a thunderous wail in the air behind him, I’taar threw two punches.
The consecutive punches hammered Roim’s chest.
Blows that left no mark. Technically brilliant but lacking in power.
Such attacks wouldn’t even scratch him.
Roim knew this well.
He knew he couldn’t die from such attacks.
Yet, despite knowing, fear crept in.
The ability to evade, block, and deflect every attack, to counterattack again and again.
Even at the center of an attack powerful enough to shred a human into six pieces, standing firm without moving an inch.
Roim felt fear.
The only sign of damage on his body was the spittle of blood at the corner of his mouth. His frail frame remained spotless.
Having killed hundreds of humans throughout his life, Roim couldn’t comprehend it.
On the other hand, Demis felt deep interest.
That human techniques could reach this far, that the horizon he once aimed for was so close.
While the two advanced their attacks with contrasting emotions, I’taar moved.
KWAAAA!
Chunks of dirt crumbled into rocks, and rocks scattered in all directions from the hollowed-out ground.
I’taar’s hand caught Roim’s wrist and pushed it hard.
Unable to withstand the sudden shift while unleashing a flurry of attacks with his entire body’s weight, Roim stumbled and tilted.
Into this tilting Roim’s chest plunged Demis’ fist.
Precisely because I’taar pulled Roim into Demis’ path at the exact moment Demis threw his punch.
With Roim flying backward from the shattered chest and Demis throwing twelve punches in a single breath with a bewildered expression,
I’taar deflected all twelve punches and struck Demis’ face with his own fist.
With a sound like three punches landing, Demis retreated, clutching his face, as the thick dust finally settled.
Revealed through the brown haze was a human.
The black-skinned martial artist stood firmly in the same pose he used to block the martial artists.
Without a drop of blood, with calm eyes, the venerable master of martial arts smiled kindly.
Called by people as the weakest master.
I’taar.
With his dying body, I’taar pushed back the martial artists and looked at his disciple with tranquil eyes.
As if asking, “Did you see well?”
As if pointing to the direction you must go.
By showcasing the martial arts he spent a lifetime cultivating.
And then, behind that, he quietly stopped.
A fleeting silence followed.
“Master… sir?”
I’taar did not respond.
He merely stood in position, wearing a kind smile, neither lacking energy nor weary.
He had become unable to move, like any other human.
Even when Roim coughed and got up and Demis wiped his face in pain while staring at him, he continued to look at his disciple with that gentle expression.
As if only waiting to be buried.
Even the martial artists couldn’t approach him.
They felt reverence akin to seeing a towering mountain, a profound sense of wholeness.
Even as his heart stopped beating.
The light gleaming in I’taar’s eyes gradually faded, and even as he soaked in death, no one could disturb that tranquil completeness.
And thus, he died.
Without kneeling in submission or resisting to break.
Truly as I’taar.
