Chapter 421
Chapter 421
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 421
Chapter Title: The Sword's Cry
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The sword cried out.
The moment Death drew his blade, a low and chilling sword cry echoed through the air. Though it rang out in an instant, the resonance traveled along the blades and enveloped the entire canyon.
Guuuuuung.
Dozens, hundreds of swords embedded in the sword grave trembled noisily, as if kneeling and bowing their heads to the master of the canyon who had revealed himself. Some among them shattered, unable to withstand the vibration.
The sword cry returned as a scream.
Amid the quivering hilts, Death raised his sword. The tip pointed toward the beast that had set foot in his domain. As he aimed at the beast, Death gripped the blade in his right hand—the arm that had once belonged to the beast.
"I ask you."
Death's sword, Ganikalt.
The proud swordsman posed his question.
"Are you a beast?"
Or, if not...
"Do you still wish to be a swordsman?"
Death recognized the beast.
A swordsman who had once challenged him in the past. To this worthy rival he now faced again after centuries, Death inquired whether he remained the same swordsman as before.
"I am..."
And the beast replied.
"I am... Barta."
In response to Death's question, the Beast King answered.
The Beast King, Barta, lifted his sword. Gripping it in his left hand, he aimed the tip squarely at Death.
"I desire it. A rematch from that day."
The next chapter after that day.
The continuation I never witnessed back then.
That was Barta's answer.
"Is that so."
Death tossed his sword toward the sky.
Whoosh, it spun once in the air before falling. Ganikalt reached out with his human arm—his left hand seizing the hilt.
"Then, you are a swordsman."
With the sword in his left hand, Ganikalt assumed his stance.
To this worthy rival who had appeared before him once more, transcending centuries, Ganikalt showed his respect.
"Ah, aaaaaaah!"
Barta laughed through his gaping maw, his eyes alight with ecstasy as he mirrored the stance of the swordsman before him perfectly. In this moment, Barta recalled the past—the death he had faced, that final instant replayed in his mind.
So much had changed since that day.
Even the proud figure of that swordsman had transformed.
'None of that matters.'
It truly didn't. That man was still a swordsman, and Barta himself still yearned to be one. Much had changed, but not that. It was enough. No further words were needed.
A swordsman speaks with the sword.
Upon the blade lay conviction.
The arc it traced was the path walked.
Thus, the path drawn by the sword... the sword's way was the swordsman's very life.
If one declared themselves a swordsman, what must be seen was the sword's path, and what must be shown was a single blade. Barta's eyes flashed blue. Ganikalt's gaze sank cold.
In perfect unison, the two swordsmen stepped forward. Thud, the ground trembled. Beyond the quaking earth, two blades carved identical trajectories—strikes too swift for the eye to follow.
Galatric Style, First Form: First Sight Kill.
A flash in an instant.
Slash.
The cleaving sound rang out.
The sound preceded the phenomenon.
The canyon walls, the flying boulders, the rising dust clouds, the countless swords in the grave, the debris, the traces of death—everything visible split apart.
Shaaaaaaaack!
As sword auras clashed, Barta kicked off the ground and charged. Ganikalt took a massive step forward. The colliding auras exploded, scattering in all directions. Barta swung through the flying shards. Ganikalt swung as well.
Death's sword, Ganikalt.
The Beast King, Barta.
The rematch fulfilled after centuries.
The moment two swords, two sword paths collided, a thunderous roar shook the canyon.
2.
Ripped space, the emergence of Death's sword.
Even in the bewildering chaos, Rak moved. Supporting the fallen Kalt, he dashed toward Natida.
Clang, claaaaang!
The deafening clash of steel on steel assaulted his ears. Rak poured every ounce of focus into avoiding entanglement in that battle. Each resounding strike sent sword auras flying everywhere. The canyon crumbled, fallen boulders shaking the ground.
"...Ngh!"
Sliced by surging auras, Rak finally reached the prone Natida. Right before her lay a tear in space, shielding her like a barrier.
Beyond the rift stretched a vast plain.
Rak knew that plain.
He had heard of it while receiving intel on the traitor Alkeia. The domain of Death's Sword. An endless black field.
Where Death holds silence, Gehete.
The plain visible through the rift had skies torn asunder, as if sliced by a blade. Glancing at the scene, Rak hoisted Natida onto his back. They had to escape quickly.
Kaaaaaaaang!
A thunderclap roar.
As Rak turned and fled the canyon, he glanced back. There, a duel unwritten in any history unfolded—two swordsmen at unparalleled heights swinging at each other.
Each swing tore space.
Each clash upended the visible world. Boulders leaping skyward slammed into walls by sword strikes, debris plummeting only to soar upward again in endless repetition.
...When he first faced Death's Sword.
Rak hadn't comprehended Ganikalt's swings, nor Kyle's in response. But now he did. Rak's eyes widened.
He saw it. The swords they wielded.
The sword paths they traced.
Not solely because he had become superhuman. Because he wielded the same sword. Used the same swordsmanship. And Kalt saw the same through his blood-soaked, crimson vision.
Beings who had reached the swordsman's ultimate goal.
Their techniques offered enlightenment merely by observation, the finest teachers. Even as he retreated from the fight, Rak couldn't tear his gaze away. He wanted to absorb more.
For one day, he too must stand there.
And the instant Rak reached the canyon's mouth, about to escape—Ganikalt raised his sword to the heavens.
"...Ah."
Rak sighed.
Eyes wide, he pivoted urgently. Facing forward, he poured all his strength into fleeing. He had to get farther away. His instincts screamed it.
And they were right.
Rak heard it.
The quiet cleaving sound from behind. The thunderous clash of blades. And something splitting.
Sliiiice.
The cleaving preceded the shockwave. A fierce gale erupted behind him. Pushed by the wind blasting from the canyon's heart, Rak tumbled across the ground. After rolling far, he groaned and looked skyward.
"......"
The sky was sliced at an angle.
Beyond the severed clouds, beyond the blue expanse, lay the world's edge. Then came the thud, rumble of the collapsing canyon.
A slanted cut across the canyon's flank.
Hidden by sliding rubble, the canyon's depths vanished from view. Yet the clash of swords still echoed from within.
'What... in the... world...'
As Rak stared blankly at the sky, laughter came from beside him.
"Heh..."
A hollow chuckle from Kalt.
Sprawled on the ground, seeing the same sight as Rak, Kalt couldn't help but laugh wryly. His own past words resurfaced.
"What is it, Kalt? Can swordsmen do that too?"
The question his senior had asked.
What had he replied?
"Heh. Don't talk nonsense."
"No way that's possible. If it were, they'd be sword mages, not swordsmen. Sword mages. Come on, be serious."
Kalt exhaled shortly.
"They exist. Sword mages."
3.
Rak returned to the outpost, Crempelia.
When the battered Rak, Kalt, and Natida arrived, the stationed forces had already assumed battle readiness. They reported.
"Hero, Lady Lania..."
The Hero, Lania van Trias.
If Rak and the others didn't return by tonight, she had sent an urgent dispatch to pull back the front lines and await her joining.
Rak dismissed the knights, saying he'd contact her himself. Entering Crempelia's citadel, he activated the communication magic tool. The circuits embedded in the fortress flickered briefly...
"...Rak?"
Raniel's voice came through.
A mix of shock, relief, surprise. From the device, her steadying breaths echoed, followed by a thud as she collapsed into a seat.
"You're alive... Thank goodness, really. First, tell me what happened. Why Barta and Ganikalt both showed up there..."
"I'll explain."
As priests swarmed upon entry to treat him, Kalt spoke up. Concisely, hitting only the key points, he gave his report.
"......"
Raniel fell silent.
She couldn't fully grasp what she'd heard. During the showdown with Barta, Natida's prayer summoned Ganikalt to the canyon? Tearing space? From Gehete at the magic realm's edge to here?
"...For now."
Exhaling deeply, Raniel spoke.
"I understand the situation. Postpone the operation indefinitely. I messed up from the start. If we were going, I should have gone myself. My judgment was off. Sorry."
"Who could've predicted it? Especially that they'd rip apart the gate generator too."
Kalt sighed long.
"Still, we survived somehow. Thought we were goners this time. Figured I'd die without even a proper send-off from you, Senior... Dodged that bullet, thankfully."
Senior priests tended to Kalt's hands and arms, the only sounds the crack, crunch of bones realigning. Numb from the ordeal, he barely felt pain and chuckled emptily.
"Holy Grail recovery... We'll have to wait till those mad sword mages finish. Stepping in now means we won't even leave bones behind."
"...Sword mages?"
"They exist. Details after treatment. Lost too much blood; brain's not working right."
"Alright, then... do that..."
As the call was about to end.
"No... need."
A faint voice.
"No need... to replan the Holy Grail recovery."
Natida slowly opened her eyes. Groaning, she extended her arm. Blood dripped from her clenched fist. From it burst a platinum starlight.
The light soon formed a chalice.
A shattered chalice. The broken Holy Grail—their original mission target—lay there.