Chapter 189
Chapter 189
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 189
Chapter Title: Each One's Stage (3)
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Buying time against a calamity.
Kalt had done something similar once before, in the past. It was right before his retirement from the battlefield. He sifted through those memories.
The most terrifying calamity.
Death in a clear, tangible form.
'Sword of Death, Ganikalt.'
Prideful swordsmen, superhumans who sang of life through the blade, were mere humans before death. No matter what they had built in life, it all returned to nothingness before death's blade.
A profound emptiness.
The hollow despair of being able to do nothing.
"Ah... Aaaah... Aaaaaah..."
Wherever death appeared, humans collapsed. They sensed the end of their lives and gave up. It was a calamity because resistance was impossible. It was death because it had to be accepted.
Yet.
"You refuse to let go of your sword."
Occasionally, one would resist death.
"I must ask."
Kalt had been one such person.
Kalt raised his sword before death. Just as Kuntel, who had once taught him the way of the sword, would have done, he pointed his blade at the Sword of Death.
"Are you a swordsman?"
His teeth chattering in fear.
Terror gripping him as death approached.
Yet still, he did not let go of his sword.
"If I'm a swordsman, then yeah, I am."
Humans answered death's question.
"But before that, I'm a knight."
What had he done in that moment?
What had allowed him to withstand even a single strike from the Sword of Death? Kalt opened his eyes, recalling the past.
Opening his eyes revealed another calamity.
'Ancient Lich, Skeval.'
A mage worthy of being called the nightmare of the battlefield.
Traps filled every spot he stepped. A single mistake, a moment's hesitation, led straight to death.
"Hoo..."
Kalt exhaled.
Even a single breath required swinging his sword and constant movement. His exhaled breath was hot, and his sword arm ached from nonstop swings.
Drip. Drip.
As he steadied his breathing, blood poured out. Wounds had reopened, and sensation was already gone from one arm.
'Even after using everything I have.'
He couldn't reach it.
Even with artificial means granting power beyond a mere human body, it fell woefully short. Kalt panted, leaping backward.
'No time for calm thinking.'
The strong could afford leisure.
But not him. Thoughts had to become action instantly, so Kalt moved without pause.
"How long do you plan to run?"
The calamity mocked the human.
With a mere twitch of its finger, it cornered him. The ancient lich's sneer echoed in the darkness.
"Running and running again."
Skeval twitched a finger.
A house-sized fireball plummeted from below the ground. Knowing he couldn't dodge, Kalt glared wide-eyed and swung his sword.
"Do you think there's any height you can climb to?"
Slash.
Kalt's sword cleaved the flames. The blade's arc was clean. Yet it was still a human sword. The bisected flames didn't scatter—they engulfed him.
Thud!
Relying on his magic tool, Kalt burst through the flames. But his body was covered in burns. His fingers had melted, fusing with the hilt.
'At least I won't drop the sword.'
Better this way, he thought, whipping his body onward. Spells pursued him. The ground surged. Sharp spikes targeted his life.
Slash.
His swung blade rent the earth.
Mimicking, crudely, the technique he'd seen in the hero's clash with the ancient lich, Kalt slashed rising ground and used it as footing for repeated leaps.
Not the hero's movements.
Even with doping agents, Kalt hadn't reached superhuman levels. His actions were rough, imperfect unlike the hero's.
Splatter.
Wounds multiplied.
His sword arm screamed. But Kalt didn't stop. He'd never expected perfection, so no hesitation marred his movements.
'Next.'
No superhuman senses like the sword superhuman's.
No exceptional physical prowess like the hero's.
'Next. Again, next.'
Thus, Kalt never stopped thinking.
He didn't entrust everything to instinct. He saw with his own eyes, judged with his own mind, and moved.
'Coming.'
He never took his eyes off the ancient lich's fingers.
His senior, the Ashen Mage Raniel, had said:
"Every mage starts with their hands."
Hands.
"They snap fingers, twitch them, swing arms. You won't know 'what' spell, but every mage has habits."
Habits.
"I snap mine. Most mages swing in a direction."
Read the habit and direction.
Skeval swung his finger. From below upward. Kalt immediately kicked off the wall and leaped high.
Bam-bam-bam-bam!
Stakes erupted. But Kalt was already gone from those spots. Twisting midair, he swung his sword.
Slash.
He saw the next move in Skeval's gesture. Reacting to what he foresaw, Kalt's sword was swift. As Skeval's spell fired, Kalt's blade severed the circuit.
'It's possible.'
A little knack was forming.
But no time to leisurely analyze counters. His allotted time wasn't long.
"...Ugh."
Kalt felt the drug wearing off.
Pain crept back into his body. The inner blaze was dying down.
'Not my true power.'
All sorts of magic tools and doping agents.
The realm reached through artificial means crumbled quickly. Strength drained from his body bit by bit.
"......"
In contrast, the calamity?
Just furrowing its brow. No urgency in its limited time.
'How long must I hold?'
Kalt panted, thinking.
'How much longer?'
He didn't know.
Thus, he steeled his resolve.
Crunch.
His ankle bones ground loudly. Kalt lowered his stance low. Like crawling or coiling power. It evoked an archer drawing just before release.
'Stalling forever is impossible.'
He didn't know the calamity's time limit. But one thing was certain... His own would run out first.
'Must end it.'
Holding out wasn't viable.
So, find another answer.
"...Ha."
Skeval sensed the shift in Kalt's aura. The cornered hound baring its fangs after endless flight.
'Pathetic.'
He raised his arm.
Circuits blazed black in the darkness.
Flash!
The moment it glowed, Kalt kicked off the ground and charged. As sensation returned, he sprinted with all his might.
2.
Old memories surfaced.
Suddenly, Raniel thought so.
Racing toward Aphria, kicking off the ground, she recalled the battlefield days.
Her second encounter with the Sword of Death.
It had come abruptly. During the relentless advances with Kyle at the vanguard. Then, death appeared suddenly.
Sheer cliffs and crevices between.
A straight path stretching out.
There, death manifested. The Sword of Death, fallen from sky to earth, bisected the human army.
-Boom, boom, roooar!
One swing collapsed the canyon.
Hearing this, Raniel and Kyle rushed to the rear, steeling themselves. Ready to sacrifice all knights here. Or die themselves.
Even hero and sage sensed death.
They never thought any knights they reached would still be savable.
But expectations missed the mark.
Bursting through the shattered canyon wall, where they stepped—no horrific scene as Raniel imagined. Just one knight standing firm on two feet.
"Kalt."
Vomiting blood before the Sword of Death, eyes wide, standing there. Raniel remembered the words death spoke to him.
"I ask."
Letting the blade slip from twisted beast hand, grasping it in human hand, death questioned the human.
"What is your name?"
It was death's praise to a human.
Respect for one who withstood its blade once. Meaning Kalt had endured a strike from the Sword of Death.
'Don't know how he endured.'
What Kalt did there, how he bought time against the Sword of Death... Raniel didn't know.
'One thing certain.'
In that instant, Kalt discarded something.
By discarding, he withstood death's sword.
By withstanding, he bought time for her arrival.
"This time too."
Raniel kicked off the roof and leaped.
Following footprints, she reached the clock tower. Placing her foot on the print on its wall, she looked up.
What she saw: a black barrier.
"This time too, he's holding out."
Somehow, by some unknowable method.
That's why she had to go.
So his bought time wouldn't be wasted.
Thud.
Raniel kicked off the clock tower and leaped. Midair, arms back, fist clenched, she targeted the barrier. Layered spells loaded into her fist.
⚡ SKILL ACTIVATED ⚡ Smash
-KABOOOOOM!
The massive impact shook the barrier.
3.
He charged.
Every step kicked the ground with full power. Kalt wrung out remaining strength, advancing. Each step accelerated his body.
One step.
He threw himself at pouring spells.
Some he slashed, some he couldn't.
Wounds increased. Blood poured.
Another step.
Ground surged. Bone stakes rose. No place to step, but he had to make his own path.
Slash.
Swing and swing again.
'Discard.'
Blood sprayed.
'Choose.'
Accept a strike to advance one step.
Each step, Kalt discarded something. Knowing he couldn't advance without it, he discarded without restraint.
'If discarding, do it fully.'
No time to slash every stake.
Sacrificed one arm. Sacrificing, he pressed on.
Leaving the limp arm, gripping sword with one hand, he pushed forward.
'Ah.'
Kalt recalled.
Past experience.
'It was like this then too.'
Facing the most fearsome calamity.
Having to parry death's sword.
He had moved just like this.
'Can't think of emerging unscathed.'
Move with intent to discard from the start.
Give what must be given, fully.
That was his best.
'What I gave then was my heart.'
Means to purify demonic energy. Or his entire life.
Barely survived by the Saintess's miracle, but retired from the battlefield. So, what now?
Distance fully closed.
Kalt kicked off and leaped.
Gazed at the airborne ancient lich.
'Weakened state.'
From the clash with the madman, the lich's body was cracked. Residual effects from the madman's final spell lingered, still corroding Skeval's mana.
Thus, this fight was possible.
On the stage born of sacrifice, Kalt fulfilled his role.
'Target: skull.'
Black sludge oozing from eye sockets.
The Life Vessel inside.
'Pierce it.'
Target clear, Kalt positioned. But he wasn't the only one aiming for the decisive blow. Skeval awaited the hound's approach.
Flash.
Spell completed in an instant.
Sharp bone stake targeted Kalt's head. Dodgeable, but dodging would disrupt his form, forcing a restart.
'What to discard.'
Kalt didn't retreat.
He decided what to give. Tilting only his head aside. Bone stake pierced his left eye. Vision red, head snapped back, yet he pressed on.
Momentary pain surge.
Sign the doping had ended.
But Kalt didn't notice. Felt lighter instead. Mistakenly thought doping lingered. In delusion, he moved.
Recalling the sword superhuman, Kuntel.
Prideful, yet fallen to calamity's familiar.
Kalt recalled facing him. Mimicked that infinitely beautiful strike.
'Beautiful motion, perfect sword strike.'
Kalt's arm moved.
Not fast. Not heavy.
Blade tip light but traced sure path.
Clearly touching superhuman realm of the sword.
Shing.
Blade moved. Unswayed by force. Perfect control drew the sword path. Smooth trajectory, predestined for its goal.
Black eye socket.
Left eye lost, Kalt thrust at Skeval's right socket. Spells woven to guard the skull meant nothing before superhuman sword.
Pierce.
Rending spells, blade tip embedded in Skeval's Life Vessel. The lich's black glare shook violently.
"Aaah... Aaaaaaaaah!"
Skeval screamed, swinging his arm.
Struck, Kalt flew limply. Rolled across ground, crashed into building wall, then stopped.
"How dare you, how dare you, HOW DARE YOU!"
Skeval's glare trembled in rage.
Blade tip had touched the Life Vessel. But not fully pierced. Writhing in pain, the ancient lich raised his arm.
"A mere human like you...!"
As Skeval began weaving a spell.
"Cough... Hack..."
Vomiting blood, yanking the stake from his eye, Kalt lifted his head. A smile played on his lips. Not the face of one facing death.
"...Ha."
He chuckled, gazing beyond Skeval.
Crack, craaack.
Cracks spread across Aphria's black barrier. Then, like shattering glass, a section exploded.
Shatter!
Through the breach poured sunlight.
Under it, ashen hair gleamed. Skeval, turning as barrier shattered, met her eyes.
Detestable ashen hair.
Loathsome blue eyes.
"Ashen...!"
Before Skeval could weave, Raniel gripped his skull. No special spells.
Grip.
One hand clutched the skull.
The other grasped the hilt embedded in the eye socket. A mere human's all-out strike. Her role would decide its meaning.
"Kalt."
Raniel said.
"Good work."
She shoved the hilt home.
The blade fully pierced Skeval's Life Vessel.