Creation of Heaven and Earth

Softness conquers strength.

Half true. Half false.

Strength has no ceiling. Softness does.

And keeping softness intact demands far more labor and care than simply remaining strong.

Wilhelm’s swordsmanship was exactly that.

Dominate the domain, then turn the opponent’s force back upon them.

Absolute strength exists. Absolute softness does not.

Strike and shatter, and you wear yourself down.

Using an enemy’s power against them is the highest form of martial art—defeating the great with the small—but every single reflection burns through a concentration beyond imagination. And because the joints are forced into unnatural angles, prolonged combat grinds everything away until nothing remains.

And himself?

Strength without limit.

The more he struck, the stronger he became.

That was why he was certain of victory.

There was more.

He barely moves. No—he can’t move freely.

They had only exchanged a single clash, yet that was enough. Even when Wilhelm could have inflicted far greater injury, he had merely nicked the skin. Proof that he was deliberately suppressing every motion outside the exact plane of an incoming attack.

In short:

Countering. Every nerve he has is locked on that one act alone.

The man did not move.

He never had, from the very start.

He only ever returned whatever came at him.

Sancha, who had poured everything into his opening assault, had essentially volunteered for death.

And yet… why?

Why, with such overwhelming ability, did he do nothing but receive?

“Not used to moving a body, are you?”

“······.”

Wilhelm did not answer.

Because it was not wrong.

Park Hyunmyung’s flesh, ten intact ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Golden Rules, and Karas’s divinity had secured him ten hours of movement—yet still:

Not enough.

Piloting another’s body was genuinely difficult. Even for Wilhelm, greatest of them all. And he had none of the equipment he once wore. This was no true resurrection. Everything was lacking; nothing was complete. The Golden Rule had reshaped him into Wilhelm’s form, but even this body was not his own.

Perhaps that was why.

Above all else, it was insufficient.

The flesh could not keep pace with the will. Subtle differences in height, the transmission speed of muscle and nerve—none of it met the standard required for his ultra-precise swordsmanship.

No. Those are only excuses.

Wilhelm shook his head at once. All of it was excuse. That damn god had moved this body as if it were his own, without a single error, and carved out countless achievements. If he could do it, so could Wilhelm. He needed no help from any damn god.

“I’ll give you time to adapt. I want you at your best as well.”

“Unnecessary.”

Wilhelm cut Raiga’s offer short. Hardship of this degree was not hardship at all.

Then he lifted his gaze and looked Raiga full in the face.

The Empire’s First Sword.

He knew the reputation well. The foremost hero who had expanded imperial territory by exploring the Abyss, the strongest of his age—always mentioned in the same breath as Wilhelm himself.

Raiga, Wilhelm, and every spectator watching this fight all shared the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠same question.

Who was stronger?

Who was the strongest?

“Then… so be it.”

A sharp whistle of air—

A deep, rolling roar—

Crimson energy erupted across Raiga’s entire body like a volcano bursting to life.

“Second Gate—Open.”

The First Gate birthed tyrannical power.

The Second Gate birthed speed like light.

But he did not stop there.

A low, thrumming boom filled the air.

“Third Gate—Open.”

The volcanic surge of energy collapsed back into Raiga’s frame. Opening the Third Gate forged the hardest body in the world. In this state Raiga was nearly invincible—capable of indiscriminately slaughtering even the masters of the Abyss.

A wet, compressing crack as his muscles folded in on themselves—

A piercing whistle—

In a single instant, Raiga vanished.

But even that instant was only an instant.

A shattering impact!

Raiga’s blade scattered Wilhelm’s stance. The sword vibrated at ultra-high frequency and lunged straight for Wilhelm’s throat.

A thin, screaming scrape of steel on steel.

Wilhelm tried to turn even this force back, yet reflecting a blade that moved in super-vibration was never simple. Even if he managed the reflection, striking Raiga’s body itself was still more impossible. He would only burn his own stamina.

Yet merely receiving it was already extraordinary. No one had ever caught a Third-Gate blade to this degree. Simply enduring Raiga’s speed was a miracle in its own right.

A smile touched Raiga’s lips.

Let’s see how long you last, Wilhelm.

The community exploded all over again.

Knight King versus Knight King. No one could see even an inch ahead.

But as time passed, Wilhelm’s posture began to look more and more like he was being driven back. Defensive posts started to appear.

The presence or absence of Unique-grade equipment exerted an enormous influence on combat. When the disparity was this overwhelming, pure skill alone had hard limits on how far it could overturn the result.

Everyone wondered about Phantom. And at the center of the legend that made Phantom a legend stood Wilhelm, every time. Had the Great Expedition succeeded, it would have become an eternal tale. Yet then, as now, the only one who had advocated for and carried out the expedition into the Demon Realm was Wilhelm.

The man who recognized the danger of the Demon Realm and still stepped forward with courage. Many players carried a quiet guilt toward the one who had charged ahead risking death.

If they had known monsters would be summoned to Earth and demonkin would invade, they never would have done those things. Hunting down characters that looked like Phantom’s alts. Interfering with Wilhelm’s trials. Not a single one of those acts. They would have joined his courageous challenge instead.

But during the Great Expedition, Pangenia had still been nothing more than an unusual game to them. Everything only began the moment the expedition ended.

One by one, people began to cheer for Wilhelm.

Blessings gathered.

Protection stacked.

Little by little, the trickle became a roaring flood.

Messages arrived without end.

In an instant, a thousand hours’ worth of Broken Fragments of the Golden Rule had gathered.

And with that gathered time—

A brilliant flare ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of light—

The shape of the sword changed.

The Path of Light.

The blade Wilhelm himself had driven into the Demon King’s heart.

It was only a temporary form shaped from Golden Rule fragments, yet that alone was enough. It would hold for at least the ten hours needed to climb the tower.

Now I can finally move properly.

The familiar sword settled into his grip, and at last his motion grew natural. Controlling the body became easier still. Will and flesh were becoming one.

Of course, the phenomenon might not have been simple blessing alone. Those people were supporting him completely—supporting Wilhelm.

Perhaps that was why.

Only now did it feel as though he could truly unfold his swordsmanship.

Heaven.

Heaven of Creation of Heaven and Earth.

The sword art that dominated a domain and controlled the opponent. Yet that was not all. It was the ability to read the opponent—to become the opponent.

Earth.

Earth of Creation of Heaven and Earth.

The sword art that resonated with every attack and dismantled it. Yet this, too, was not merely about nullifying strikes. Becoming the opponent, resonating with everything they were, and understanding them—that was the core of the technique.

Opening.

Opening of Creation of Heaven and Earth.

The sword that opened the world. The authority that transcended the opponent’s space and everything else until one became the center ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of the world. From this stage onward, one could commune with all creation. In the truest sense, one became a god.

And then—

Creation.

Once more, the world was created anew.

From the moment the Path of Light took form, Wilhelm’s movement, his presence, everything about him—including Raiga himself—changed.

But the most decisive transformation was—

The swordsmanship.

The path the blade traveled. The trajectory itself should have been the same. Yet the majesty carried within the sword had changed. The grade of the blade. The entirety of Wilhelm’s existence.

······ What is this?

Gaps vanished. No attack landed. He was being read. Everything was being read. Was this what it felt like to stand naked in broad daylight? As if gazing into the future, Wilhelm predicted every path Raiga would take.

But that should have been impossible.

Wilhelm was resonating with him perfectly.

Is this bastard insane?

The curse rose unbidden. To resonate with an opponent was to understand the opponent completely. Yet the world was said to be a river whose depths no one fully knew. Completely understanding and grasping another human being was impossible even for a god—unless one abandoned the self and devoted every scrap of mind, always, to comprehending the surroundings…

And even then, the mental expenditure would be transcendent. Unless one were a being composed solely of spirit—unless one lacked a body, or lived like stone, never moving, spending an entire lifetime only understanding and reading everything around them—the attempt itself was impossible.

Therefore this man was not normal.

This man was—

“Ghk—!”

He was being overwhelmed.

Overwhelmed.

He, called the Empire’s First Sword. He, judged the most outstanding among all the predecessors of the Eight Houses. Every time their blades met, he felt a wall.

It could not be.

How could another man understand and dismantle the swordsmanship he had spent a lifetime honing and nothing else? If such a thing were possible, the word “genius” would not be enough. Only someone who had poured in even greater effort than Raiga himself could manage it. And anyone who had made that much effort should, by rights, have been attached to their own self. Completely and perfectly resonating with something else should have been utterly impossible.

…Twisted.

This man—Wilhelm—was twisted to a severe degree.

Fourth Gate—Open.

In the end, Raiga opened the fourth gate.

From here on, a single misstep meant self-destruction. Power capable of killing even a god. Opening the upper dantian granted divine force and, at last, the observational power to read every phenomenon.

And yet—

I… can’t win?

He looked around.

Darkness.

He had already been swallowed by Wilhelm. Without noticing at all—in the same fleeting instant their blades had simply been clashing.

But it was not over yet.

The final gate remained.

The Fifth Gate.

Open that, and though his life would be drastically shortened, he might still win.

Yet deep inside, Raiga shook his head.

His entire body trembled.

He lifted his gaze and looked up at the vast wall that stood before him.

This swordsmanship…

Wilhelm’s blade…

Had not yet been fully revealed. This was not the sword that contained everything he was.

And even so—

It has already surpassed my sword.

······ He had no choice but to admit it now.

Isabella’s words had not been wrong. He finally understood why, when asked who was stronger, she had answered without a moment’s hesitation.

Knight King Wilhelm.

This man was the strongest.