*
Chapter 305: How to Face Death (4)
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A dragon screams from the sky.
The shadowy skeletal figure of the dragon resembles that of the black dragon, which has ruled as a disaster for centuries. Some knights present recognize that dragon.
The black storm, Belial the Black Dragon.
The dragon now revealed before the refugees is the hatchling of that fearsome disaster. However, the knights do not feel the same majestic presence of the black dragon emanating from it.
It’s many times larger than an average dragon, yet it is a pathetic size when compared to the colossal black dragon. The mucus dripping off with every flap of its wings. Its skin tears and regenerates repeatedly as if it were shedding a skin.
Everything about it is different from the black dragon.
From Belial, humanity felt a mythical terror. A calamity against which they could not fight back. A fear so overwhelming that they did not know how to confront it. But looking at the dragon flying before them, the knights felt none of that terror.
What they felt was loathing.
An instinctive feeling of disgust overtook their fear.
It is a creature far removed from perfection. Its body is composed of human corpses. The dragon’s appearance, a horrifying amalgamation of countless beings.
【■■, ■■■■■■.】
The cursed dragon opens its mouth.
What fills its maw is a circuit.
A circuit like nothing they’ve ever seen.
“What is that…?”
The knights do not recognize the circuit.
Yet, instinctively, they sense a threat. Their spines tingle as they hastily raise their shields, unsure of what may come but determined to block it.
This is the best judgment they can make.
However, for Belnoa, who recognizes the circuit, it is the worst decision possible. Belnoa moves quickly. Having spent his childhood in the slums, his notable skill is making quick assessments of situations.
“Offering.”
Click, as Belnoa’s fingers twist gruesomely.
He doesn’t bother saving his strength. In an instant, all ten fingers shatter, and shadows entwine around Belnoa’s body. What emerges is shadow armor.
Thud.
Jumping off the shields that the knights have raised, Belnoa swings his arm. As the cursed dragon’s mouth closes, his shadow touches the circuit.
Creak, screech!
It doesn’t fully erase it.
Belnoa grinds his teeth and twists its direction. The spell that was aimed downwards now shifts upwards.
Kiiiiiing!
A beam bursts forth from the black dragon’s maw.
What was aimed downward is redirected diagonally into the sky by Belnoa. The sky turns red under the unleashed heat wave. Clouds scatter.
The knights watching this tremble.
If Belnoa hadn’t altered its trajectory, that beam would have struck their shield head-on… leaving not a trace behind.
And how about the boy who redirected that heat wave?
It’s hard to feel hope from looking at him now.
The boy crashing down from the sky has lost the shadowy membrane surrounding his body. He appears anything but intact.
“Ugh…”
Falling as if he had dropped, Belnoa steadies himself and looks up to the sky. His gaze is fixed on the wings of the cursed dragon.
‘The spell…’
Just moments ago, when the cursed dragon opened its mouth, Belnoa saw something being ‘offered.’ He didn’t know what it was then, but he realizes now.
There are holes in the wings of the cursed dragon.
They quickly close up, but what occupied those holes were the mucus-like remains of human bodies. Having offered dozens of humans, the black dragon unleashed its spell.
Chilling.
It took all ten of his fingers to twist the trajectory. But the cursed dragon does not stop. It opens its mouth again and begins to flap its wings. The number of human corpses that make up those wings is countless.
“Stop, stop it!”
“Prioritize the refugees!”
The knights are too preoccupied to fend off the encroaching ghouls. Behind them are the refugees they must protect.
“Kyaaaaaak!”
A ghoul finally breaks free and attacks a refugee. The knight’s sword quickly dispatches the ghoul, but the woman bitten by it is already dead.
Fear spreads contagiously.
Screams erupt from every corner.
In the midst of this hellish scene, someone steps forward. Next to Belnoa. He turns to see.
“…Chloe?”
The hero wrapped in platinum light.
Chloe, the Champion of the Light.
She gazes toward the sky.
—
Death swings its sword.
The tip does not reach the sky, but the sky splits open with a squish.
It rends the sky. The strange sound made as the sky tears apart is akin to a scream.
Kiiieeeiiing!
The stars reflected in the sky shatter.
What is merely a small flaw temporarily cleaves something connected to the stars.
One slash of the sword.
A torrent of wind follows, sweeping through the area.
“Ugh…!”
Raniel withstands the rushing wind with her posture lowered. After the tempest passes, Raniel barely lifts her head. She turns to the side.
“Hey, Kyle! Are you okay…?”
Her words do not finish.
Kyle, who has planted his sword into the ground for support, wears an odd expression. His gaze is shaking.
“Kyle?”
“…….”
Kyle looks at Raniel.
The shaky gaze slowly stabilizes. The focused eyes now are different from how Kyle was just a moment ago. However, it’s not unfamiliar to Raniel.
“…You?”
Kyle from years ago, before meeting the Demon Lord.
It’s as if he has the same gaze he had before everything shattered.
*
The contract has been severed.
Temporarily severed, and in turn, the sacrifices made begin to find their rightful places again.
Thus, the Apostle of the Stars becomes human.
“Ugh, cough.”
Kyle gasps as he lifts his head.
What he sees is Raniel.
The moment he meets her blue eyes, Kyle recalls what he must do. Even amidst confusion, he does not lose his purpose.
“Cough, cough.”
Spitting out the blood filling his mouth, Kyle steadies himself. His body feels heavy. Heavy, but…
He feels clearer than ever.
Kyle knows this won’t last long.
The severing of the contract is only temporary, and even now it is being restored bit by bit. Feeling that, Kyle lifts his head and looks ahead.
“…….”
Before him stands death itself, silently watching him.
A trial he must overcome.
The condition for fulfilling the contract lies right before him.
“You may use everything available to you.”
Said Ganikalt, the Death’s Blade.
“You may use the starlight. Whether through magic, with the help of allies, or whatever means necessary. I won’t stop you. Do it. A calamity is something that must be stopped at all costs.”
He raises a human hand.
“However.”
He points a finger at Kyle.
“That must come from your own will alone. I have no intentions of being felled by a puppet of the stars. To stand against me, you must be entirely human.”
A human standing with their own will.
“Move with your own will.”
Death takes a step forward.
“Lift your sword with your own will.”
Thud, boom!
With each step Death takes, the ground splits apart. Cracks form in the canyon. Before the impending death, Kyle feels fear.
“Swing your sword, with your own will.”
Anything else is meaningless.
“That is what it means to be a knight. That is what it means to be human.”
Human.
A proud human.
“Are you human, or are you a slave?”
Death asks.
Before the approaching death, Kyle thinks with clarity of mind. What he feels is fear. Now that the connection to the stars has faded, Kyle feels terror.
Incompetence, powerlessness, a human capable of nothing.
With the star gone, this mere human feels fear.
In the midst of fear, what anchors Kyle’s mind is the contract he forged of his own will. Although it has dimmed at this moment… Kyle does not forget the contract.
“…….”
Kyle turns around.
There stands a girl, slightly parting her lips as she looks at him. It is Raniel. As Kyle meets her gaze, he finally smiles bitterly.
In the end, what he must do is clear.
Even while feeling fear, Kyle stands up. He does not answer the question Death posed. That is something to prove through actions, not words.
He reaches for the holy sword he had let go of long ago.
Kyle’s fingers entangle with the hilt of the holy sword. With deliberate strength, he pulls it free. The holy sword, drawn smoothly, is swung lightly by Kyle.
Whoosh.
The sword does not shine as brilliantly as before.
Holding the softly glowing sword, Kyle assumes his stance. He exhales, gathering his breath.
“I am.”
Kyle speaks.
Looking at death, Kyle declares.
“I am Kyle Toven.”
It extends from a conversation they once had.
“A proud knight, disciple of Kuntel.”
Kyle raises the holy sword.
The blade points at the death before his eyes.
“Lift your sword, Ganikalt.”
A human shows his will.
Even trembling with fear, he doesn’t let go of his sword.
In that will, even Death shows pride.
Whoosh.
Kyle lightly swings his sword, shaking off the muck stuck to the blade. He sweeps away the immediate threats in front of him, ignoring the shadow’s voice that beckons him to return the sword.
With his left hand gripping the sword, Ganikalt assume a stance.
It mirrors the position Kyle has taken.
It represents the swordplay descending upon Kirmelt Canyon, a technique created by Ganikalt van Galatrick.
Same stance, same breath, same stride.
Both move toward each other simultaneously.
—
“Remia, dagger.”
As Kyle charges toward death, Sara reaches out toward Remia.
“Why the dagger?”
“Because blood must be spilled.”
While puzzled, Remia hands over the dagger.
Receiving it, Sara makes a long cut along her forearm with the dagger. Her cherished garment tears, and blood flows from her arm to pool at her fingertips.
Thud, drip.
Bright red blood falls onto the snow.
Sara continues to draw on her body with the dagger while murmuring a prayer. The sacred blood seeps into the snowy ground as she engraves the holy spell.
“Please.”
Sara prays.
“Please…”
Entirely for one person, Sara prays.
“Please, survive.”
*
In the canyon of the vanished snow, Kyle swings his sword. In the center of the canyon, where even the lashing snowstorms are deflected, Kyle’s sword traces a silvery-white arc.
The trajectory of the blade differs from before.
With starlight dimmed, Kyle does not move as fast as he usually would. He cannot mimic the superhuman swordsman with physical prowess. But Kyle feels clearer than ever.
There is no regret, obsession, or hesitation.
Kyle focuses only on swinging his sword.
To make up for his inadequate physical abilities, he relies on technique.
With speed and strength set aside, Kyle recalls the intricacies of swordplay, moving as he imitates countless superhuman swordsmen he has seen.
Clang!
The sword he swung entwines around Ganikalt’s great sword. Kyle slips his sword into the hole in the great sword, twisting his body. He alters the blade’s trajectory.
Whoosh!
A swing passes overhead.
The sound reverberates from behind him as the canyon crumbles.
Every strike directly relates to death. Yet, Kyle does not hesitate to swing his sword. He knows hesitation means death.
Clang, clang!
Swords clash against each other.
With a single sword, Kyle unfolds the techniques he learned from Kuntel associated with Kirmelt Canyon. He skillfully showcases the swordplay.
Counter-sword, shadow blade, lethal strike…
As he presents his techniques in turn, Ganikalt responds with the same skill. Wielding a great sword, he counters Kyle’s moves with techniques even more refined. Unsurprisingly, Kyle is pushed back.
Yet, what sustains Kyle is the other techniques he has seen and experienced.
“I may be a superhuman, but I am still human.”
“If I were weaker than you, Kyle, would I win every time in duels?”
The superhuman swordsman, Kuntel.
“I need to show the dignity of Kirmelt Canyon to the sword of death. I must offer a prayer to the spirits of my departed masters.”
“However, just using the techniques from Canyon won’t be enough. That’s not a swordplay for the weak to face the strong.”
The human who stood against death with weakened flesh.
“A sword for humans to face calamities.”
“A blade for the weak to pierce the strong.”
“Learn from it. Someday, you will need it.”
The sword he devised to confront death.
Flowing, leaning, piercing technique.
Kyle swings his sword, recalling that.
“Ugh!”
It is not perfect.
Spitting blood and tumbling to the ground, Kyle swiftly gets back up and charges toward death once more. He restricts death to that spot. Others come to assist Kyle.
Moonlight arrows continue to shoot.
The blessings that swirl around continue to fill in the dimmed starlight. Each time he falters, chains and spells entwine merely to compensate for Kyle’s insufficiencies.
Thus, Kyle threads seconds together.
With each passing second, Kyle grows.
He witnesses the perfect swordplay of the knight before him. That absolute perfect sword. The extreme which every knight should strive for. From that, Kyle gains enlightenment.
He discards the incorrect parts.
Corrects his movements.
Removes unnecessary strength.
Reduces the quivering at the tip of his sword.
Kyle’s sword accelerates slightly. He remains pushed back, but it is not as debilitating as before.
*
Raniel stared blankly ahead.
There stood Kyle, facing death and their blades.
‘One minute has long passed.’
One minute has indeed gone by.
Yet Kyle continues to swing his sword. Even as he bleeds and tumbles, he doesn’t let go of the sword. He promptly stands up again to charge at death.
As if, just like in the past.
From his silhouette, Raniel sees the Kyle of old.
‘…But.’
Even that cannot last long.
Kyle’s body is nearing its limit. It won’t be long before he collapses. Before that, she needs to find a way. Raniel scans her remaining circuits.
There are still plenty of spells left.
But not a single one can reach death.
Before the sword of death, the spells she possesses are worthless. Gritting her teeth, Raniel seeks an answer.
‘A way, a way…’
It is impossible to seal it away.
The objective was not to flee but to repulse. Then, how should she go about it? She needs to inflict meaningful damage on death.
To achieve what no one could for centuries, it must happen here.
‘But how?’
Even the cursed mana has failed to pierce through.
Every option that she has is denied.
Racking her brain, Raniel strives to find an answer. Suddenly, her gaze lands on a circuit etched into the ground.
It is a circuit devised to account for flukes.
Also, it is identical to the one she used when achieving the feat of beheading the black dragon.
‘Fluke.’
The moment Raniel fixates on that circuit.
Flash.
A light bursts from behind her.
Raniel turns her head back. It isn’t light emitted by Kyle. Rather, it bursts from somewhere farther away, in the direction where the holy site is positioned.
*
“Lac von Grace.”
“Yes.”
“Are you planning to leave?”
“I believe it’s time for me to go.”
“Alright. You did well.”
The specter tossed a sword.
Lac caught the tossed sword.
“Ready?”
“A warrior must always steady themselves to face death. Isn’t that what the founder said? I am prepared.”
“Good, you look that way.”
The specter smiled with satisfaction.
“Go ahead.”
He gestured toward the path.
“The exit is that way.”
*
