Chapter 307
Chapter 307
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 307
Chapter Title: The Way to Confront Death (6)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Kyle Toben ran with every ounce of strength he had left.
With each step he took, snowflakes scattered into the air. No starlight dwelled in Kyle's body, but in this moment, he ran faster than he ever had before. Gliding across the snowfield, he reached out his hand.
A human hand grasped the First Holy Sword.
The holy sword wielded by the first Hero(?), the blade that had slain the false god descended upon this world(?). To Kyle, it was a symbol of aspiration.
Thud.
Kyle's fist clenched around the holy sword.
The instant he seized it, Kyle spun in place and yanked the sword from the snowfield. Amid the swirling snowflakes, the holy sword radiated a brilliant light.
...This should have been impossible.
The First Holy Sword was the blade Ganikalt had gifted to his disciple, one that only those who inherited the will of Grace could wield. Naturally, Kyle had no right to hold it.
But in this moment, the holy sword did not reject his touch.
Not because he was the Hero.
Because he was a swordsman, desperate to prove himself to death itself... the First Holy Sword accepted Kyle. It responded to his will.
Starlight overflowed.
The surging starlight never seeped into Kyle's flesh. He didn't want it to. The overflowing starlight merely coiled around the holy sword.
"Go, Kyle."
And Raniel extended her arm.
Her fingers were broken and grotesquely twisted, but the shape of her fingers didn't matter when pointing at something. Raniel's finger aimed at Ganikalt.
Her shattered fingers.
The mana she had accumulated over the past month.
The massive circuit she had inscribed for this very instant.
All of it answered her call.
Hundreds, thousands of chains blotted out the sky and flew toward Ganikalt. Their sole purpose was to bind the blade of death in place.
Just as they had when subjugating the Black Dragon Belial.
Raniel never forgot her role.
Her job was to tie down the enemy's feet in the end. To create the perfect opening for the mightiest Hero to land his decisive blow.
'To open the path for that.'
That was her true duty.
Clang!
Kyle dashed beyond the cascade of chains.
He didn't look back.
Gripping a single sword, he charged across the snowfield.
The human tenacity coursing through his veins had opened the path to victory. The sage who had wandered in search of answers bound death in place. The saintess's prayer, sung for one man alone, descended upon human flesh.
And so, humanity.
Kyle Toben.
A lone swordsman fixed his gaze ahead.
There stood the figure who had reached the realm he dreamed of. The swordsman from his dreams. Even bound by hundreds, thousands of chains, he still moved.
Clang, claaaaang!
The chains began snapping, unable to withstand his motion. Beyond the broken chains, the swordsman assumed his stance. He prepared to swing his blade. Watching this, Kyle gripped his sword tighter.
He recalled the swordsman from his memories.
Envisioning the strike he so desperately yearned for, Kyle charged toward death. To prove himself.
2.
A sword that cleaved the heavens.
A radiant strike that would fell anything in its path—even a god.
Kyle had dreamed of it.
As a boy, it was a vague longing.
A hazy wish that he too could become such a swordsman. But as he grew into a young man and witnessed countless horrors on the battlefield, that longing twisted into a burning craving.
Countless people sacrificed their lives for him.
Even his childhood friends threw away their lives.
All of them sacrificed for him.
They shed blood. And he merely drank it, endlessly. But Kyle knew. He could no longer be the symbol of victory. He was certain he could never become the hero who answered their sacrifices.
Thus, he craved the hero's strike.
The sword from his memories.
A blade that answered all their sacrifices.
He yearned for the hero's feat, the strike that would accomplish the impossible. The more he yearned, the more his mind and body withered. He realized how distant that realm truly was.
'Untouchable.'
His sword never reached the demon.
It couldn't cleave anything like the swordsman in his memories.
So Kyle despaired. He abandoned swinging his sword and sought other paths. Once he set aside his blade, he chose the wrong road.
He pursued a strike born not of honed skill, but of starlight.
Accumulate starlight, layer contract upon contract, devote his life to a single blow... perhaps then he could mimic the hero's strike. Kyle believed that. And in that belief, he walked the wrong path.
'All of it was a delusion.'
But now he knew.
It had been the wrong way.
'No matter how much starlight I gather, no matter how I rely on the power of transcendent beings...'
He could never mimic the hero's strike.
Because it was a human sword.
A strike possible only because he was human.
Grip.
Clutching the holy sword, Kyle looked ahead.
In the slowed perception of time pushed to its limits, Kyle moved. He had always chased it. The hero's strike. But he had never even come close to replicating it.
Because all he had seen in his memories was the man's back.
But not anymore.
Moments ago, Kyle had faced Ganikalt's swing head-on. It was the same strike in essence as the one from his memories. Its power wasn't equal, but the stance was identical.
He recalled that motion.
Contrasting the scene from his memories with the blade of death he had confronted directly. From those two landscapes, Kyle discerned the proper form.
Thud!
Kyle slammed his front foot down.
The ground trembled, snow erupting skyward. Amid the exploding flakes, Kyle's eyes widened fiercely. No platinum halo rose, but a fiercer resolve than ever gleamed in them.
The boy who had become a man still yearned.
To become a hero.
To achieve greatness and earn recognition.
His memories and the scenes he had witnessed weren't enough.
He still couldn't replicate the hero's strike. To fill the gaps, Kyle recalled more. Bonds forged on the battlefield, the countless swordsmen who had become his mentors—their movements.
Sword Ghost Draka.
The last swordsman of Galatric, Kuntel.
Recalling the motions of those myriad swordsmen, Kyle swung. For an instant, a faint tik, tidik echoed along the blade's path, as if splitting something.
Shing.
Even swinging through empty air, it felt as though the tip cleaved flesh. Sensing that eerie feedback, Kyle pressed forward. Deeper still.
'...Ah.'
Kyle let out a sigh.
In this moment, he had succeeded—imperfectly—in reproducing the sword strike from his memories. Not identical. Different. This was not Ganikalt's sword, but Kyle's own(?).
This was Kyle's answer.
In time that seemed frozen, his blade moved. Ahead, death swung as well. The speed at which its sword rent space matched exactly the advance of his own.
The unseen became visible.
Blood burst from one of Kyle's eyes.
With his remaining eye, through a crimson haze, Kyle beheld the world. And what he saw were countless paths. The superhuman realm called the Sword Path(??).
The paths of the sword appeared.
Among them shone the brightest.
The path his blade already followed. With conviction, Kyle swung. No longer tik, tidik, but a resounding crack.
The First Holy Sword traced a platinum arc.
From the torn space, a blade edge protruded.
Death countered with the same technique.
Yet he was no longer human. Half-beast, his blade's trajectory was unclean—not slicing space, but twisting it.
And the moment of clash arrived.
The star's sword, cleaving all, collided with the shadow's sword, warping all it touched.
KAAAAAANG!
In the silenced space, a roar thundered.
Space tore around the clashing blades. It split and shattered. Cracks spiderwebbed through the void, and Kyle took one more step forward. He swung deeper.
Because the chains bound Ganikalt.
Because Rak's strike disrupted the shadows.
Because the First Holy Sword answered Kyle's will.
Borrowing those myriad powers, for a fleeting instant, Kyle overwhelmed Ganikalt. His sword pushed back the blade of death. With a clang, the deathly sword flew aside for the first time. Kyle's advanced.
Slash.
The sword dragged a trail of light.
The blade, trailing luminescence, reached death.
3.
Slash. A quiet slicing sound rang out.
Time, stretched long, snapped back into place.
Kyle exhaled the breath he had held and dropped to one knee. Blood streamed from his eyes, mouth, nose. The price of pushing his body beyond limits.
"Kuh, hack. Guh..."
Propping his greatsword in the snow, Kyle tried to rise. But his body wouldn't obey. His vision blurred. He felt on the verge of collapse. Yet he couldn't fall.
'Too shallow.'
Kyle had seen it in the final moment.
The instant he parried Ganikalt's sword, the man twisted his body. Snapping all binding chains in one go, he swung once more.
A strike from an unstable stance.
True sword transcendence demanded perfection in any situation. Ganikalt's sword was no different.
That swing blocked Kyle's blade and ultimately deflected it. Since he hadn't finished it, Kyle willed himself to rise again. But his overtaxed flesh ignored him.
"Grr..."
Just as Kyle's body began to tilt.
Drip.
The sound snapped him alert.
A noise from ahead. Eyes wide, Kyle looked up. The sight that entered his vision was unbelievable.
Drip, plip plip.
Death was bleeding.
Black sludge like pus pooled beneath Ganikalt's feet. The snowfield stained dark. Not much, but unprecedented in centuries of history.
A diagonal sword mark scarred Ganikalt's body.
Severed ribs lay scattered on the snow.
Beyond the cleaved ribs, Ganikalt's heart was exposed. A heart shrouded in shadow.
"......"
Ganikalt planted his greatsword in the snowfield.
Releasing the hilt, he touched the sword wound with his left hand. Then he shed his tattered robe, always draped around him. His shadowed helm gleamed under the sun.
Revealed were human eyes.
Ganikalt van Galatric spoke.
"A perfect strike."
The first transcendent, the first Hero, acknowledged Kyle's sword. Kyle couldn't tell if he should rejoice or despair at failing to fell him.
"I've witnessed your pride. Confirmed the master of the sword has appeared. No reason to linger here any longer."
Fortunately, the dilemma didn't last.
Death didn't approach the broken Kyle. Sword in hand, he turned his back and walked away. After a few steps, death swung lightly.
Slash. The air split.
Beyond the rift lay a passage to somewhere. The moment Kyle glimpsed it, his body froze.
Kiii, kreeeak■■. ■■■■■■.
There stood a temple.
Something leaked from the temple doors' gap. A being from his nightmares, glimpsed again and again. The one he had fled from—it was there.
【■■■■. ■■■■■■■■■■■■.】
The Demon King shouted at Ganikalt crossing the passage. Bring the sword there immediately. But Ganikalt ignored the cry. He merely strode toward the rift.
Just before vanishing completely, Ganikalt turned to look back.
His gaze fell on Kyle Toben.
"The stars only open the path."
He said.
"In the end, you are the one who swings the sword. In the final moment, trust not the stars. Trust yourself."
Advice to his junior, from one swordsman to another who had walked the same road.
"Keep striving."
Ganikalt smiled.
"Well done, Kyle Toben."
The torn space sealed shut.
On the snowfield bereft of death, Kyle beheld the world with one eye. That gaze still pierced the future. It meant one thing.
Kyle Toben had become a transcendent.
He had finally set foot in the realm he so desired.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇