〈 317th Chapter 〉 Junior, and Descendant (3)
*
Lord of Shadow Dragons, Belial.
He had a family.
A beloved wife and a young son who seemed cute enough to keep in his eyes. They meant everything to Belial, and were akin to the very reason for his existence.
As a renowned sorcerer, Belial was called to trivial battlefields and expeditions. Every time he stepped out of the house, he would pat his worried young son’s shoulder, saying:
I will not die.
I will sweep everything away and come back, so don’t worry.
It wasn’t just bravado.
Belial was a formidable sorcerer, and battlefields cleared swiftly when he arrived. Eager to send soldiers with families back home quickly, he gave his all in every battle, and… his fame soared high.
Then, one day.
On a day when the fighting ended particularly quickly, Belial saw a wave of darkness erupting from the capital. Even though the knight captain, known as the Sword Master, chopped through the waves, they overflowed and drowned the city.
Many were swept away by the tide.
Many died.
Belial’s family could not escape the disaster either.
When he returned home, Belial found his wife and son turned to murky corpses. They were dead, but Belial could not die. True to his promise to the young boy, Belial survived. He kept his promise, but his family could not.
He lost what was most precious.
Belial felt the pain of loss.
In that agony, Belial had to spend a long time. Then, a hero found him, and Belial stood back up, overcoming his sorrow. With no further need to keep promises, he made a new vow.
“For my child to smile.”
To create a world where smiles abound.
“So that there are no others suffering like me, no one else losing family…”
A world where no one loses their family to disaster.
“I will fight for such a world.”
That was Belial’s belief.
He lived his entire life with that belief, even sacrificing his very soul to uphold it. Belial could only guess that the end he faced wasn’t so pleasant.
Time flowed by.
After a long passage of time, Belial looked at what lay before him.
There stood a boy from the future.
Though a distant future for him, for the boy, he was a figure from a long-gone past. The sorcerer of old witnessed the young sorcerer living in the present.
Kakakakak!
Every time the boy swung his arms, the wind whipped around.
The raging wind was still weak. It couldn’t be called dragon-like wing beats, just an inexperienced breeze. However, within that inexperience, Belial sensed familiarity. The wind he once wielded in his youth felt just like that.
To the boy from the future, he could feel his own path.
“How interesting.”
Belial chuckled at that realization.
‘It has connected.’
In the end, it connected.
After countless time, even if his name was forgotten, erased from history… the path he left behind was ultimately followed. There stood a boy walking the path he left.
Belial could only be thankful for this miraculous event.
With gratitude, Belial spoke.
“Boy.”
He briefly swung his arm.
In an instant, the raging winds calmed. As Belnoa, who had been rushing toward Belial with all her might, stood still, Belial chuckled softly.
“You’ve grown quite well. There’s still a long way to go, and I want to impart everything to you, but…”
Belial pointed to the sky.
“Time isn’t on our side.”
The sky was splitting.
This break was different from before. The Holy Grail that created the illusion itself was about to shatter. Both Belial and Belnoa sensed that this was the end.
“Well then…”
“Regrettably, this will be my last lesson.”
Belial forced a smile.
“Shall we take a moment to walk, boy?”
*
The First Hero, Ganikalt van Galatrick.
For someone who lived with the sword, he had no family to call his own. Losing his parents at a young age, Ganikalt took up the sword. He lived with the sword. To him, the sword was a friend, a family, and as close as his own self.
A life lived with the sword was lonely.
He rose to a position where numerous accolades were showered upon him, but Ganikalt only felt solitude. On the path he walked, he was all alone. No one ever thought to follow Ganikalt.
At the Sacred Site of the Sword, Ganikalt was merely an object of admiration, and the same was true for the knights. For swordsmen, he was an idol but not someone to be caught up to.
Thus, he was lonely.
He walked the desolate path all on his own.
As he walked, Ganikalt encountered a boy. A boy he had saved long ago. The boy knelt before Ganikalt and bowed his head.
“Please accept me as your disciple.”
“I want to learn the sword from you.”
The boy said so. Undeterred by words that he was not cut out for a sword, he swung it with obstinance. Swinging and swinging, every time Ganikalt stayed in the royal capital, the boy visited unceasingly. How much time had passed like this?
“This is my sword.”
“The imitation of your sword I glimpsed over your shoulder.”
Ganikalt turned around.
At the beginning of the path he thought he was alone on, someone stood there. The boy stood at the path’s entrance. The chasm between Ganikalt and the boy felt vast, making the boy appear merely like a small dot to him, yet…
“Someday, I will hold a sword that reaches you.”
Still, it existed there with a certain weight.
Ganikalt burst into laughter.
On a path he thought he would walk in solitude for his whole life, he took the boy as his disciple. For the boy, Ganikalt was a mentor, a father figure, and a senior walking the same path.
‘How similar.’
Looking at the boy standing before him, Ganikalt saw a reflection of himself from a distant future. The boy resembled his ancestors in appearance, and also in the way he wielded his weapon.
“…Is that so?”
Ganikalt deflected Lac’s axe.
As he did, a faint smile broke across his face.
‘Still trying to catch up, huh?’
Ganikalt gazed back at the path he had walked.
The small dot that once seemed insignificant now took on a human form. Over countless hours, the boy had come closer to him. Next, and then next again, continuing forward.
Trying desperately to reach out to him.
Surprisingly foolish, yet that foolishness and earnestness was what Ganikalt had stubbornly adhered to.
‘And…’
Ganikalt looked at the axe wielded by Lac.
‘It is indeed connected.’
The weapon was different. The stance was a bit different as well.
However, enshrined within was a trace of his sword. It had the same root. Thus, as a mentor, there was but one thing he needed to show.
“Lac von Grace.”
Ganikalt turned his back to Lac.
“Take up your sword and follow me.”
Without paying heed to the cracked sky, Ganikalt walked ahead. Following him, Lac took his steps. In his hand, a sword was now gripped.
2.
They walked for quite some time in the desert.
Even a desert that seemed to stretch endlessly had its end. This was the terminus of the path once tread by a sorcerer. The broken path was akin to a sheer cliff.
Thud.
At the edge, Belial came to a stop.
Below the cliff, sand trickled down endlessly. It was truly the end of the world. Beyond this point, there was no moving forward, and this was the finality that Belial, the man, faced.
At the precipice, shadows writhed.
Casting a glance at that darkness, Belial turned his head.
“Where is this…?”
“This will be my end.”
Belial spoke calmly.
“You must have heard about my end from my God, right?”
“…I have.”
He became a dragon, sacrificing everything.
To bring down the false God that had set foot in this land, Belial wagered everything he could step on.
“Even the fact that you have become a Black Dragon, yes.”
“You’ve heard a lot. Yes, this end must be that of a beast lost to its reason. Your presence before me is ultimately proof that I have failed.”
Belial forced a smile.
“Did I mention I was called a calamity?”
“Yes.”
“I must have killed many people.”
“…”
“How am I now? Still wreaking havoc as a calamity?”
“No.”
Belnoa firmly replied.
“The Black Dragon has been defeated.”
“…What?”
“My master, who has been teaching me, defeated the Black Dragon. A relatively recent event.”
Belial’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Defeated, defeated indeed.”
Then, Belial burst into laughter.
As if relieved, as if taking a deep breath.
“What a wonderful thing. Truly, truly…”
Murmuring so, Belial inquired Belnoa.
“What is your master’s name?”
“Raniel van Trias. Referred to as the Ashen Mage.”
“Ah, the Ashen Mage, indeed.”
It seems that Cardi fellow pulled it off as well.
Murmuring so, Belial exhaled deeply. Then he stretched out both arms, lightening up his shoulders.
“Boy.”
Belial looked back at Belnoa.
“Here is where I meet the end of my path. At the end of this path, I wish to show you something.”
This will be the finality.
If there is something to show at the end, there is only one thing.
Standing at the path’s end, Belial smiled.
“Watch closely.”
This is the domain you must someday reach.
“This is all I can show you.”
This is the finality I have achieved.
Thud.
Belial leaped off the cliff.
Before Belnoa could even stop him, he fell into the darkness. Frantically charging toward the precipice, but Belial had already vanished into the endless abyss.
What was he supposed to show?
At the moment Belnoa blinked in confusion, a flash burst from within the darkness.
“…Uhh!”
A mighty wind followed immediately.
A gust of dry wind blew upward. The sand that had fallen off the cliff soared to the sky. Among the rising sand, something enormous approached.
Kwa-kwa-kwa-kwa-kwang!
With the sound of air splitting, something surged from within the darkness. A shadow loomed over the sunlit desert. It was colossal. A shadow so immense that it seemed ready to engulf the entire endless desert.
The master of the shadow was flying in the sky.
Belnoa looked up.
“Ah…”
There was a dragon.
Black scales shimmered against the blue sky. With every move of its massive wings, sand was swept away. Belnoa gazed, entranced, at the dominator of the skies.
A dragon casting a shadow upon the earth.
The most perfect creature.
Black Dragon, Belial.
The ancient dragon, descending from above, slowly began to move its massive body. With each movement, the gusts of wind roared fiercely. The sheer force of the wind made it hard for Belnoa to even open her eyes.
Open your eyes.
At the sound of a voice, Belnoa opened her eyes.
Before she knew it, the Lord of Shadow Dragons stood beside her.
Having not shown herself since entering the trial, she now revealed her form.
That is the most beautiful and noble form of the Lord of Shadow Dragons in the world.
The dragon roared.
With a sound that felt like it would burst her eardrums, Belnoa squinted and gazed at the sky. She witnessed the hero who lived in a distant past achieving the utmost realm at the end.
Flames rippled within the dragon’s jaws.
With the Black Dragon spitting fire towards the endless darkness, light and heat surged forth. The flames unleashed by the dragon became a inferno. A path of fire burned through the darkness, as though it marked the end of the world.
A path opened beyond the endless darkness.
Beyond this broken path lay a new road.
That road was still distant. So distant it felt unreachable. However, a road existed there. Belnoa saw a small path created in the crumbling world.
And then.
The Black Dragon flapped its wings.
The raging wind enveloped Belnoa. Riding the wind toward the path that had been cut through the crumbling world, Belnoa soared. Thus, the trial crumbled to the ground.
The collapsing trial.
In the midst of the raging storm, the dragon held a steady gaze upon Belnoa. She engraved the noble form of the dragon into her very eyes.
It was a sight she would never forget.
*
At the end of the canyon, Ganikalt came to a stop.
What lay before him was the end.
An insurmountable barrier blocking further progress.
Standing at the end of the world, Ganikalt gripped his sword.
“I saw your sword.”
Ganikalt spoke.
That was for Lac, and also for the child who had been his disciple long ago in a distant past.
“It was a rough sword.”
A crude weapon.
“It wasn’t a sword meant for fighting people. It was a sword meant for battling nature. It was not suitable for a swordsman, nor was it…”
Ganikalt lowered his sword.
“Ironically, it provided me the answer.”
It had likely meant to give him a lesson, but instead, he learned from it. The sword that Grace had previously boasted about, a sword uniquely belonging to that child. It gave Ganikalt the answer.
“What I must cut is not a being of substance.”
There was something to be cut.
“What I must cut down is the god perched above and the false being that descended upon this land. A thing that shouldn’t exist. A thing that cannot exist. I had to cut it down.”
Because it existed, he had to struggle.
“The answer I found at the end of this is this.”
Ganikalt took a short breath.
He caught the sword thrown away with his left hand. Winking one eye, he lowered his right arm. While his body remained intact, to Lac’s eyes, he seemed to have lost an arm and an eye.
“What does the sword pursue?”
He posed the question to himself.
Swordsmanship had evolved countless times.
Better stances, better strikes, more perfect trajectories.
With that, many lived their lives absorbed in the sword. Ultimately, what were they pursuing? What was the sword that he must chase?
In the end, the answer was simple.
Countless branches of swordsmanship had spread out to bear their own fruits. Yet if one traced back to the root, only one thing would remain.
“A sword’s purpose is to cut.”
It shall not change, even after hundreds, thousands, or tens of thousands of years.
“To certainly cut down what one desires to cut.”
If that is achievable, form is meaningless.
It does not matter what one holds in their hand.
A swordsman, who had lived a lifetime trapped in perfectionism, could only pierce the heavens after letting go of everything.
Letting go of everything.
To cut, all must be discarded.
“Form is unnecessary.”
He imbues the desire to cut into the sword.
My sword shall sever everything it touches.
A formless sword shall even strike down the stars above.
“This is the ultimate of the sword.”
A formless sword hence is the “unshaped sword” (無？？).
Because it contradicts destiny, it is the “reverse heaven” (？？).
Swish.
The formless sword swung through the air.
A line of light sliced through the world.
Even the end of the world blocking the path was cleaved by Ganikalt’s sword. With the massive strike, the world was slashed at a diagonal, and everything began to crumble.
Concepts, reason, natural laws, principles.
Everything collapsed.
In the collapsing world, the swordsman turned to Lac.
“Lac von Grace.”
He removed his helmet.
Revealing the face of a human.
Moreover, the face of a mentor looking at his disciple.
“Do not forget what you just witnessed.”
Lac slowly bowed his head.
His gaze focused on the great sword he held. That sword could be a great sword, a slender blades, or even an axe. What lay in his grasp was a formless sword.
The technique that Grace had demonstrated to Lac at the Holy Site.
Lac witnessed the original technique that would become the basis of that technique. Lac could not fully comprehend the technique. Though he could not understand, he must come to understand it someday.
With a firm grip.
Lac clenched the sword. Ganikalt, watching that scene, let out a faint smile.
“Do not forget that mindset.”
Ganikalt extended his arm.
The tip of his hand pointed toward the severed end of the world.
There lay the path leading out.
“Walk your path.”
Walk the path that is inherited from me.
Reach the end in your own way.
That is the best advice a mentor can give.
“Strive on.”
Lac bowed in respect before passing by Ganikalt and walked toward the path’s end. This would be the last meeting with that swordsman. If the day came when they meet again…
That would be a day he must cut down, not as a mentor, but as an enemy.
Lac emerged from the trial, engraved with the impression of Ganikalt’s sword. He had seen all that was to be seen. Moving ahead, all must be achieved by his own strength.
3.
Creak, creak.
Raniel gazed at the Holy Grail gripped in her hands.
Cracks formed in the Grail. Not only cracking, it began to shatter entirely. Sensing the end, Raniel lifted her head and looked ahead.
Whoooom!
From the well of light, Belnoa erupted. Following her, Lac also bounced out of the trial. It did not mean the success of the trial.
But it could not be labeled a failure either.
The vibrating well of light shattered. In tandem, the Holy Grail also broke. The broken Grail transformed into particles of light. Those particles flowed with direction.
Swipe.
The light, split in two, enveloped both Belnoa and Lac. It represented the will of the ancient heroes who crafted this Grail and the paths they walked.
A path separated in the distant past.
The one to walk the next leg of that path has been chosen.
*
