Chapter 144
Chapter 144
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 144
Chapter Title: Enemies Meet on a Log Bridge (2)
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Draka had swung his sword for long ages.
He had fought countless enemies. He had seen countless powerful foes. Seen them again and again. For decades, Draka had endured with nothing but a single sword in hand.
'Most of my life spent alongside a sword.'
A master swordsman is perfected through real combat experience. In that sense, Draka was already a perfected swordsman.
A perfected swordsman. A transcendent of the sword.
And a transcendent of the sword never forgets.
An opponent whose blade has clashed against his own even once.
"...".
Kying.
The blade trembled faintly.
Draka pressed down on the quivering edge with his finger and lifted his head. A girl stood before him. He opened his mouth as he gazed at her.
"Thinking about it, it's strange."
He narrowed his eyes.
"I figured there were a lot of overlaps. Plenty of suspicious things too, but..."
Draka flicked the blade with his finger.
Ziiing—the edge buzzed and vibrated.
"This just doesn't add up."
Indeed, it didn't.
"Not only blocking the strike, but responding to the follow-up. Isn't that a bit off?"
"...".
"How many humans could react to and dodge a strike swung by a transcendent with killing intent? And if we're talking mages... there's only one."
The moment he swung his sword, Draka had been certain.
'That blade should have taken her head.'
A strike from a blind spot.
A perfect ambush timed for the opponent's lapse in guard.
'Yet she dodged it.'
Not only that—she counterattacked.
The movements the girl had shown in that instant replayed before Draka's eyes. Recalling them, he confirmed once more.
'Identical.'
Breathing, instantaneous reactions, spell selection.
Even the tiniest habits—all of it.
Choices indistinguishable from the 'Ashen Mage' he knew. Combat habits don't change easily.
"Isn't it?"
Thus, Draka was certain.
The girl before him was the Ashen Mage.
"Ashen."
The girl remained expressionless. She neither denied nor affirmed it... but to Draka, that was affirmation.
'Suspicious from the start.'
As he climbed the snowy mountain, Draka had spotted the girl. She ascended without hindrance. And she had stepped into the blizzard shrouding the peak—a summit Draka himself could not reach.
He had suspected even before swinging his sword.
The suspicion had simply hardened into certainty.
'How did she end up looking like that?'
Draka had no way of knowing.
He was ignorant of magical studies. He knew over a hundred ways to counter mages, but he had never delved into the discipline itself.
Ignorance compelled him to trust his instincts.
"What a ridiculous sight."
Draka sneered, lips twisting.
"That famed sage... Is this all retirement amounts to for you? Must be awfully bored."
"And what grand purpose brought you up this snowy hell?"
"Who knows? Maybe I sensed something off about you and followed."
Raniel furrowed her brow.
"No, that doesn't fit. You hate wasting time—even on your deathbed. You came here for a reason."
They had clashed countless times.
Thus, they knew each other well.
"Do you even know what's here?"
"...I do."
"No, you don't."
Raniel stated firmly.
"You don't. No way you could. You just have a hunch something's here."
"...You act like you know."
She touched her chin and spoke.
"Shall I guess?"
Slowly, very slowly, she raised her hand.
The raised finger pointed at Draka's nape. More precisely, at the saintess's bone fragment hanging there.
"Holy relics resonate with each other. Anything tied to the stars does. Holy swords do too. So... what were you seeking with that bone fragment...?"
No need to deliberate.
"The remains of the First Saintess."
She said it.
"The legend clinging to them: performer of miracles."
Her eyes narrowed further.
"What do you plan to do with it...?"
She smiled at Draka.
The smile of one who had found the answer. Her half-lidded blue eyes pierced straight through him.
"Why? Still can't let it go?"
At those words, Draka let out a hollow chuckle.
Everything exposed. He swept a hand over the corner of his eye and muttered.
"...You again."
Again, the Ashen Mage.
What kind of figure was the girl before him, the Ashen Mage? The one who had blocked his path time and again. The one who had thrown his plans into chaos repeatedly.
Squeeze.
Draka gripped the saintess's bone at his neck.
The bone vibrated toward the girl. More intensely than ever. It meant one thing.
"The remains of the First Saintess."
Draka pointed at Raniel with his finger.
"You've got them, don't you?"
"Why ask if you know?"
"Hand them over."
"Think I will?"
"No, I suppose not."
The wind blew in.
His clothes fluttered in the snow-laced gust. Raniel's ashen locks danced on the breeze.
"Thinking about it, it's ridiculous."
No question of who moved first.
Both took a step toward each other at the same instant.
"You never understood my way."
"Who could understand that deranged mindset?"
"True. Nor did I understand yours."
Indeed, that was the case.
Draka couldn't comprehend Raniel's methods. Even with simpler, more efficient paths available, she always took the long way around. He couldn't grasp it.
Raniel was the same.
She could never understand Draka. His willingness to sacrifice and expend anything for his goals made him no different from the Demon King's army in her eyes.
They couldn't understand each other.
They knew they never could.
Thus, humans clashed.
Step.
One step closer again.
"...I had chances to kill you countless times."
"You too?"
They closed in on each other.
Ashen mana rose around Raniel's body. Sword aura gathered at the Sword Ghost's blade tip. Even amid the raging blizzard, their breathing remained steady.
Step again.
When the distance between foes fell below ten paces, Raniel spoke.
"What a fine spot."
The Ashen Mage tugged her glove down with a smooth motion.
"Seems we're on the same page."
The Sword Ghost readjusted his grip on his blade.
They stared at each other across the driving snow. Nothing but pristine white surrounded them. No witnesses. A place untouched by human feet.
"Bury a body here, and no one would notice."
The ten paces vanished in an instant.
The spell shone.
The blade tip slashed a line through the blizzard.
Thwak!
Through the billowing snow, they locked eyes. Piercing blue pupils met bloodshot red ones, each reflecting the other's hue.
"I'll kill you, Ashen."
Sword and spell collided.
For one brief moment, the blizzard parted.
2.
"We're almost there. Prepare yourself, young master."
"Mm, got it."
"I'll check first."
Thud—Oyacal kicked off the ground and leaped. With agile movements, he grabbed a tree branch and climbed, narrowing his eyes. His field of vision expanded in an instant.
"Confirmed."
He wasn't called hawk-eyes for nothing.
With near-transcendent eyesight, Oyacal spotted the holy knights passing through the village, heading somewhere.
"Around thirty in sight right now. But judging by their direction, there are likely more."
The warriors paused briefly at Oyacal's words.
They exhaled shortly and looked to him.
"Split up. Three head to the village."
Oyacal made the call.
Thirteen warriors had arrived here; now only eight remained. They needed to divide their forces.
"The other five go to their base."
Hidden by the mountain range.
Yet Oyacal couldn't shake the unease. He glanced slightly at Rak.
"Young master, then which way...?"
"Oyacal."
Rak cut him off.
His voice carried real urgency.
"Not there."
Rak's pupils quivered faintly.
"We all have to go there."
The direction he pointed was directly opposite the holy knights' path. Blood vessels bulged in Rak's eyes as he stared that way. His instincts rang alarm bells.
"...There."
Rak said it.
"We can't let what's there... reach completion."
Something that shouldn't exist.
Something that must not be disturbed.
It was on the verge of completion.
3.
Fights between transcendents—or those on their level—are not decided by simple power. Victory and defeat hinge on the techniques they've honed.
In the past, Kuntel and Draka had dueled once. Kuntel claimed victory.
"I won, yeah."
But, Kuntel had said.
"If it had been a deathmatch instead of a duel... I wouldn't be so sure of winning."
Kuntel's sword differed from Draka's.
Draka's blade existed solely to kill. No parries or guards featured in his style.
"Even if I won, I wouldn't come out unscathed—both arms intact."
That was Kuntel's firm assessment.
That was the man Draka was.
Even in defeat, he would never grant his foe a flawless victory... no matter the means.
"That's why he's the Sword Ghost."
* * *
Kaaaang!
Spell and blade collided.
Yet what rang out was the clash of metal. Clang, claaang—the metallic sounds echoed in succession. Two sets of footprints churned the pristine snowfield into chaos.
Chwaak—the blizzard scattered.
Clang—a massive metallic ring.
Draka, pushed back a step, swung his sword downward like a stamp. Snow erupted from the ground with a thwak. The driving blizzard mixed with flying flakes, blinding Raniel's vision.
Chwaaat!
Draka's sword cleaved through the blizzard toward Raniel. His blade was savage. Unlike Kuntel's fluid cuts that severed all in elegant arcs, this one tore and shredded.
Chwaak!
The blizzard sliced by the tip.
Tik, tik—amid the splitting snowflakes, pale skin at her nape came into view. The moment the edge bit into flesh.
Spell-Smite.
The spell flared.
Clang! The sword rebounded upward. Through the parted blizzard, Raniel emerged. Draka wasn't the only one exploiting the obscured sight.
Thud.
She stomped the ground.
Amid the clearing blizzard, Raniel swung her fist. The spell stocked in her clenched knuckles shone.
Crush.
The earth flipped. Snow piled on the ground surged into the air. The intangible shockwave pulverized everything in its path and engulfed Draka.
"...".
Draka's eyes remained serene before the oncoming shockwave. He didn't force the rebounding sword back. No need.
Twirl.
With the flung sword, Draka twisted his body midair. He was a transcendent of the sword. Such a being could unleash a 'perfect strike' in any circumstance, any environment.
Kiiiiing!
The blade vibrated raucously.
Compressed sword aura awaited the moment of release.
Slash.
Draka swung from midair.
One swing, yet its effects multiplied.
Chwaaaaaaaaak!
Sword aura spread like a net, slicing through the intangible shockwave. The aura that rent the spell assailed Raniel. She tumbled across the ground with a thud.
Craaack!
Fist met sword aura bare.
Simple mana-clad knuckles shattered it. Draka nearly laughed in sheer absurdity.
'Insane.'
Draka frowned.
He had felt it before, but this didn't feel like facing a mage at all. More like dueling dozens of swordmasters, each wielding oddly shaped blades.
'No predicting her next move.'
Mages were pains by nature.
Melee weakness was their saving grace... but not for this maddening Ashen.
Thwuk!
A hand whizzed past his head.
He dodged by reflex, twisting his neck. Draka swung his sword to create distance.
'...What mage in the world can trade blows in close quarters with a sword transcendent?'
And losing ground at that.
Overpowered physically. Even if holding even technically... seizing the upper hand was impossible.
'...Not impossible, but.'
He needed to save it for what came next.
Killing the Ashen before him wasn't the end. He had to seize the saintess's remains and head to the altar.
'Not just that. Prepare to clash with the church at the altar too.'
Thus, he needed to conserve strength.
In the end, Draka made his choice.
"Hoo."
Draka exhaled briefly.
His lightened body kicked off the snowfield in a dash. Raniel pursued. She snapped her fingers.
Chwaruruuk!
Chains fired from empty air.
Dozens of flashes targeted Draka.
Spells assailed from all directions. Facing the onslaught, Draka slid to a landing on the snowfield.
'Chaotic Sword.'
He gripped his blade at an angle.
From low to high, high to low—twice.
Chwaaaaaak!
Sword aura erupted from the tip like whips, raking the snowy mountain. Sword scars etched chaotically everywhere. It shredded spells and severed chains.
'First Form.'
The blade vibrated.
The instant he swung the humming sword.
Thwak!
Through the blizzard, she thrust her hand.
Before the sword could complete its arc, Raniel seized the blade.
Kiiiiiiing!
Raniel clamped down barehanded on the sword aura straining to burst from the tip. Her glove tore. Blood sprayed, but she paid it no mind.
Crunch.
One hand gripped Draka's sword while the other balled into a fist.
Sararak.
Ashen powder leaked from the gaps in her clenched fist.
Draka knew Raniel's combat style. What was that ash powder? The hallmark of the Ashen Mage.
'Explosion.'
She swung the ash-filled fist.
Tik, tik—the ignited powder teetered on the brink of detonation. Yet a smile crept across Draka's lips as he watched.
'That was the target from the start.'
Draka twisted his sword free.
Twirling, he slammed it downward. The ashen powder hurtling toward him tangled in the sword aura and buried into the snow. Not all of it—some lingered, grazing his body.
Kwaaaaaaaaang!
"Kuhk!"
Even partial, its power was no laughing matter.
Draka's arm shredded. The fingers gripping his sword snapped with pops. Skin charred.
Pabababak!
Soon, the buried ash detonated.
The area quaked. Immense force battered the mountain. The range shuddered. The vibrations disrupted Draka and Raniel's stances simultaneously.
When the flung blizzard settled.
Raniel squinted at Draka.
"...You."
She eyed his hand.
The tattered, limp arm clutched something.
"Ashen, know what this is?"
A smile spread across Draka's lips.
Draka had roamed battlefields for ages.
Kuntel was the strongest transcendent, but Draka was the one with the most experience. For decades, he had swung his sword across every kind of field.
'Judgment is key on the battlefield.'
Discerning the impossible from the possible.
That was the utmost value in battle. And Draka had always judged accordingly. More objectively about his own worth than anyone.
This time was no different.
Draka rendered judgment.
"I don't fight battles I can't win."
Draka squeezed what he held.
Simultaneously, a kwaaaaaang! of explosion filled his ears.
Thud, thuuud!
Blasts rang from all sides.
Something detonated deep underground. Raniel narrowed her eyes. She knew what Draka had pressed. She had seen it before.
'...Igniter.'
The device Draka had used to lure apostates and level an entire village. An igniter that detonated gunpowder stones all at once.
Thud, thuuuud!
Amid the successive booms, Draka spoke.
"Might not have worked alone, but..."
Draka curled his lips.
"You shook things up plenty for me. Should be enough now."
He tossed the igniter aside. Stomping the embedded device into the snow, Draka smiled.
"Ashen, you've got plenty of battlefield experience yourself."
But, Draka continued.
"Ever fought in an avalanche?"
"...Ha."
"If not."
Kwagak, kwagagagak!
A pristine white wave blotted out the sun. Amid the crashing avalanche, Draka twisted his lips.
"Best time to try."
No means barred.
Anything available, used.
That was Draka's way.
Author's Note Packed it in generously :D