Chapter 381
Chapter 381
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 381
Chapter Title: Chapter 381
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 381
Chapter Title: Grace Style, Apex: Formless Sword
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Grace Style, Apex. Formless Sword.
Rak drew his strongest card. The apex technique unleashed while gripping the First Holy Sword. He hadn't yet fully mastered Formless Sword, so the moment he swung it, his body would suffer immense strain—but it didn't matter.
Cut down the enemy before his eyes.
Kill that beast right here.
With that single burning resolve, Rak gripped the First Holy Sword.
A perfect stance, platinum starlight bursting from the sword's blade. Rak planted his feet firmly on the snowfield, finishing his preparations to swing.
The instant he moved to unleash the strike—
Rak's vision shook.
It wasn't his current field of view. It was the few seconds into the future he was peering at through his super senses. Normally, what Rak saw a few seconds ahead was the beast cleaved in two by "Formless Sword."
But now?
Pachang—with a shattering sound, the future Rak was witnessing broke apart. His super senses were overwritten by something even more precise. What unfolded was a future utterly divorced from the present.
The future soon becomes reality.
Rak saw it: the aura cloaking the beast before him transformed. In that fleeting instant, the beast's fiercely rippling eyes sank into perfect calm. Right after, the beast thrust out its left arm in a specific stance.
A bizarre stance. Bizarre motion.
Yet it clearly contained the profound essence of the sword. Rak couldn't predict what came next. The future vanished from sight. Unable to comprehend the nature of the being standing before him, he couldn't foresee its actions.
Thus, all he could do was trust his present instincts.
Rak swung the sword with every ounce of his strength.
Unable to see the proper sword path, his swing was chaotic. Yet even in its chaos, this was a fragment of the swordsmanship forged by the supreme swordsman.
Physical prowess made up for deficient technique.
The holy sword's starlight compensated for lacking profundity.
A colossal blade whipped through the air, stirring a gale. The snow piled on the ground flipped entirely, sending flurries scattering. Cleaving through the maelstrom and whirling flakes, an invisible shockwave rocketed toward the beast.
Kagagagagagak!
Before the advancing sword gale that pulverized all it touched, the beast smashed the ground. It swung the arm that had been level with the earth. Yet Rak's eyes caught no sight of the beast swinging its arm.
The beast's claws, which had pointed left moments before, now traced a perfect arc to point right. Rak missed the process bridging those two frames. A strike too swift for the eye to track.
'First Sight Kill...?'
A flawless stance.
An unwavering strike born of flawlessness.
And then.
"...Ah."
Seruk—a quiet slicing sound rippled outward.
The shockwave erupting from Rak's sword tip shredded apart amid the slicing noise. The belated sword wind surged in, reversing the artificial air currents Rak had created.
The blizzard bearing down on the beast—
Swept away by something, it boomeranged back toward Rak.
Riding the wind came a single thread of sword strike. Rak awkwardly maneuvered his creaking body, hastily raising his greatsword. The instant that lone strike clashed against it, kaaaaaang!—a deafening roar threatened to tear his eardrums.
"Kuh, heuk!"
An overwhelming impact followed.
Crack—the fingers clutching the sword shattered. His arms screamed, his shoulders screamed, his entire body screamed. Rak's form launched into the air, shredded by the onrushing gale.
Thud.
The strike's aftershock raked his body.
As he blocked the incoming assault, the un-deflected shockwave ravaged him from within. Cough—dark crimson blood erupted from Rak's mouth.
Rak's vision drowned in red.
2.
Rak tumbled across the snowfield.
Only after rolling far along the ground did he finally halt.
"Kek, keuheuk!"
Splurt—clots of dark red blood gushed from his mouth. The snowfield stained scarlet. Rak pressed a trembling hand into the snow, trying to rise. But his body refused to obey his will.
'Stand up.'
He had to stand.
He had to slaughter that beast. Yet Rak's body, pushed to its absolute limit, offered no response to his burning obsession.
Crunch—Rak ground his teeth.
His blood boiled. His breaths came ragged. Amid the frigid blizzard, the fever raging through his flesh refused to cool. Fierce flames devoured Rak. In this moment, he harbored one fierce desire.
'Kill it.'
Rak's pupils contracted to pinpoints.
Crunch—his molars ground together.
'Kill it. Kill it and exact vengeance.'
Had he ever felt such visceral hatred before? Rak, who had known no loss. The boy from a peaceful world tasted true rage for the first time.
The warrior who was like family—dead.
Oyacal—dead. Their pride trampled.
Their deaths had been utterly wretched.
The beast had mocked those deaths, trampling their very lives. Rak could not endure that truth. He had to butcher the beast. Avenge them.
Thump, thump.
His heart pounded savagely.
The deep-seated fury scorched his mind. Unyielding flames began incinerating his reason at the root.
Fierce drive. Yearning. Obsession.
The elements Rak had lacked now flooded him. The seed buried in his heart sprouted. Its fertilizer: killing intent. The rawest, most primal emotion nourished its growth.
The inner walls had crumbled long ago.
Before the ramparts shattered by the Holy Grail, Rak had agonized for three years. Over the path he must walk—which kept him from becoming a superhuman, despite meeting every condition.
And now, a path lay open before Rak.
The sprouting seed extended roots beyond the walls, forking into dozens, hundreds, thousands of branches—each a path. Directions varied, but every one led to a superhuman existence. Rak stood at the crossroads.
Among thousands, one path shone brightest.
The path of the supreme swordsman.
Honorable. Proud. Lofty in its pride. Thus, the most arduous. Rak knew choosing it wouldn't grant the power to slay the beast here and now. It wasn't suited to him at present.
No time for leisure.
He needed the power to slaughter the beast.
Power for revenge.
His reason-shredded pupils darted rapidly, halting before one path. What filled Rak's eyes: a blood-soaked trail.
An easy path. Simple.
One granting immense power immediately.
A road fueled by vengeful madness and hatred. Easiest—thus doomed to ruin. No pride or honor lay upon it. Rak already knew its traveler: Sword Ghost, Draka.
Even knowing this—
Rak reached for that path.
The instant his hand neared the blood-drenched way—something else touched it first. A chilling sensation. Cold metal.
"......"
Rak opened his eyes.
Snow flung skyward by the clash swirled in a blizzard. His view obscured by the flurry, yet he clearly saw what had touched his hand.
A broken sword.
Oyacal's blade. The moment it made contact, a voice whispered past Rak's ear.
"Always stay calm, young master." "A first-rate warrior lets nothing sway him. To be a true warrior, you must learn to wield everything to your will, mustn't you?" Advice heard long ago.
Recalling it, Rak closed his eyes—then opened them. Even in death, you teach. With that thought, he slowly raised his body.
Anger was righteous.
Suppressing rage wasn't always the answer.
Simply—don't let it control you. Rak crushed the flames scorching his reason to the roots. They dimmed, yet flickered violently, primed to erupt anew.
Harboring those flames—
Rak seized the greatsword plunged into the ground. Choosing no path, he took a single step forward. In that instant, the holy sword in his grasp blazed with unprecedented radiance.
As if affirming it the true way.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The fragmented memory vanished with that one swing. The king reverted to beast gazed at his arm through rippling eyes. He recalled the motion he'd just performed.
He couldn't identify it.
Yet it felt graspable, within reach.
The light he'd so desperately sought dangled right before him. A little further, and he'd have seized it. But beholding the aftermath of his unleashed technique, the beast intuited it:
The flames destined to become light.
He had snuffed them out.
Unaware, the battle concluded. The beast ground its teeth and advanced. The answer lay near. His deepest yearning beckoned. A step further, deeper in—would revelation come?
As the beast moved to plunge northward—
Seruk—a slicing sound.
The raging blizzard parted. Emerging through the cleft: a lone human. Blood poured from his every pore, yet he refused collapse. His aura differed from before.
To the beast's eyes, the human gleamed brilliantly.
A human resisting to the bitter end.
A human baring his resolve, unswallowed by bloodlust. All lingering impurities purged from him. What the beast now beheld was the radiant light it craved above all.
Pure light, identical to that day, that moment.
Before that blinding glow, the beast exulted.
3.
Rak's movements, sword in hand, transformed.
The world mirrored in his eyes was wholly unlike before. Visions sharpened crystalline. Senses honed to razor edges. Even the slightest twitch registered fully.
Super senses perfected.
Peering one move into the future, Rak acted. His battered body couldn't match the beast's velocity, but anticipating steps bridged the gap.
Klang!
Deflecting the beast's claws, Rak released the greatsword from his grip. As it spun through the air, he yanked free his axe embedded in the beast's chest. Dual-wielding axes, he parried strikes, burrowed inward.
Then—jeeok.
Rak's axe heads bit deep into both shoulders. Shockwaves burst from the buried blades, shredding muscle, dulling the arms' motions. Dropping the axes, Rak extended a hand.
Crack.
The circling greatsword plummeted flawlessly into his grasp. Sword secured, Rak was already mid-swing.
Chwaaaak!
For the first time, a long gash marred the beast's flesh.
Piercing the iron hide, the greatsword etched a diagonal scar across its chest. Dark crimson blood sprayed in arcs. The beast barked a laugh, savagely whipping its left arm.
Kang, kaang!
Sounds like clashing blades echoed. Rak's motions accelerated ceaselessly. Grew exquisitely precise. His bulging pupils no longer fixated solely on futures.
Something else emerged.
Future sight at its zenith predicted optimal paths via Rak's senses. Dozens of routes unfolded before him: the trajectory his weapon must trace. Sword transcendents named it thus:
Sword Path.
Toward the still-faint path, Rak swung the greatsword. Gaps from its deliberate slowness filled by discarding it for axe sweeps. His deficient realm compensated through tactical interplay.
At times, erupting spells.
At times, wielding the holy sword's radiance.
Pouring forth all he possessed, Rak assailed the beast. Yet growth wasn't his alone. The beast's actions refined gradually. Having glimpsed memory in that instant, it honed its senses by replaying the swing.
From some point—
The futures Rak envisioned began warping.
Slightly at first, but divergences mounted. The beast deviated from predicted paths. It too faintly foresaw Rak's moves. Man and beast reached perfect parity.
Neither yielded an inch.
Across the vast snowfield, the two swordsmen unveiled their all. And slowly—ever so slowly—the moment of decision loomed.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ 『Should we just leave that be?』
The forge reeked of blood.
The ancient lich's voice rumbled low.
『Wasn't it your prized creation? Abandoning such a masterpiece is inefficient. Wasteful.』
"Wasteful?"
『Indeed. Familiars demand control, no? Your handiwork is formidable firepower. It alone could inject chaos into the front lines...』
"...Control it?"
As if privy to a grand jest, she cackled wildly. Wiping gore from her face, she turned to Skeval.
"It was never meant to be controlled."
『...A beast at best.』
"That 'mere beast' held Ganikalt to a deadlock. Save the Demon King centuries past, it was the mightiest obstacle in our path."
Gloria Bell Armias.
The first saintess scoffed, jabbing a finger at Skeval.
"You've never faced it, so you wouldn't know—but it was that vexing. Unpredictable. Uncontrollable. Utterly alien."
『Even so, it's just a beast now. It hasn't bloomed. Control it while you can—before it defies the king's will again, rampaging freely like centuries ago. Wasteful otherwise.』
"If it were that simple?"
The apostate shrugged.
"Skeval."
She knew.
The saga from "black beast" devouring humans to "Beast King."
A creature born as mere animal.
From vermin, it barred their way as another sovereign at the end. Longing for humanity, desire, fixation, envy—countless emotions forged its completion.
"Let it be."
The apostate smiled.
"It must complete itself. Not molded by others' hands. Solitary perfection."
Tribulations. Hardships. Adversity.
Forged amid endless perils.
Fleeing at times. Defeated others. Enraged still more—yet surviving, filling voids, the beast achieved wholeness.
"Absurd, isn't it?"
The apostate chuckled.
As she laughed, memories surfaced. The Beast King who loathed yet adored humans—named by one man. A name unscribed in annals, yet etched in her mind.
Beast King.
Beast King, Barta.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Bursting blood.
Fresh gore and agony.
Facing encroaching death, the beast remembered.
Its name.
The word defining its essence.
The beast closed its eyes.
When they opened, it was a king.
Beast King Barta opened his eyes.
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