Chapter 171

Carriel had devised his own countermeasures to face that thing.

It’s different when you hold a shield.

Now, it’s even more dangerous.

However, he realized that just gripping the shield wasn’t enough anymore.

A judgment made considering the possibility that the warrior might not target him but head in another direction.

If this happens, Carriel would end up having to either chase after the warrior or press forward, thereby losing the advantage of focusing solely on defense.

Handling the shield is actually quite simple.

Just don’t attack, and that’s it.

Carriel instinctively understood this and instead deliberately revealed an opening to the opponent by raising his weapon as if to show it.

I will stand against you.

Even so, will you divert your gaze to the other side?

Will you shamefully turn your back on me right here?

For victory, one must relentlessly exploit the enemy’s weaknesses and sore spots.

Being despicable and dishonorable isn’t a problem at all.

But.

The warrior answered the dark one’s question with action.

If that’s how it is.

I’ll deal with you first, then move on.

Besides.

Even if I don’t step in, they’ll be wiped out sufficiently because of us.

So, aren’t you rather the one who’s in a hurry?

And you intend to face me in such a condition?

It won’t do!

The silent dialogue between the two manifests into a duel.

Yet, unlike before, Carriel doesn’t take a single step back.

Instead, whenever there’s an opportunity, he moves forward even slightly.

Initially, it was half a step.

That too was reversed.

You can retreat for a moment.

But, it’s a retreat to advance further.

Ultimately, you must move forward to intercept the opponent.

Cutting through flesh alone isn’t enough.

To carve fatal scars onto that steel-like sturdy body…

I.

You.

…must always be prepared to die at any moment.

That is what it means to be a warrior.

Death is always by our side.

Whether it comes for you or for me.

Don’t be the one forced into it.

Become the one who chooses it.

That is precisely…

“…so, my limit is approaching.”

An avatar, a military deity, and a divine combatant. The glorious golden sword will bestow infinite victories upon the warrior without ever fading its brilliance.

On the other hand.

The opposing darkness is extremely precarious.

It looks like it could stumble and collapse at any moment.

Yet, it holds firm.

Soon.

In a little while, it was obvious that it would surely fall…

Why… doesn’t it fall?

“…”

The warrior has confidence in victory.

There was no change in the golden youth’s eyes filled with that certainty, but doubts began to rise ever so slightly.

Victory will come.

But, if my victory doesn’t mean the defeat of the opponent…

How should it be perceived?

‘The one who protects. His duty is to save others, isn’t it?’

That person must be a hero.

Or perhaps a warrior.

Then, he wouldn’t bow either.

And in the end, though he may break, he would never fall merely due to his own will—this was painfully clear.

Something was off.

Even heroes and warriors…

Eventually fall to stronger heroes and warriors.

That is their destiny, their fate.

Thus, even warriors and heroes who ascend to divinity…

Before this golden sword, all of it becomes useless.

After all, this illustrious blade was aimed at cutting down exactly such beings, severing their eternal titles.

Its edge brings about their bleeding and defeat in victory.

It doesn’t matter if you’re a warrior.

Not even some unprecedented villain or demon matters.

But…

…neither applies to that.

“So, you can’t grasp the rhythm?”

The boy mutters.

It’s absurd nonsense, yet the Demon King somewhat agrees.

He knew from the start and simply observed it unfold.

She always anticipated the worst-case scenario.

And that was the most basic mindset she had instilled in Carriel since before they formed their contract.

Absolutely, absolutely, absolutely, discard the thought that you have the upper hand.

If you are in a superior position, ensure absolute victory at all costs.

Always accept the disadvantageous and unreasonable.

That way.

Only then can you…

…truly stand against the world.

This damn world.

Never make excuses for yourself.

Never make excuses for others.

Forget the process entirely.

All we need is the desired result.

Clang!

The spear handling skills become increasingly proficient.

Meanwhile, the kid continues to grow stronger.

Rather, as the pain engulfs all his senses…

He must desperately remain vigilant against everything swirling around him.

A life-or-death state where your very existence is wagered.

This isn’t false training or hardship within a dream.

Even if you treat it as reality, it’s still fake.

Perhaps.

Everything happening here might also be false, a dream.

But.

That’s just wishful thinking.

Reality always forces absurdities upon us.

As long as we remember that lesson.

Indulgent mindsets are nothing but luxury.

By merely switching four stances and rearranging positions up, down, left, and right.

Movements split from a few into dozens.

Pulling back the right foot.

Or extending it outward.

Stepping to the right or left.

Each movement causes the posture to continuously divide.

Twisting the waist, thrusting and pulling the shoulders.

Angles of the wrists, arms, etc.

Additionally, movements.

Expanding them grandly or shrinking them minutely.

Accelerating or decelerating them alone creates…

Diverse actions transform from group choreography into singular dance moves.

Or flow seamlessly like a bird’s wing flapping, fluid and vivid.

“!!”

There’s no time to let out a groan.

No biting of the lips either.

Because there’s no spare energy for such things.

Stiffening the body and tensing the shoulders cannot be tolerated.

Interrupted breathing causing broken or unnatural motions cannot happen.

No excessive movements hindering connections.

No posture collapsing or being disrupted by external impacts or malicious intent.

Now, only…

Exerting the utmost, utmost, utmost effort.

Nothing more.

Clang!

Ting!

Zing!

Creeeeak!

Though they clash momentarily, no lightning erupts from the golden sword as before.

The warrior knows.

In fact, doing so would indirectly assist Carriel.

Thus, relying purely on physical strength, he presses forward and overwhelms—but the tiny darkness does not yield.

Doesn’t get pushed back.

Endures.

Parries.

It’s definitely not steadfast.

Sometimes it feels clumsy.

Yet, occasionally, the precision sends shivers down the spine.

The warrior ignites his eyes and throws everything into the fight, but…

Suddenly, he recalls something.

‘Like this.’

How many fierce opponents have stood against me?

When was the last time someone confidently exchanged blows with me?

Clang!

It feels distant.

The air wails.

BOOM!

A scream from the golden sword.

ROAR!

A roar from the pitch-black spear.

Whoosh!

The wind rushes between them like a gale.

Right at that moment.

A black shadow enveloped his entire body.

The ecstatic flow engulfing both abruptly ceases.

“!!”

Is it behind?

Or above?

That bizarre teleportation technique was experienced earlier.

If it’s invisible, the location is predictable.

My instincts should catch it…

But there’s nothing.

“?”

Could it be?

Glancing at the giants just in case… but not there either.

No.

There’s still one place left.

Quickly shifting focus and lowering his head.

There it was.

“!!!”

He.

Right beneath his massive frame, his body tightly compressed.

Caught off guard while distracted by the dazzling spearplay.

Now, despite holding nothing in his hands…

I instinctively know.

That small, minuscule darkness swirling in his grasp…

It’s his most potent weapon.

Soon, he extends his hand toward the warrior’s thigh—

“Excellent!”

Out of nowhere, a youth grabs Carriel’s wrist.

Surprisingly, the boy is pulled down as if waiting for it, falling instantly.

Simultaneously, Carriel mounts him, pressing the blade held in reverse grip against his neck.

The pitch-black sword evokes not just ominousness but an overwhelming sense of wonder.

That minuscule darkness transformed into the sword in an instant.

Up close, it’s even more impressive.

The white-haired youth genuinely marvels.

“Truly, there’s no room for complacency.”

Lying there, the boy claps lightly, truly amazed.

Never allowing even a moment’s vulnerability while battling the warrior…

Preparing for everything, huh?

What kind of life, what kind of existence allows for such preparation?

Even amidst blood-soaked chaos, this isn’t easy.

Good instincts and sharp intuition alone don’t explain it.

He really…

“You truly embody the bearing of a hero. Indeed, the epitome of a true warrior.”

“…”

At those words, Carriel furrows his brows violently in protest.

“I am no warrior. I’ve never been.”

…And I never wanted to be.

“Is that so?”

The boy neither counters nor denies it.

“So, what? Have you achieved victory?”

“…”

“Or are you worried about this? That once all our avatars descend upon this land, there will be no further countermeasures. So you targeted what you considered my main body?”

“…”

Silent Carriel shakes his head at the boy’s confident expression.

“They would’ve been mobilized already if possible.”

“Hmm?”

“Can’t you do that?”

Some lowly existence that needlessly torments the weak, mocks them, flaunts their own strength for amusement, treating even wasted time as a trivial pastime. A common thug and lawless brute.

“But you’re not that kind of disgusting being, are you?”

“Even under such pressure, you can discern reality so coldly? Impressive indeed!”

Carriel’s body is blown back by a gust of wind.

However, it’s only a response meant to make him step back.

It can’t be called an attack.

“Barah.”

At the boy’s call, the warrior reacts.

“…”

After briefly observing the boy and Carriel, the warrior finally nods.

“Give me your sword.”

“…”

The steel warrior hurls the massive golden sword toward the boy.

Shockingly, the enormous blade shrinks into a curved dagger the moment it reaches the boy’s hand.

Holding it, he twirls it around, almost performing tricks with his right wrist and elbow, then swiftly catches it again.

With a grand voice, he declares:

“A battlefield where the army commander personally wields weapons at the front line indicates they’re already on the defensive.”

Still, there are situations where stepping forward guarantees victory.

And battles where stepping back guarantees collapse.

“But how can someone who struts across the battlefield, unable to wield even a single blade, holding only a banner, charge into the enemy ranks and lead valiantly?”

It doesn’t matter if you don’t.

But if you can’t, that’s a different story.

“If the king falls, the nation crumbles. If the general collapses, the army fractures, battles disintegrate, morale breaks, and the will to fight dissipates. Purposeless armies become mobs and bandits.”

The one who grasps both heaven’s mandate and human lives is the king.

His agent, wielding justified violence to crush threats and contribute to peace and prosperity.

“That’s us.”

Already, the avatars battling the giants have ceased their fights and are watching this scene.

“If I find this acceptable, I might overlook it this one time.”

Holding the golden curved dagger, aiming it at Carriel while lowering his stance slightly and positioning his left arm under his right elbow, he asks:

“What say you? Any intention to accept my proposal?”

“…”

That stance.

It feels familiar.

Strangely enough, though it wasn’t anything special…

It comes back vividly.

===

“The sword and I becoming one? That goes without saying.”

One day.

In the courtyard outside our residence, my father and I were standing with swords in hand.

Father handled various sword styles and techniques freely, unlike the imperial sword style. However, he was proficient in both imperial swordsmanship and countless other techniques learned from somewhere unknown.

A master of the sword.

Beyond mastery, a superhuman.

Such was he who had a few habitual stances similar to parade formations.

“The sword, me, and the world. These three must become one.”

“What does that mean?”

“You should roughly understand, right? You got it all when I explained it to you as a child.”

“Back then and now are the same?”

Ah…

In my memories, I’m still young.

Young now, but…

How to put it?

Clumsy, amateurish…

Weak and feeble, yet the color of being alive was vivid.

From childhood.

From youth.

When I was still… unbroken.

“So, keep this in mind while practicing hard.”

Sword and me.

And the world.

When these three become one…

You’ll reach the level where I am.

…

“Really.”

Your typically indifferent explanation makes me irritated even now that it’s popped into my head.

Or was that truly your best effort?

“Haa.”

A sigh escapes unconsciously.

Complaining, despairing…

Or just a habitual behavior?

Irrelevant.

I transform the one-handed black sword.

Into a two-handed form.

The most familiar shape.

Gripping the extended hilt with both hands tightly.

Though annoying, this cross-shaped sword is the damn thing that’s caused me much irritation.

Ultimately, this knight’s sword…

Is the reason I learned the Grandeous sword style in the first place.

I didn’t need a sword, but…

I chose this willingly to defeat my father with it.

But I’m not practicing swordsmanship.

Feels like ages ago.

When I first learned this, what did the Demon King say?

Yeah, tools. Tools, that’s right.

Though tools can’t reveal depth…

Posture is different.

I learned postures and applied them, deriving principles and applications from them—not pure swordsmanship.

So, I’ve reached this point.

I still don’t know much about swordsmanship.

But it’s no issue.

“Anytime.”

From Para to Grate.

Familiarity with the weight of the sword resting on my shoulder takes over.

My whole body aches with unknown pain,

but my mind remains sharp.

Naturally, taking a step and a half forward with my right foot.

Left foot positioned with toes spread at 45 degrees outward.

“Hoo.”

Refining my breathing.

Breathing differs according to posture and movement.

But this isn’t conscious—it naturally adjusts and aligns accordingly.

You shouldn’t try to handle everything mentally.

Differentiate between what the mind should and shouldn’t handle.

If the lungs handle the heart’s work, if the hands and feet attempt what the mind does…

Everything gets tangled up.

Thus, optimization remains.

…Living secluded in a cave, breaking down muscles, reconstructing bones as if reassembling the body…

Was work for this.

“Show me!”

After a long yet brief preparation.

The boy strides forward.

Kicking off in sandals with gold inlaid leather, fully visible.

The boy’s whole body shoots forth like a gale.

Meanwhile, the golden curved dagger seems like a gentle breeze, slipping between my head and jawline.

But its essence is akin to an arrow flying straight.

Or a thunderbolt falling from the sky, directly targeting my throat.

---