“…….”
Even so.
I’m not sure if I can use this sword as it is.
I know better than anyone that the world before my eyes, this reality, isn’t real.
But knowing that doesn’t guarantee survival.
In that sense, fortunately enough,
the sword given to me by Ellie still rests at my waist.
What should I do?
Let’s think rationally.
After loosely tying the straight sword around my waist,
I drew Ellie’s sword.
From afar.
Between the halted ranks,
a few savage warriors are walking this way.
The closer they get, the more I realize.
Each one of them could treat an ordinary strong man like a child with ease—how enormous and robust they are.
Even the tendons visible between their bulging arm muscles twitch menacingly.
It’s as if every part of them resembles a well-developed colossal beast—thick and sturdy.
Before the Berke Kingdom existed, there was a great empire.
It had various names.
Bel. Bella. Berke. Belo.
Berke Kingdom, in a way, considers itself a descendant of such a great empire, hence its birth.
A military powerhouse that once conquered continents far and wide relied not on individual prowess but on military discipline and law, through which they systematized and strengthened their forces.
They crushed countless enemies tactically, strategically, employing both siegecraft and military strategy.
And yet, even that great empire eventually fell due to the uprising of the barbarian tribes.
When the emperor was deposed by the great chieftain of the barbarians and the throne was usurped, that marked the beginning of the end.
Everything crumbled.
And these people right here? They were the ones who started it all—the distant descendants of those who brought down the great empire.
While in the extreme western, southwestern, and northwestern parts of the continent, including Berke, they’ve developed techniques for handling weapons through practice and refined ways to harmonize mana.
These guys roaming everywhere, including the east, believe only in their brute physical strength.
Of course, each side has its own strengths and weaknesses.
Random charges.
Melee combat.
Chaotic battles.
In all these aspects, they were always ahead.
To counteract that, we focused on developing ranged weapons, refining our arms and armor, optimizing protective gear, and excelling in close-range combat.
In a way, it was a natural progression.
The growth of magical tool manufacturing, the efforts in diplomacy and exchanges with other races, and even the eventual reluctant acceptance of magic—it all began from acknowledging our own weakness.
Which ironically became the foundation for the current harmony and free-spirited system of the Berke Empire.
But back then, viewed from that perspective, it was nothing more than desperate resistance from the weak.
A futile struggle against overwhelming odds.
Unable to fully withstand even a mere invasion of a few hundred, sometimes just a few dozen.
Terrified like children, we locked ourselves behind city walls as our sole means of defense.
“…….”
On the other hand, these guys treated foreign lands like their own backyard, making plundering their primary industry and purpose.
Peace and cooperation? To them, it was impossible.
The weak being taken by the strong? That was natural.
The weak working themselves to death for the strong? That too was natural.
That’s why we called them “barbarians” with fear and disdain.
“…….”
And now, thinking about it, whoever it may be, standing face-to-face with someone whose reputation and infamy precede them…
It’s like encountering a wild bear deep in the forest.
Just seeing the hulking giants in front of you, holding weapons nearly as large as your upper body, would make anyone lose their nerve.
Naturally, your wits scatter, and the courage you tried so hard to muster diminishes.
Becoming powerless and losing the will to fight…
…is almost unavoidable.
Because that’s the reality.
“Are you ready?”
Even though there are only three of them,
it feels like the sky above has been blocked out by a heavy shadow.
“…….”
Still, even so.
That’s no reason to admit defeat.
And Carriel…
Through countless trials imposed by the Demon King’s malevolent will,
has seen things much larger than these.
Not to mention, the number of times he died?
At least tenfold more than this guy.
“I’ll test if you’re worthy of that name!”
A massive axe soars vertically.
Though blunt, the aura behind it is undeniable.
Muscles bulge as if squeezing out every ounce of strength, making it seem slow at first glance.
But the moment it strikes.
The instant their weapon comes crashing down.
It’s like a wild beast charging toward its prey.
Unstoppable.
Crushing bones and tearing through trees as if they were twigs.
BOOM!
For the ground to shake like this, it’s absurd.
This isn’t about enhancing the body with mana.
To them, using mana is like having a bomb to smash enemies.
If you don’t understand that nature and try to counterattack, you’ll soon be shattered by the shockwave, or worse, torn apart.
Strengthening the body happens through constant training since childhood.
Whereas the old Berke and the current empire have focused on systemizing the use of mana and building the capacity to wield it, their methods differ greatly.
“Haaah!”
The warrior on the left quickly rushes forward, swinging a round shield.
Lowering my stance, I dodge and strike the underside of the shield with the pomel.
“Huh!”
The towering warrior flinches slightly and steps back, his balance disrupted.
Seizing the moment, I evade another spear thrust from behind.
“This! Look at this! This is the technique!”
The shield-bearing warrior exudes inexplicable joy.
“That’s what happened last time too! For some reason, it was hard to use force against you! No matter how much strength I put in, you wouldn’t budge!”
“We learned the same swordsmanship, didn’t we? So it makes sense!”
“Are you here to play?! Can’t you take it seriously?!”
I don’t let my guard down.
Since this was the opportunity we’ve long awaited and yearned for, they won’t overlook this fleeting moment.
Still, unable to contain their cheers,
shouts of triumph, cries of ecstasy, and even laughter akin to the final scream burst forth.
All of it echoes deafeningly, tearing through the air.
“…….”
One thing is certain:
This is much harder than expected.
If I clash clumsily with their weapons, I’ll likely be the first to fall from their sheer power.
I confirmed earlier that disrupting the flow of mana within their bodies is possible, but…
It’s not easy.
Like trying to hold back a flood breaking through a dam—truly exhausting.
No matter how many rocks or trees I imagine or reflect upon,
it feels like everything will break.
Like I’ll be crushed under the pressure.
‘Not yet.’
Because I’m not complete.
Because I haven’t prepared enough, haven’t made enough preparations.
The disconnect between body and consciousness remains.
My body is still immature, while my mind and spirit are scattered.
The only reason I can bind these two together forcibly must be the power of will.
But no matter how earnest and fervent the will or desire may be,
that doesn’t mean it’s omnipotent.
Everything is relative.
And now, facing an overwhelmingly challenging opponent relatively,
and going against unreasonable adversaries in terms of compatibility,
coupled with numerical disadvantage,
…being pushed back is only natural.
Thus.
Accepting the inevitable and creating paths where none exist while moving forward…
That’s part of the resolve.
“When will you stop running away?!”
“You’re like a little squirrel!”
“The name ‘Carriel’ shall echo! That guy never took a single step back against us!”
He and I are different.
Not to mention, our realities and situations are also different.
It’s not a question of who’s right or wrong.
It’s not about who’s better or worse.
We’re just completely different people.
Even the swordsmanship supposedly taught by Grandeous is entirely different.
What Grandeous taught him was basic techniques of wielding a sword.
On the other hand, for me?
Rather, taking a stance, swinging, cutting, and thrusting… those are secondary and supplementary.
I’m still far from mastering swordsmanship.
Even though I’ve grasped some principles, I’m barely past the initial stages.
Moreover, my body doesn’t follow my intentions.
Even if I understand it intellectually or intuitively,
my body fails to execute it.
It’s a matter of time.
Tempering requires time on the forge.
No matter how excellent a blacksmith may be,
without sufficient time, even with the best materials and tools,
nothing can be completed properly.
“Haaah!”
With an incomprehensible roar, the warrior charges, shaking the earth beneath him.
-?!!!
Defending wasn’t enough.
Thrown off by weight and momentum, my body soared into the air.
At least because I responded properly, it ended up like this.
Had I taken the full brunt of that force, my body wouldn’t just be damaged—it would’ve shattered, whether my whole body or specific parts, in some form or another.
That is, at that point, it would’ve been over.
“―!!”
As the ground approaches, I adjust my posture as much as possible to ensure my body rolls smoothly.
Also, I carefully arrange myself so I don’t accidentally stab or cut myself with the weapon I’m holding.
Managing the positioning while continuing the landing technique to mitigate the impact.
Despite my efforts to stabilize myself, inertia continues to drag my body along the ground.
“…….”
This situation is absurd.
I haven’t even started resisting properly,
and already, it’s come to this.
I saw the memories of Fortress Carriel.
However, how exactly he fought the barbarian warriors,
I couldn’t see.
Because I returned to reality just before that.
Even if I had seen it, would anything have changed?
“That’s right! This is normal! It should’ve been like this!”
The barbarian warrior who sent me flying roars loudly, encouraging himself.
“But back then, it wasn’t like this! Back then, it was completely different!”
“You don’t deserve to utter that name!”
“What big talk! Look at you struggling against us! Such a weak sight!”
…Most of it is true, so there’s not much to say.
Excuses don’t work unless they convince, and debating excuses means it’s already too late.
“…….”
Still, somehow, the sword neither broke nor bent.
The sword held up—not because I’m great, but because the sword is excellent.
For example, I’m weak.
Even if I wield a holy sword once used by my father,
I’d probably be no different than I am now.
Even if I had relics or powerful magical tools,
they’d amount to nothing without proper grounding.
So, I worry about breaking and shattering,
…fearing that I might be uprooted completely right now.
“…….”
I walk forward.
Not expecting anyone to push me from behind,
nor dreaming of someone blocking my path ahead.
I don’t entertain vague hopes of performing miraculous feats,
don’t dream of it, and don’t expect it.
The point is, the reality given to me is a problem to solve with the fruits of my labor until now.
If I can’t overcome it here and now,
there will be no next time.
No future.
Clutching onto impossibilities?
Challenging the impossible?
Who decided what’s impossible? Who shouted that something can’t be done?
It’s all me.
My weakness, my fear, my complacency.
…Because I thought and accepted it that way.
“Are you still not coming to your senses?!”
“Will you come? Come on!”
“Little human! Show us your true strength! Do you think this satisfies us?! This isn’t even worthy as an offering to the Supreme Deity! Therefore, we shall kill you! And everyone else too! Glory to the Supreme Deity!”
An axe slices through the air, rushing toward me savagely.
“?!”
Correcting my stance mid-step, I hastily grab the sword with both hands and barely deflect the blow.
KABOOM!
A sound like a siege weapon striking a wall reverberates in my ears.
Shockwaves send my arms soaring upward.
In an instant, the shock travels from my arms, over my shoulders, down to my ankles.
Because I failed to properly redirect it, my posture collapses entirely.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
“Hahaha!”
The warrior stampedes toward me, shaking the ground like a charging bear.
No, far more ferociously than any bear.
“Ughh—aaaah!”
A dagger drawn from somewhere—still sizable compared to mine.
I barely block the vertical strike and…
redirect it.
Simultaneously diving inward, I shift the sword from both hands to my left.
Swinging it horizontally across his forearm.
CHUNK!
It doesn’t cut.
Feels like hitting steel.
“Where?!”
The warrior flicks his nose, dismissing me as he swings his arm.
But it misses.
Perfectly timed, his arm grazes past my face.
“Eh?!”
His steps falter.
Originally,
I knew it wouldn’t cut.
Anyone who can manipulate even a bit of mana wouldn’t find my attacks threatening, let alone to a child.
Back during my academy days, this flaw was constantly pointed out.
Then and now, the body I carry is the same.
The only differences are the tricks, skills, and knowledge I’ve forcibly ingrained based on necessity.
And more importantly,
the change in willpower and mindset.
…However, the pathetic hope that these changes alone bring miracles?
There’s no way I’d naively cling to that.
I don’t expect it.
Therefore, wishful thinking and longing alone won’t suffice.
Making it happen ultimately relies on cold rationality and its practical application.
For instance, results.
“Eh?!”
Climbing atop his staggering body, I latch onto his hair—a continuous knot rather than a clean cut—and pull him backward.
My raised left hand.
Gripping the sword tightly, I reverse my grip.
And with that, I drive the blade directly into his eye socket.
Aiming for the eyeball.
I slam it down like a hammer.
CRUNCH!
“Ggggaaaahhh—!”
It’s not over until it’s truly over.
Using the momentum from clinging to the sword, I swing and slash, launching myself away.
The warrior screams.
I narrowly avoid his reckless swinging arm and collapse onto the ground.
“Cough!”
Adjusting my breathing with a light cough, I immediately create distance and observe my opponent.
The warrior, writhing in agony with blood streaming from his eye socket, eventually…
Thuds and twitches repeatedly on the ground.
“…….”
Just one.
Even that was achieved partly through exploiting his carelessness.
Perhaps, after witnessing this, the next approach will need to be different.
Does it matter?
When you can’t handle the opponent right in front of you, hiding your best move for later is pointless.
Of course, that process is necessary, but speaking broadly, it’s a conversation for after overcoming the immediate obstacle.
“…….”
Passing by the corpse-like figure wriggling on the ground, I continue forward.
“Not bad!”
“You really handled that one like a noisy little squirrel! Bold kid!”
I remain unfazed.
Death is merely a process to prove courage.
“…….”
Without a word, I lower my sword and regulate my breathing.
My arm muscles feel like they’re about to tear from overexertion.
My ankle stings slightly—did I tweak it when I was thrown?
Even my fingers ache from gripping the sword too tightly.
The shock from earlier hasn’t subsided.
Every time I relax even a little, my vision tilts as if the world is spinning.
Even though I didn’t get hit,
the blood flowing from my nose suggests that dodging wasn’t enough.
“It’s definitely tough with three of them attacking.”
But now,
“There are two of you left?”
“Don’t get cocky, brat.”
“This fool falling just made you overconfident. You’ll die like this.”
“You talk too much.”
Ultimately, I have no choice but to use this.
I draw the straight sword half-forcibly hanging at my waist.
“What if I do this?”
One in each hand.
I grab a sword in both.
Sure, I might’ve toyed around with dual-wielding for fun or out of whimsy, but I’ve never seriously considered entering combat like this.
Already struggling with one sword, handling two?
Unless you’re exceptionally skilled with your hands and have a keen sense, it’s inherently impossible.
Even with consistent practice, unless your natural talent aligns,
unless you’re extraordinarily gifted in wielding swords,
this is nothing more than suicidal behavior driven by superficial confidence.
“You idiot?”
“I’ll make you regret it.”
So, I switch perspectives.
I’ve never been about wielding swords.
It’s just…
…a tool.
Slowly closing the distance as much as possible,
I throw the newly drawn sword at the warrior on the right.
My body moves to the opposite side.
The shield looms like a fortress, covering his entire body.