〈 Chapter 307 〉 How to Face Death (6）
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Kyle Toven runs with all his might.
Every step he takes scatters snowflakes around him. While starlight hasn’t graced his body, at this moment, Kyle runs faster than ever. Sliding across the snowy field, he reaches out his hand.
A human hand grasps the First Holy Sword.
The Holy Sword once held by the First Hero (??) and the blade that cut down the false god descending into this world (?). To Kyle, it’s a symbol of his yearning.
Crack.
Kyle’s hand firmly grips the Holy Sword.
As he grasps the Holy Sword, Kyle spins on the spot, pulling the sword embedded in the snowy ground. Amidst the swirling snowflakes, the Holy Sword emits a brilliant light.
···Normally, this would be impossible.
The First Holy Sword is a blade gifted to Ganikalt’s disciple, one only those who follow Grace’s will can wield. Naturally, Kyle shouldn’t be able to lift the First Holy Sword.
However, at this moment, the sword does not refuse Kyle’s touch.
It’s not because he is a hero.
It’s because he is a knight, wanting to showcase his pride in the face of death··· The First Holy Sword does not reject Kyle. The sword answers Kyle’s will.
Starlight overflows.
The overflowing starlight never seeps into Kyle’s flesh. Kyle doesn’t desire that either. The starlight merely wraps around the Holy Sword.
“Go, Kyle.”
And Raniel extends her arm.
Her fingers are broken and grotesquely bent, but pointing at something, the shape of her fingers doesn’t matter. Raniel’s finger points at Ganikalt.
The broken finger.
Mana accumulated over the past month.
The massive circuit etched for this very moment.
Everything answers Raniel’s call.
Hundreds, thousands of chains, covering the sky, fly towards Ganikalt. Its purpose is singular: to bind Death’s Blade in place.
Just like when they defeated Belial the Black Dragon.
Raniel does not forget what she must do.
Her role ultimately is to bind the enemy’s feet. It is to create an opportunity for the strongest hero to deliver the best strike.
‘To open a path for that.’
That is her role.
Chrrr!
Beyond the pouring chains, Kyle runs.
He does not look back.
With a single sword in hand, Kyle races across the snowy field.
The human conviction coursing through his veins paves the way to victory. The wise one, seeking answers, binds death in place. The prayer of the saint, singing only for one, dwells in the human body.
And the human is.
Kyle Toven is.
One knight gazes ahead.
There stands the figure he had long dreamed of reaching. The knight from his dreams. Even bound by hundreds, thousands of chains, he still moves.
Kang, clank!
Unable to withstand that movement, the chains begin to break. Beyond the broken chains, the knight steadies his stance. He prepares to swing his sword. Watching that, Kyle grips his sword tightly.
What he recalls is the knight from his memories.
Drawing upon the strike he had longed for, Kyle charges toward death. To prove himself.
2.
The sword that cuts through the sky.
No matter what stood before him, even if it was a being like a god, it was a brilliant strike that would cut it down.
Kyle dreamed of this.
In his boyhood, it was an abstract longing.
A vague hope that he too could become such a knight. But as he grew into a young man, witnessing countless things on the battlefield, that longing transformed into a desperate craving.
Many sacrificed their lives for him.
Even his hometown friends sacrificed their lives.
Everyone makes sacrifices for him.
They bleed while he merely drinks their blood. He drinks endlessly. Yet, Kyle knows he can no longer be a symbol of victory. He has come to grips that he can’t become the hero who repays their sacrifices.
That is why he craved the hero’s strike.
A sword like the knight in his memories.
A strike that would repay everyone’s sacrifices.
He longed for the hero’s strike capable of achieving great deeds. The more he yearned, the more Kyle’s spirit waned. He realized how far that state was.
‘I cannot reach it.’
His sword did not reach the god.
He could not slice down anything like the knight from his memory.
That is why, in despair, Kyle sought another means rather than swinging his sword again. Having once put down his sword, Kyle chose the wrong path.
He pursued a strike created not through skills built by effort, but by depending on starlight.
If he would accumulate starlight, repeat contracts, and dedicate his life to a single strike··· perhaps he could emulate the hero’s strike. Kyle believed that. He believed it and walked down the wrong path.
‘It’s all an illusion.’
But now he knows.
That it was indeed the wrong path.
‘No matter how much starlight I gather, even if I rely on the power of a transcendent being…’
He cannot replicate the hero’s strike.
That is because it’s a human strike.
A strike only possible because one is human.
Clench.
Holding the Holy Sword, Kyle looks ahead.
In a time slowed to its limits, Kyle moves. He had always chased the hero’s strike. Yet, he could not even mimic its final fragment.
What he had seen in his memory was only a back view.
But now it’s different.
Just moments ago, Kyle faced the sword wielded by Ganikalt head-on. It was fundamentally the same strike that the knight in his memories executed. The power was not the same as then, yet the posture matched.
He recalls that movement.
He contrasts the scene he witnessed in his memory with Death’s Blade he faced head-on. In the two scenes, Kyle finds the right stance.
Boom!
Kyle swings down.
The ground trembles, and snow flies into the air. Among the erupting snowflakes, Kyle glares. A platinum ring of light does not rise, but an unmatched determination glimmers in his eyes.
The boy, now an adult, still yearns.
To become a hero.
To achieve great deeds and be recognized.
His memories and visions alone are insufficient.
Not yet can he replicate the hero’s strike. Lacking in parts, Kyle recalls his memories. Those were connections forged on the battlefield, movements of many knights who had become his masters.
Sword Demon, Draka.
The last knight of Galatrick, Kuntel.
Recalling the movements of many knights, Kyle swings his sword. In an instant, a sound of tik, tidik echoes as something splits.
Swish.
Even as he swings into the air, he feels a sensation as if the sword’s tip has cut something. Feeling that strange sensation, Kyle presses on. Deeper still.
‘…Ah.’
Kyle exhales a sigh.
At this moment, he has succeeded in imperfectly replicating the sword strike from his memories. It isn’t exactly the same. It’s different. This is not Ganikalt’s sword but Kyle’s (??) sword.
This is the answer Kyle presents.
In what seems like a frozen moment, his blade moves. When he looks ahead, Death too wields a sword. The speed at which that sword cuts through space matches exactly with the speed of his own sword.
What was invisible becomes visible.
One of Kyle’s eyes bursts, and blood streams down.
With only one eye left, Kyle views the world through a blood-red vision. Thus, he sees the many paths. What the superhumans call the path of the sword (??).
The path of the sword becomes visible.
Among them shines the brightest path.
It is the path his sword is currently taking. Kyle swings his sword with conviction. Now, instead of tik, tidik, a sound of zhhh rings out.
The First Holy Sword carves a platinum trajectory.
From the torn space, the blade emerges.
Death also counters with the same technique.
However, he is no longer human. Half of him is a beast, making the trajectory he carves messy rather than clean, twisting rather than cutting through space.
And the moment of collision approaches.
The sword of stars, which cuts through all, clashes with the shadowy sword that twists anything it touches.
Kaaaan!
In a space where sound vanishes, a tremendous roar echoes.
The space around where the swords collide tears apart. It fractures and shatters. Cracks spread through the air as Kyle takes another step forward. He swings his sword deeper.
Because the chains bind Ganikalt.
Because Lac’s strike unsettled the shadow.
Because the First Holy Sword answers Kyle’s will.
Borrowing the powers of many, Kyle for a moment overwhelms Ganikalt. Kyle’s sword pushes Death’s Blade back. Kang, for the first time, Death’s Blade is deflected. Kyle’s sword moves forward.
Scrape.
The sword pulls away the light.
The sword, now swinging with the light, met death.
3.
Scrape, and the quiet sound of slicing echoes.
The long-stretched time finds its place.
Kyle exhales the breath he had been holding as he kneels on the ground. Blood flows from his eyes, mouth, and nose. The price paid for moving beyond his limits.
“Cough, gasp. Cough…”
With the great sword stuck in the ground, Kyle tries to stand. But it does not go as he wishes. His vision is blurred. It feels like he could fall at any moment. But he cannot afford to collapse.
‘That was too shallow.’
At the final moment, Kyle saw it.
The instant he deflected Ganikalt’s sword, Ganikalt twisted his body. He severed all the chains binding him and swung his sword once more.
The sword swung from an unstable posture.
Displaying a perfect sword in any situation is what a sword superhuman does. Ganikalt’s sword is no different.
That sword, swung like that, blocked Kyle’s sword and managed to deflect it. Unable to finish him off, Kyle once more tried to rise. But his body, pushed beyond its limits, does not obey his will.
“Gack…”
It is the moment Kyle’s body begins to tilt.
Thud.
The sound pulls Kyle’s mind back.
A sound came from in front of him. Kyle squints as he raises his head to look ahead. What enters his sight is a scene he can’t believe, even after seeing it.
Drip, drip.
Death is bleeding.
Black, murky blood drips from beneath Ganikalt’s feet. The snowy field darkens. While it isn’t much, it is the first time in hundreds of years.
A scar of the sword is inscribed diagonally on Ganikalt’s body.
A few of his broken ribs lie scattered in the snow.
Beyond the severed ribs, Ganikalt’s heart is exposed. It is a heart cloaked in shadow.
“······.”
Ganikalt sinks his great sword into the snow.
Letting go of the sword, Ganikalt gently touches the scarred area with his left hand. Then, he removes the tattered robe he always wore. Ganikalt’s helmet, cloaked in shadow, glimmers in the sunlight.
And what is revealed are human eyes.
Ganikalt van Galatrick speaks.
“It was a perfect strike.”
The first superhuman and the first hero acknowledged Kyle’s sword. Kyle is uncertain whether to rejoice in this or to despair for not having defeated him.
“I have seen pride. I have also confirmed the master of the sword has appeared. I see no reason to remain here any longer.”
Fortunately, that dilemma does not linger.
Death does not approach Kyle, who is a wreck. With his sword drawn, he turns his back on Kyle and begins to walk away. After taking a few steps, Death lightly swings the sword.
Scrape, and the air splits.
Beyond the cracked space lies a passageway leading somewhere. The moment Kyle gazes into that passage, his body goes rigid.
Click, creak■■. ■■■■■■.
What is placed there is a shrine.
Something trickles down through the crack of the shrine’s door. It is a being he has seen countless times in nightmares. The being he had fled from is there.
【■■■■. ■■■■■■■■■■■■.】
The Demon Lord shouts to Ganikalt, who is crossing the passage. To grab the sword lying there immediately. However, Ganikalt does not heed that call. He merely walks toward the passage.
Just as he is about to completely disappear beyond the passage, Ganikalt turns his head to look back.
His gaze is directed at Kyle Toven.
“The star merely opens the path.”
He says.
“In the end, you are the one who wields the sword. What you must have faith in at the final moment is not the star. It is yourself.”
It is both advice for his junior and advice from a knight who has walked the same path.
“Forge ahead.”
Ganikalt smiled.
“You did well, Kyle Toven.”
The torn space closed once more.
In the snowfield where death has vanished, Kyle observes the world with one eye. That eye still gazes into the future. Its meaning is singular.
Kyle Toven has become a superhuman.
He has stepped into the realm he long sought.
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