Chapter 523
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 523
Chapter Title: Magic Swordsman
Deep in the mountains, in a secluded training ground untouched by any sign of human life.
Han Min-oh was alone, wiping away the sweat streaming down his body.
The surroundings looked as if they'd been hit by a bombardment.
Massive boulders lay pulverized into powder and scattered everywhere, while ancient trees that must have stood for centuries toppled with their trunks snapped clean in half.
All of it was his handiwork from just a few hours ago.
"Huu..."
Han Min-oh let out a deep sigh.
His body had grown stronger. No doubt about it.
Ever since learning the body reinforcement magic passed down by the Dragon Tribe, his physique had become incomparably tougher and more powerful than before.
Surprisingly, he had a real talent for magic.
Especially for buff spells that enhanced himself.
His body possessed the unique constitution of a magic swordsman—one that could unleash even more explosive power by burning mana as fuel.
But instead of satisfaction, Han Min-oh found himself lost in profound worry.
Everyone else was charging ahead, yet he felt like he alone was stuck in place.
That anxiety had only deepened since his master, Lee Hyuk-soo, departed to claim the Lion King's legacy.
He'd barely managed to join the Racial War and contribute to their victory, but it had driven home just how pitifully weak he was.
Lee Hyuk-soo, Han Shin, Adora... The battlefields they dominated were realms so distant he could scarcely dream of them.
In this era, where the very idea of a magic swordsman had faded into obscurity, no master existed who could comprehend his unique talent and guide him properly.
Even Lee Hyuk-soo, for all his amazement at Han Min-oh's growth, hadn't been able to chart a clear path forward.
In the end, he had no choice but to forge ahead alone.
But that road felt so endlessly daunting and isolating.
'What... how can I get any stronger?'
It was then, as Han Min-oh clutched his head amid this endless spiral of doubt—
"What has you lost in such a grave expression?"
"Ah!"
Startled, Han Min-oh shot up like a coiled spring.
He whipped around toward the voice, bowing at a perfect ninety degrees.
The motion was sharper and more precise than any military salute.
"Greetings, Species Lord!"
Before him stood Park Chan-woo, who had appeared without a sound.
People no longer called him savior or prophet.
Now he was humanity's master, the symbol of a new era—addressed as "Human Lord" or, like the other races, simply "Species Lord."
Park Chan-woo waved off the rigid bow with a gesture, his gaze piercing straight through Han Min-oh's turmoil as he asked,
"You're searching for a way to grow stronger, aren't you?"
"...Yes."
Han Min-oh couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes.
Shame burned in him at the thought that this great figure had seen through his petty insecurities.
"Everyone else is pushing forward, but I feel like I'm the only one standing still... I apologize."
Park Chan-woo shook his head at the self-recriminating tone.
"You're not standing still. You're sprinting faster than anyone. It's just that your path diverges a little from the others'."
Han Min-oh looked up, puzzled.
Meeting his wavering gaze, Park Chan-woo nailed the truth right on the head.
"Your talent isn't 'destruction.' It's not about shattering things or forcing submission. You were born with the power of 'harmony'—to accept, understand, and make things your own."
Han Min-oh's eyes widened.
He'd never heard anything like it.
But Park Chan-woo had pierced his dilemma in an instant.
Even offering the solution.
"The same goes for your magic talent. You're far better at harnessing the mana within to bolster your body than pulling in external mana for attacks. That's because your essence lies in harmony and enhancement, not destruction."
Han Min-oh's jaw dropped unwittingly.
This man had grasped his talent and potential—things even he himself couldn't define—in a single glance.
"You're on a different vessel altogether. You're no swordsman's mold, nor a mage's. You were born into a far greater, more extraordinary one that can hold both."
Park Chan-woo's voice felt like a lighthouse beacon amid an endless sea.
"The only issue is no one taught you how to fill it. Isn't that right?"
"...Yes. Exactly."
Han Min-oh nodded without thinking.
That was it.
The core of his frustration.
Park Chan-woo extended a hand to him.
"I'll teach you. The path you must walk."
Looking at Han Min-oh, Park Chan-woo saw echoes of his past self.
'Magic Swordsman.'
Before his regression, the cursed path everyone had pointed fingers at.
He remembered that thorny road, mocked as half-baked talent—mediocre in swordsmanship and half-hearted in magic.
No one understood it. No one could teach it.
He'd had to clash, shatter, and carve it out with blood and tears alone.
But Park Chan-woo had proven it in the end.
That mishmash path was actually the pinnacle, the most perfect potential of all.
And now, a raw gem with the exact same promise stood before him.
'What Han Min-oh needs isn't just a simple master.'
He needed an understander.
Someone who'd walked that lonely, treacherous road first—offering certainty and direction only a pioneer could provide.
A role only he, in all the Abyss, could fulfill.
Han Min-oh seized Park Chan-woo's outstretched hand like a lifeline.
"Th-thank you! I'll repay this grace with my life if I must!"
Park Chan-woo chuckled softly.
"Save your life for surviving the training."
With that, monstrous mana surged into Park Chan-woo's grip.
Kwaduduk!
Han Min-oh's body convulsed.
The pure mana Park Chan-woo injected coursed through his veins, brutally tearing and expanding his stagnant mana circuits.
It was excruciating agony, bones twisting and muscles screaming.
"Keugh...!"
"Endure it. Lose consciousness, and your vessel shatters for good."
Hell began.
Park Chan-woo's sole goal was one thing.
To awaken every ounce of potential in Han Min-oh.
He had no intention of directly aiding in battles.
Nor of force-feeding his own style, experiences, or flair.
That would be mere imitation.
What he aimed to do was clear the blockages, fling open the locked doors, and let Han Min-oh discover for himself the highest peak he could reach.
The first step: reconnect and activate his dormant mana circuits.
A perilously risky endeavor, like forcing open paths choked with dust and rust from disuse.
Park Chan-woo's pure mana acted as a guide, rampaging through Han Min-oh's body.
Clearing clogged vessels, mending severed neural pathways.
The pain defied imagination.
Every cell felt pierced by needles; thousands of blades seemed to explode in his veins in unrelenting torment.
"Kuhk... Heuk...!"
Han Min-oh couldn't even scream.
He ground his teeth to splinters and withstood pressure that threatened to burst his eyes.
Even for the unparalleled Park Chan-woo, this was a dangerous gamble.
Their mana wavelengths had to resonate perfectly.
If Han Min-oh faltered even once under the pain and lost focus—or if Park Chan-woo miscalibrated the flow by a hair—both their circuits could tangle catastrophically, leaving permanent, irreparable damage.
But Han Min-oh endured.
Absolute trust in the one man who believed in him, the only master who'd seen his potential, anchored his crumbling mind.
Park Chan-woo, too, controlled the flow with the precision he wielded his own body, guiding him through.
How much time passed?
When the hellish agony finally ended and Han Min-oh opened his eyes, his world had changed.
Every corner of his body thrummed with power and mana, flowing freely at his will.
"Now it begins."
Park Chan-woo's voice remained impassive.
He laid out dozens of swords before the exhausted, collapsed Han Min-oh.
From hefty greatswords to sleek longswords, curved blades, and exotic katanas.
Nearly every type known to the world.
"Find the one that suits you."
Park Chan-woo said plainly.
"Pick them up one by one. Strike me with all your power. Reinforce your body with the freshly awakened mana, and channel it fully into the blade's tip."
Han Min-oh hauled his staggering body upright.
He grabbed the heaviest greatsword first.
Squeezing every aching muscle, gathering newborn mana into the blade.
"Here I go!"
With a booming kiai, he launched at Park Chan-woo.
But the result was惨め.
Chaeng!
His sword never touched flesh. It bounced harmlessly off an invisible mana barrier.
Unable to withstand the shock, Han Min-oh tumbled to the ground.
"Again."
No emotion colored Park Chan-woo's voice.
Grinding his teeth, Han Min-oh rose.
This time, a lighter, swifter longsword.
Same outcome.
Every assault halted a meter short, repelled by the unseen ward, leaving no trace.
Curved swords, katanas, even daggers.
Dozens of attempts.
Stamina depleted, body lacerated, mind on the brink of shattering.
Yet not once did his blade graze Park Chan-woo.
The last remaining was the thinnest, frailest-looking one.
A rapier, slender and delicate, liable to snap at the slightest pressure.
Han Min-oh had saved it for last.
He'd deemed it impossible to pierce that ironclad mana wall with something so fragile.
But now, no choices left.
'Everything... into a single point.'
He recalled every failure so far.
Brute force, raw speed—all futile.
Only one path remained.
Condense every shred of strength, mana, will into the blade's tip and pierce.
Han Min-oh closed his eyes.
His stance lacked dynamism now.
Instead, he minimized all motion, focusing solely on steadying his breath and summoning inner power.
Mana from every limb, enhanced physical might, swirled into the rapier's needle-thin tip.
The point vibrated faintly, keening as if on the verge of breaking.
Then, a slow, silent step.
Swish.
Rather than thrusting, he glided forward like flowing water.
Even as Park Chan-woo's mana barrier brushed his body.
He surrendered to the flow, accepting it all.
And in that instant the tip met the barrier, he unleashed the condensed power.
Pajijijik!
The result differed.
The rapier didn't shatter.
Instead, its tip bored into the barrier's surface, carving a tiny but unmistakable crack.
The first blemish on an impeccable defense.
"...!"
Han Min-oh's eyes flew wide.
Success.
A mere scratch, but his power had finally connected.
Park Chan-woo, watching, finally nodded.
"You've found your path at last."
He eyed the rapier in Han Min-oh's hand.
"Time for a new weapon. One tailored to you. I'll forge it myself."
Without delay, he dragged the exhausted Han Min-oh to the Dragon Tribe's finest blacksmith.
Two days later.
A new weapon was complete.
It was even thinner and shorter than the rapier.
A blade so exquisite and razor-sharp it bordered on a needle.
"This is... less a sword and more—"
Han Min-oh murmured, staring at the unfamiliar weapon in his grip.
"...like a needle."
"Exactly."
Park Chan-woo shrugged.
"This blade exists for one single strike."
"...Pardon?"
Han Min-oh looked baffled.
Combat meant endless clashes of offense and defense.
One attack only?
"It's also a sword that permits just one counter."
Park Chan-woo declared confidently.
"The sole means to fell a foe wielding a hundredfold your strength—with but a fraction of your own."
And seven days and nights passed.
Park Chan-woo's specialized training was pure hell.
He taught no new techniques.
Instead, he stripped away everything Han Min-oh had.
Unnecessary motions, wasted power, ragged breaths.
Only drills to focus it all into the blade's single point, repeated endlessly.
Finally, the appointed day.
Han Min-oh stood before Hekarim in Jotunheim's colossal arena.
"Kuhahaha!"
Unrestrained laughter exploded from the giant spectators packing the stands.
"What the hell is that weapon?!"
"A skewer? Planning to sew something?"
"Can't even see it! You think that'll scratch Lord Hekarim's skin?!"
Their mockery was inevitable.
Against Hekarim's house-sized frame and mountain-hewn iron mace.
...Han Min-oh's blade looked like a gossamer thread, frail and insignificant.
Yet amid the jeers, Han Min-oh stood unshaken.
Eyes closed, he focused solely on himself, his sword, and the mountain of an enemy before him.
"Come at me, human."
Hekarim slung his mace over his shoulder.
"I'll witness this 'human strength' with my own eyes."
The match began.
But Han Min-oh didn't move.
He simply stood motionless, eyes shut.
"What're you doing? Charge!"
"Scared?!"
Jeers rained from the stands, but he heard none.
His consciousness sank inward, deeper still.
Recalling his master's final lesson.
—What you must conquer isn't Hekarim. It's yourself.
Indeed.
This fight wasn't about clashing might.
—A true counter reads the flow. And to read the flow, first master your own completely. Every breath, every heartbeat—subjugate them to your will.
Han Min-oh held his breath.
Slowed his heart's thud.
His presence sank into stillness, as if one with the vast arena.
—Then feel it. The flow of all around you. The air's faint tremors, Hekarim's muscles contracting, the wild pulse of his life force, and the 'intent' bearing down on you.
It appeared.
Eyes closed, yet he saw everything.
The blood surging through the giant's veins, the neural sparks heralding his next move, the enveloping trajectory of colossal power!
—You dance atop that trajectory. Don't resist. Don't evade. Become part of the flow, and strike the deadliest gap at the perfect moment.
"..."
Hekarim moved.
The massive mace cleaved the sky, plummeting toward Han Min-oh.
'One chance. One moment.'
Everything on the line for that single instant.
Time dilated infinitely for Han Min-oh.
Within the mace's destructive arc, he saw it.
Countless force flows intersecting, colliding, converging on one tiny 'point.'
The core where all devastation began—the heart of that immense power.
Swish.
Like a fish riding the current, a bird slicing wind, he swam through the storm of death toward the power's center.
And—
Kang!
A crystalline, razor-sharp ring, like shattering glass.
Han Min-oh's blade pierced the mace's midpoint, dead center in its power core.
Time froze.
The mace, poised to sunder mountains and rend earth, halted mid-air as if ensnared by magic. Utterly still.
Inertia's laws, causality's chains—all crumbled before that perfect, pinpoint impact.
Jjeok!
From the mace's core, hairline cracks spiderwebbed outward.
Simultaneously, Han Min-oh's blade fragmented into dust and scattered.
"...!"
"It stopped?"
"The mace... stopped!"
Astounded cries erupted from the giant-packed stands.
But the shock swiftly twisted into mocking relief.
"Lost his weapon!"
"What now, puny human?!"
"Lord Hekarim's victory in the end!"
They were right.
Han Min-oh had pulled off a miraculous defense, but his only weapon lay in ruins.
Facing a giant's wrath barehanded? Impossible.
All were certain of Hekarim's triumph.
The halted Hekarim stirred again.
He casually discarded the cracked mace and clenched his bare fist.
Just as he stepped toward Han Min-oh—
Stagger!
"...?"
Hekarim's colossal body lurched like a drunkard.
He stared incredulously at his legs, but they ignored his will, rigid as logs.
Thud.
Like a mountain collapsing.
Hekarim crumpled powerless to the ground.