The Blade Breaks, the Wall Falls

A long breath escaped me...

Gripping the sword that had been driven into the ground, I exhaled slowly.

In the two additional years that had passed, I had been able to fill in the remaining twelve percent of my progress bar. The realm of the Aura Master, reached through nothing but sheer effort, without a shred of mana's help. Now I seized the sword in my hand in reverse and drove it hard into my own left arm.

Crack!

It was only a simple iron sword supplied to regular soldiers, yet it shattered without so much as scratching my skin.

Memories of my childhood — wondering whether the day would ever come when my progress would reach one hundred percent — flickered up like new leaves. So stubbornness pays off in the end, it seems.

Maybe I can even do this?

Sneaking a glance down at the boulder where I'd been resting, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reached out my hand.

I wasn't trying to smash it.

I laid my palm gently against the surface of the rock, then curled my fingers inward as if clutching a fistful of mud. Little by little, the stone sank inward in the shape of my hand, and when I quietly drew my arm back, a handprint had been carved into it, deep and precise — as deep as the fragment I might have torn away.

Absolutely absurd.

This was the terminal point of the human body's potential, and admiration slipped out of me despite myself.

Back, then.

Having accomplished my primary purpose, my heart felt considerably lighter today. That was precisely why I'd trained beyond the outer walls, where no one could disturb me — for some reason, it had felt like this was the day I'd reach one hundred percent.

Back at the Imperial Palace, I bathed, changed my clothes, and headed straight for the training grounds. If I sparred directly with Sir Brand, surely I could feel the difference all the more clearly.

Click, clack.

The moment I stepped into the training yard, the gathered knights all turned to look at me and greeted me in unison.

"What brings you to the training grounds today?"

"We were starting to worry you'd fallen seriously ill."

Given that I had near-perfect attendance here, their reactions only made sense.

"Something came up."

I answered them with a bit of casual conversation and walked deeper into the yard. Picking up the wooden swords one by one, I found the one whose weight suited me best.

"Has Sir Brand gone out on patrol?"

"It was supposed to be Derek's turn, but something came up with his family, so the Commander went in his place."

"Sir Brand, you mean?"

"Derek covered the Commander's patrol for him a little while ago."

A shame.

Over those two years, Sir Brand had finally shattered his wall and ascended to the rank of Aura Master. The news had even made it into the imperial papers — there was no one left in the Empire who didn't know Brand was an Aura Master now.

At exactly thirty-two years old. Considering his age, it was a remarkable feat.

The only regrettable thing might be that he still hadn't married and lived alone.

"By the way, Commander, were you looking for him?"

"I wanted to spar."

"...Mm."

They trailed off awkwardly, but I could roughly guess what they were thinking. I wasn't offended.

Quite the opposite — it meant Sir Brand had instilled in the knights an unshakable faith that no one could stand against him. He was an Aura Master, after all. They probably couldn't imagine someone without even a talent for mana, like me, winning a simple bout.

"In that case, would someone else care to spar with me?"

"Gladly."

Even setting Sir Brand aside, the Imperial Palace knights were the elite of the elite — a gathering of only the most talented.

So I took up my wooden sword and waited at the center, and before long, a knight whom the others had chosen after conferring among themselves walked slowly out to meet me.

"I look forward to our bout."

"As do I."

Sir Enamel — of all the knights, he was the one who wielded a spear, and a man whose presence left a strong impression.

"Chanui-mubong — Flawless Doctrine."

Steadying my breath, I took my stance and swung the wooden sword at him, testing the waters. Sword and spear, naturally, differed in reach, so my strike was intercepted midway — long before it could reach Sir Enamel's body.

I had anticipated exactly that much, so it didn't bother me in the least; I kept swinging the wooden sword, trying to close the distance between us.

But Sir Enamel did not easily allow me a foothold inside his domain.

Nor should he have. A spear is at its most powerful when it maintains a fixed distance from its opponent. The moment a spearman grants an enemy entry into his own territory, his odds of victory plummet. When no opening exists for a thrust, a blade that cuts is in a position of overwhelming superiority.

"Y-you're fast!"

"I know the Prince has no talent for mana — is that the power of the Dragon Tongue?"

From every angle, I poured out a fierce assault, boring into Sir Enamel's domain. My finished body was already more than capable of smashing through his guard with pure brute force — but doing that would have rendered the entire bout meaningless.

Getting accustomed to my grown body through this sparring was one of my goals in the first place, so there was no need to rush.

Still, even in the process of adapting, Sir Enamel was being forced to give ground step by step, struggling to keep my attacks at bay. As I quietly planted my feet deeper into his territory, backing away was the only natural recourse if he wished to keep his distance.

"Ooh!"

"Enamel's about to lose this one, isn't he?"

Dueoksini had told me once — I relied far too heavily on the Dragon Tongue, and my attacks were terribly honest. Because of that, he had drilled me chiefly in his battle experience, and above all, in how to slip in feints.

Spear versus sword or not, the gap between two men was but a hair's breadth. Within that sliver of distance, predicting an opponent's next attack came down to the angle of the wrist, the twist of the hips, the movement of the feet.

And my physical level exceeded Sir Enamel's. With the initiative of the bout in my hands, it was no difficult thing to guide him into taking my feints bait, hook and line.

However lofty a knight's physical prowess, no man is free from inertia.

So when the wooden sword failed to fall along the attack route he had braced for and instead whipped up from the lower left, Sir Enamel twisted his body in a panic to respond — too late. I had deliberately thrown his breathing into disarray. Even if he forced a block there, his stance would collapse on the following turn, and he would have no choice but to concede my strike.

Crash!

An ankle break.

Watching him collapse where he stood, his legs tangled beneath him, I lowered my wooden sword.

"...I concede."

Sir Enamel rose from the ground with an empty laugh and bowed deeply toward me. Watching him, I turned my back and cast a silent glance toward the knights watching on.

It said: Next. Come at me.

And so the next challenger stomped forward. Having already drawn Swordsmanship from the entry Flawless Doctrine, I took up a wooden spear instead.

"Chanui-mubong — Flawless Doctrine."

When one stood on equal footing with an opponent — or above them — the spear could rightly be called the king of all weapons. Because, by its nature, the initiative of the attack rests with the one who holds it.

Which is to say: the spear lets you bend the flow of battle to your own will.

And yet the reason so many knights favored the sword was fixed and certain.

First of all, a spear begins with a thrust and ends with a thrust. Unless one deliberately struck for vitals, it could not kill an opponent in a single blow. Which meant the spear forgave not even a single mistake. In defense it must stand like a great mountain; in attack it must be as precise as a master craftsman shaping a work of art.

A sword, on the other hand, needed only to land once — one clean cut was enough to inflict a mortal wound. Cutting and thrusting were, in pure lethality, simply not comparable. A shoulder pierced and a shoulder cleaved open are plainly different outcomes.

That is why so many knights loved the sword.

"Here I come!"

The knight before me charged straight in to close the distance — but the spear, thanks to its reach, could seize the first attack. The swordsman closed in to strike, and in the end was forced to shift his posture into defense.

When one's skill fell short of the opponent's, the spear could not outperform the sword — for the simple reason that the distance could not be maintained. But against an equal or a lesser foe, the spear wielded its greatest power.

...It connects!

The knight flinched and raised his sword.

But the spear never touched him.

There was one more crucial thing in wielding the spear: never let the opponent grow accustomed to its length. Depending on how one gripped the haft, the spear's reach shifted from moment to moment, and so it could carry a thousand ever-changing variations.

To the one receiving it, this was a supreme torment. Because the thrust that seemed certain to land never did — and the one that seemed impossibly far away, landed.

"I-I yield."

The wooden spear stopped just shy of his throat, and the knight lowered his wooden sword and declared his own defeat.

"I'm next!"

"No, fight me instead!"

It wasn't me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠whose blood was up — it was theirs. And so I sparred with the knights without pause, until the entries stored within Flawless Doctrine ran dry.

Naturally, the result was my total victory.

Our physical levels differed outright; my technique had reached ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠its absolute limit through Flawless Doctrine; and I had amassed overwhelming combat experience sparring against the Hundred Demons. Losing would have been the truly incomprehensible outcome.

"Haha... honestly, it's humiliating. Protecting the Prince is supposed to be our duty."

Wiping away the sweat, drinking down water, I wrote back my answer to those words.

"Goodness... now I feel ashamed of the little inferiority complex I was nursing."

Once the faintly self-deprecating mood had been aired and cleared away, I laughed freely along with them, wrapped up the talk, and returned to my chambers.

My limit-breaking body had finished its growth. Which left exactly one thing to do.

"Initialization."

Yes.

The dead branches — it was time to prune them.