Chapter 88
Chapter 88
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 88
Chapter Title: Transmission, Sunset Slash
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No matter how strong one person's power might be, there is always a limit to it. It's impossible to overcome thousands of troops and myriad demons with one's own strength alone.
The things one person can accomplish with their own power are not all that numerous. No matter how strong an individual's power becomes, it is ultimately consumable.
Once all strength is expended, only a powerless human remains. That is the realm of the third class.
As humans, everyone starts at the third class. It always begins by looking inward at oneself.
The stage of cultivating and nurturing one's own power is the third class. In common terms, this would probably include up to the Expert level.
People tend to think of the third class as low and inferior, but that is not the case. This stage may actually be the most important among all stages.
Only by perfectly solidifying one's own foundation can you resonate with the world. The third class looks at itself, while the second class looks at the world. How vast is the world, and how immense is the power dwelling within it? No matter how strong a human body becomes, it cannot surpass nature.
Thus, the idea of refining oneself to reach the ultimate pinnacle is not the right answer. Becoming stronger is good, but only to a certain extent. Just as a child's goal differs from an adult's, once you've augmented your own power to a degree, you must now devise ways to make the world's power your own.
But if you obsess over just that one thing, you'll never escape the third class.
The second class is the realm of communion. It communes with the world and draws in the world's power. Heron gripped his sword and swung it slowly. It was so feeble that one might think a butcher slicing meat at a market would be stronger; he put no strength into the hand holding the sword. The blade crawled toward Roca like a sluggish caterpillar.
Watch closely. This is what it means to ride the external energy. With so much power in the world, there's no need to expend your own just to swing a sword.
The moment Roca thought, *I could block that*, the sword accelerated. Mana from all directions gathered along the sword's path, and the blade resonated with the mana, trembling.
Heron had invested only a tenth of his power into the sword, but that tenth drew in nine parts of external force, producing overwhelming might. The strike, now ten times stronger in an instant, reached right beside Roca's neck.
If this were a battlefield and Roca faced Heron as an enemy, letting her guard down upon seeing this sword would mean her head rolling. Roca's expression hardened rigidly, her tail standing straight up from tension.
But excitement gleamed in her eyes. No one had ever explained this to her before.
“Tell me more in detail.”
It's called heaven and earth, or nature, or the universe, but the point is the same. The second class is the realm of communing with external energies. It's not just handling the power within you, but drawing in and wielding the power outside you. You can't hope for luck right from the start. You have no choice but to train diligently.
At first, you mobilize 100% of your own power, but in the second class, you use 50% of your own and draw the remaining 50% from external sources. Yet consider how vast this world is and how small you are.
Wouldn't it be unfair in many ways to split the mana contribution half and half? If you dislike that, you must train harder. Gradually increase the world's share until you can draw nine parts of the world's power with just one part of your own.
Further still, until you can summon the force to push aside a mountain range with a mere flick of a finger.
Like how a butterfly's wingbeat creates a tiny ripple that travels through the atmosphere, amplifies, and summons a massive typhoon. The pinnacle of the second class is drawing great power with small force. With strength barely enough to lift a feather, how much can you accomplish? You probably have no idea.
Even masters can rapidly recover their mana by drawing external mana, but that's merely hovering ambiguously at the threshold between third and second class.
At least, that's how the masterless swordsman saw it.
True second class wields a mere handful of mana to astonish the heavens and terrify the earth. Roca hadn't even approached the second class, let alone reached that level.
“Then what does the first class do?”
Every disciple must one day surpass their master.
The masterless swordsman smiled faintly.
Would this child one day step into the first class realm? Who knows.
He could only leave behind a seed. Whether it grows into a cucumber, a watermelon, or a world tree-like giant depends entirely on how she nurtures it, right?
I learned the sword from nature itself. I was called the masterless swordsman, but my master was this world. If it's natural for a disciple to surpass their master, what must I have surpassed?
The first class, then, is like this.
The second class has limits. You grow relatively stronger where mana density around you is high, but your power is restricted in mana-scarce places. That's why it's only second class.
No matter if the surrounding power is strong or weak, friendly or hostile, whether the heavens or earth crumble, the heart remains unmoved. That is the first class.
Once you realize an unshakeable mind and stand at the center of balance, you remain upright no matter how the world tilts. For now, just remember this much. Learning more would only complicate things.
Seeing Roca's lack of understanding, Heron smiled slightly. Of course she doesn't understand. If one could grasp this from a single explanation, who would bother with training?
It's hard enough for third class to comprehend second class; how could they study first class? To Roca now, his words must sound like utter nonsense, empty wordplay.
Everything has its time, and that time hasn't come for her yet. It's meaningless to discuss a butterfly's life with a mere larva not yet in its pupa.
A child needs their parents' help when young. Only as an adult can they become independent. For a third-class practitioner to chase first-class philosophy is like a child recklessly leaving home to face the world.
It's not too late to pursue this path after growing a bit more, once prepared.
It would have been nice if you'd met me after growing a little more, but this is fate too.
Suppose she could somehow grasp second class. Her honest impression of first class was that it was utterly absurd.
It sounded like a con artist drunkenly spouting nonsense. No different from a quack peddler claiming his medicine cures all ills while piling on flowery praises.
The only difference was that a con artist aims to take something, while this man sought to give.
The sword in his hand lost its form, melting gooily into something like a round metal disc.
I would have given you this sword whole, but as I said, the blade suits you less than the staff.
Roca, who absentmindedly took the metal disc, widened her eyes. It began absorbing into her without warning.
The wolf tensed as she watched it seemingly melt and merge into her, but Heron simply closed his eyes, as if his task was done.
It's a sword forged by the heart, so I melted it back with the heart into its primordial core. Someday, when you awaken to your own heart, you might melt that core with your heart's fire and forge your own staff.
Even in his time, he was praised as a kind man, and to posterity, this kind swordsman now turned away gently, as if with no regrets.
“Wait a moment, please!”
Hm?
“You talked a lot but didn't properly teach me anything. Teach me a bit more before you go...”
Little one. For you now, building foundations matters more than enlightenment.
He didn't teach her many things.
He merely left her with the primordial core. Everything has its proper timing, and he and this child had met far too soon.
Enlightenment helps little in fumbling through third class. Time and effort aren't his to give at will, so there was nothing more to offer.
A chick inside an egg needn't ponder flying the skies. It must first nourish itself diligently on the egg's yolk and figure out how to break free.
Thus, he merely outlined a future roadmap, without imparting anything immediate. The masterless swordsman valued foundations, which depend on effort and will, not transmission.
Once you raise your own power to a level that resonates with the external and reach the threshold of second class, what I've left in the core will aid you. I can't help more now.
“Teach me something useful. Something I can use with power right away. Something that... can help immediately.”
All her precious things had vanished, leaving her heart hollow and empty.
One person now filled that void. Her sole remaining treasure, one she'd give everything to protect. If she couldn't protect that person, Roca had no reason to live.
You need power to protect someone, huh. Child, are your enemies that strong?
The girl nodded. The third prince, Edmund, had clearly eyed Kyle with disfavor. Roca had distinctly sensed the faint killing intent in those serene eyes.
Even if the foe was a prince of a nation, she needed power to protect what she wished to safeguard.
The masterless swordsman read that will transmitted heart to heart.
You're in a precarious state now. The pursuit of power is always thus. You have reasons and goals for desiring strength now, but growing stronger is more thrilling and addictive than any drug.
Those who take up the sword to protect someone eventually make growing stronger their sole purpose. Some even cast aside those they meant to protect to amplify their power.
The priorities reverse. No different from chasing money for happiness, only to later sell happiness for money.
Pursuing power is one's freedom, but the masterless swordsman offered advice. Well, it's just advice. He only hoped to guide her path.
But if you obsess over power, you'll lose sight of the root. The power you speak of, mana, is ultimately just a stepping stone to knowing yourself.
In the end, you'll realize it later. That everything I pursued, everything I thought was mine, was never mine from the start—just borrowed.
Mana is merely a tool. It must never become the goal. It's like a raft ferrying you toward the shore. Once you reach land, you must discard the raft.
Once your feet touch stable ground, the shaky raft becomes neither necessary nor missed. The masterless swordsman spoke solemnly.
Child, since you need power, I'll teach you one technique before I go, but promise me one thing. Don't become enamored with the power of the technique I show and pursue only that strength.
“Is that... bad?”
The tribe's elders always wished for her to grow strong, yet she failed to meet those expectations and lost her clan. Telling her not to pursue power felt strange to Roca.
He himself was so strong—why couldn't she be?
It's not bad.
The masterless swordsman smiled.
But sometimes, what you think is a detour is the straight path, and what seems straight is winding. Funny, isn't it? If you focus on growing stronger, you won't actually grow stronger. Child, do you think I attained this strength by pursuing power?
Mana is the foundation of the universe. Exploring mana is exploring the universe.
Everyone who wields mana, knowingly or not, pursues their own truth. The primal mana that existed from the beginning and will endure forever holds countless secrets and veils. The more one touches that truth, the more one grows.
Yet even when granted such opportunities, people don't recognize them.
They simply train mana to grow stronger, never delving into its roots. The masterless swordsman always found that regrettable. He was no sword demon swinging his blade for strength.
Walk the right path, and power follows naturally. It arises in the process of training, not as its goal—nor should it be.
Someday, if you reach where I stand, you'll understand my words.
Will this child one day realize that true elevation brings power as a mere byproduct? Even if she does, that day is far off.
Of course, if she needs power right now, reciting mere principles won't bring progress.
“That...”
You want to say that day is far off? You want something to grasp right now? I understand that feeling. I wasn't strong from the start either.
This kind swordsman thus did not refuse the desperate plea of posterity.
You possess the mana of the sun, so I'll teach you a technique born from gazing at the sun.
This was a technique Master Heron awakened by beholding the evening glow.
A fusion of the twilight that dyes all things and the imagery of utter annihilation. Even if taught, Roca now couldn't imitate it properly, but that would suffice.
I don't know who makes you so anxious, but...
Flash! Roca's vision was bathed in sunset hues.
Beyond the sunset loomed an unknown entity emitting sevenfold radiance. A giant of light—no, a colossal light god—screamed, emitting colors to counter the sunset, but Heron advanced indifferently, sword in hand.
Whoosh! He swung. The sword speed was slow enough for Roca to observe fully. Yet wherever the blade passed, the mana along its path annihilated in unison, spewing sunset light.
The most beautiful diagonal death line was drawn. All upon that line could only be erased. The sunset pronounced twilight upon all it touched.
As the line formed, even the scream was destroyed, and the sunset-infused sword bisected the light colossus top to bottom. The sundered body was wholly swallowed into the sunset.
If you can even imitate this Sunset Slash, at least you'll buy time to flee.
The girl, unwilling to miss a single moment of this astonishing scene, kept her eyes wide and ears perked, scrutinizing every detail. In her mind, the instant the sunset line was drawn replayed endlessly. The problem was that the gap between Roca and Heron exceeded her imagination.
Even shown hundreds of times in succession, she couldn't comprehend what she saw.
Reproducing even a fraction of this power would be immensely helpful, yet she grasped nothing she could awaken to from watching. She couldn't even attempt understanding.
She could only desperately etch the scene into her memory, committing it wholly.
As Roca strained to imprint what she saw, the afterimage of the sunset seeped into her. Ever so kindly, the masterless swordsman implanted the imagery of the sunset directly into her heart.
Someday, may you create such a technique yourself.
The end of all things. The sunset, symbol of twilight, is in essence no different from dawn, symbol of beginnings. All things in the world are like two sides of a coin, so the seeping sunset felt to Roca like warm sunlight illuminating a cold dawn. The girl deeply engraved that warmth in her chest and offered thanks.
But when she turned, the man was nowhere to be seen. It was as if she'd awakened from a brief nap—her mind refreshed, and nothing more.
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