Chapter 341
Chapter 341
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 341
Chapter Title: Kyle (2)
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◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ A being that embodied the antithesis of stars.
The Demon King.
Even stripped of its vessel, it remained a god, an aberration that should not exist upon this land.
A confluence of shadow and curse.
A concept alien to the natural order, unbound by providence, existing beyond the world. A calamity that warped the laws of the realm simply by its presence. That was the true essence of what the world called the Demon King.
Indeed, the description fit perfectly.
Kyle gazed ahead.
Before him stood a presence that could only be described in vague, abstract phrases. The sight of black waves engulfing the horizon was like a scene straight out of myth.
Providence twisted.
Laws, order, truth—all meaningless.
In the face of this incomprehensible, uncomprehendable entity, Kyle felt terror. His eyes shook wildly. The Demon King, encountered again after years, was as grotesque and horrifying as ever.
"...I've pictured it in my mind a thousand times."
But facing it in reality, the fear could not be erased.
A chill air brushed his skin, and Kyle shuddered briefly. Yet he did not close his eyes or turn away as he had before.
Instead, he let out a laugh and murmured to himself.
I'm not crumbling like back then.
I didn't drop my sword or run.
"......"
Kyle blinked his sole remaining eye.
With bloodshot eyes, he confronted the calamity.
The black waves swallowing the horizon were not the Demon King's essence. They were mere obstacles—black mist, the ominous fog it scattered to block the path.
The true core lay beyond.
The Demon King's essence.
A mass of curses formed from millions of grasping hands. The very essence Raniel had once bound here in the past—now, he had to face it himself.
[Accomplish the feat you once shunned.]
He would fulfill the responsibility he had avoided.
Kyle took a step forward. The ground cracked with a sharp crunch beneath him as he exhaled shortly and widened his eyes.
I see it.
The path of the sword was visible.
The path I must take—it's clear.
The path he had to follow.
The path his blade must carve.
The sword path appeared in Kyle's vision.
Boom.
When the path is visible, one must walk it. When the sword's trajectory is clear, one must swing. Kyle advanced along the path his eyes revealed.
Screeech... ■■■■■■.
The shadow fixed its gaze on the human who refused to flee.
It recognized the one approaching with blade raised as an enemy. The shadow rippled toward the existence that needed to be erased.
Whoosh!
From the filthy sludge flowing like rivers, from cursed streams born of human resentment, countless things surged forth. The moment the rising hands sought to blot out the faint starlight emanating from Kyle's body—
Slash.
A single diagonal line was drawn.
The approaching hands were swept away. Beyond the filthy droplets pattering to the ground, Kyle narrowed his eyes and lightly flicked his blade clean.
One sword strike.
To attune his body, enhanced by Sara's blessing, only a single swing had been needed. Kyle exhaled briefly and lowered his stance. Watching his back, Sara understood what he intended.
Kyle's specialty, the property of his star.
Acceleration.
The handful of starlight remaining in Kyle's body resonated with the star's traces etched into his soul. His heart pounded heavily. Crouching lower, he eyed the encroaching black mist.
Thud.
The first step was light.
Unlike the soft footfall, the ground he kicked exploded. The earth shattered, kicking up clouds of dust.
Boom!
Bursting through the dust, Kyle charged.
He hurtled forward in a low sprint. Toward the enemy he had once fled from. Toward the foe he had pissed himself and screamed at while running... Kyle charged.
Thus, the human challenged the ordeal.
Kyle staked his life on what seemed impossible. Some might mock him as a madman, point fingers at his arrogance.
But that was the essence of a hero.
Challenging what others couldn't comprehend, what seemed impossible, and ultimately achieving greatness. That was heroism.
The boy who dreamed of being a hero ran.
To achieve greatness.
To become the hero he envisioned.
And to repay his debt.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ 2.
The shadow rippled.
Even degraded to a mere phenomenon devoid of intelligence, it remained a transcendent being akin to a god. A hater of light-bearers, yearning for the extinction of humanity itself.
The Lord of Ten Thousand Demons took notice of Kyle.
To erase the human bearing the hated traces of the star, the shadow moved. Kyle sensed its motion as well.
It's coming.
His instincts warned him.
The massive waves crashing from beyond the horizon weren't his only foes. The filthy rain pouring from the sky, the sludge splashing with every step, the rivers of filth snaking through gullies... all of it was his enemy.
Everything in this place was hostile.
He had to confront it all.
"...Hoo."
One breath.
Kyle's eyes widened.
...Kyle had once been called a blade-like hero.
He never looked back. Never checked his flanks. He only charged ahead. A bad habit that could leave him isolated at the battlefield's heart, but Kyle never changed it.
"Run, Kyle."
"I'll cover the rear."
Raniel had always been at his side.
With Raniel there, Kyle could always charge forward. But not now. Raniel was no longer by his side.
Thus, Kyle widened his eyes.
Expanding his field of vision.
Not just ahead—all around him. Eyes once inhabited by the star still boasted astonishing dynamic vision even after its departure. His pupil darted rapidly.
One eye was enough.
The superhuman senses gained from transcendence didn't rely solely on sight. The faintest air currents, splashes on his skin, vibrations in the earth. Kyle predicted the future from it all.
Whoosh.
Kyle swung his sword.
Raindrops pouring from the sky split with a tick-tick as they met his blade. The scattered sludge sizzled as it burned away.
Kyle's sword didn't end there.
The downward-pointed tip touched the ground. He felt the river's ripple through the blade. Predicting the hands surging to grasp him—
He acted on the foresight.
Thrusting the blade deeper into the earth.
As if scooping from the riverbed, he swung upward. The ground was gouged wholesale, hurling sludge skyward amid sticky soil.
The falling sludge morphed into hands.
Before they could reach him, his sword sliced through raindrops again. Slash—hundreds of wrists severed, reverting to sludge.
Swoosh!
Kyle pivoted smoothly.
Flicking sludge from his blade, he steadied his breath. That had been one cycle. Inhaling again, he looked ahead.
Black mist blanketed everything.
Beyond it, he sensed countless writhing omens. His superhuman senses rang alarms. Kyle murmured inwardly.
Too many.
Too much to cut down.
One by one would never end.
"A sword is ultimately what its wielder makes of it."
"If Kuntel honed his blade for single mighty foes, mine is the opposite."
In this moment, Kyle remembered.
"You must cut down as many as possible."
"To butcher even one more of that damned bitch's minions, draw your sword aura thin like a whip."
The countless swordsmen he had witnessed.
Among them, the transcendent swordmaster who specialized in crowds.
"That's my sword."
"I call it the Chaotic Sword."
The Sword Ghost, Draka.
Kyle recalled the blade glimpsed over his shoulder. Before becoming superhuman, he had often mimicked it with raw physical prowess.
Grip.
Kyle gripped his sword like Draka.
This was different from before. No half-baked imitation skimming the surface. The moment he regripped, the sword path in his vision shifted.
Draka's path.
Kyle swung along it.
Short breaths. Long sword.
Wind howled along the trajectory. One swing, but the strikes multiplied.
Chaotic Sword. Sword Net.
Sword aura spread like a net, winds shredding the mist. Kyle stepped forward through the fragments. Mimicking Draka now, he grasped the technique's essence.
Draka hated traitors.
He developed this sword—this style—to carve through hordes of demons and reach the betrayers beyond. This was its fruit.
Kyle's goal mirrored it.
Borrowing Draka's sword, he cleaved mist, rising sludge, everything in sight, pressing onward.
But he didn't rely on one alone.
"Let me teach you my sword."
"Teaching the Hero my blade? An honor. I'd gladly..."
"Sword? Sure, I can teach you."
"Want to learn the sword?"
He had sought teachings from countless masters.
Learned from myriad swordsmen.
Borrowing their styles, sometimes fusing them, Kyle advanced. With each step, chaotic sword marks scarred the earth.
Swoosh!
Cut.
Kyle swung.
Cut, and cut again.
Advancing with each swing.
His blade grew ever more refined, sharper. He began comprehending how to sever a being unbound by providence.
One eye foresaw the future.
One sword cleaved the present.
Overloading starlight output to crush by force—as his old self did—was impossible now. Kyle pursued not the impossible, but compensated lack of power with skill.
Twirl.
Kyle regripped his sword.
Recalling the one who had become his master.
"Go, Kyle."
"You're not meant to die here."
The sword transcendent who staked his life for him—Kuntel. Kyle envisioned the Canyon Sword Style he taught. Though centuries had altered it, its essence stemmed from the first hero's techniques.
Galatric Style, First Form: Super Vision Strike.
Opening his eyes, a vivid sword path etched before him. But not one—two paths. Kyle connected them into one.
Galatric Style, Super Vision Strike.
Chaotic Sword, Sword Net.
Two paths converged.
The realms forged by two transcendents across lifetimes, fused into one path by Kyle.
Slash.
A quiet cleaving sound echoed.
In that instant, everything around him froze. The silence shattered under belated shockwaves.
Krunch!
The ground split.
Dozens of sword marks imprinted at once. Mist scattered, rain and sludge parted, vision clearing.
One thing remained.
Kyle looked up.
The wave sweeping from the horizon loomed before him. Endless even craning his neck, he exhaled shortly.
Cut it—and advance.
He gripped his sword.
Blood trickled from his arms unnoticed. From his single eye, his nose. His body neared its limits. Yet his mind was clearer, sharper than ever.
Then, he could do it.
Exhaling, Kyle leaped into the wave.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ 3.
Sara watched Kyle's back.
Kyle was bleeding.
The blessings she cast healed slower than his body broke.
Regardless of his own well-being, he moved. As always, ignoring his rear. Bleeding, wounded, battered. Blood trickled from Sara's bitten lip.
...Really.
How did I fall for a guy like that?
Even so, she never stopped blessing him. But now, her blessings differed from before.
Sara no longer recited prayers.
No folded hands to the divine.
No invoking god's name.
All that was prayer to a distant heaven. Useless here, in this cursed land beyond divine gaze, Sara knew.
But I can still bless.
Stronger than ever.
Not platinum, but pure white blessing.
She now understood its meaning.
No prayer to god.
Her own will, praying for whom she desired. The divinity within responded.
...What a joke.
Sara chuckled dryly, pondering the Saintess.
What was a Saintess?
A vessel forged for god.
Every scrap of flesh, hair, drop of blood—shaped to hold the divine. That was a Saintess. She recalled the tale that once chilled her as a child.
Her body, made for god.
The church elders said it must serve god. Cherish it, the cardinal urged. Each drop precious, the pope bellowed.
"What a bunch of ridiculous old fools."
Sara laughed like Raniel.
Sneering like her, she drew a dagger from her bosom and slashed her wrist long.
"This body's mine."
If it must be used, only one place.
"So I'll use it where I want."
She performed what the order's elders deemed forbidden taboo. Flowing blood was life. Sara traded hers for pure white particles.
Kyle staked his life.
Then she must stake hers too.
Life force draining, Sara staggered. Her mind blurred as if struck. Feeling the eerie weakness, she thought.
So this is offering your life.
But it wasn't bad.
For that country bumpkin? She'd scrape every last bit. With resolve to the dregs, Sara chanted blessings relentlessly.
"Run, Kyle."
She couldn't stand beside him like Raniel.
But she would watch over him.
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