The Uncrossable Wall
Iris Freesia loved the phrase “strong.” She didn’t simply like it—she lived close to it. The plain word “strong” by itself could never satisfy her. She worshipped and desperately longed for an overwhelming power that no one could ever touch.
Yet there was one truly funny thing. She herself was the daughter of a knightly house, the child of a renowned mercenary, or at the very least the offspring of a street brawler. That was what people might have assumed. In truth, she was the young lady of a prestigious noble family. Worse, she came from a household that had succeeded as bureaucrats—people utterly distant from anything resembling “martial arts.”
“Iris Freesia. You must enter the academy.”
Even before she was born, while still in the womb, her future had already been laid out like a perfectly arranged schedule. From early childhood education to how she would grow up and whom she would marry—everything was decided. Not a single part of it belonged to Iris herself. Overwhelming strength, admirable martial prowess—none of those things existed in the plan. Only useless book learning and empty formalities filled her days.
She couldn’t endure it. The disgust was so intense she couldn’t stay. So Iris left her family.
Did she sneak out in the dead of night? Not at all. She walked out in broad daylight, bold and upright. She beat down every knight and soldier who tried to stop her.
All so she could face and learn the martial arts she had longed for. And ultimately, so she herself could become the strongest.
“What seems to be the matter, miss?”
“I want to fight. That’s why I came.”
“Look, this isn’t some easy playground.”
“I know. I came here knowing that. So get out of my way.”
To show her strength, to swing her fists, none of the formalities she had been taught were necessary. The idea that one must observe etiquette in every situation was utter nonsense. Once a fight began, the only thing that mattered was winning and surviving. That was everything. The sole truth, the only justice.
Iris was utterly fascinated by that simplicity. Fighting was straightforward, and fighting with fists was even simpler. Whose hand struck harder, whose foot moved faster, whose endurance was greater—only those things decided victory or defeat.
She loved it so much she thought she would go insane.
“Iris wins!”
“Crazy. That’s thirteen straight wins now.”
“As expected of Iris! She’s the best!”
“Wahaha! Thanks to you I’m making a fortune today! Appreciate it!”
They rejoiced at earning money. She rejoiced at growing stronger. She loved being able to fight, loved meeting stronger opponents. Everything felt utterly perfect.
But at some point, Iris began to fall into an unknown feeling.
This isn’t enough. I need something more powerful. I can’t be satisfied. I want to face an even greater being.
Once those thoughts took root, every fight she had waged until then felt like child’s play. So she left the place she had settled in and began traveling the world, seeking out strong opponents. She had only been in her late teens when she started.
Most people reacted to Iris’s behavior with utter disbelief. She had a warm, well-fed future waiting for her as the daughter of a noble house. Why on earth would she throw that away? Had she gone mad?
“Idiots.”
You people don’t understand me at all. You never have, and you never will.
Iris muttered those words and continued her journey. As she wandered the world, she reached only one conclusion: those who called themselves the strong were all weak and worthless.
“Kuh! Urk! W-wait! I lose! I admit defeat!”
“…Enough. I lost. It’s your victory.”
“I acknowledge my defeat. You are truly strong.”
In reality, Iris had not even shown a fraction of her true limit. Yet those who called themselves strong would cower and concede defeat. They seemed to think it was some elegant, honorable surrender. To Iris, it was nothing more than weaklings pretending to be strong. Nothing more, nothing less. An utterly disgusting sight.
The more she traveled, the greater her disappointment grew. She could only sigh, wondering what the hell was going on.
“Iris Freesia?”
Then one day.
“They say you’re incredibly strong. Care to teach me a thing or two?”
A man appeared before her, radiating an aura no one she had met before had ever shown.
Found him.
At that moment, Iris’s eyes flashed. The man before her was unmistakably the strong one she had been searching for. The greatest expert in the world, someone who could truly interest her.
Thinking that, Iris immediately charged at him.
And in exactly one exchange, she was sent rolling across the ground.
“Kehek! Kek!”
“Disappointing. You’re disgustingly weak.”
The instant she heard the word “weak,” laughter burst out of Iris. Normally she should have felt rage at the insult. And honestly, a bit of anger did rise up. But for some reason, relief flooded her far more strongly than fury.
“…You really are strong.”
“You’re just weak. Extremely so.”
“That may be true. Then… can you make me strong?”
“I’m not particularly good at teaching weaklings.”
“Don’t worry. One day I’ll become strong enough to surpass even you.”
“Quite confident. Then follow me. I’ll show you what true ‘strength’ is.”
Iris followed the man. She took him as her master and learned what “strength” truly meant.
“You asked for a spar, my disciple?”
“Yes, that’s right, Master.”
“How insolent. It hasn’t been that long since you last got beaten, yet here you are again.”
“I need more sparring. More defeats. That’s what I want most.”
Her master was strong. Ridiculously strong. So strong that the self who had once proudly called herself strong couldn’t even lay a fingertip on him. That was why Iris felt even greater joy and excitement. To be broken, defeated, crushed, and trampled like this. To gain enlightenment this way and grow stronger at such a rapid pace. One day she would surpass even that man. If she continued like this, she could absorb everything from her master and create something that was truly her own. She had once thought that.
“Not even worth half a copper coin, my disciple.”
“Kuh!”
Just as he said, Iris never won even once. No matter how much she trained, practiced, or engraved techniques into her body, she could never cross her master.
“It is time, Iris Freesia.”
“Master.”
“Go down. Go down and use those fists of yours to clean up those pathetic wretches.”
“I am still weak. I haven’t beaten you yet.”
“How long do you plan to stay here? Didn’t we make a promise? After a hundred spars and a hundred losses, you would obey everything I told you to do.”
“…Yes, we did make that promise.”
“Then I shall give you an order, my disciple. Go down and fulfill your duty. I already told you. The reason you are strong, the reason you are always thirsty for strength, is because you have been given exactly that much power and qualification.”
“…”
“You are a Hero, Iris. A Hero who bears the duty of protecting this world from the Enemy’s Will.”
Iris could not understand it. She could not accept it. What did it mean that she was a Hero? That she was someone who had to protect the world? The only thing she wanted right now was to fight strong opponents. And that strong opponent wasn’t somewhere far away—he was standing right in front of her.
“There will be many strong ones out there, Iris.”
“…”
“Once you’ve dealt with all of them, I will fight you again.”
“Really?”
“Of course. And while you’re crushing them, you’ll naturally grow stronger.”
That was the signal. That was the beginning.
After that, Iris went out into the world. Whether they were monsters, demonic beasts, or Demon God Worshippers, she crushed and smashed them all equally with her fists. She received titles like the Brawler Hero and the Limitless, but she paid them no mind. For Iris, there was only moving forward. She wanted to become stronger. She had to become stronger. And ultimately, she had to defeat her master. She wanted to surpass him and step beyond.
Time flowed on and on.
One day, one of the followers who had begun trailing after her spoke up.
“Hero. They say something strange has appeared in the west.”
Strange meant it might be strong. Without a second thought, Iris headed straight for the western region. As a result, she fell straight into the trap of the Mirror Kingdom.
“Iris Freesia.”
“You’re weak. Truly, disgustingly weak.”
In that place, Iris faced the version of herself who had once lost to her master. Compared to who she was now, that past self had clearly been weak. So weak that even she didn’t want to look at her. But the current Iris was different. She was definitely different. She could at least hold her own against her master now.
As that conviction deepened, the past before her eyes began to change little by little. The self who had never once landed a proper attack began to hit her master. Once, twice, three times, four times. The number of successful strikes gradually increased. In the end, she finally achieved victory against her master.
“It is your victory, Iris Freesia. My disciple.”
“…No.”
Yes, this was wrong. No matter how much stronger she had become, her master losing to her? Her master? That incredibly strong man? To someone like her? To the current her?
“That’s impossible.”
Iris shook her head. She denied her own victory and her master’s defeat. Each time she did, the mist grew thicker and continued to show her the same scenes—scenes of Iris winning, of her master losing.
“Cut the bullshit.”
She was strong. She wanted to become even stronger. It was true that she wanted to grow strong enough to surpass her master. But desire and reality were clearly different things. For her to defeat that man, her master? How? In what way could she possibly win?
Every time she saw those scenes, Iris swung her fists. These were impossible, disgusting things that could never happen.
“Iris Freesia. It is your victory.”
“Truly magnificent, Iris.”
“To think my disciple has grown this strong. How impressive.”
Lies. All lies.
He is still someone I cannot cross. Master. To me, you are still an immense mountain.
“Iris. Iris.”
I don’t want to hear it. Get lost. Disappear. All of it…
“Iris.”
With those words, her body was suddenly lifted into the air. Then she was slammed straight into the ground, covered in dust. An overwhelming defeat without the slightest resistance.
But only then could Iris finally open her eyes. She had escaped the long falsehood, the thick fog. She had become free once more.
“…Master.”
“Get up already, you weak-boned disciple.”
The word “weak.” The word she had hated so much. But hearing it from that man, from her master, didn’t feel bad at all.