Chapter 72: Goodbye, Everyone (3)
Chapter 72: Goodbye, Everyone (3)
“Come.”
“I’m coming.”
“I am ready.”
“Then here I come. I’m really coming.”
“You talk too mu—gh?!”
Clang!
He vanished, then reappeared.
To Professor Late, who was facing him head-on, that was the only way to describe it.
There was no omen, no preparatory movement.
Patrick simply vanished, and by the time he reappeared, he was right in front of him.
Then came a sharp, flying strike.
Late managed to block it with his longsword, but the sheer absurdity of the speed terrified him, forcing him to take a large step back. However…
‘No, I can’t. If I retreat now….’
He couldn't let there be distance between him and Patrick.
Making a split-second decision, Professor Late suppressed his instinct to retreat and forced his feet forward.
When facing an opponent faster than yourself, creating distance is a fool’s errand.
You must go forward.
You simply have to keep pressing on.
“Haaah!”
With a spirited shout, Professor Late’s sword traced a disciplined arc as he attacked Patrick.
‘Oh, not bad.’
Patrick was impressed.
Late had instinctively stepped back after seeing Patrick's speed, but he immediately surged forward afterward.
Pushing forward without allowing distance against a faster opponent was the textbook response—the correct judgment.
However, executing that judgment required both courage and skill.
The sword Professor Late swung as he advanced was slower than Patrick’s, but it possessed a certain disciplined precision.
It was a refined style of swordsmanship that seemed to say, ‘This is the essence of the sword.’
His lower body was firm, his center of gravity unshaken even as he moved step by step.
His upper body was relaxed, allowing for fluid and supple movements.
Within that framework, the sword Professor Late swung felt like a feast of fundamentals, perfectly honed for actual combat.
‘Whoa…. So there are guys like this on the Pangemonia Continent too. This is what a master looks like. A real master.’
To Patrick, Professor Late was the first 6-Star Knight he had encountered in this world.
Strictly speaking, April was also a 6-Star, but her sword wasn't of Pangemonia; it was the sword of the Twin Dragon Sect that Patrick had taught her.
Since it was a style Patrick knew inside and out, it didn't move him much.
But Professor Late represented the pure swordsmanship of a Pangemonian master, something Patrick was experiencing for the first time.
To Patrick’s eyes, Pangemonian swordsmanship had seemed simple to the point of being crude, but the man standing before him had reached a certain realm by relentlessly polishing that very crudeness.
‘Is he somewhere between the Namgung Clan and the Qingcheng Sect?’
The sword of the Namgung Clan, which represented the Heavy Sword.
The sword of the Qingcheng Sect, which symbolized the Fast Sword.
Late’s swordsmanship sat delicately somewhere in the middle of those two.
Perhaps that was why a word of regret escaped Patrick’s lips.
“A bit disappointing.”
“What?”
“What is it you want to do?”
“…What do you mean by—ugh!”
Clang!
Patrick, who had been retreating while blocking Professor Late’s blade, launched his first counterattack.
Having created some space with that strike, Patrick spoke.
“I’m asking what you want to achieve with the sword.”
“What I want to achieve? With the sword?”
“No, let me ask something more basic. What do you think a sword is?”
“…….”
Late fell silent.
What is a sword? A sword is a sword.
A knight’s weapon.
However, Patrick’s question seemed to be asking something beyond such simplicity.
He was touching upon something that he—no, that the swordsmen of the Pangemonia Continent—had never even considered.
“It seems you’ve never thought about it.”
“…….”
Professor Late’s face flushed.
He could sense a faint trace of pity in the expression Patrick was directing at him.
For some reason, it felt incredibly shameful.
He felt like a child who had been caught making a mistake by his parents.
Patrick nodded and spoke.
“If you don’t know, then I must show you. What a sword is. What Martial Arts are.”
“…….”
“A sword is….”
Patrick swung his blade.
The moment Professor Late saw the trajectory of that sword—elegant yet precise—his eyes widened in shock.
‘Is this my swordsmanship?’
In the way Patrick wielded his two longswords, Late could clearly see his own technique.
How could Patrick, using two swords, perfectly replicate the swordsmanship of someone who used only one?
‘That makes no sense!’
As if mocking that doubt, Patrick drove him back, perfectly manifesting Late’s own style. At the same time, words flowed from his mouth.
“The root of the sword is a weapon—a lethal tool used to protect oneself and kill the enemy.”
“Guh….”
“But in the end, it is the human will that decides how that weapon is used.”
“Urgh….”
Patrick’s swords grew faster and faster.
Late, busy blocking, could no longer move forward and was forced to retreat continuously.
Watching from a distance, April nodded.
‘He’s having fun for the first time in a while.’
She had seen Patrick like this before.
It was the side of him he occasionally showed when he taught her one-on-one.
When he discovered a promising talent, he provided the advice and trials necessary to draw that talent out.
April knew well how great a blessing this was for anyone walking the Way of the Sword.
She decided to keep an eye on the surroundings to ensure no one else approached.
This crucial moment must not be interrupted.
“Sometimes, it is swift….”
Clang!
The sword turned into a flash of light.
Late hadn't blocked it because he saw it coming; he blocked it because his opponent had deliberately struck his blade.
“Sometimes, it is heavy.”
Boom!
“Gah….”
It was a heavy attack, as if a massive battle hammer were crushing down on him.
He blocked it, but the webbing of his hand holding the sword tore.
“Sometimes, it is soft.”
A sword? Was this even a sword?
The blade, which should have been made of steel, lashed out as softly as a whip.
Lashed? No, the usage was better described as ‘flowing.’
How could a sword made of solid iron move so fluidly?
Ssssh.
The flowing sword wound around Professor Late’s blade and sent it flying into the air.
Clang!
“…….”
Late stared blankly at Patrick.
He hadn't been able to do anything.
No, it wasn't a matter of being able to do something or not; this was…
“As you can see, the sword contains many possibilities. It reveals various forms depending on the direction the practitioner takes.”
“…Ah…. Um…. That….”
“However!”
Patrick cut his words sharply.
He looked at Professor Late as if reprimanding him.
“To not decide on a direction amidst those vast possibilities is like drifting on a boundless ocean without a destination. First, you must clarify what you want to do and pursue that goal correctly. That is the proper attitude for one who trains with the sword.”
“…….”
“Speed, power, technique, variation, timing.”
“…….”
“None of these are unimportant, but you must be clear about which one is your goal. Right now, you are lost and wandering between the directions of speed and power.”
“Wandering? Me?”
“Indeed. First, decide on your path and devote yourself to it. If you do, the other elements will naturally follow in that process.”
“A goal, a direction, a path to follow….”
The look in Professor Late’s eyes changed.
His gaze, which had lost its focus, seemed to be looking at something else.
What he saw was his own inner self.
The sword he had swung countless times without thought.
The sword he had swung simply because he was told to, following the basics he had learned.
In the beginning, that might have been right.
But what had he gained from a sword that merely repeated movements mindlessly without any direction?
Faster speed?
Honed technique?
Increased Mana?
‘It’s meaningless. If there is no goal, the means aren't even necessary. I… I was wrong.’
The moment he realized this, the energy in the Aura Hall within his Dantian surged upward.
Passing through his lower abdomen and rising, his energy settled in his heart, knocking on the door of another space existing there.
“Ah…. Aaaah….”
Late trembled.
This was it. This was how it should have been.
Why hadn't he known?
How much time had he wasted because he didn't know this simple truth?
Two streaks of clear tears rolled down Professor Late’s cheeks.
Just as those tears, a mixture of remorse and ecstasy, flowed past his chin toward the ground…
“Ah…. Aaaah….”
The energy that had risen from his lower Dantian firmly established itself in his middle Dantian.
Then, as if possessed, Late picked up his sword from the ground and infused it with his energy.
Vroooooom.
Aura overflowed through the sword.
An energy far clearer and more powerful than before gathered on the blade.
But he felt he could do even more than this now.
‘The flowing Aura…. I will control it as one.’
In that instant, the Aura gathered on the sword condensed, its density skyrocketing. And then…
Flash!
A brilliantly shining blade of light stood there.
An Aura Blade.
The proof of the 7-Star Realm, the supreme stage.
“Oh…. Ohhh….”
The second 7-Star swordsman of the Atronia Kingdom had emerged right here.
“Well, that’s only natural.”
Patrick smirked as he watched the overcome Professor Late.
Considering the basics ingrained in his body and the energy he felt, Late was someone who should have been able to do this long ago.
However, the swordsmen of this Pangemonia Continent lacked a sense of purpose regarding the sword.
The Namgung Clan pursued the Heavy Sword.
The Qingcheng Sect pursued the Fast Sword.
The Mount Hua Sect pursued the Illusion Sword.
The Peng Family pursued the Path of the Hegemon.
The Wudang Sect pursued the Taiji.
In the Martial World, even those who didn't practice martial arts knew these things.
In the Wudang Sect’s territory, even the street urchins would play by drawing circles in the air with wooden sticks, shouting, “Yah! Taiji Sword Method!”
In the Mount Hua Sect’s territory, kids would play by drawing flower patterns with sticks, babbling about the “Twenty-Four Plum Blossoms.”
‘It was a sight that used to make my stomach churn, seeing how much influence those prestigious Orthodox Sects had. But on the flip side, it meant that suggesting and pursuing a direction for one’s martial arts was just common sense in the Jianghu.’
That obvious common sense was missing here.
Just work hard.
Just be sincere.
Just be consistent.
The swordsmen of this continent were fools who swung their swords blindly, believing they would eventually reach a higher realm if they just kept at it.
To Patrick, it was more than just pitiful; it was absurd.
So, he gave him a piece of advice.
Setting aside their relationship as professor and student, it was advice given out of pity for a junior wandering like a tiny boat on the vast ocean of the sword.
Patrick didn't do this often, but this time…
‘Well, it was just a whim.’
He did it because he felt like it.
There was no deeper meaning.
And how did Professor Late react to Patrick?
Thud!
“Thank you.”
He knelt and bowed his head, expressing his gratitude with the utmost respect.
“Is it okay for a knight to just kneel like that?”
“Aside from before the Royal Family, this is the first time I have knelt of my own accord.”
“Whoa…. Those are some expensive knees.”
Though his voice was playful, Professor Late couldn't sense any disrespect in it.
Whatever Patrick said, whatever he did, everything began to feel special to him.
‘Is this how priests feel when they receive an oracle?’
The thought even crossed his mind.
Patrick waved his hand at the professor.
“Well, there’s no need to be that thankful. I just placed a single cornerstone on top of the foundation you already built.”
“If you hadn't placed that cornerstone, I would have wandered for decades more, wouldn't I?”
“Well, I suppose….”
“Setting aside our roles as professor and student, I express my deepest gratitude as a fellow swordsman. I have incurred a debt I can never repay in a lifetime.”
“Oh. Is that so?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“Is that sooooo?”
The corners of Patrick’s mouth curled up into a long grin.
“You’ve incurred a debt? Then you’ll have to pay it back, won't you?”
“That is… of cour…se… but….”
Professor Late’s eyes wavered significantly.
Until just a moment ago, he had felt the ecstasy of a believer receiving the gospel.
However, the source of that oracle was a bit…
“Hahaha. Then you’ll have to listen to what I say from now on, right? Since I am your ben-e-fac-tor, after all.”
“I… suppose… so?”
“Mm-hmm, good attitude. A very good attitude. If you’ve received a favor, you should naturally repay it. Yes, indeed.”
“…….”
What was this? This feeling that he had made a terrible mistake?
Should he back out now?
The thrill of achieving the 7-Star Realm, the supreme stage, was slowly fading, replaced by a creeping sense of unease that whispered, ‘I don’t think this is right.’