Chapter 418
Chapter 418
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 418
Chapter Title: Rak's Fury
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A quiet slicing sound. Red blood droplets spurting upward.
Rak van Grace saw it.
The gate being diagonally severed, the line etched across Natida's body as she stood beyond it. The blood gushing forth along the path of that line... Rak saw it. He had no choice but to see it.
Thud.
Natida's priestess robe was dyed red.
Her body slowly pitched forward amid the spurting droplets. Clothes soaked crimson. Blood streaming down. Natida sprawled motionless.
In the stretched-out flow of time, the scene from that day rose unbidden in Rak's mind at this very moment.
The countless warriors who had met their ends before him. His brothers collapsing in pools of their own blood. The faces of those he had ultimately failed to protect danced before Rak's eyes. It was just like back then.
What he couldn't protect. The blood flowing down.
And the beast waiting at the end.
Rak's head snapped around.
His bloodshot eyes locked onto the Beast King, frozen mid-swing in the posture of unleashing his blade. The same deep azure gaze as that day. The Beast King stared back at Rak.
Their eyes met. Each acknowledging the other's presence.
In that instant, something snapped taut in Rak's mind with a sharp twang. The holy sword clenched in Rak's fist trembled fiercely. The blade's shuddering afterimage fractured into multiples, then fused back together, over and over.
Barta. Beast King Barta.
Heating.
Steam hissed from the corners of Rak's mouth.
Rak kicked off the ground and charged the foe he had to kill, faster than ever before.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Kaaaaaaaaang!
The moment Rak's sword clashed against Barta's, a deafening roar erupted. The ground quaked, canyon debris scattering wildly, as Kalt ground his teeth.
'...Damn it.'
Matching Rak's frenzied onslaught, Kalt swung his own blade. He covered Rak's openings, nudging the Beast King's sword arcs ever so slightly off course.
Kang, kagagak!
Somehow, they kept the fight going. But Kalt knew better. This couldn't last forever. There was no seizing the upper hand like this.
He was being pushed back. Relentlessly.
In raw power, swordplay, physical prowess—everything. From the Beast King before him, Kalt caught glimpses of the Sword of Death itself.
'...Every swing makes space groan. The earth tears open, the air convulses.'
This wasn't mere brute force.
If it had been some mindless beast from the apostate skirmishes, victory might've been possible. But now, gripping a sword and wielding true technique... No, he couldn't imagine beating this thing.
That wasn't a beast.
It was a wall-breaker. A superhuman swordsman who foresaw and acted on the future.
Kalt sensed the futures he glimpsed—a few seconds ahead—shifting endlessly. Right now, only his gut was reliable. But...
"...".
Kalt gazed silently at Rak.
Rak had grown. Undeniably.
The boy who'd shone since his school days... had now hit his stride. A bona fide superhuman, his growth curve steeper than sheer.
'Even in this moment...'
The Beast King's swings accelerated relentlessly, yet Rak matched them. Acceleration fueled by Heating. Maneuvering amplified by mana. Auxiliary gear plugging the gaps between strikes. He threw everything into keeping up.
The young man was ascending. Steeply.
Innate talent. Instinct. Uniqueness. Growth rate.
Kalt weighed Rak's worth.
A veteran of countless battlefields, Kalt knew not all lives held equal value. Sometimes, you had to choose.
Grip.
Kalt tightened on his hilt.
His wide field of vision mapped the field: terrain, escape paths, odds... and Natida's fallen form. Her breathing hadn't stopped.
The gate must've acted as a shield.
Standing behind it, Natida hadn't taken the full brunt of the strike. A mortal wound, yes—but she was the Saintess. Factoring in her miraculous regenerative trait, she'd pull through.
...What to choose?
Kang, kaang!
As he swung, Kalt pondered.
Saving everyone. Abandoning no one.
That's what the world called a hero. Kalt knew one such hero. He'd served at his side for years. Which was why Kalt also knew.
He could never be that hero.
Kalt wasn't an absolute force.
To save something, you had to abandon something else.
'What to abandon. What to choose.'
Kalt balanced lives on the scale. His own against Rak's—and it tipped toward Rak.
Obviously.
Kalt was a swordmaster. Nothing extraordinary.
Expendable manpower when push came to shove. Rak van Grace? Irreplaceable. Wielder of the first holy sword, brimming with uniqueness—a force like no other.
So if something had to be discarded here...
'What a mess.'
Kalt barked a hollow laugh.
Judgment complete.
Kalt chose.
2.
Rak felt his arm creaking.
Fingers locked around his sword trembled. Some broken. Some muscles shredded. Every clash rent or burst another part of him, blood spilling free.
The instant accumulated damage made Rak stagger.
The moment his blade tip wavered.
The Beast King's eyes flashed deep blue.
Barta bared his fangs at the prey's lapse. Instant acceleration—and his sword swept Rak's aside. Kaaaaaang! Rak's sword rocketed skyward.
What he saw: an opening.
Boom! Barta stomped the earth.
The quake shattered Rak's footing completely. Barta's hilt-grip fingers cracked. In that instant, Rak saw it.
What appeared: seconds into the future.
Barta before him splintered into afterimages. As they converged into one, a guillotine plummeted from above. His vision flooded red.
The foreseen future: death.
Rak twisted away from doom, but Barta's sword hounded him relentlessly. Looming death. The moment Rak steeled himself to sacrifice an arm.
A silver arc intruded on the future.
Kaaaaaaaaang!
Blocking Rak's front: Kalt.
The instant he parried the greatsword, blood poured from Kalt's eyes, nose, mouth. A massive spurt. Echoing cracks of bone and tearing muscle.
"———!"
Roaring, Kalt twisted his blade.
He finally deflected Barta's blow. The strike meant to shred Rak slammed into the dirt. Boom, the ground heaved, boulders launching skyward.
The opening thus born.
Yet Kalt chose not to press.
Reaching back, he seized Rak's nape. Glancing over his shoulder, Kalt flashed a grin.
"Run, Rak."
With that, he hurled Rak away.
Toward Natida's fallen form. Rak's eyes flew wide as he stared back at Kalt. The instant after the throw, Kalt advanced on Barta.
And Barta...
"Interfering with the duel?"
Eyes narrowed, he peered down at Kalt.
From the start, Rak had been Barta's sole focus. This human? A mere obstacle. One he could brush aside whenever he pleased.
"Out of my way, obstacle."
Barta swung.
A strike more than enough to clear one seemingly defenseless swordsman. The moment he planned to sweep the nuisance aside and advance on his true rival.
Kagagak.
Barta's arc warped.
The twisted tip plunged not into the human—but the ground. The instant it bit earth, boom! Weight crashed atop the blade.
A military boot grinding Barta's embedded sword. Kalt swung in seamless follow-through. The silver arc raked Barta's shoulder.
Spurt.
A shallow cut. Yet the first blood Barta had shed since the fight began. Barely a drop or two.
"...".
Barta turned wordlessly to Kalt.
He peered into the human's eyes. The man he'd dismissed as an obstacle. That man's sword had touched him. In that moment, Barta felt no irritation.
Quite the opposite.
Interest stirred in Barta. In the swordsman before him.
Kalt took one step back. Barta slowly withdrew his blade. His gaze fixed on the man daring to raise steel against him.
"Your name."
The Beast King inquired.
The human answered.
"Kalt."
Kalt flicked blood from his sword with a casual shake.
"Swordsman."
Barta settled into stance without a word.
Kalt mirrored him. The duelists peered into each other's futures. Chasing those visions, Kalt exhaled deeply.
A hush fell.
Kalt shattered it first.
He lunged at Barta. No blinding speed. No Rak-like ferocity, no Barta-esque dominance. Human pace. Human motion.
Whoosh.
Barta's delayed swing overpowered him. Without even tracking the onslaught visually, Kalt stepped forward again.
Kagagagak!
Kalt's thrusting tip pierced a gap in the greatsword. In that heartbeat, he dropped his stance—twisting waist, arm, blade in a seamless sweep.
The modest silver edge, dwarfed by the greatsword, traced its path—and reversed the monster blade's course.
The swing scored not Kalt, but a distant canyon face. Screech, the wall sheared diagonally and tumbled. Boom, rumble—the earth groaned.
Crack, Barta's jaws parted.
Laughter leaked from the maw. Barta savored Kalt's strike. Precise foresight. A strike of exquisite calibration born from it.
Swing direction. Tip-loaded power. Blade trajectory. This swordsman had computed it all flawlessly, nudging only the path astray.
It meant one thing.
This swordsman's foresight outstripped Barta's own in finesse. How? A mystery. And Barta rejoiced in the enigma before him. As for Kalt...
Splurt.
A clot of blood erupted from his mouth.
Kalt rasped a ragged breath. Feats like that didn't come free. On the verge of collapse, he clenched his jaw and glared ahead. Death approached once more.
The greatsword closing in.
Facing the encroaching end, Kalt bared his teeth.
3.
Run, Rak.
Kalt had chosen. Rak understood what that meant. Hoisting Natida's limp body onto his back, he glanced over his shoulder.
Grit. Rak clenched his teeth.
His feet wouldn't budge.
He wanted to rejoin the fray. Aid Kalt. He couldn't abandon the man he'd owed since his student days. But Rak knew better.
No path to victory.
Kalt's call was right.
Charging back now, with no alternatives, would trample that resolve. It'd doom them all. Rak felt his back growing slick with Natida's blood. Her labored gasps echoed in his ears.
This wasn't just one life on his shoulders.
He had to lose again.
Because he was weak. Powerless. Forced to yield another to that damned beast. Blood trickled from his bitten lip. The moment Rak finally turned from Kalt...
"Sto...p."
Natida's voice reached Rak's ear.
A thread-thin whisper. Frail as if it might snap. Rak whipped his head around, meeting her gaze. No trace of her usual hollow stare.
Eyes aglow with unearthly light.
No mortal's gaze. Not even a superhuman's glimpse of seconds ahead. The eyes of a god, piercing distant futures. Eyes that had heard divinity.
"Me."
The prophet murmured to the man.
"Take me there."
Natida lifted her arm.
Her fingertip trembled toward the blade impaled at the canyon's heart. The Sword of Death. Ganikalt's iconic greatsword.
"Hurry."
The prophet pointed to death.