Chapter 536: What Is Barnas's Dream?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 536: What Is Barnas's Dream?
Barnas Hurier was not one to claim he was the strongest on the continent.
Yet, that did not mean he ever expected to be defeated by some nameless knight.
‘Does this even make sense?’
He lay collapsed on the ground. His opponent stood over him, leaning heavily on a sword jabbed into the earth.
Only half the blade of the thick, black greatsword remained, and only one side of its guard was left intact. The rest had been sheared away by Barnas's own wave blade.
Just as Jamal had refined his Orthodox Sword Style after watching Corwin, Barnas's wave sword had its own storied origins. It was his specialty.
Unusually, Barnas had never crafted a separate imprinted weapon. He had always used his own claws, only commissioning a set of metal claws after Cypress broke his nails in a previous encounter. It was a belated acquisition, but he believed it had made him stronger than ever.
The principle of the wave was vibration.
It multiplied force through resonance. Channeling Will into metal claws was more difficult than doing so into his own flesh, but the payoff was immense. To imbue his own nails with waves, he had to simultaneously maintain Iron Armor to keep his fingers from shattering, which wasted a significant amount of Will.
By using the metal claws, he could pour every ounce of his Will into the vibration without needing to protect his hands. In terms of pure destructive power, he was at his peak.
Simply put, his current self fought better than he ever had in the past. In truth, the weapon was merely an excuse; his growth was born of the humiliation of his defeat by Cypress, a shame that had driven him to train relentlessly.
Regardless, his technique had reached a higher level.
‘I felt like I could have given Cypress a proper fight if we met again.’
Barnas felt the strength draining from the muscles clamped tight around the stump of his severed left arm. He had lost not only an arm, but a leg as well. A deep gash above his left brow blinded him on that side.
‘Is the eye ruined?’
If he could just survive, living as a one-eyed man wouldn't matter. If only he could survive, that was. Unfortunately, his current circumstances offered no such promise.
"Monster," Barnas muttered.
He replayed the battle in his mind.
"All units, charge!"
At his lieutenant's command, fifty iron-armored spearmen had closed their formation to apply pressure, and Barnas had lunged forward alongside them.
Crack!
He had naturally triggered his beastman transformation. Unlike Dunchabel, who possessed a unique constitution, Barnas did not look like a literal lion. Still, his fangs grew sharper, his ears perked up, and his whiskers and body hair stiffened like wire. His beastman blood boiled, awakening his predatory instincts.
Barnas harnessed those instincts without letting them consume him. He did not blindly rush in. Instead, one of his spearmen delivered a deep thrust. Barnas darted left and right, leaving afterimages to draw the enemy's focus while yielding the opening strike to his soldier.
It was an excellent thrust—solid, physical, and precise. The enemy could easily dodge it, but the moment he did, an opening would present itself. Barnas was more than capable of exploiting that gap to disembowel him.
Yet, even as the spear lunged toward him, the man with the greatsword never took his eyes off Barnas. Even as Barnas blurred into a trail of afterimages, those eyes never lost him for a single second.
‘Incredible eyes.’
Thought and action occurred in the span of a heartbeat. Within that split-second window, the man's greatsword moved.
Whoosh.
It was so fast it swallowed the sound of parting air. Drawing a short, tight arc as if it were a light dagger rather than a massive greatsword, the black line smashed the spearhead.
Clang!
The greatsword struck the blade itself, not the shaft, shattering it. The spearhead disintegrated into iron shards that rained down like metallic hail.
"Ugh!"
The soldier’s leather glove burst open, his palm tearing and spraying blood. Before those droplets could even hit the ground, Barnas abandoned his lateral movements and lunged. Stamping his left foot to brake instantly, he launched into a straight-line charge.
His body seemed to blur and stretch sideways—an optical illusion caused by the sudden deceleration. It was a maneuver impossible to replicate without a beastman's superhuman physique.
His opponent did not halt the momentum of the blade that had shattered the spear; he drove it straight down. It was as if the spearhead had merely been an incidental obstacle in the path of his original swing. There was absolutely no hesitation.
‘A stroke of genius.’
Anyone could deflect a spear while keeping an eye on an approaching enemy. A knight was expected to do even more—perhaps dodging while maintaining awareness. But this man went a step further.
‘He's using the recoil from the impact?’
He had harnessed the recoil of the collision to accelerate his downward swing. The terrifying speed of the incoming blade left no room for doubt.
"Ha!" Barnas let out a fierce shout, finding his opponent's clever trick surprisingly exhilarating.
Zzzzzing!
Barnas's vibrating claws struck the black greatsword.
Drrrrr, ping!
The greatsword ground against his claws and was deflected. The wave generated by the vibration strained the opponent's grip and rippled through his entire muscular system. Normally, anyone subjected to this would retreat to regain their footing.
Yet this mad killer simply swung his sword again, completely ignoring his ruined balance and unstable posture.
"Phew!" Barnas caught sight of the man's face, his lips pursed as he exhaled.
Clang!
After clashing once more, Barnas retreated, and a spearhead instantly surged forward to fill the gap. It was the rotational tactics he had coordinated with his commander. Of course, Barnas was the one dictating the tempo. How could ordinary soldiers hope to intervene in a duel between knights?
But Barnas's specialty was the wave. Any knight subjected to it would find themselves unable to muster their usual speed and strength.
"A single clash would rattle one's organs," the elf remarked from the sidelines.
She had recognized the danger immediately, yet she made no move to protect the mad killer. Instead, she slipped behind the armored cavalrymen.
‘She knows how to think.’
They chose to split up, even though staying together would have been safer. Barnas lunged toward the elf, estimating it would take three or four strikes at most to cut her down.
"He's mine," the crazy blonde guy barked as he intervened.
He didn't care that a soldier's spear had grazed his cheek, drawing blood; the madman simply charged toward Barnas's blind spot.
"Cocky bastard," Barnas muttered, frowning. The man's body should still be trembling from the residual shockwaves. Where did he get the nerve to attack?
Clang!
Their third clash rang out.
Barnas immediately experienced something bizarre. Instead of his wave propagating to rattle his opponent's organs, it felt as though it had collided with an identical vibration and canceled out.
"I think I've got the hang of it now," the man said.
What is this bastard talking about?
Barnas's brow furrowed. Even Jamal, whose talent lay in copying techniques, had taken four months to mimic just a fraction of the wave.
From that moment on, the battle spiraled far beyond Barnas's expectations. The greatsword-wielding madman kept him pinned, while the female elf—evidently an elven knight—began to dance through the ranks of his spearmen.
Clatter!
His lieutenant's leadership was stellar. He dispersed the formation to counter the greatsword, then quickly consolidated them back into a tight wall. Yet, it was inevitable that his men were being cut down one by one.
The elf, however, was in no rush. She contented herself with parrying and delivering measured counterattacks. Even so, the casualties continued to mount.
Normally, Barnas should have engaged both of them while his armored cavalry applied pressure. Indeed, the battle had initially followed that trajectory, but everything changed the moment the greatsword-wielding bastard began parrying his claws.
‘So they understand tactics, do they?’
Barnas did not panic. His opponent was a knight; it was only natural he possessed such skill. Neutralizing the wave after only three clashes was still astonishing, but there was no use crying over spilled milk. Besides, when did a battle ever go exactly as planned? He was far too experienced to let such a development rattle him.
Moreover, he still held the cards to turn the tide.
So you're a genius who can withstand my waves? Then how will you handle this?
It had only been three clashes since the fight began, right around the time the elf put a hole through the skull of his third spearman. Barely any time had passed at all. Barnas decided to unleash his ultimate technique ahead of schedule.
Hummmmm.
The metal claws vibrated as rapidly as a hummingbird's wings before suddenly falling dead silent. The hum vanished.
Ragna held his greatsword at an angle, his eyes locked onto the tips of his opponent's claws. To his eyes, the vibration appeared to have ceased entirely. This was the pinnacle of the wave sword: a vibration so high-frequency it was invisible even to a knight's eyes, yielding unparalleled cutting power.
As Barnas vanished with a whoosh, a similar vibration rippled through his entire body. By vibrating his own form with the wave, he could unleash speed and power far beyond his normal limits.
The claws descended toward Ragna's head. Ragna sank half-kneeling on his left leg, raising his sword to block.
Claws met greatsword. To an ordinary observer, it was a collision occurring in a fraction of a microsecond, but to the two combatants, it was a mutually anticipated clash. Through sheer combat insight, one had resolved to cut and the other to block.
The moment the two masses of metal collided, the sound that echoed was a sickening riiiip, like a leather sack being torn open.
Ragna watched as the middle of his blade began to shear. The claws were literally tearing through solid iron, the beast-like talons vibrating with a perfect, constant frequency.
Barnas was certain of his victory.
And Ragna, in that single instant, saw exactly what he needed to do.
The genius that had propelled him to knighthood, once fueled by a sense of absolute omnipotence, flared with unprecedented sharpness. But the catalyst that had truly awakened his talent was not Barnas.
Ragna knew that even without taking reckless risks, he would eventually surpass the trembling beastman before him. No, this was the result of the sheer shock dealt to him by that monster, Encrid, just before the outbreak of the war.
He had witnessed the colossal mass of Will residing within a man of humble talent who had forged himself through sheer, unadulterated effort. It was a mountain of Will, so vast that no amount of chipping away could ever diminish it.
‘What must I do to overcome that?’
It was the first time in Ragna's life that he had ever truly had to ponder. A massive Will knew no exhaustion. If such a force were paired with refined technique in a battle of attrition...
‘I will lose.’
Ragna's genius had already calculated the outcome. Even if he spent twenty years refining his technique, the result would remain unchanged. If he merely focused on defense and endurance, Encrid would inevitably triumph. He could not afford to keep going as he always had.
"Is that your limit? Is that where you've drawn the line?"
Long ago, when he had first picked up a sword, someone had said those words to him.
"Your mind has decided that your potential ends there. And so, it shall."
As a child, Ragna had seen the path he was destined to walk, and he had seen its end. It was a fixed destiny. But now... awakened by a shock akin to ice water splashed on a complacent mind—the sheer existence of Encrid—Ragna finally dragged his true talent to the surface.
It was the stride of a man who had forgotten the very concept of limits.
‘Vibration. Oscillation.’
The destructive power born from it. Claws that could shear through anything. And what made that possible was vibration. What made the sword vibrate?
Will. And how did one manipulate Will? He only needed to grasp it through raw sensation.
Ragna channeled his Will, forcing it to vibrate.
‘Vibrate.’
To move with intent—that was the essence of Will. Imbued with Ragna's intent, the broken greatsword let out a low, resonant hum.
"...What the hell are you doing?"
In that moment, Barnas felt a profound sense of defeat and bitterly cursed his own arrogance.
‘And here I thought I was the one standing at the center, destined to lead the continent.’
He had been confident that even if he could not end the war, he would be the spark that set the continent ablaze. Barnas Hurier, the knight at the vanguard of change. That was what he had believed.
Was he wrong?
What Barnas had truly desired was to establish an unprecedented order of knights, training them under an entirely new paradigm. He had believed this would reshape the geopolitical landscape of the continent. His dream had been shattered before he could even face Cypress again.
But did that mean he would simply break without a fight?
Barnas began to pour out every ounce of his remaining strength. Against the bastard who was copying his technique in real-time, he resorted to throwing dirt, spitting, and biting.
The mad blonde's blade did not replicate his wave perfectly, but it was enough to neutralize it.
‘He's doing this without even using an imprinted weapon?’
Barnas had managed to break one of the man's legs and shatter his shoulder in the process. The man's left eye was stained crimson just like his own, and three of his fingers were broken. The greatsword was now completely ruined.
Yet, his opponent had survived. And Barnas knew he would not.
"Sir Barnas!"
He heard the surviving commander shouting his name. Barnas stared up at the sky from where he lay. They were in a clearing. Framed by the canopy of trees, the sky was incredibly high and blue.
‘An order of over ten knights... it wasn't just a pipe dream.’
It had been so close to becoming a reality. He could have shattered the age-old notion that knights must always be few. An order born of an entirely new paradigm, transcending any that had come before. Group combat where ten knights fought in perfect unison.
He had harbored such a dream. A dream that would now die with him, buried forever in the chest of a beastman.
"Thanks for the lesson," the killer said.
The madman spoke. Had the Goddess of Fortune smiled upon his opponent? Or was his belief that he stood at the vanguard of change merely a delusion?
"What's your name?"
"Ragna."
"Is that all?"
The mad blonde stared at the beastman for a moment before adding, "Ragna Zaun."
"The Zaun family?"
"Heard of it?"
"Only in passing."
With those final words, Barnas closed his eyes, his face still turned toward the sky. He thought it wasn't a bad way to go, hearing the name of a legendary house from his final opponent.
He could have clung to lingering regrets, but upon reflection, perhaps he had never been truly sincere about his dream.
‘If I had been truly sincere, shouldn't I have passed my knowledge on to someone?’
Yet, he had done no such thing. He had wanted to achieve it solely with his own hands, believing it would be meaningless otherwise. It had not been a dream, but mere greed. It was a realization that came only on the cusp of death.
Under the circumstances, there was no need to die with his eyes wide open in resentment. Barnas exhaled his final breath, his eyes peacefully closed.
"We die here today."
The commander stared at Barnas's corpse. After a brief moment of internal conflict, his resolve hardened. He ordered his fifty iron-armored spearmen to charge. He calculated that, with a bit of luck, they could at least take down the half-dead knight.
If they had lost Barnas, it was only fair that the enemy lost a knight as well. Even if it meant annihilation, it was what had to be done.
"I think about this from time to time, but you really do underestimate me," the elf said, stepping forward.
Sinar blocked their path. The commander's gaze remained fixed on the space behind her. Just one clean thrust, and that knight would die. Unfortunately, the one standing in his way was also a knight of Ragna's caliber.
Sinar spoke without a trace of humor, raising her leaf-like sword. She had wanted to offer them a chance to retreat rather than engage in meaningless slaughter, but if they refused, she was left with only one choice.
With a swift whoosh, her Leaf Sword struck the neck of a spearman three paces away.
Skrrrch!
The chainmail protecting his neck ground against the blade, and a thin crimson line bloomed across his throat.
"Fuck... What is this now?" one of the soldiers muttered, terror creeping into his voice.
"An energy blade," Sinar explained helpfully. She offered the explanation with polite grace.