Chapter 481: Proof of Existence (69)
Chapter 481: Proof of Existence (69)
“…Do not break.”
It was a miracle.
At least, that was what I thought. The creatures of the forest, which had been cruelly crushed by the atrocities of war, were budding once more.
Broken trees regenerated.
The fallen grass stood upright again, and the fragrant scent of flowers tickled the tip of my nose.
My trembling eyes looked up at the Saintess.
The woman, surrounded by a divine light, wore a playful curve on her lips.
Yet, in another sense, it was heart-wrenching.
It was a lovely smile.
“Do not fall. Do not despair, and do not give up.”
The sound of birds chirping echoed from somewhere.
The grown forest cast its shadows. It didn't take long for the parched slope to transform into a hidden sanctuary for just the two of us.
A few seconds, or perhaps even less.
Before I knew it, clusters of light were dancing.
They were fireflies.
“Sometimes fate will trample you, cast you aside, insult you, and spit on you… Even if it does, do not break.”
“Why, why…?”
Why must it be so? I wanted to ask.
Why does God prepare such a cruel fate and then expect us not to bend?
I wanted to spit out some kind of rebuttal.
I felt like weeping and wailing, throwing a tantrum before God. I didn't care about anything else; I just wanted to beg Him not to take her away from me.
But in the end, I could only lower my head. No words would come out.
And I wanted to carve the woman’s final request into my heart.
To me, she was everything in this world.
Soon, the woman’s stationary index finger began to move again.
Then, her finger tapped my left shoulder.
Only then did I realize the meaning of that gesture.
“Do not be defeated by fate. Struggle, and fight with all your might. This is…”
Tap. The woman’s index finger finally touched my right shoulder.
It was the sign of the cross.
Listening to my sobbing, the woman quietly took hold of my chin and forced my gaze to meet hers.
She was a woman who had always worn a haughty and confident expression. But today was different.
Overflowing with love and affection, a faint dew clung to the corners of her eyes as she wore that heart-wrenching smile.
“…the will of the Lord.”
The silence did not last long. The woman slowly approached and kissed me, and a time that felt like both an instant and an eternity passed.
Finally, with a face that looked as if she were about to cry, she asked me.
“Do you believe me, Ian?”
At that brief question, thousands of answers flashed through my mind.
But the only thing I could manage to choke out was a single word.
“…Immanuel.”
May the Lord be with you.
*
A great commotion broke out.
The sound of whispering echoed throughout the Mountain Court. Even the Judges, who usually wore solemn expressions, looked equally grave.
It happened right after the man’s finger twitched. The fallen man showed no sign of getting up yet.
He had experienced death hundreds of times.
It would have been stranger if his body had obeyed him. Every living thing desires to live, and the instinct to avoid death resides in its deepest depths.
And yet, why?
Thud. The man gritted his teeth and stepped forward, using his foot as a brace.
He pressed his hand against his knee. With a deep groan, the man’s body began to stagger upright.
It was a sight that had already been repeated countless times.
His willpower was admirable every time one saw it. However, there was no reason for a crowd of tens of thousands to be unsettled by a fact that had already been proven hundreds of times.
If there was a reason, there was only one.
Something was different.
There was no clear evidence yet, but everyone present felt it instinctively. The sound of tens of thousands of people sharing their thoughts blanketed the Mountain Court.
This was evident just by looking at the Saint. Leaving behind the dazed Saintess, the Saint was watching Ian with eyes that had sunk deep.
Crackle.
A faint sound of friction could be heard from somewhere. Including this detail, the Saint captured every single movement of the man in his vision.
It was just a small gesture.
He almost fell several times while trying to stand. Each time, he used his fist like a support beam, striking the ground to barely haul his wretched body up.
But in the process, the surrounding mana reacted several times.
In that brief gap where the man lowered his head, corrected his posture, and steadied his breathing.
The atmosphere, responding to the man’s breath, scattered stardust. It was a realm where all things responded to his will, even without him intending it.
A strange light flickered in the Saint’s eyes. He remained motionless, simply waiting for the man to fully regain his stature.
Finally, the moment the man lifted his head again.
A sudden gale surged high, creating a whirlwind.
“Kyaaaaaah!”
Screams erupted, filling the crowd.
Flash, flash, flash!
The incandescent world let out a magnificent roar.
Countless points of starlight gathered in the air around the man. The closer the veil of night approached, the more brilliantly that light would shine.
It was a scene as if he were standing against the night sky itself.
Amidst the silver galaxy that had descended to the earth, there was one star that stood out the most.
It was the man’s eyes at the center of it all.
A golden radiance wavered beyond his retinas. This was a symbolic phenomenon indicating that a martial artist had reached a certain realm.
A hollow chuckle escaped the Saint’s lips.
“…High Expert.”
At that plain observation, the Mountain Court grew even more tumultuous.
What kind of realm was a High Expert?
Only the powerhouses truly on the verge of becoming a Master could receive that honorable title. It meant they had reached a stage where their mental imagery overwhelmed reality, distorting the laws of the world.
There were only about twenty such people in the entire continent.
This was the moment another name was added to the final line of that list.
Did he finally awaken his mental imagery after hundreds of deaths?
Even as he thought this, the Saint could not erase his suspicious gaze. No matter how much experience he had gained by reaching his limits, High Expert was not an easy realm to reach.
It wasn't a level someone who had been defeated without even putting up a fight could reach.
He thought the man would have to die at least thousands or tens of thousands more times.
Then, the Saint’s sky-blue eyes stopped at a certain point. Inside Ian’s clothes, something was humming and crying out.
The Jet-Black Rod.
Just because it was hidden under his clothes didn't mean it could escape the Saint’s five senses. Only then did the Saint wear a faint smile, as if he understood.
It was an object that helped one see Beyond the Boundary.
He didn't know where Ian had received such a precious item, but the Jet-Black Rod was faithfully responding to its master’s will. With its help, he must have seen the ‘Truth.’
Soon, the Saint’s closed eyelids began to slowly open.
Those sky-blue eyes were now filled with delight.
A martial artist who has reached the level of High Expert finally awakens the true power of their mental imagery. In other words, it meant they could twist the laws of this world, albeit in a limited capacity.
What kind of miracle would this man’s mental imagery show?
For the first time in a very long while, the Saint’s heart was pounding.
“Hehe, did you witness a fragment of the Truth at the end of countless deaths? Good. I shall play along… Now, come!”
Wearing a fierce smile, the Saint spread his arms in excitement.
It was a signal that he would yield the first move.
It was a proposal that would be impossible without absolute confidence.
For the past several decades, the Saint had never been wounded. No, far from being wounded, not even his sleeve had been grazed. It was the same even when the continent’s greatest powerhouses came to seek his guidance.
Only one kid, who had been obsessed with the sword decades ago, had ever landed a valid hit on the Saint.
The ‘Honor Trial’ was no exception to the Saint’s myth of invincibility.
Since the Honor Trial began, no one had ever wounded the Saint. It didn't matter how strong the opponent was.
The Saint had never once used a weapon. It meant there had been no opponent worthy of him showing his full strength.
Today would likely be the same.
With that judgment, the Saint tensed his body in anticipation.
And then, flash.
He witnessed a silver trajectory piercing through his own body.
How?
For an instant, the Saint’s eyes wavered. He needed a minute time difference to properly grasp the situation.
The opponent hadn't even taken a proper stance. Naturally, he shouldn't have been able to swing his sword correctly. Let alone crossing this distance in an instant to deliver a sword strike.
It was physically impossible.
But it was hard to think of any other possibility. The spot where the man had been standing just a moment ago was empty, with only the wind scattering.
Slowly, the Saint’s gaze turned behind him.
There, a man stood with his back to the Saint. He seemed to have burned through all the strength in his body, as he was panting and about to collapse onto his knees.
This can’t be.
It felt as if he had been the victim of a malicious prank. It was as if someone had deliberately erased every single frame of the scene from the moment the man drew his sword and stepped forward until he reached that spot.
Only the beginning and the end of the offensive remained, stitched together.
Otherwise, there was no way he could have evaded the Saint’s eyes.
The Saint’s contemplation, which lasted for a duration of time split into fractions of an instant, finally came to an end.
Blood erupted with a splat.
“…The Saint is bleeding!”
A scream full of horror shook the Mountain Court.
For the first time since the Honor Trial began.
The Saint was bleeding.