The Sword of the War God
The Sword of the War God
Kwaaaaang!
The sound was far beyond anything a fist should produce. The Sword of the War God, struck without warning, tumbled across the ground and bounced away. Angie was on him before he landed, hammering blow after blow into his body.
The Master of Magic's self-destruction. The accumulated damage piled up strike by strike.
Against an opponent whose matched stats should have let him dominate through sheer technique, the Sword of the War God now found himself unable to overwhelm Angie. His suddenly elevated abilities meant nothing against his own exhaustion.
Both arms were shattered. He had no way to restrain her. But he didn't give up. The Sword of the War God let out a piercing roar and brought Victory down.
"Ungh!"
A strike meant to bisect a human. Angie's arms rose to block it. They broke, but they didn't sever.
The Sword of the War God hardened, watching those arms begin to regenerate. Angie froze for a heartbeat from the pain.
And then Aslan's words surfaced in her mind.
No matter what happens, don't let your feet stop.
So Angie moved. A simple front kick, no technique behind it. Sheer brute strength blasted the Sword of the War God backward.
Claaaang!
The body slid. A black silhouette closed the distance before he could recover. The moment he stopped, a fist rose.
Karak—!
Metal rasped.
The Fighting Spirit 10 perk was no flashy display, not like Luck or Magic Power. But it was formidable. Fighting Spirit elevated to the superhuman realm granted its wielder a body that knew no exhaustion.
It did not rout in battle. It did not flag.
It was a body that would not break against any fight, any hardship.
Its name was Indomitable.
In combat, this perk let the wielder ignore all movement restrictions and action constraints, nullify stat reductions, level drain, and status effects. It also doubled the use limit on existing weapon-technique perks. Exactly what Aslan needed right now.
A body drained to the point of collapse. A mind blurred by blood loss. And yet Aslan moved as if he were fresh.
On this battlefield, Aslan would not stop.
Karak. Fist clenched, Aslan set his stance.
A blow that should have been impossible to replicate barehanded.
A blow that was possible only now, with the perk active.
The stance was reminiscent of the Dragon-king.
Ancient martial arts built by the Dragon-kin across millennia. A simple forefist, but one cultivated across centuries—a single fist perfected with over a thousand years of life.
He could reproduce it with Acceleration. And Aslan had Acceleration.
Dense metallic muscle fibers contracted. Mana flowed through his prosthetic arm, amplifying his strength. His momentary stat value rivaled a full 10.
For an instant, Aslan became the Dragon-king.
Wooooong—!
Turbine roar ripped through the air.
Thunder Call.
An unfamiliar voice echoed through both Aslan's and the Sword of the War God's skulls.
Kwarururung!
And with thunder, a black trajectory hurtled toward the Sword of the War God.
Born anew at the utmost limit of martial arts and wrapped in lightning, the Dragon-king's forefist drove into the Myth Killer's spine.
"—!"
Mouth gaping in agony. Carapace splitting, scattering. Vertebrae cracking. Body bending backward.
——!
A circular shockwave bloomed as the body flew. Fragments of carapace were flung along the pressure wave. And waiting at the end of that flight was Angie.
Kwaaaaang!
An uppercut kick. The body hurtled into the air.
Beneath the sun's glare, the Sword of the War God was bewildered, unable to comprehend it. To be so thoroughly beaten by mere humans—it made no sense.
He, the Sword of the War God. The first Master of Combat. The final Emperor.
To be cornered and humiliated like this.
He'd burned his life, burned his divinity, cast everything aside with absolute resolve.
And yet he was the one dying.
After living as the Sword of the War God for over four thousand years, he couldn't process it. He could not accept that these insects' strength was enough to kill him.
But that was exactly what he'd overlooked. The strength of humans.
Hundreds of soldiers had thrown themselves at him, again and again, burning up their lives to chip him down.
He'd grown exhausted, worn, fending them off. His techniques became predictable. His tricks, exposed.
In the lives and deaths of countless heroes, he'd been stripped away and consumed, layer by layer.
The shallow wounds carved desperately into him by hundreds of soldiers had slowly tightened around his throat.
This was the moment those who valued something greater than their own lives, who were willing to die for it, finally sank their teeth in beyond death itself. Under one single purpose.
Kwaaaaang!
Embedded in the ground, the Sword of the War God couldn't understand that power. So he met it with his own.
Aslan charged, Purity in hand. The Sword of the War God raised Victory. Human will clashed against a priest's malice.
The Sword of the War God had the edge in raw power.
But Aslan didn't yield.
He met the god with the miracle in his grip, with the strength and will he'd wrung from burning himself to the brink.
Descending Victory and rising Purity collided. Amid the scattering sparks, red light and white traded lives back and forth.
Flame bloomed and died. They clashed, sharp and vicious, through every flare. Malice and will collided, drawing the line between life and death with a single razor edge.
Space rang. A deafening roar rippled outward. Aslan staggered through it, a thrust snagged by the Dragon-king's arm, shoved aside. He pivoted, pushing through. A long trailing arc stretched across the air.
Moon Splitting.
Shwaaaak—crack!
Face splitting. A slab of cheek shearing away. Angie launched herself at the tormented Sword of the War God.
Her body moved naturally into a dropkick.
A means to discharge overwhelming force without wasted motion. The accelerated dropkick slammed into his back plate. The Myth Killer's spine folded, blood bursting from his mouth.
Vertebrae already cracked grated out of alignment. He lost hold of his sword and tumbled across the earth.
Kurrrr. Dust erupted. The Sword of the War God raised his fist and lunged again, and Angie met him head-on.
Angie's strength was now marginally higher than the Sword of the War God's. Not enough to overturn the absolute gap in technique. Not enough to beat a high priest burning his very life and divinity.
But still.
Angie did not step back.
She deflected wild hooks with the back of her hand, shrugged off blows with her shoulder, and drove ten fists home in return. The Sword of the War God's overwhelming martial skill bloomed with only one arm—ten strikes hammered into Angie's face from ten different angles.
Yet she didn't fall. Instead, she took those ten punches and paid back one of her own.
Kwaaaaaang!
A single titanic blow that roared. The fist sank deep, blood gushing. The Myth Killer's body folded around it.
He barely straightened, retching, launched more attacks—and the pattern repeated.
She wouldn't go down. She wouldn't die. That was the impression seared into him.
In technique, the Sword of the War God was supreme. Their strength was near equal—a gap he could bridge with skill. But she wouldn't retreat. Beyond any chance of victory, bleeding out, entrails spilling, losing eyes, arms, legs—she still wouldn't retreat. She raised her fist again.
Watching Angie, the Sword of the War God felt fear.
A chill, primal terror.
A monster that would never die, never compromise.
To scrub away that fear, he forced Angie back, absorbing her blows and shoving with brute force rather than technique. A blow backed by power. Angie slid backward, and the Sword of the War God roared.
"——!"
A mournful howl. No answer came. Angie steadied her breathing and charged straight back in.
Her fist raised high, golden eyes blazing. A certain man reflected in those eyes.
The Sword of the War God spun convulsively to face that presence. Aslan.
Aslan, holding Purity in one hand and Victory in the other.
The Ancient God's blade blazed radiant. The greatsword shone vivid crimson, as if it had never been drenched in blood, as if it had finally found its true master.
Brilliant light.
The Sword of the War God screamed.
Four thousand years.
His entire existence.
That sword had been his only solace.
Torn from him, howling, the Sword of the War God raised his fist. Aslan angled both blades, as if to swing them simultaneously.
One Flash.
Twin sword strikes unleashed at once.
In the final instant, the Sword of the War God raised his arm to block the Sword Path aimed at him.
The arm would be sacrificed, but he could make up for it by tearing out Aslan's throat right after. The attack left a gaping opening. Even a split-second was enough to bite down.
The trick might not have worked if the Dragon-king's arm hadn't been wasted on holding a weapon. But right now, those fearsome fists were occupied gripping steel.
Victory seemed certain. The moment they collided, the Sword of the War God sensed something wrong.
Knight Slayer.
Screech!
A blade bit through the carapace of his arm and burrowed in. Only one blade.
Victory was not there.
The Dragon-king's arm had darkened further.
The Sword of the War God saw that hand and understood. Just before the clash, Aslan had applied Knight Slayer to his grip and deliberately let Victory slip free.
An attack naturally followed. The Sword of the War God turned his remaining eye. There stood Victory.
And a woman holding it high, without a trace of technique. Scarlet hair whipping, she brought the sword down with pure force.
He had to resist. If that sword landed, everything ended. The Sword of the War God tried to react, and Aslan twisted his wrist.
Purity, buried in his arm, reverted to an ordinary iron blade. The embedded edge angled, destroying his balance.
His body tilted.
Victory crashed down on top of it.
Eurrrjijijik!
Carapace split. Blood fountained. The body slammed into the earth and bounced.
The moment the Sword of the War God was helpless under that ferocious One Flash, Aslan dropped his sword and clenched his fist.
His target was the Sword of the War God.
The stance resembled the Dragon-king's. But it was slightly different.
No tail. No wings. No Acceleration. A stance Aslan had forged so he could replicate it anyway.
A stance born from twelve years of struggle and desperate battle, shaped from talent forcibly brought into bloom.
Thunder Call.
Aslan took that stance. The Sword of the War God met his eyes—and Aslan's form flickered, vanishing.
Kwarururung!
Gone with the thunder. A black trajectory surged. At the end of that arc, his fist glowed white.
A single fist to kill even the greatest beast.
A strike made by the gods to pierce the thick heart of a dragon.
Heart Piercing.
Martial arts perk: Heart Piercing.
Unleashed atop the Dragon-king's iron fist, the white-scaled knuckles shattered the Sword of the War God's chest.
His body buckled. The residual force wrapped in thunder swept the surroundings, hurling him away.
A completely pulverized heart dangled, spraying blood. Blood and soul alike spewed from his mouth.
As he flew, the Sword of the War God remembered something.
Not even a life's flashback. Just a childhood scene.
A portrait said to be the noblest of all, descended from the Emperor's bloodline.
The God of War and Knowledge.
His younger self gazing up at it in adoration.
Kwaggagagagagaga!
The residual force drove the Sword of the War God across the battlefield, scraping a furrow through the blood-soaked earth with his body.
Kugugugu...!
When that force finally died and the Sword of the War God came to a stop, he was staring at the sky.
The sky that had split open long ago, changing the world forever.
The sky that had remained open ever since that day.
The sky that had stayed open for the last Emperor, even after Sorrow and Death had closed it.
His chest was pierced clean through, a round hole.
His heart lay shattered, cold on the ground.
Lying flat on his back, gazing upward, the last Emperor—the high priest who'd mimicked the form of War and Knowledge—opened his mouth.
"—."
The light slowly faded from his eyes.
And at last, the open sky closed.