“Galatrick Style.”

The swordsmanship created by the greatest knight has branched out over the centuries. Passing through countless knights, it diversified into various forms and techniques.

If one were to describe its form, it would resemble a gigantic tree.

A tree that starts from a single root and spreads its branches in all directions. Some branches blossom beautifully, while others may fall as leaves. Sometimes, a branch may take a wrong turn and get chopped off, but regardless, branches will continue to reach for the sky.

“Alteration.”

Each blooms in its own way.

Each grows in its own style. Thus, the flower bloomed from the extended branches may look quite different from the very first flower.

“6th Form.”

Different forms, different colors, different scents.

Even if it strays far from the original source…

‘That is why it is Galatrick Style.’

That too is a flower bloomed from Galatrick.

On the highest branch hangs a flower. The knight who made it named his flower.

Galatrick Style, Alteration.

6th Form, Moon Shadow.

Kalt’s sword scattered moonlight.

The blade traced an odd trajectory. Shadows followed the path drawn by the sword. The blade was the moon high in the sky, and the ground was a mirror reflecting the moon.

Kiing!

The moment the swords clashed, Kuntel frowned. It didn’t feel like he was deflecting or dodging the sword. What he sensed through the palm gripping the hilt was strange, and in his narrowed gaze, he saw his swordtip pointing entirely elsewhere.

Huhung.

The sword Kuntel swung down, aimed at Kalt’s neck, was suddenly pointing at the unseen sky when he regained his senses. The trajectory of the sword had flipped. The path twisted.

…How?

It wasn’t due to deflecting against Kalt’s sword. It wasn’t a miss either. Despite sensing the strangeness, Kuntel swung his sword again, this time putting in more strength, more decisively.

Kiieeeng!

This time, the sound echoed louder.

It was not the sound of swords clashing or grinding on the blade… but rather a sound like pulling out the sword’s intent. Kuntel’s brow furrowed tighter. His narrowed eyes fixed on the point where the swords clashed.

The space at that point was twisted.

At the moment the swords collided, Kalt’s blade wavered. The shadow cast by the sword on the ground rippled. An unknown sword. An unknown technique. Yet, Kuntel responded immediately.

Sehgung!

Regardless of where the tip of the sword was heading due to its twisted trajectory, Kuntel displayed a perfect strike. However, he still could not overpower Kalt as before. One step forward, one step back. Their footsteps left a chaotic trace in the ground.

…Moon Shadow is a sword aimed to face Kuntel.

Kalt exhaled sharply.

He had fastened the first button towards victory. The bloodshot eyes of Kalt were fierce. A smile bloomed on Kalt’s lips.

“I’m coming.”

Behold, this is my sword.

2.

Moon Shadow.

Kalt could not wield the 6th Form of Galatrick Style. Indeed, this was a technique that no one had ever replicated. However, he understood the mystery contained within that technique.

‘It is not limited to deflecting and avoiding the sword… it is about advancing to the next level of swordsmanship.’

It twists the path the opponent’s sword draws.

Before the sword draws a perfect line, before its power is sufficient, it alters its direction. For that, one needs perfect predictions and skills enough to intervene in the trajectory of the opponent’s sword.

‘I could always predict it.’

Kalt was born with the talent of a tracker.

He was unmatched in reading opponents’ habits and predicting their actions, so Kalt always met the first condition.

‘What I lacked was skill.’

Physical ability and sword output.

Kalt knew what he lacked. Knowing that, he sought a way to fill it. In the end, Kalt found an answer. That answer possibly came from a certain mage who was closest to him.

“Magic is a tool.”

“A tool that fills the gaps of what I cannot do or lack. Or it could be part of the body. Isn’t your sword intent similar? It doesn’t look much different from magic to me.”

The shape of his sword intent was moonlight.

As Kalt tilted the sword wrapped in moonlight, a long shadow was cast on the ground. The shadow altered with every angle tilted. There, Kalt found his answer.

‘Sword intent is a tool. A tool that can change form as needed.’

Transform as much as you want.

Moon Shadow. As the moon’s shadow ripples.

Kwa-jiik!

Kalt stomped the ground as he rapidly rolled his eyes. He saw the nonstop movements of Kuntel swinging his sword and also predicted them. Kuntel’s unique movements from his adapted body, habitual in life.

Perfect predictions obtained through observation.

Kalt peeked at the sword path visible to Kuntel. Kalt’s blade slipped into the path Kuntel traced. Normally, it would have been overpowered due to the disparity in skills…

Kiieeeng!

The crescent moon-shaped sword intent entwined around Kuntel’s sword path, shaking it. Just like the moon’s shadow reflected in the lake, Kuntel’s sword path wavered, redirecting the sword’s tip entirely.

Sehgok.

Seeing Kuntel’s sword slicing through the air, Kalt pushed further in. The moon’s shadow rippled again, further altering its form. As Kuntel’s sharp blade surged in, Kalt smoothly avoided it, twisting the trajectory.

Thud.

Kalt charged forward, having twice stepped ahead after repeating steps forward and back in their fight. For the first time, Kuntel took two steps back.

The gap closes.

Kalt’s sword, dangerously close to the ground, slashed at Kuntel’s forearm. For the first time, blood sprayed from Kalt’s blade.

Sehgung.

Not missing the momentum, Kalt pressed Kuntel. With each flash of the sword intent, blood splattered long. Both Kalt, bloodied from the sword, and Kuntel began to bleed as well.

Puh-dook.

With every swing, blood splattered.

Even if the sword path twisted, Kuntel somehow straightened his distorted line. Following the opened path, he inflicted wounds on Kalt’s body. In that gap, Kalt also swung his sword, making wounds on Kuntel’s body.

Each strike, blood splattered.

None of them were fatal, but neither were they trivial. Before long, pooled blood filled the ground where the two had stepped.

Kaaaarrrg!

The sound of swords colliding echoed.

Kiieeeng!

The sound of the sword path twisting reverberated.

Puh-dook.

The splatter of blood resounded ceaselessly. In a single breath, five strikes were exchanged. Sparks flew from the blades with Kaka-kaka-kang!

From above, the left, the right, below, and thus, a downpour of strikes fell upon Kalt. At this moment, if he missed even one, it would lead to death; Kalt kept training himself.

Sharpen more, be more precise, be bolder.

Now, he could finally collide swords.

Now, for the first time, he could swing his sword on the same level as that noble knight. This moment could not be tainted by carelessness or mistakes, truly.

Crack.

Kalt clenched his teeth.

Before his benefactor, the opponent he had to defeat, Kalt displayed everything he had. He exhibited everything he had built up over a lifetime in front of his master.

Sehgok.

Kalt’s sword deeply grazed Kuntel’s shoulder.

Blood sprayed out long. In the moment blood splattered into Kalt’s vision, Kuntel’s outstretched sword pierced Kalt’s shoulder. Kalt’s sword deflected the incoming blade upward, mixing blood with blood.

…Kuntel too acknowledges the knight before him as an equal.

He held no unnecessary feelings for his disciple he had raised. What Kuntel saw now was the utmost respect toward the knight charging at him with everything he had. It was his greatest honor toward an equal.

Kuntel exhaled deeply.

Puduk, pududuk, a loud noise resonated from Kuntel’s fingers as he gripped the sword.

Chaaaarrrk!

Right after, an enormous wave of sword intent surged.

Even though Kalt succeeded in deflecting that sword intent, he had to step back significantly. Just as Kalt was about to charge at Kuntel again, he halted for a moment, suddenly stiff.

Guuunng!

The air trembled.

As the dusty air from the sword intent cleared, what emerged was Kuntel slowly raising his sword. His energy felt different from just a moment ago.

A singular sword in line with the sky.

Kuntel opened his eyes slightly.

Just as the knight in front displayed everything he had, Kuntel too wanted to show everything he possessed. The moment Kalt met Kuntel’s gaze, understanding dawned.

It’s coming.

The finishing blow to conclude this duel is coming.

3.

Raising the sword toward the sky.

The blade, aligned perpendicularly with the sky, gleamed in silvery white. The sword’s intent, resting on the blade, emitted a low sword cry. The rubble rolling on the ground and dust trembled lightly.

The air shivers.

The space creaks.

As the soil rising toward the sword once more settled, the swirling dust began to whip up like a storm.

‘…I cannot see it.’

Seeing Kuntel’s sword, Kalt couldn’t help but smile bitterly.

The blow Kuntel was preparing, the path he was about to strike was invisible to Kalt’s eyes. Just as Kuntel could not understand Kalt’s Moon Shadow, Kalt too was unable to comprehend the sharpest strike Kuntel possessed.

Yet, still…

‘What needs to be done doesn’t change.’

Kalt gripped his sword tightly.

Exhaling deeply, he stomped down with a thud. The shadow of the moon he draped on the ground rippled and surged. From crescent to half-moon, from half-moon to full.

Kalt’s sword shone brighter than ever.

Exhaling, Kalt opened his eyes wide.

He no longer reads Kuntel’s sword path. What Kalt sees now is solely his own, a path reserved only for him.

…The path of the sword, the sword road.

Sword masters speak in unison.

They say that when gripping the hilt and aiming the sword tips at the target to be cut, the path that the sword should trace becomes visible.

Someone once argued that this path is ultimately an extension of precognition. They claimed that the swordsmanship developed through accumulated experience and long training combines with precognition to create a sort of future vision.

That argument wasn’t wrong, but.

‘That is not everything.’

Kalt knows that’s not all of the sword road.

A swordsman is one who speaks through the sword. A swordsman is someone who lives by the sword. Therefore, if there’s a path the sword must trace, it must surely be…

‘My life.’

It will be the life of a swordsman itself.

The path he had walked is precisely the path of the sword. Looking back on that path, at its starting point stands the great knight, the founder of Galatrick Style. And directly behind him stands Kuntel. Between the two stands countless knights.

A continuous journey.

As Kalt gazed at the path ahead, he now looked forward. What unfolded in front of him was an endless wilderness. The path he must continue. With his eyes on the current moment, Kalt saw an enemy to be cut down.

In his hands, he held the hilt.

“Ahh.”

Kalt smiled.

“It’s visible.”

The path of the sword was revealed.

The one and only path leading to victory.