The Patchwork Champion
Even in spirit she seemed to be growing a little tougher. Emotions she had never known in the forest, desires she had never touched, were now within her reach; like a child becoming an adult, Auryll was moving forward.
Once she had calmly ordered her thoughts she turned her gaze to the arena. From either side Randolph and the Champion were beginning to reveal themselves.
…!
The instant she saw the Champion, Auryll shivered. She knew at once. An aura so vast it pressed against the skin itself. Blue energy coiled around the Champion like a dragon at rest.
…Strong. Stronger, perhaps, even than Karas.
And it was not merely a matter of power.
He’s clearly human, yet…
He was human. The Champion was unmistakably human. Yet to an elf’s senses he was something far removed from any ordinary man.
Human… mixed?
Several scents were layered together. Not the scent of one man, but of many. A single human could never carry so many different smells. The only explanation was that he truly was mixed—flesh, organs, countless parts replaced and blended until this form had been born.
And none of those parts had belonged to ordinary humans.
Powerhouses who once dominated their eras. And not just any…
Bodies of those who had stood at the absolute peak of their fields. Men and women who had driven themselves until there was nowhere left to climb—gathered, assembled, completed into the Champion.
Moreover—
An incredibly ancient scent is mixed in as well.
A damp, musty odor that felt easily thousands of years old existed alongside the rest. How was that even possible? If the flesh was thousands of years old it would have come from before the continents rose into the sky. Human corpses rot within days. She had never heard of anyone who could find corpses that had refused to decay for millennia, stitch them together so seamlessly, and restore them to life. Not even a lich of the highest order, not even Death King of Kramdel, could create undead of this caliber. And this was not undead at all.
Worse—he’s still replacing parts right now, swapping them for stronger bodies…!
Auryll’s fists clenched tight. The Champion was still refining himself without pause. The mingled scents numbered well over a hundred. A hundred bodies could not coexist inside one frame unless they were being endlessly exchanged.
Ah…
The realization made her shudder. If Randolph lost, one of his own body parts could become the Champion’s. Judging by the surging auras, it was not merely flesh that was taken; techniques and qualifications were stolen as well. The High Druid’s authority itself could be seized. A monster among monsters who had absorbed more than a hundred perfected arts and made the power of those who had reached the summit entirely his own!
Then, suddenly, Auryll understood one more truth. Even while endlessly exchanging for stronger flesh, there was one organ he had never replaced across those thousands of years. The moment she confirmed it, her pupils began to shake wildly.
How… do you even fight something like that?
Thump! Thump!
His heart was racing. When had it last beaten like this? Certainly not in the past year. Back then he had only watched.
Wilhelm’s successor!
Right before him stood one who had inherited Wilhelm’s art. Not the man himself, yet facing the one who carried his legacy was enough. Enough to scrape away the last of the lingering regret.
No—regret was not all of it.
…I can grow stronger.
This man had completely mastered Wilhelm’s techniques, without the slightest flaw. Swordsmanship the Champion himself had never managed to perfect was unfolding before him with absolute certainty. Through the body of Emperor Penguin, the techniques of Wilhelm that lived only as memory could be recreated more perfectly still—reaching that absolute realm of the blade that memory alone had never been able to touch. The qualification of existence he had failed to claim a year ago… at last he would climb to it.
Seize it. Cut it free by force and stitch it on. Make everything yours!
A voice rang inside his skull.
“Nngh…”
The Champion shook his head once, hard.
What was I just thinking?
His head pounded as though it would split. The devil’s whispers came at regular intervals, and lately their frequency had been rising.
“The match between Emperor Penguin and the Champion begins!”
“Wooooooooah!”
“Waaaaaaaaah!!!”
The fight started and the crowd roared. That was of no concern. The only thing the Champion had to do was bring down the figure standing in front of him.
Blue Dragon Kick.
Gwoooooom!
Kra-kra-kra-kraaak!
A blue dragon roared and crashed down upon Emperor Penguin. Now—how far would Wilhelm’s successor be able to stop him? One hundred eight unique techniques polished to the level of mastery. He only hoped the man would block at least half of them.
Familiar.
That vast aura and presence, like a blue dragon itself.
The moment the Champion drove his foot into the ground I was certain.
Blue Dragon Kick.
A blue dragon erupted from the earth and lunged at me in a single breath. Blue Dragon Kick. And I knew the one who used this technique.
…Blue Dragon Legend. A skill from one of my alts.
It felt like being struck hard across the skull. Blue Dragon Legend. A character I had painstakingly raised under the hidden class “Descendant of the Blue Dragon.” Blue Dragon Kick was that character’s strongest Transcendence skill. Yet the Champion was absolutely not Blue Dragon Legend. That alt was sealed away on Blue Dragon Mountain, far from the Tower of the War God, precisely because I had grown tired of living in the “Descendant’s” shadow.
Gwoooooooom!
I watched the dragon rush me. Far more complete than the Heavenly Dragon Kick Blue Dragon Legend had used. A shape that more perfectly embodied the true Blue Dragon.
…Ha.
What was this? Someone using a skill from my own alt character, and in a form more finished than the original? Impossible—yet happening right in front of me.
Creation of Heaven and Earth—Earth.
The Earth of Creation of Heaven and Earth. The swordsmanship that resonates with every attack and dismantles it. That blue dragon was originally my own alt’s skill. I simply thrust my sword and shredded the dragon’s core to pieces.
“Aaaah, as expected!”
At the same moment the Champion cried out. I frowned inwardly. Anyone would have seen it as an ordinary thrust. Had he recognized it? Recognized Wilhelm’s swordsmanship, the very principle of Creation of Heaven and Earth?
The Champion ate Wilhelm’s star.
He had also eaten the Sun’s star. Perhaps a fragment of Wilhelm’s memory had carried over.
“Death Dragon Sword!”
Black haze rose from his left arm. The arm itself became a blade carrying the nature of a dragon of death. A skill my Blue Dragon Legend could never have used. Another Transcendence skill, another unique skill. Just how many unique skills—skills so rare that even a single character struggled to obtain one—was this man wielding?
…Interesting.
He was clearly not normal. Still, after clashing directly I understood the rough outline.
A mixed existence. That must be how it was possible.
His entire body was no longer his own. Countless fragments had been joined into one strange whole. Different from a chimera. A synthetic chimera only gains the functions of the replaced flesh; the Champion before me seemed able to use both the flesh’s functions and its techniques.
Clang! Shraaang!
Kraaaaaang!
We collided, I dismantled, and the exchange continued. Skills and attacks that changed form without end were maddeningly difficult to handle.
“Divine Sword Unity!”
He deliberately shouted the names of his techniques, clearly enjoying himself. He truly wanted to know how far I could stop him.
…Yet.
At the name that left his lips I scowled again.
Divine Sword Unity?
…MentaikoConan?
MentaikoConan. A master of the sword I had raised with ten thousand SP. He had died. Everything had been reset and lost. Yet Divine Sword Unity was MentaikoConan’s Transcendence swordsmanship—the skill that externalized the realm of becoming one with the blade, usable only by a true swordmaster. A skill belonging to a character already dead… and the Champion was using it.
He definitely died in the Hell Worm Pit dungeon.
Hell Worm Pit. A dungeon I had found by chance, one no one else knew. How had he located the corpse that lay there?
Chiiiiing!
He gave me no time to continue the thought. Speed even greater. Blade tip even more precise. Divine Sword Unity was an unavoidable attack; it could not be deflected. For thirty seconds it also forced the special critical rate to one hundred percent. Even if blocked, damage stacked. A unique skill only MentaikoConan could use. The best option was simply not to clash while it lasted. That was how broken unique skills were.
Just how many unique skills does he have?
At this point I truly wanted to know. How many unique skills this creature possessed—and the secret of the body that made it possible.
As expected!
His eyes had not been wrong.
Aaaah.
The Champion let out a moan thick with bliss. Emperor Penguin had already blocked more than ten techniques.
Wilhelm’s successor should be able to do at least this much!
It matched his expectations—no, it exceeded them. Moreover the principle behind Emperor Penguin’s swordsmanship was unmistakably Wilhelm’s. The one sword art that he himself, master of over a hundred unique techniques, had never been able to unfold.
This can’t be everything!
Heaven of Creation of Heaven and Earth. Earth of Creation of Heaven and Earth. With only those two he was meeting every attack, reading every movement, dismantling every strike. Was it leisure? Or was this truly all he had? No—it could not be all. Just as the Champion had not yet revealed everything, Emperor Penguin was holding back as well.
At least thirty…!
Even Karas had barely managed to stop seventy. His rank had already fallen because of Sancha, true, but in the five years since he had never shown more than that.
Block more. Show me your limit! Successor of Wilhelm!
In the blink of an eye the Champion had displayed twenty techniques. He nodded deeply. Had the man failed to stop even these, the disappointment would have been great.
Soon thirty techniques had been shown, and the Champion murmured in quiet admiration.
He still has strength left to stop me!
Breath steady. Movement stable. There was still room. Just as expected, Wilhelm’s swordsmanship surpassed imagination. If he could only make that swordsmanship his own… he might even be able to kill the Demon Kings.
…Not bad.
The match entered its middle stage. Already sixty unique skills had been unveiled. Yet the Champion’s techniques grew stronger the more they stacked. Stopping them this far was already a miracle, but that miracle would soon meet its limit.
Ha.
What was this creature?
When the seventieth technique finally left his body the Champion’s expression slowly hardened. He had surpassed Karas’s record. Simply calling him Wilhelm’s successor no longer felt adequate for this level of skill.
He still has room to spare?
Even more astonishing was Emperor Penguin’s condition. He was still meeting him with only those same two techniques.
Was that even possible?