The Holy Sword's Unyielding Grip
The girl who dreamed of pure adventure was, of course, utterly pathetic. "You think this paltry power is enough to face me?"
Grrunch... Just before the arm could descend, I seized its wrist. Bam! Blood sprayed in every direction. The arm was grotesquely swollen. Once human muscle now clumped with black demonic energy, protrusions jutting out like beast bones grafted onto it. That weight and speed could have ripped a castle gate right off its hinges.
But the moment it entered my grasp, its power lost all meaning. I tightened my fingers. Crack. A short, horrifically vivid sound. Not just bone breaking. Flesh and bone and curse, forcibly stitched together, all crumbling at once. The monster's wrist crumpled deep within my fist. Black blood and murky magic erupted simultaneously. Its shoulder twisted, elbow snapping backward. The beast screamed a beat late.
"GRRAAAAAAGH!"
A beast's howl. Hard to believe it came from a human throat. The cry shook the forest. Raindrops clinging to the branches fell in unison, ripples churning through the puddles at my feet. I pressed the arm downward. Thud! The monster's upper body buckled to the ground. Its knees sank into the mud. Swords stabbed ownerless into the earth throughout the woods trembled all at once in the downpour.
Ching. Ching, ching. Like the long-dead swallowing their breaths.
The monster swung its remaining arm. Thick, long, nails split unnaturally, aiming for my throat. Pain makes it more savage, fear makes it thrash harder. Beasts are always like that. I twisted my body halfway. As the nails grazed past my shoulder, I tapped the inside of its forearm with my free hand. It would have looked like a light touch. But in the next instant, the arm's entire balance collapsed. A joint twisted backward, severing the flow of power. I flicked my wrist sharply. Crunch. A louder sound this time. The monster's left arm went limp. Tendons snapped, shoulder bone shoved from its socket, elongated bone spurs tearing through flesh to protrude. The massive frame tilted sideways. Rain and mud splashed everywhere.
This was barely a warm-up. The issue wasn't strength. It was what still lingered inside that form. I eyed its chest. Amid black flesh, crusted blood, and warped bone. The hilt of the Holy Sword gleamed strangely, unmarred by the rain. An ancient light. Faint, but unextinguished.
"How utterly hideous," I murmured lowly.
The monster thrashed as if it couldn't comprehend my words. Then it jerked its head up. The face revealed through sodden hair was nightmarish. Traces of humanity remained. Eyes that once held graceful lines. A jaw that must have fallen straight from beneath a helmet. But now all crushed under the curse. Horns splitting the forehead. Fissured lips. Skin stained with magic. Its gaze held scant reason left.
Yet. For the briefest instant. Truly the briefest. Its eyes flicked to my waist. Precisely toward my sword. Roen's breath hitched, ever so slightly. He'd seen it too.
The monster howled again. This time, not mere rage. Desperate thrashing to rise on its broken body. And an ancient habit moving before the flesh could follow. Knight. The word rolled in my mind. Not certain yet. But something not fully beast lingered in that form. Whether it clung to the Holy Sword, or the sword refused to release it. I didn't know.
The monster charged headlong. Good. Fights where body outpaces reason are easy to handle. Still gripping the shattered right arm, I received and redirected its momentum. Sidestepped one pace, pulled the wrist, lowered my shoulder, twisted my knee axis slightly. The hulking mass lost balance on its own. Mud-slick feet slipped. In that gap, I shoved my hips up like supporting its back. Boom! The body flipped massively. The enormous frame spun half a turn through the air before slamming back-first into the ground. Rain and muck exploded outward.
"Guhh... aaahhh...!" It gaped toward the sky. Rain poured into its maw. Black magic boiled up from its throat.
Still alive. Naturally. If crushing two arms and slamming it a few times ended it, the cathedral wouldn't have sealed it for centuries. The question wasn't how long it endured. It was how long I would let it.
I walked slowly toward its chest. The monster lay on its back, heaving. The ruined right arm hung useless. The left twitched in spasms. But its chest still rose and fell. The Holy Sword's hilt embedded there quivered faintly with it. I stopped before it. Its eyes looked up at me. Murky, clouded. Yet deep within, something dwelt. Not hatred, not madness, not a predator's hunger. The final fragment clutched by one endured agony too long.
"Previous Hero."
My voice was low. "If you can still hear."
The monster's pupils quivered, ever so faintly. Roen's gaze sharpened. He'd seen it too.
"You mean to fight in this state?"
Its jaws parted. Bestial breath leaked out. No words formed. But between grinding teeth, a severed sound slipped. "...Uh... uh..."
Rain washed it away swiftly. But it was enough. Azabel. What a vile act. Not killing the person, but binding them in a state uglier than death. Holy Sword pierced through the chest, forcing centuries in limbo—not human, not beast. Truly reeking.
"Shall we continue subduing it?" Roen asked quietly.
I didn't answer. Instead, I stepped back, lowering my stance.
"Rise."
The monster's gaze wavered.
"If even in that form, you grip the sword."
I raised my fingertips lightly.
"You shouldn't fall here."
No sooner had I spoken than its body writhed anew. Dragging shattered arms, it struggled upright. Knees gouged the mud, spine heaving grotesquely. At last, the massive form half-rose. The rain-slick Holy Sword hilt trembled once more. The remaining hand moved. At first, like clawing its chest. Split nails groped crusted flesh, black blood and rain soaking the back of its hand. Fingers wouldn't extend properly. Joints swollen, curse-spurs ripping through the skin. Less human hand, more magic beast paw. Yet that hand found one spot precisely. Center of the chest. Amid crusted flesh and shattered armor shards, the Holy Sword's hilt. Her fingers closed around it.
Roen's breath stopped. I didn't move. The forest grew quieter. Rain still pounded. Yet strangely, all sounds receded.
The monster grasped the Holy Sword. And drew it.
Schluck. Flesh, steel, curse tore as one. The blade pulled free from her chest. Blood coated it. Black blood. Or what once was. Magic, holy power, ages congealed—a liquid hard to call human. The Holy Sword emerged into the rain, bearing it all. Its light was dim. Too faded for legend's holy sword, too weary for the cathedral's relic. But it endured. Still a sword. And she held it. In one hand.
The chest wound gaped deep. Black curse leaked like threads from within. Released from the sword's suppression. Magic surged up the spine, black smoke rising between horns. Normally, it would collapse here. Or rampage fully. But she did neither. Clutching the Holy Sword in her remaining hand, she slowly lowered her arm. Tip slicing rain toward the ground. Then a foot stepped forward. The first was unsteady. Twisted leg slipped in mud, bloated body tilting. But balance returned. Toe found purchase. Knee lowered. Spine straightened. The hunched back remained grotesque, but a line formed within. I knew that stance. All too well.
"...A duel?"
Perfectly orthodox dueling form. Tip toward foe's center, never rashly thrusting. Left foot half-step back for stability, right light for advance. Shoulders closed, heart guarded. Sword at ideal height—not high, not low. Distance for attack and defense. Treating opponent as enemy, yet honoring duel etiquette. She assumed it. That massive body. Curse-ridden flesh. Chest holed through. Holy Sword in one hand. Astonishingly. No—inadequate word. Grotesque. And beautiful.
A magic beast? Slash it. Cursed remnant? Burn it. Holy Sword defiler? Bind and dismantle. But that stance forbade such ends. Roen saw it too. His eyes traced: sword tip to foot, foot to knee, knee to tip. He was a warrior. Vice-captain of Geomgye before administrator, countless swords witnessed at my side. He knew. Not beast's posture. Not madman's. Even rotting centuries in curse, body monsterized, name erased from records—this was a swordsman's stance, unextinguished to the last.
"That's..." Roen murmured low. He trailed off. Enough.
The monster's jaws parted. Rain flowed into the fissure. No words. But amid the breath, a faint sound mingled. "...Uh..." She'd lost speech. But not the sword. The Holy Sword's tip faced me. Dead on my heart line. Not flawless. Arm trembled, body seemed poised to crumble, black magic leaked ceaselessly from the chest hole. But the tip didn't waver. It watched me.
Adelaine Lucrecia. Previous Hero. Recorded as vanished with Holy Sword. In truth, impaled by it, abandoned in this forest. Now, challenging me to duel.
I lowered my hand slowly. Bare hands sufficed until now. Crush arms, snap joints, slam to earth, ensure it couldn't rise. I'd done so. Enough while it rampaged as beast. Correct. Drawing sword against thrashing animal is waste. But now differed. Grasping the Holy Sword, she became swordsman again. Monster-bodied. Curse-breathed. Unable even to speak her name. Replying bare-handed to that stance was insult.
I placed hand on hilt. Rain traced my knuckles. Cold. Strangely vivid.
Roen withdrew quietly. No order given, yet he yielded space. No longer restraint. Subdual. Interrogation. Distance between sword-bearers.
"Roen."
"Yes, Commander-in-Chief."
"Step back."
"As commanded."
He retreated one pace. Not fully distant. Close enough to block. To protect. Knowing I truly needed neither, yet holding vice-captain's post to the end. Pure Roen.
I drew. Shing. The Commander-in-Chief's cherished sword emerged into the rain. Droplets beaded on black blade, sliding off swiftly. No flames. No Baekil. No opening. Not yet. No intent to ignite this duel from the start. She bore Holy Sword. My blade answered. Etiquette.
Adelaine's pupils quivered faintly. She wouldn't recognize my sword. But knew I'd drawn. Duel established. Holy Sword tip rose slightly. Trembling arm steadied. In that instant, her form perfected. Too refined for monster, too wretched for knight. Thus crueler.
I leveled my tip low.
"Good."
My voice underlaid the rain. "I'll accept."
Adelaine moved. First step no beast leap. Swordsman's advance. Not swift. Overly honest for her bulk. Yet that honesty heavier. No feint, no frenzy, no desperation. Frontal. Holy Sword cleaved rain, incoming. I met frontal. Clang! Blades clashed; forest rang. Impaled swords quivered in chorus. Ching. Ching. Ching. Nameless gravemarkers witnessing the duel, belated by far.
I deflected the strike. Heavy. Beast strength laden. But sword orthodox. Precise center. Precise distance. Precise recovery. Curse-warped body lagging sword memory, deviating slightly, yet Holy Sword endured the drift. No—Adelaine endured.
I parried the second. Flank this time. Weight unbelievable for one hand. Yet not brute force. First set center, second opened side. Thrust next, likely. As predicted. Holy Sword tip etched a line through rain. Neck and shoulder gap. Orthodox vital. I yielded half-step, deflected tip. Then lightly pressed blade-flat atop it. Skree! Holy Sword shoved downward. Adelaine staggered. Gap to behead neck. Sever wrist drops sword. Shatter knee prevents rise. Easy paths aplenty. I did nothing. Withdrew blade. Adelaine reset. Her breath roughened. Black magic poured from chest hole; rain couldn't cleanse. Holy Sword light dimmed further. But stance held. To the end. Utterly. Not monster aping knight, but knight refusing surrender despite monster flesh. Difference vast. Only then I knew. Forest swords no mere markers. Perhaps Adelaine's work. For those she slew. Or failed to save. Or all blades her hands couldn't reclaim. Not endured centuries here. Held funerals centuries long. Speechless, nameless, inhuman-bodied. Solely unable to forget erecting swords.
I regarded Adelaine.
"You."
Rain roared. Yet my voice reached her.
"Haven't finished yet."
Adelaine answered not. Instead, raised Holy Sword anew. Trembling hand. Pierced chest. Warped body. Orthodox stance. Tip aimed at me. Clearer than words. Not finished.
"Good. Adelaine. I've felt your sincerity. Now behold."
My swordsmanship, unseen until now.