A path was revealed. Countless, countless paths.
The path that started from a single root split into hundreds, thousands of branches, stretching out like a giant tree spreading its limbs. Gazing at those many paths, Kalt moved. One step forward. With strength.
Thud.
One step. The moment he stepped forward, half of the path disappeared. He let out a long breath. Again, half disappeared. He lightly gripped the hilt of his sword. At the end of half disappearing, half disappearing, once again half disappearing, only one path remained.
Kalt lowered his sword.
The moonlight’s blade scattered a subtle glow.
Tap.
The first step firmly establishes balance. The second step is taken lightly. The third step kicks off the ground and moves forward. Kalt ran along the path of the sword.
And, the moment of collision approaches.
Kuntel’s sword, aligned with the lofty sky, fell. A sword swinging from above to below. The most fundamental swordsmanship, the movement a knight learns upon first gripping a sword.
Fundamental.
The countless repetitions of this single swing are Kuntel’s most powerful strike. The moment the sword swung, all sounds vanished. The sound of droplets, the sound of feet hitting the ground. Even the sounds of rising rocks falling, all vanished.
In the silence came the sound of slicing.
The scenery split in half.
With the splitting scenery came a stream of silver-white blade lines. Kalt knows that technique, that technique of slicing which was created from humanity’s obsession to cut what cannot be cut, and its name is utterly simple.
Slicing.
A strike reaching the extreme of the concept of slicing comes.
‘No, that can’t be.’
The moment Kalt faced Kuntel’s slice, he gritted his teeth.
When Kuntel raised his sword, Kalt couldn’t comprehend Kuntel’s sword. He knew the technique of slicing, but why? Kuntel directly answered that question.
‘One strike, no, not just one.’
The sword that dropped like a guillotine pierced through the ground and soared towards the sky. The path of the sword didn’t end with a single strike; it continued to extend. With every step Kalt took forward, Kuntel’s sword drew another line.
Not one strike, but a combo.
Countless blade lines surged forth. Like a storm.
Facing the impending death, Kalt involuntarily smiled. Yes, this is it. This is what I set my sights on. Nothing goes as expected. Yet, because of that…
‘It has meaning.’
There is meaning in overcoming the perfect you.
Without hesitation, Kalt stomped the ground. He swung his sword towards the surging blade lines. Even now, the path Kalt sees remains unshaken.
Kaahhhhhhng!
Swords clash.
Lives clash.
2.
Cutting through the air, towards the approaching blade lines, Kalt swung his sword. As his sword drew a smooth arc, the moment it engaged with the slicing technique, a thud resonated from his fingers.
Even though the blade was thin, it felt incredibly heavy.
So heavy that I can’t deflect it. If I cannot deflect it, I must evade it. Without hesitation, Kalt pulled his sword. Tilting his sword while still following the unshakable path, he swung.
Chaahhhhhhhk!
It sounded as if slicing through water. The slope of the slicing moved not towards Kalt but somewhere else. Letting the strike flow, Kalt took a step forward. The moment Kalt stepped, Kuntel swung his sword twice.
The wave of the sword, the blade lines, the sword light.
The wave of strikes crashed down.
Before the flooding wave of strikes, Kalt swung his sword. Since the blade did not waver, and his eyes were not closed, the path Kalt sees also does not waver.
…Long ago, when faced with the trial of the Holy Grail and encountered the slicing technique, Kalt advanced by sacrificing part of his body. The slicing he faces now is sharper and heavier than that.
‘But.’
Kalt smiled.
‘This time, there’s no need to.’
Only blood flows.
The pain in his fingers was the first, and his fingers wrapped around the hilt did not move. As if they had become one with the sword.
…You wouldn’t know.
That I have seen a scenery like this before. That I learned from that experience. That for the sake of receiving your sword, I prepared for this moment dozens, hundreds of times.
Chaahhhhhhhk!
The sound of slicing through water echoed again. Kalt’s sword shone in the moonlight, and the blood pooling at his feet reflected the full moon. Full moon. Like the moon reflected in a lake, Kalt’s sword light rippled.
Gently. Like flowing water. Like a dance.
If Kuntel’s sword path was a straight, decisive line, Kalt’s sword path was serpentine. Kalt swung his sword as he took a step. Kuntel’s sword traced half a trajectory.
He’s catching up. Slowly.
The human left alone before the surging wave of strikes rides the flow. He swings his sword in a serpentine manner. Dancing, again he takes a step. This time, Kuntel could only swing his sword once.
Chaahhhhhhhk!
Kalt’s path slices through the wave.
He pushes forward. Continues forward.
Before long, the pace of the two matched.
No, it’s not the same. Bit by bit, but Kalt’s breath began to outpace Kuntel’s. With each slice let go, Kalt’s sword became simpler. He seeks efficiency.
Kiieeeing!
Now he even reverses the slicing.
The slicing that followed Kalt’s swing collided with Kuntel’s fired slicing. As their strikes negated each other, Kalt stepped forward. The situation had reversed.
When Kalt took two steps, Kuntel swung his sword once. Now it’s once every three steps. Once every four steps… how many times did it repeat?
Finally.
Kaahhhhhhng!
Finally, the sound of blades clashing resonated. Now, Kalt stood before Kuntel. At the moment the crescent moon-encircled sword collided with Kuntel’s sword, sword light and sword light clashed, twisting space.
For a moment, the sound of air contracting and expanding echoed, and the two sword lights vanished as if evaporating. What remained was nothing but two blades. Not the special swords of superhumans, but mere human swords.
Clang, clang. Clang!
Iron against iron clashed.
In this moment where the most basic strikes bite down on each other, there are no extrasensory perceptions or sword lights, nor anything similar.
Kakaka!
Not two superhumans, but a fight between two stubborn knights. The sound of steel clashing rang sharply. It was far too simple for a duel of sword masters.
Skeng.
Kuntel’s blade swung diagonally from above. Aiming for Kalt’s armpit. A strike that would slice from the right shoulder to the left waist. In response, Kalt’s sword rose up from below.
The moment the blades clashed, Kalt’s sword was pushed back.
He couldn’t win in a test of strength. Kalt knew that fact already. He sensed it. Thus, at the moment the blades touched, Kalt twisted his body. Pivoting on the foot that moved sideways.
He flowed Kuntel’s strike aside in a crescent.
There was no way he could miss the opening created.
The crescent-shaped blade traced an arc, painting the trajectory of the full moon. The warrior’s body, the masterpiece of the heretic, all of that held no significance in this moment.
Scrape.
Kalt’s blade touched Kuntel’s right side and burst through his left armpit, with black blood gushing out like a fountain. A clean cut. Immediately afterward, blood spurting out like a fountain.
At the end of the path he walked, Kalt surpassed his master.
3.
Clang.
As blood flowed, Kuntel’s body tilted. The sword he dropped hit the ground and made a loud noise. The moment Kuntel knelt and fell, Kalt also coughed out a breath, held back in his chest.
Blood erupted from his eyes, nose, and mouth.
The price of moving beyond his limits.
It felt as if his legs would give way at any moment, but that could not be allowed. Barely balancing, Kalt caught his breath. He exhaled deeply.
“…Hoo.”
Exhaling, Kalt looked at his feet.
There, knelt Kuntel. His body was crumbling. Plop, plop went Kuntel’s arms as they fell. The forcibly mended flesh was coming apart piece by piece, leaving only Kuntel’s flesh.
The flesh that had met death at the hands of Ganikalt.
The body that was sliced by Death’s Blade was barely held together by the heretic’s vines. Not only with Death’s Blade, but Kalt’s marks also were etched on that body. Slowly, very slowly, Kuntel raised his body.
…How with that body?
Kalt gritted his teeth. Trying to move his immobile arm to swing his sword, but the moment he locked eyes with Kuntel, who had lifted his head, Kalt’s body stiffened.
One eye turned into a muddy well, becoming a single eye of an aged man. Yet that eye was not one that could perceive a calamity’s minion. It was a human eye. An eye Kalt knew well.
Thud.
Kuntel reached out and grasped the vines that bound his body. The moment he tore away the heretic’s vines, his body began crumbling rapidly. A disintegrating flesh. Kuntel looked at Kalt.
“… , ……..”
He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly.
Then noticing that no voice came out, Kuntel smiled bitterly. He slowly reached out and lightly patted Kalt’s shoulder. Though no words were heard, Kalt understood his lips.
Well done, Kalt.
With those final words, Kuntel’s body crumbled away. Turning to dust, his body scattered. He was finally meeting the death that had been awaited.
Whisps.
The wind scattered the ashes.
Kalt turned his head and watched the drifting bone dust. In Kirmelt Canyon, which had become the Grave of the Sword, Kuntel’s remains scattered.
…Although this place was merely the recreated scenery of Kirmelt Canyon, Kuntel matched the proper death he deserved in the very place he first wielded the sword. He returned to the long-desired hometown and met his rest.
Kalt gazed at that scene for a long time.
For a long while, Kalt stood in place.
Kalt moved the moment the scenery cracked. The Kirmelt Canyon recreated based on Kuntel’s memories began to crumble starting from the moment of Kuntel’s death.
As he watched the crumbling scenery of Kirmelt Canyon, Kalt finally raised his arm in a sword salute.
…To the proud knight, Kuntel.
Kalt sheathed his sword.
Beyond the collapsing scenery, Kalt staggered and took a step forward.
