EP.189 Each Stage (3)
Buying time against a disaster.
Kalt had once done something similar in the past. It was just before he retired from the battlefield. He recalled that day.
The most terrifying disaster.
A clear form of death.
‘Ganikalt, the Death’s Blade.’
Even a proud knight, a Sword Master who sings of life with their blade, is just another human in front of death. No matter what they have accomplished in their life, everything returns to nothingness before death.
A profound emptiness.
A sense of hollowness that nothing can be done.
“Ah, ahhh…!”
As death appears, humans drop to their knees. They sense the end of their lives and give up. It’s a disaster because they cannot resist. It’s death because they must accept it.
However.
“You don’t drop the sword.”
Sometimes, there are those who resist death.
“I will ask.”
Kalt did so.
He raised his sword in front of death. Just like Kuntel, who had taught him the sword before, he aimed his blade at the Death’s Blade.
“Are you a knight?”
While facing fear.
Feeling the terror of approaching death.
Still, he did not drop the sword.
“Well, I am a knight, but…”
The human answers death’s question.
“Before that, I was a knight.”
At that moment, what had he done?
What had he done to withstand the Death’s Blade, even for a moment? As Kalt recalled the past, his eyes opened.
What he could see upon opening his eyes was another disaster.
‘Ancient Lich, Skebal.’
A sorcerer truly deserving to be called the nightmare of the battlefield.
Everywhere he steps, traps abound. One mistake, one hesitation leads straight to death.
“Whoo…”
Kalt exhaled.
Even to take a breath, he had to swing his sword and keep moving his body. The breath he let out was hot, and his arm, which continuously swung the sword, ached.
Thud thud…
Once he regained his breath, his blood poured out. His wounds had opened, and he already lost sensation in one arm.
‘Even after using everything I could.’
It still doesn’t reach.
The power he obtained by artificial means was insufficient for the mere body of a human. Kalt breathed heavily and leaped back.
‘There’s no time to think leisurely.’
The strong could afford to be leisurely.
But he was not among them. Kalt kept moving without rest because his thoughts needed to translate into action.
“Until when do you plan to run?”
The disaster mocked humanity.
With a mere flick of its finger, it cornered humans. The laughter of the Ancient Lich echoed in the darkness.
“Running and running.”
Skebal flicked his finger.
A fireball the size of a house fell below. Knowing it was an unavoidable attack, Kalt widened his eyes and swung his sword.
“You think there is a realm you can reach?”
Slash…
Kalt’s sword cleaved through the flames. The trajectory the blade drew was neat. Yet, it remained the sword of a human. The split flames did not scatter and engulfed Kalt.
Thud!
Using a magic tool, Kalt braved through the flames. However, his body was covered in soot. The skin on his fingers melted, merging with the hilt.
‘There’s no way I’m dropping this sword.’
Rather, it’s good, he thought as he urged himself onward. The spells pursued Kalt from behind. The ground swelled up. Sharp stakes aimed for his life.
Thud…
The swung blade cut through the earth.
Following the methods he had seen in the encounter between the Hero and Ancient Lich, Kalt clumsily mimicked them. He cut the raised ground and used it as a foothold to leap time and again.
His movements were not as fluid as the Hero’s.
Even if he took a doping agent, Kalt’s movements did not reach the realm of the superhuman. Therefore, his actions were clumsy, not perfect like the Hero’s.
“Crap.”
Wounds increased.
The arm that wielded the sword screamed. But Kalt did not stop. He had never expected perfection, so there was no hesitation in his movements.
‘Next.’
He doesn’t have superhuman instincts.
He doesn’t possess the extraordinary physical abilities of the Hero.
‘Next, again next.’
Thus, Kalt continued to think.
He didn’t rely solely on instinct. He moved by seeing with his own eyes and judging with his own mind.
“It’s coming.”
He did not take his eyes off Skebal’s fingers.
His senior, Raniel, the Ashen Mage, had said.
“Every sorcerer’s beginning is in the hands.”
Hands.
“Flicking fingers, flicking wrists, or swinging arms. You won’t understand ‘what’ spell that is. But all sorcerers have habits.”
Habits.
“I flick fingers. And most sorcerers are in the direction of where they swing.”
Reading habits and direction.
Skebal swung his fingers. From below to above. Kalt immediately kicked off the wall and soared into the air.
Bang bang bang!
Stakes erupted. Kalt was no longer in their path. In mid-air, he twisted his body to swing the sword.
Thud…
He saw the next move in Skebal’s hand motion. Agilely responding to the next move, Kalt was quick. Just as Skebal’s spell was about to be unleashed, Kalt’s sword cut the circuit.
“It’s possible.”
Though little by little, he began to grasp the technique.
However, there was no time to leisurely comprehend the opponent’s methods. The time given to him was not long.
“…Ugh.”
Kalt felt the effects of the drugs wearing off.
Pain gradually returned to his body. He felt the furious flames that had rampaged inside were now dwindling little by little.
‘It’s not my full strength.’
All those magical tools and doping agents.
The attained realm by artificial means quickly unraveled. Strength gradually seeped away from his body.
“…。”
In contrast, what about the disaster?
It simply frowned. There was no sign of urgency in the limited time.
‘How much longer must I endure?’
Kalt gasped and pondered.
‘How much longer must I endure?’
He couldn’t tell.
Thus, Kalt firmed his resolve.
Crack…
The bones in his ankle made a loud noise. Kalt lowered his posture. Like crawling on the ground, or gathering strength. It resembled the stance just before shooting an arrow.
‘It’s impossible to draw out time.’
He didn’t know how much time was given to the disaster. However, one thing was certain… his time was running out first.
‘I must finish it.’
Enduring was impossible.
Then, he sought another answer.
“…ha.”
Skebal also sensed the change in Kalt’s demeanor. The hunting dog, which had been fleeing, was now cornered and bared its teeth.
‘How ridiculous.’
He raised his arm.
In the darkness, the circuits blazed black.
Flash!
The moment it emitted light, Kalt kicked off the ground and began to run. As the sensations began to return, Kalt dashed with all his might.
2.
Old memories surfaced.
Suddenly, Raniel thought of this.
As she kicked off the ground and headed for Apuria, she recalled past events. Memories from the battlefield.
The second encounter with the Death’s Blade.
It occurred suddenly. During a time when Kyle was at the front line, endlessly advancing. At that time, death appeared unexpectedly.
A steep cliff and the narrow gap between cliffs.
A straight path.
There, death appeared. The Death’s Blade that fell from the sky cleaved through the human forces.
Buff, clunk, rumble!
With one swing, the gorge collapsed.
Upon hearing that, Raniel and Kyle, who had hurried to the rear, had to brace themselves. They had to be prepared to sacrifice all the knights here, or their own deaths.
Even the Hero and the Wise One sensed death.
Running did not mean they thought any of the knights could be saved.
However, the expectation missed the mark.
As they stepped onto the broken stone wall of the gorge, the dreadful scene Raniel anticipated was absent. There was only one knight standing there, firmly on his two feet.
“Kalt.”
Before the Death’s Blade, spitting blood yet glaring defiantly, the knight stood. Raniel remembers the words the Death’s Blade spoke to him.
“I ask.”
Dropping the sword from a twisted beast’s hand, death questioned the human who gripped a sword with human hands.
“What is your name?”
It was a tribute from death to humanity.
A sign of respect for a human who had repelled even once against its sword. It meant that Kalt had withstood an attack from the Death’s Blade.
‘I don’t know how I withstood it.’
What Kalt did there, how he managed to withstand the strike of the Death’s Blade and buy time… Raniel doesn’t know.
‘One thing is certain.’
At that moment, Kalt had given up something.
By giving up, he received the blade of death.
By receiving it, he bought time for himself.
“This time.”
Raniel kicks off the rooftop and leaps.
Following the path someone had stepped on, she reaches the clock tower. She places her foot on the footsteps imprinted on the clock tower’s wall and lifts her gaze.
What she sees is a black barrier.
“This time, you must be holding on.”
Somehow, through an unknown method.
Thus, she must go.
So that the time he bought is not in vain.
Thud!
As Raniel kicks off from the clock tower, she throws herself into the air, pushing her arm back, tightly clenching her fist as she aims for the barrier. The punches she delivered were layered with spells.
Smash!
Boom!
A massive impact shook the barrier.
3.
He sprints.
With every single step, he puts his all into pounding the ground. Kalt squeezes out the remaining strength in his body as he takes steps. With each step, his body accelerates.
One step.
He leaps toward the pouring spells.
Some he slashes, some he cannot.
His body is increasingly wounded. Blood pours out.
Another step.
The ground rises. Bone stakes erupt. The place to step disappears, yet one must create their own footing to keep moving.
Thud…
He swings his sword again and again.
‘Give up.’
Blood splatters.
‘Choose.’
By allowing one strike, he moves a step forward.
With every step, Kalt gives up something. Knowing that he cannot advance without sacrificing something, Kalt does not hesitate in his choices.
‘If I will give something, I will give it up completely.’
There’s no time to slice through the pouring stakes.
He sacrifices one arm. Giving that up, he moves on.
Leaving his limp arm behind, Kalt continues forward with the remaining hand gripping the sword.
“Aah…”
Kalt recalls.
His past experiences.
‘I was like this back then too.’
When facing the most terrifying disaster.
When he had to parry the blade of death.
He moved in this way back then.
‘I mustn’t think of taking it all back safely.’
From the start, he moves with the intent to sacrifice.
What must be given must be cleaved.
That was his utmost best.
‘What I gave up back then was my heart.’
A means to purify magical energy. Or all the life he had.
Though he barely survived thanks to the Saint’s miracle, Kalt had to retire from the battlefield. Then what must he give now?
The distance had completely closed.
Kalt kicked off the ground and leaped.
He looked up at the Ancient Lich in mid-air.
‘In a weakened state.’
Due to an earlier combat with the Braver, the Ancient Lich’s body was cracked. The remnants of the spell the Braver had used last still lingered, slowly but surely eating away at Skebal’s mana.
Thus, this was a fight born of sacrifice.
Upon the stage created by someone’s sacrifice, Kalt faithfully fulfills his role.
‘Aiming for the skull.’
The black sludge drips from the eye socket.
Contained within was the Life Vessel.
“I’ll pierce it.”
With his target clear, Kalt readies himself. However, he is not the only one aiming for a decisive strike. Skebal also waited for the moment the hunting dog approached.
Flash.
A spell completed in an instant.
Sharp bone stakes aimed for Kalt’s head. While he could evade, if he did so, his stance would be disturbed, and he would have to start all over again.
“What must I give up?”
Kalt does not back down.
He decides what to relinquish. Kalt merely tilted his head slightly to the side. The bone stake punctured his left eye. His vision turns red, and even as his head is thrown back, Kalt does not stop.
In an instant, overwhelming pain.
It signals that the doping has ended.
But Kalt does not notice. Instead, he feels light. He mistakenly believes the doping has not yet ended. In his delusion, he moves.
He recalls the Sword Master, Kuntel.
He was proud but ultimately fell to the disaster’s minion.
Kalt remembers his experience of facing him. He mimics the infinitely beautiful strike he once saw.
‘A beautiful movement, a perfect sword strike.’
Kalt’s arm moves.
It is not fast. It is not heavy.
The sword tip is light, yet it draws a certain trajectory.
It is a blade that clearly touches the realm of the superhuman.
Zing…
The blade moves. It doesn’t get drawn into power. What is drawn under perfect control is the sword’s path. The path traced by the sword is smooth. The bizarre trajectory is drawn towards the purpose set from the beginning.
The black eye socket.
Having lost his left eye, Kalt thrusts towards Skebal’s right eye socket. The spell cast by the Ancient Lich to protect the skull holds no meaning before the sword that has reached the realm of the superhuman.
Thwok!
The blade pierces through the spell and embeds into Skebal’s Life Vessel. The glow in Skebal’s eyes trembled violently.
“Ahh, ahhhhhh!”
Skebal screamed, flailing his arms.
The arm that hit Kalt sent him sprawling.
He rolled several times, and only after crashing into the wall of a building did Kalt finally stop.
“How dare you, how dare you, how dare you!”
Skebal’s eyes pulsated with fury.
The sword tip had certainly touched Skebal’s Life Vessel. But it did not fully penetrate. The Ancient Lich writhed in pain as he raised his arms.
“You insignificant human…!”
At the moment Skebal began to weave a spell.
“Cough, haah…”
Kalt spat blood, pulling the stake out of his eye, and lifted his head. A smile hung at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t the expression of one facing death.
“…ha.”
He chuckled, looking beyond Skebal.
Crack, crack…
Cracks spread through the black barrier that surrounded Apuria. Soon, a part of it shattered like glass.
Crunch!
From the shattered gap, sunlight streamed in.
Under the light, the Ashen-Haired Woman sparkled. As the barrier crumbled and Skebal turned back, he met her gaze.
The abhorrent ash-colored hair.
The voice of the wicked was nothing short of her blue eyes.
“Ashen…!”
Before Skebal could weave another spell, Raniel grabbed the Ancient Lich’s skull. She uttered no special spells.
Crack.
With one hand, she clutched the skull.
With the other, she held the hilt buried in the eye socket. It was a blow where a mere human had poured all their effort into it. The one determining its meaning would be her own role.
“Kalt.”
Raniel said.
“You’ve done well.”
She pushed the hilt in deeper.
The blade completely pierced Skebal’s Life Vessel.
