EP.228 Trial of the Holy Grail (2)
An expansive plain.
Kalt adjusted his grip on the sword while gazing at Kuntel, who still conceded.
A proud knight.
Kuntel, known as the strongest sword master.
He challenged him three times, and each time, he faced defeat without much to show for it. However, that didn’t mean Kalt learned nothing.
Swoosh.
Now, on his fourth challenge, Kalt has realized one thing: his perspective had been too narrow.
‘I thought wrong.’
He had been thinking far too simply.
Kalt understood that to reach the knight before him, he needed to comprehend the situation through a ‘different approach.’ The previous three challenges served as its foundation.
The realm of superhumans is distant.
It’s a long and treacherous road.
To reach it, one must stake their life on the line. They must showcase everything they have built up until now. Even though an artificial trial was set by the Holy Grail, one must still put everything on the line.
‘Everything.’
All that he learned, experienced, and trained.
This wasn’t merely about the sword (劍).
He had to acknowledge that fact now.
Huff…
Kalt took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
What came to mind was the talent he was born with. He had a decent aptitude for the sword, some skill in movement, and a fighting sense that was acceptable.
However.
None of them were talents that could reach the top tier.
The realm of superhuman is such that even those with first-rate talents might not achieve it, despite pouring their entire life into it. Yet, Kalt hoped. He wished to become a superhuman.
Thus, he risked his life at every moment.
He dreamed of reaching an unattainable realm.
By performing near-miraculous feats time and time again, he had successfully reached this point. Reflecting on his past, Kalt realized.
‘My talent. My specialty.’
Achieving goals by sacrificing something.
What is the more fundamental talent he has?
The only talent given to him that could reach the top tier Kalt recalled.
Seeing something.
Reading, analyzing, and understanding it.
Ultimately predicting and tracking it.
“Tracker.”
His talent as a Tracker.
It was a talent he had never associated with combat until now, but the three challenges and failures provided enlightenment to Kalt. Remembering his talent, Kalt opened his eyes.
“………”
In silence, his pupils widened.
His gaze sharply focused, and his sight became clearer. What he locked onto was the sword master Kuntel.
A grasp he had gained from the three challenges.
Kalt shifted that understanding into practice.
He read the movements of the superhuman before him. Every small movement, the habits when gripping the sword, the shifts in gaze and breath, every tiny gesture.
What he had seen and the information he had gathered combined.
With the intertwined information engraved in his mind, Kalt walked forward. One step, then another. With each step, his breathing became calmer.
It was different from the first moment.
Because it was different, so was the next.
Gently striking the ground, Kalt swung his sword. Kuntel again watched Kalt’s movements before slowly starting to move.
Zing!
The silver-white blade traced a trajectory that entwined with Kalt’s swinging sword. When their trajectories tangled, it was natural that Kalt would be the one to yield. He was outclassed not only in physical ability but also in technique.
The entwined blade descended towards the ground.
As it did in the first, second, and third challenges. In the first case, he was beheaded by a successive attack; in the second, his body was twisted, losing an arm; and in the third, he barely dodged by rolling on the ground.
And now, on this fourth challenge.
Kalt narrowed his eyes and gripped his sword tightly. The descending trajectory surged upward. While the result was still to ‘faint the sword,’ he twisted only where the result was headed.
A half-formed pre-sensation gained by edging closer to the realm of superhumans.
The imperfect pre-sensation and his talent as a Tracker combined to create a perception that differed from the pre-sentience of superhumans. The predictions born from this foreign sense produced a different outcome than Kuntel’s expectations.
Ding!
The two swords cleaved the air.
Thus, Kalt succeeded for the first time in parrying Kuntel’s sword. His arms trembled, his breath was ragged, but a smile spread across Kalt’s lips.
“I’ll continue.”
With a wider field of vision.
Amidst countless sword paths coming into focus, Kalt took another step forward.
“Kuntel.”
He approached the superhuman’s realm in his own way.
2.
The sword master Kuntel is strong.
That is an undeniable fact.
In the realm of technique, none could match him, and he possessed strength that surpasses an ordinary hero. Some say he helped overcome the extinguished era that came before.
A man who hasn’t stopped training even upon reaching superhuman status.
A knight who devoted his life to a single sword.
No knight is unaware of the feats he accomplished.
‘He’s that caliber.’
He was challenging that feat.
Kalt gripped his trembling sword and took a step back. No sooner had he done so than Kuntel quickly closed the distance and swung his sword.
Clang!
He inclined the tip of his sword to deflect Kuntel’s blade. However, even that wasn’t perfect. In an instant, just as he tilted his head, a sharp blade sliced through Kalt’s hair.
If he had been even a moment late, his head would have rolled.
It was a series of moments like that.
‘It’s tough. My arm is shaking. My fingers feel like they might break. My eyes feel like they might burst.’
Each strike felt heavy.
Every time Kuntel swung his sword, Kalt risked his life. He had to wring out everything he had to face each attack.
Even if he could predict it.
Even if he could see the trajectory the sword drew, it didn’t mean the opponent was weak. The opponent remained the strongest knight, a figure who had reached a far-off realm.
“…Ugh!”
Clang, clang.
The swords clashed repeatedly.
Breathing steadily was already difficult. Kalt retreated, and Kuntel stepped forward. Their footsteps intertwined chaotically.
‘I see.’
Bloodshot in his eyes.
‘See it, predict it, and move first.’
Countless pieces of information flooded his mind, organizing themselves to predict the next move. Moving first was the only method afforded to him.
Clash!
Kuntel’s blade pierced forward. Kalt deflected it with the side of his own sword, pushing forward. Kuntel responded by swinging his sword sideways.
He read that movement.
Since he comprehended it, Kalt immediately swung his sword. Clash, clash! Sparks flew as Kalt’s blade soared upward. Kuntel’s sword too became entangled with Kalt’s and lifted into the air.
Swish!
Kuntel’s sword cleaved the void.
Tap.
Kalt advanced by taking another step.
He sought to close the distance further. However, his wishes were not easily fulfilled. The opponent was the sword master Kuntel, and he demonstrated no hesitation even though his actions had been read.
‘Ah.’
Kalt saw.
The blade of Kuntel, directed toward the sky.
‘It’s coming.’
An attack he couldn’t block or deflect was rushing toward him.
The trajectory it was about to make was entirely visible to Kalt. He could foresee the future it would create.
‘I have to avoid it…’
The sword that was aimed at the sky now plummeted toward the ground.
As if it were a guillotine.
Kalt threw his body to the side. Focusing solely on escaping the range of the oncoming sword, he embarrassingly rolled across the grass.
Whoosh.
An eerie sound lingered in his ears.
As Kalt sprang to his feet, he glanced back at where he had just stood. Where he had been was marked with a long line on the plain.
“Ugh!”
No time to be astonished.
As soon as he stood up, Kuntel’s sword was swung down, and Kalt barely managed to raise his sword.
Crack!
With a loud noise, his fingertips broke as he gripped the sword tightly. Yet, the impact wouldn’t dissipate. Kalt’s body was pushed backward.
The distance he had barely closed widened again.
Kalt clenched his teeth. He couldn’t envision how to breach that distance. It was strong. Too strong.
‘It’s coming again.’
The gap had enlarged.
The opponent possessed the means to close that distance in an instant. There was no reason for him not to use it. However, what Kuntel did next was different than Kalt expected.
Swish.
Kuntel adjusted his sword grip. Instead of immediately pursuing, he readied his posture for a swing.
Crack, crack.
A distorted sound resonated around Kuntel’s sword. Kalt predicted the phenomenon it would cause. The moment that sword was swung, the effect from the perspective of the opponent would be utterly terrifying.
‘Cutting.’
Kalt knew about Kuntel’s technique.
If the Sword Demon Draka’s technique focused on creating nets with his swording to seize space… for Kuntel, his sword was honed for the act of ‘cutting.’
Cut what couldn’t be cut.
Kuntel had become a knight to cleave the sword of death. Thus, he had trained his technique to always cut what couldn’t be cut.
That forged technique was called Cutting.
Since the focus was solely on the act of cutting, its power goes without saying. It aimed for the limits of the concept of ‘to cut,’ and the blade of his technique resembled a single line of a blade.
It was coming.
Kuntel’s arm moved.
—Swish.
The sword he held swung through. The condensed blade energy at the tip was released. The released energy was not loud. The slash from the horizontal swing appeared merely as a line.
Tick, ti-di-dick.
All that touched the line was severed.
The name Cutting wasn’t given for no reason. With the line prepared to sever everything before him, Kalt grinned.
‘Finally.’
He had waited for this moment.
‘Finally, you’ll use your technique.’
He felt joy at the fact that he was being addressed properly, yet he also felt familiarity. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the blade energy that cuts everything it touches.
“May I ask? Are you a swordsman?”
What came to his mind was the memory of facing the sword of death.
He recalled the monstrous blade energy it had spewed forth. His movements from when he faced it replayed in his mind.
‘Letting go of what must be let go.’
Yet.
‘Not to stall for time but to reach you.’
It was different from before.
The situation was the same, but their intentions were different.
To achieve it, Kalt calculated again and again.
Whoosh.
His wide-open eyes burst blood vessels. With his crimson-stained vision, Kalt saw where he needed to go.
‘I found it.’
The answer was visible.
Kalt moved toward the direction of the answer. His body accelerated in an instant. For a single purpose, his body repeatedly accelerated.
Tap.
His steps were light as he took another.
Swish.
The sword tip lowered. While facing Kuntel now, ironically, what surfaced in Kalt’s mind was actually Kuntel’s swordsmanship. He recalled the sword Kuntel had shown in their last moment.
The human who resisted against the impending death.
That which couldn’t be blocked, was finally let go.
‘I’ll mimic it.’
He had only tried to replicate it once but had failed… Now, with a body close to superhuman, he would take on the challenge again. Kalt’s sword moved, lowering its tip.
Smoothly.
Not to block but to let it go.
He swung the sword, standing it diagonally to meet the approaching blade energy. At the moment it connected, Tidi, the sounds of splitting echoed. However, Kalt’s eyes did not foresee a future where the sword would break.
He assured himself.
The unwavering sword tip completed the technique.
The energy passing through the sword began to flow along its surface. The trajectory of the horizontally swung energy began to change.
Kacha, kachak!
The slanted energy severed Kalt’s left shoulder. Flesh and blood splattered. With minimal damage, he succeeded in letting go of the technique.
However, no time to celebrate.
The approaching blade energy was not singular. The energies kept coming. As each blade energy rushed at him, Kalt didn’t pause and continued to swing his sword.
With every one he let bypass, wounds multiplied.
His thigh was sliced, his ankle twisted, blood oozed from his shoulder, and the fingers gripping the sword produced a thunderous noise as they snapped. Yet, Kalt pushed forward.
Tick, ti-di-dick.
The sword tip split.
Thump.
Blood gushed forth from the split wound.
Yet, Kalt’s eyes remained unwavering. By carving out pieces of his flesh, he kept moving. With each step, he sacrificed a bit of his body, reaching the front of Kuntel.
Then, he poured all his strength into swinging his sword.
Not with the already battered left hand, but with his right, Kalt swung the sword.
Rasp.
Of course, there was no way it would hit.
Kuntel lightly swung his sword, slicing through Kalt’s right arm. With no strength left to grip the sword, it slipped from Kalt’s hand as soon as his arm was severed.
His right arm fell to the ground.
The sword drifted in the air.
And then, at that moment.
Kalt’s eyes widened as he swung his battered left hand. In the path drawn by that swing was the sword hilt still floating in the air.
Thud!
The moment his grasp grabbed the hilt, the strike was completed. Although his fingers were all bent, making it seem impossible to grip the sword, his left hand was swifter than his right.
‘The right hand is a feint.’
His right arm had been intended to be sacrificed from the beginning.
Thus, Kalt showcased what would be his final strike. It was a perfect strike even from Kuntel’s perspective as the sword master.
Rasp.
A silent cutting sound echoed.
For the first time, Kalt’s sword touched Kuntel.
3.
Rasp.
What the sword sliced through was Kuntel’s collarbone.
Blood gushed from Kuntel’s right shoulder. Kalt fell weakly to his knees as his strength drained from his body. Yet, no following strike came at him.
“……”
Kuntel silently looked down at Kalt.
Kalt raised his gaze to Kuntel.
“I reached you.”
A smile appeared on Kalt’s lips.
“I touched you, surely.”
Kuntel smiled without a word.
A definite change appeared on Kuntel’s previously expressionless face. It was as if announcing the success of the trial.
Crumble.
And then, his body began to crumble.
The trial was over, and Kuntel, formed as a wall, was bound to collapse. As Kalt watched the crumbling figure of Kuntel, he recalled words he had heard from him long ago.
“All superhumans have their respective goals.”
Goals.
“Things they must achieve. Things they must protect. Promises made to someone. Such things become the life goals for broken superhumans.”
Life goals.
“For that singular goal, superhumans sharpen their lives. They refine their lives with precision. For that one goal.”
The sword master Kuntel, to reach Ganikalt.
The Sword Demon Draka, for the revenge of his daughter.
The Braver Kelharlem, to keep his promise to his disciple.
“One day, if you become a superhuman, that would mean you’ll have a life goal as well. I hope that moment comes for you.”
Reflecting on those words.
“…I.”
Kalt opened his mouth.
“My goal is…”
The direction he should move toward.
The reason he must sharpen and refine his life.
“To kill you.”
Kalt spoke toward the crumbling Kuntel.
“To kill you, who has become a wretched being that sullies your dignity — you who can neither live nor die.”
You, who took pride in being human and had never strayed from the path of humanity, have tragically transformed.
A being who can neither live nor die.
Your existence, manipulated as a servant of disaster, has become an affront to you. Kalt gritted his teeth, recalling Kuntel’s appearance he had encountered in the city at night.
‘The goal I must achieve.’
And what I wish for.
“I vow.”
Finally, Kuntel completely crumbles.
Kalt’s body envelops in light, and the expansive plain begins to collapse. Slowly, Kalt straightened up and sheathed his sword.
After briefly closing his eyes.
When he opened them slowly.
“Did you come?”
A familiar voice rang in his ears.
“Kalt.”
Kalt looked at the person calling him. The ashen-haired woman was smiling at him.
“It seems you succeeded.”
Kalt nodded.
