Chapter 73: If You're Frustrated, Try Keeping Up

I had my suspicions.

There are countless ways to handle mana.

There are different types of mana, and the methods of utilizing them vary wildly depending on the race.

Humans, whose physical abilities are inferior to all other races, are consequently a race with an extremely high dependency on mana.

Even a simple sprint—whether one employs mana or not—creates a gap in physical ability that far exceeds the mere difference between a child and an adult.

Therefore, for a warrior, or more specifically a knight, strengthening the body through mana is a process as natural as breathing or drinking water.

This is where the fundamental gap lay—the reason why I had no choice but to be an underachiever and a dropout at the Academy.

In that sense…

…Although my mobility may seem extraordinary, compared to those who combatively enhance their physical abilities in actual battle…

There are still plenty of lacking areas.

Even so, what does it mean that he cannot keep up with me?

‘It’s the same.’

The fact that he can scale buildings and chase me on foot is partly due to his innate physical ability.

But it is likely the result of training.

And while it differs from my own, the method and effect of his mana utilization are probably similar to what I have consistently displayed.

However, the difference is clear.

I cannot properly handle mana.

But what if someone who can handle mana exhibits swordsmanship skills that are the same or similar to mine?

‘It’s a losing game, but…’

I have nothing to regret.

While checking the warehouse, I had a rough grasp of how he handles his sword.

There are limits to what I can discern from just that.

I’ll find out once we clash directly.

The location is appropriate.

A sort of open space in the back alleys.

Judging by the nauseating smell of filth wafting through the air, it was a place naturally devoid of people.

And so.

“Where do you think you’re going!”

Having stopped moving without realizing it, killing my presence and moving stealthily to the exact opposite direction of where he was chasing from, I reached my target location.

The moment I arrived, I lunged forward.

It was a surprise attack, but I didn’t dive in with the intent of immediate effectiveness.

And, as expected.

A sword flew toward me faster than the eye could see.

The moment I blocked it in mid-air…

My entire body swayed.

‘…The difference in physical ability.’

It’s overwhelming.

I let that force flow through me in the air and landed simultaneously.

Overwhelming physical ability formed by innate traits and grueling training.

And the swordsmanship that followed…

“…….”

Something was different.

The way he took a sword form while gripping the sword with both hands was somewhat similar.

Yet, for some reason, there was a slight difference in the connections and the way he lunged.

To begin with, a sword strike that aims for the first blow, radiating hostility and murderous intent…

Is it always this clumsy?

I deflect and parry it with a sword held in one hand.

Like flowing water.

At times, as if caught in a sudden, swirling gale.

I deflect, and I scatter.

“What?!”

As if sensing my intention, he attempts to overwhelm me with physical strength without utilizing mana separately.

Fast sword strikes pour down one after another, their momentum feeling as heavy as a single-edged axe.

It is contradictory, yet his abnormal body forces this reality into existence.

In close-quarters combat, his movements are nothing short of a disaster.

Combined with a reckless momentum and phenomenal senses, a viciously persistent offense rains down.

Even so.

Because he grips with both hands, the movement and operation of the sword are inevitably somewhat uniform.

No, that’s by my standards.

In the first place…

I have faced thousands of Arrow Barrages from the sky until I became so accustomed to them that I could respond to every single one.

I only escaped that godforsaken training after I had learned to push through the frontal charge of dozens, even hundreds, of cavalry horses.

…Being “fast” is not the problem.

Even the barrage of all sorts of invisible weapons raining down from all directions in a melee or a chaotic brawl without allies…

…I somehow managed to carve my way through.

In a way, it feels like something from a very long time ago.

But when I face such clear hostility and murderous intent…

…It’s as if.

Only then do all my senses awaken, as if opening my eyes for the first time.

For example, the moment I feel a threat.

Before my body freezes in fear.

Before my body shrinks from tension.

Before that, a surge of irritation erupts.

An unbearable rage tears through my chest and lungs.

I did not polish my sword and techniques to endure and tolerate.

It’s not that I wish to swing indiscriminately.

…But I didn’t endure, tolerate, and bear it all—like some idiot, moron, fool, or simpleton—just to survive.

I didn’t go through those godforsaken hardships and penance, dying hundreds and thousands of times…

…just to endure.

“You’re actually blocking this?! Even though you’re outmatched in both strength and agility! Is this a gap in technical proficiency?! No, more importantly, how are you doing that so skillfully with one hand!”

Even as he speaks, there is no mercy in his strikes. Without a single lag, without a single tremor.

Moreover, there is no hesitation.

A moment’s lapse in concentration would immediately allow the snake’s head or fangs to find a mark, letting those venomous teeth sink in.

Once an opponent penetrates the defense, for us, it is practically the end.

Thus, I parry the sword as if playing a game of mental chess, create distance, then close it again to entangle him in reverse.

Fighting with pure physical ability is absolute torture.

…But didn’t I recently learn a way to sustain my body over the long term in such a fight?

Relax the shoulders and accept everything.

In the first place, does gripping the sword sheath tightly with the hand increase the skill of handling the sword or make the strike more powerful?

No.

The sword sheath should be held just enough to not lose it and to stand firm against any impact.

One must not clumsily put strength into the arm joints or shoulders.

Even if I am tense or my emotions are heightened, forcing strength into the muscles is unnecessary.

…It would be more effective to increase the distance and radius of the sword swing.

It is more effective to accurately aim for the opponent’s vital points and pierce, or even if shallow, to cut.

There is no need to uselessly apply force to the lower back or tighten the abdomen.

Similarly, there is no need to squeeze the chest or force the lower body to support itself.

Use even the impact transmitted through the sword as a driving force for movement.

A single step forward, a small step for evasion or movement, a long stride, or a wide stomp.

Even the minute impact arising from them, even the violent dragging of the feet, is used as power.

The small shocks occurring inside the body as it moves, hesitates, or rotates—the excessive loads, the various frictions.

I utilize them all.

Even the rising and falling is part of the cycle.

Starting from the sand. From the dust.

From a speck.

As water flows downward.

And as it flows and flows, gathering and gathering, to soar back toward the sky.

“You’re persistent!”

Though it is a sword held in one hand.

That does not mean it is only half the strength.

The empty left hand also moves in accordance with natural logic.

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

Conversely, when the right arm rises, the left arm falls.

Of course, that is not all.

The movement of the legs. Posture. Height. Angle. Distribution of center of gravity between left and right. Directionality of force. Strength of connection. Fluidity. Gaze processing. Control of breath. Smooth control of the reacting body and senses.

And yet, I think.

And yet, I move.

Observing the enemy, contemplating myself.

Everything is organic.

Without a single point of negligence.

Move.

Circulate.

Entangle.

Overturn.

A straight line can be enveloped by a circle.

A point can be stained into a line.

A void is filled with points.

When they clash, they circle back; when they circle back, they flow again.

They flow away.

In that way.

What goes up must come down, and what has come down rises again.

As the filled is emptied.

As the full tilts.

As the empty must be filled.

As the filled must be emptied until it runs dry.

We.

Are born to die.

Possessed in order to lose.

And so, to let go.

We met.

“Let’s stop.”

At those words, I snapped back to my senses.

“…….”

What was that?

Just now…?

“Even a wraith wouldn’t be this devoid of emotion. It’s like I’m fighting a moving scarecrow. What the hell are you doing? What is that?”

There was no murderous intent, and no matter what he did, I accepted it all.

“…Did you actually learn Grandeus’s Sword Style?”

“…….”

Who cares.

As long as it’s effective, it doesn’t matter.

The three things the Demon King taught me.

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

Accuracy means being precise.

Efficiency means maximizing that precision.

Sincerity is the utmost devotion.

The Demon King once spoke of this:

[Even the smallest task must never be neglected. Always do your best. That best must always be consistent.

When that devotion becomes sincerity and remains consistent, it becomes the heart and manifests outside the body.

Only when it manifests can it change, and only those who can change can realize their dreams and ideals.

Only such a person can resist fate.

Even facing it is not yet the beginning. It is merely resistance.

Yet, for most, even that is impossible.

Innate nature, habits, temperament, disposition.

Unable to overcome even talent, they are crushed by their given environment, merely breathing until they die.

Blinded by desire, they rot and burn their time.

Living their entire lives swayed by such things before dying—that is the way of living beings. Be they sapient beings or mere organic matter.

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

That is what true sincerity is.

Never losing sight of yourself for a single moment.

Being aware that you are standing in that spot. One who knows what they are doing every moment, even one second before and one second after. One who knows where they are heading. One who walks while seeing the path clearly with both eyes.

Only then will you not wander.

You will not get lost.

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

Therefore, for that reason, you must never lose track of your position.

The moment you do, neither you nor the path will remain.]

“…….”

Is Grandeus’s Heart Formula, or the sword forms and formulas, the priority?

No, those are secondary.

For me, the priority is, regardless, this.

Using that as my foundation, I advance and retreat.

…And thus, I rightfully maintain my place.

“You talk too much.”

“Ha!”

The other side seemed to have a lot to say but didn’t know how to put it into words.

What do I care.

“I guess there’s no answer unless we fight to the death.”

“…Then come at me with that resolve.”

“Tsk.”

He scans the surroundings and gives me a look.

“…….”

More eyes are watching.

…But.

Am I really going to care about something like that?

When we’re talking about fighting to the death.

“The most annoying thing is that I don’t like the fact that you’re learning something through me.”

“…….”

“I’d rather die a dog’s death… than be eaten and used as daily sustenance.”

Then, as if he had truly lost motivation, he sheathed his sword.

“We’ll see each other again soon. If that godforsaken prophecy is correct. Then, whether you like it or not, you’ll see the stripped shell.”

“…….”

“I’m Venus. Remember it, or don’t.”

Watching him turn his back and head toward the alley, huffing, I also quickly leaped up the exterior wall of the building and left the area immediately.

====

“Crazy bastard.”

Similar, yet different.

Venus repeatedly spat phlegm, claiming his appetite had been ruined after facing Kariel.

“Was that actually possible with one hand?”

What he saw occasionally was definitely what they had learned.

However, something was different.

…It wasn’t only Kariel who had gained some realization.

Venus himself, amidst that insane clash… had experienced a truly bizarre sensation.

“What’s different? How can he be that…?”

Neither of them had displayed anything that could be called their specialty.

But that isn’t something one can show just because they want to.

…It is something that can only be shown if the opponent allows it.

Whether it’s handling mana, hostility, murderous intent, or malice.

The secret arts and Arcane Secrets he had learned were meant to turn such emotions against the enemy.

But what on earth was that?

There was nothing.

A bizarre feeling, like encountering a storm inside a fog.

An absurdity, like swinging a sword by force while submerged in a giant lake.

You cannot cut the wind.

If you can cut it… a very specific and special technique is required.

No, if techniques aren’t enough, something even more special might be needed.

“…….”

Yet, none of them dared to reproduce it.

The Dark Star that cleaves and swallows the radiance.

A trajectory imbued with the light of brilliant darkness.

Swallowing space, light, phenomena, and objects alike with equality.

The Black Light Star.

“…….”

The young man, the man, remembers.

Even though it was from when he was very, very young.

That massive trajectory of darkness that cleaved the lawless in a single strike.

The moment the black streak of light was drawn.

The vast magic and natural disasters, like miracles, that poured down as if to swallow the world.

The sight of them all, every single one, vanishing as if drowned, as if becoming bubbles.

He, Venus, has not forgotten.

No, he probably cannot forget.

…He has lived solely to reproduce that moment.

But why…

From that guy he just met for the first time, why does a similar scent waft from him?

Why, of all people.

Not me, but that godforsaken bastard!

And why, of all things!

From the child of my enemy!