Chapter 475: Proof of Existence (63)
Chapter 475: Proof of Existence (63)
With just a single word, the crowd receded like the ebbing tide.
Even the Holy Knights, who had been groaning on the ground, helped each other up and scrambled to clear the area. Within seconds, the chaotic battlefield was swept clean, leaving me standing alone in the empty clearing.
The rest of the onlookers had long since fled to a safe distance.
Only then did I catch my breath, wiping the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve.
This sequence of events meant only one thing.
He was finally coming.
It happened immediately after.
Thump. An intangible pressure crushed my entire body. I fell to my knees involuntarily, a choked groan escaping my throat.
It felt as if gravity had intensified several times over.
I tried to force myself up, but I couldn't even flicker a finger. Veins popped in my eyes as I gritted my teeth.
Was this also one of my opponent's abilities?
Just as that thought crossed my mind and I managed to tilt my head up—
My gaze went blank.
Step, step.
A boy with sky-blue eyes was walking toward me, the sunlight at his back. He was descending from that dizzying height, treading upon the very air.
It was an impossible sight.
I had heard rumors that one of the Sages of old had walked on water. That was a feat a martial artist at the peak could somewhat replicate through exquisite mana manipulation.
But to step down from the void itself?
Furthermore, the Saint’s expression was as serene as if he were out for a casual stroll.
It was as if glass stairs, installed solely for him, existed in the air. Every step he took exuded the grace and composure unique to the truly powerful.
And with every step the boy took down those invisible stairs, the pressure weighing on my body grew heavier.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Only then did I realize.
The Saint did not intend this suffering. Though I felt like I might vomit my insides out at any moment, this wasn't even his conscious will.
His presence was simply too overwhelming.
It was the same principle as the white foam that rises in the wake of a passing whale.
With every step he took, the world hammered down in rhythm with his footfalls. Soon, those inscrutable sky-blue eyes were fixed upon me.
“How interesting. Since you were called the rising star of the Empire, I wondered if you were the disciple that old man took in his later years, but…”
The Saint let his words trail off, and the gravity binding me vanished instantly.
Perhaps I looked pitiful, flattened against the ground like that.
Regardless, I had finally regained my freedom. There was no reason to waste this chance.
I scrambled to my feet, my chest heaving violently. While I struggled to steady my ragged breathing, the Saint stepped onto the clearing where I stood.
“To think… you were her disciple.”
One step, two steps.
The Saint’s feet touched the ground without a sound. Only then could I get a close look at his appearance.
He was a beautiful boy with silver hair and sky-blue eyes. His slender jawline and soft skin gave him a somewhat androgynous charm.
He looked like a boy who hadn't yet hit puberty.
At a glance, he seemed to be in his mid-to-late teens.
But I couldn't let my guard down.
My opponent was an ancient monster who had protected the Holy Kingdom for hundreds of years. He was a powerhouse whom even the Sword Duke, the undisputed strongest in the Empire, could not gain the upper hand against.
He was an opponent worthy of respect in every sense of the word.
Despite my creaking body, I showed the utmost courtesy. I bowed my head deeply in a polite greeting.
“I greet the Saint, the Master of All Martial Artists.”
“It is a cringeworthy, empty title. In life, one is sometimes the master and sometimes the disciple.”
The Saint silently raised his hand.
At that, the weapons scattered around the area began to vibrate. They were items left behind by the Holy Knights I had defeated, but the weapon the Saint chose was peculiar.
A mace.
It was a blunt weapon with a heavy head. My eyes went blank for a moment; no matter how I looked at it, it wasn't a weapon a martial artist would typically use.
“Brother, I wish to hear your resolve. With what heart do you stand there? And what do you stand there to protect?”
“To keep myself from running away.”
I gritted my teeth and pointed my sword at the Saint.
Every sense in my body was on high alert. My instincts were screaming. My opponent was a being who would not permit even an inch of hesitation.
I had no choice but to rely on the Secret of Unbinding.
Even if I couldn't completely disperse the Saint’s strike, it should at least help me endure a few hits.
I moistened my parched lips with saliva and spoke.
“…That is all.”
“Heh,” the Saint let out a soft chuckle and lowered his head.
“You seek to walk a difficult path.”
“If that’s the case, how about showing some leniency for a distant junior, just this once?”
“Impossible.”
Slowly lowering the hand holding the mace, the Saint showed a benevolent smile.
“If I have been called forth by the Law, must I not fulfill my duty? Besides, there is a certain joy in responding to a junior’s challenge.”
It was the answer I expected. Since I hadn't pinned any hopes on it anyway, I held my breath and lowered my stance.
This was how the weak should face the strong.
A posture solely for the sake of enduring—the Saint surely noticed my intent.
The Saint, his face wearing a clear smile, looked up at the sky.
The sun was still high in the heavens.
“…Then.”
It was a brief signal.
The Saint adjusted his posture with movements so slow it made me wonder if it was okay to be that sluggish.
He raised the mace, lowered his center of gravity, and bent his knees.
And in the next moment.
His sky-blue eyes snapped forward, and a savage smile formed on the boy’s lips.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
Crack. A sensation as if the world itself was fracturing around a single being.
He’s coming.
Following the intuition tingling down my spine, I focused all my strength into my sword. My silver aura began to spread out like a shimmering mist.
Immediately after, a bolt of lightning surged forward.
It was a speed truly comparable to light. The afterimages left by his violent charge formed a long, phantom-like tail. However, thanks to the Saint giving me a moment’s notice, my posture was already set.
I just had to disperse his aura somehow.
With that thought, the moment my gaze fixed on the mace in the Saint’s hand—
Time stopped.
No shroud of light flickered around the crude iron mace. Not just through sight, but even using every other sense, I couldn't feel even a fragment of aura.
What on earth was he thinking?
My eyes, losing their target, wandered through the frozen world. Then, the moment those sky-blue eyes were reflected on my retinas—
Creeeak. Space itself began to scream.
The world of Stillness, where nothing moved, was being torn apart. The boy’s arm began to accelerate, crushing every flow and law of physics.
Above all else, those sky-blue eyes staring at me.
In those eyes was an unhideable joy.
And then, a greeting seemed to brush past my ear.
“…Immanuel!”
Crack! My skull shattered.
My body tilted. Or was it tilting?
That was my final sensation.
Then, darkness.
* * *
Gasp! I woke up, sucking in a ragged breath.
My hands were trembling uncontrollably. My body was sprawled on the ground, and my mind was incessantly replaying the memory of a moment ago.
My skull had been shattered.
I should be dead. Yet why was I still breathing?
Was it an illusion?
It didn't take more than a few seconds for that hypothesis to break.
I blankly surveyed my surroundings. A radius of several dozen meters had been gouged out.
It was a gruesome sight, as if a meteor had struck the earth.
And above all, the traces of blood splattered around me left a vivid, jagged scar on my retinas.
I had already died.
It wasn't my mind, but my instincts screaming. You’ve already died once and come back to life.
This was incomparable to the times I had 'almost' died. The terror that surged in like a tide was battering my entire being.
My body was still shaking so much that my arms wouldn't obey me.
Step, step.
Through the billowing clouds of dust, someone was walking toward me.
“…How was the afterlife?”
My terror-stricken eyes slowly drifted upward.
The boy’s sky-blue eyes shone even through the thick haze. It was a color so clear and bright that I couldn't help but notice it, even if I didn't want to.
It was the Saint.
He was holding the mace. The area around the weight, half-destroyed by the impact, looked hollow.
The boy tapped his palm with that ruined weapon.
“I have seen your resolve clearly. Furthermore, I cannot simply take the life of a young knight who will lead the future here and now.”
Letting out a groan, I struggled to pick myself up. My muscles, convulsing of their own accord, were constantly pleading.
Run. Right now.
“So, do not worry.”
Tap. The sound of the mace hitting his palm echoed.
“You will not die. Or rather, you will die, but you will simply be brought back to life.”
I stumbled, and my body collapsed again.
From my slumped position, my eyes met the Saint’s in mid-air.
The Saint’s face was perfectly serene. As if the madness from a moment ago had been a lie.
“…Not unless I permit your death.”
Only then did I recall the Saint’s aliases.
‘Disciple of the Heavenly God.’
‘Master of All Martial Artists.’
And, ‘Master of Life and Death’ and ‘Gatekeeper of Heaven.’
He was a monster who toyed with life and death itself.