The True Flower Spirit
Raon stared, eyes wide, at the golden radiance pouring from the holes in the cave wall.
This isn't graffiti, and it didn't happen on its own.
Sword marks. Every last one of those hundreds of holes had been carved by a blade.
And not just any blade. A sword art I already know.
He understood now why the sight had felt so familiar from the first glance. The scars cut into this cave had been made with a technique he himself had learned.
"A sword art you already know?"
That's right. The gap in realm is enormous — but I'm certain.
The six Rings of Fire turning at his heart told him exactly what this sword art was.
Flower Spirit.
These were the traces of Flower Spirit — the technique he used most often among the sword arts of the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames, and the one that had grown another step only recently.
"For that technique, there are an awful lot of holes, and they're far too large."
I told you. The difference in realm is severe.
It was Flower Spirit, yes — but not the same Flower Spirit. This was Flower Spirit as wielded by a swordsman standing so high above him he could only look up.
Raon did not blink. He swept his gaze over every last mark, determined to take in every sword scar the cave had to offer.
A low hum rolled through the stone.
Almost no time had passed, and already the gold flashing from the sword marks was fading like dying meteors, slipping away into nothing.
I haven't seen it all yet…
He bit down hard on his lip and stepped toward the wall, but the vanishing light did not return.
"Damn it!"
He had failed to fully grasp the clusters of light bursting from the traces. Hoping they would show him just a little more, he set his hand against the wall.
Heat surged from the cold stone, and his vision flooded with white.
The world changed.
A cave far wider than the one he stood in now opened before him. The countless holes were gone.
Upon ground that shuddered as if it might collapse at any moment, two men faced each other.
The one with his back turned was the blonde swordsman Raon had seen before. Opposite him, a grotesque figure whose pupils were inverted — white where they should have been black, black where they should have been white — flexed his fingers.
The freak's left hand ignited in black fire, and the flames clinging to the swordsman's blade began to warp and tear apart.
The swordsman did not so much as flinch at that bizarre power. With a blade that held only a thin remnant of aura, and with footwork so exquisite it seemed to belong to another world, he turned aside every savage assault and waited for a gap.
The freak's attacks grew heavier. He shifted the black energy from his left hand to his right, gathering it to unleash a far more terrible wave.
In that sliver of an instant, when the freak's power fell out of balance—
the blonde swordsman's blade rose like a thunderbolt. The flames of materialized Ganggi coiled around the edge, and in a single breath they swallowed the entire cave.
Was this how the leaves of the World Tree fell? Scarlet petals of flame, covering the whole of the sword, scattered on the air and consumed every inch of space.
The freak wrenched his strength back into his left hand, but it was already too late. Hundreds of petals born from the blonde swordsman's blade had claimed the cave entire.
The true form of Flower Spirit melted the freak without mercy — and still had force enough left over to bring down the ceiling and the walls, carving the sword marks that remained to this day.
Golden light surged.
Acquiring Ring of Fire (6-Star).
Acquiring Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames (4-Star).
Achievement insufficient.
His entire field of vision drowned in gold once more. He shut his eyes against the piercing light, and when he opened them, the original empty cave was waiting.
"Hah…"
Raon clenched a trembling hand and studied the cave wall.
So that's the real Flower Spirit.
It was not a handful of petals flicked out through illusion sword and transformation sword. The true Flower Spirit was a rain of Ganggi petals vast enough to cover the world.
He had mastered both, then. The Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames and the Ring of Fire.
There was no room left for doubt. That blonde swordsman — an ancestor of Zieghart — had acquired the Ring of Fire and the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames, just as Raon had.
His being here makes sense, too.
He did not seem to belong to the Heavy Martial Palace, but he was an ancestor of House Zieghart. Finding him in this place was no strange thing.
That other one, though…
The freak whose whites were black and whose irises were white — Raon had no idea who or what he was. He had never seen the man, never even heard of him.
He was still turning over why such a creature would be inside Zieghart territory when he felt Wrath's frost and fury seeping in, slow and crawling.
A sharp hiss cut the air.
Raon raised the Ring of Fire and the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames together and severed Wrath's energy in a single stroke.
"Ghk—!"
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Y-your soul vanished for a moment, so This King was checking whether you still lived."
"That's a pretty deep check for a simple look-in."
"D-don't make This King laugh! Had This King truly set his mind to it, your carcass would already have been eaten!"
"Then I'd just take it back."
Raon looked down at Wrath with a perfectly calm face.
"Y-you insolent little—"
"Though I suppose you wouldn't stoop to something that cheap."
"What?"
"A lofty monarch of the Demon Realm wouldn't do anything as filthy and underhanded as jumping an empty body. If you take this body, you'll do it properly — with your own power and your own ability. Isn't that right?"
"Y-you understand well! Of course! This King is a monarch of the Demon Realm! This King would never commit the cheap crime of looting an empty house!"
A little space, a little expectation, and Wrath uncrossed his arms and drew a thoroughly satisfied smile.
That should keep him from touching me if anything like this happens again.
Having set the psychological pressure in place, Raon turned his thoughts to the true Flower Spirit.
Even if I reach Master, copying that is impossible.
In the memory, every single petal of that man's Flower Spirit had been made of Ganggi. That was a realm he would have to grow into for a long time even after becoming a Master.
But I can get close.
Flame from the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames surged up the length of Raon's sword. With the Ring of Fire at six stars, he could now run his aura at full force even inside this warped space.
He dragged the four-star Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames to its extreme and unfolded Flower Spirit. The fire that had clung to the blade fountained outward, and dozens of petals scattered on the air.
In power and in number it could not begin to compare with the blonde swordsman's — but he could feel that it had grown a little since the fight with Horaine.
Let's try a bit more.
He was reaching for the memory, about to draw Flower Spirit again, when the message appeared.
You have observed a Flower Spirit that has reached perfection.
Acquisition of Flower Spirit is accelerated.
The same kind of message that had appeared when he watched Glenn's Supreme Harmony Footwork. A growth-enhancement notice that showed itself when he witnessed a martial art even a Demon King would find worth learning.
Right when I needed it!
He clenched his fist. With this acquisition boost, he would be able to take in the blonde swordsman's Flower Spirit that much faster.
"Wh-what is this! Why is this popping up all of a sudden!"
Wrath shook the message wildly, as if he could not believe what he was seeing.
"Where did you just go, and what did you look at!"
Who knows…
Raon dismissed the message and answered inwardly. He had just come back from a private lesson with the ancestor.
The training ground of House Sullion.
"Open Formation!"
"Open Formation!"
Following the rich, rolling voice of Lokan Sullion, head of House Sullion, the swordsmen moved as one, unfolding a sword formation that was at once splendid and unshakably stable.
A deep resonance built as the swordsmen's presence climbed the spine of the formation and burst into a mighty wave.
"Snow Wall!"
Lokan Sullion lifted a finger. The swordsmen shifted the formation into a diamond and poured out a still sharper pulse of force.
It was the shape of a charging formation, built to smash an enemy's ranks.
"Dual Link!"
Lokan Sullion changed the formation's shape in sequence, and the swordsmen followed every order, knitting different formations together into a perfect whole.
"Mm!"
Lokan nodded in satisfaction at the smoothly completed formation. On a day this important, watching his swordsmen produce a flawless sword formation filled his chest with pride.
She saw that, didn't she?
Eager to know how his daughter — the child he would not trade for the world — had taken in that perfect formation, he turned his head to the right.
"Eh…?"
Lokan's mouth fell open. His beloved daughter was staring blankly at the sky — not at him, and not at the formation.
Urgh…
He had known she was a little vacant, but he had not expected her to show no interest in the formation at all. His hands trembling, he approached Runaan.
"Ru-Runaan?"
Lokan caught the shoulder of his vacant-eyed daughter.
"What are you thinking about? You should be watching your father work."
"Raon."
"Urk?"
The name that left Runaan's mouth set his teeth grinding. It was the name of the man he currently hated most in the world.
"R-Raon? What about him?"
He forced the smile to stay on his face.
"The instructor told me about Raon yesterday."
"The instructor — you mean Rimer?"
"Mm."
Lokan bit his lip. So that was why her focus had been off all day. Rimer must have slipped in for a visit.
"That bastard. I mean — what did the instructor say?"
"He said Raon beat someone from the Heavy Martial Palace named Horaine."
"Ho-Horaine? Did you say Horaine?"
At the name Horaine, Lokan's eyes flew wide.
"Th-that's absurd! Horaine is Expert Peak-Class! Genius or not, a seventeen-year-old doesn't beat that!"
"Raon wins."
"Runaan. A gap in realm isn't something you just—"
"Raon wins."
"No, even among Experts the quality of growth—"
"Raon wins."
Runaan nodded, her luminous purple eyes shining. She looked ready to believe he had slain a dragon.
Kh…
He had no idea what Raon had done to sink his claws this deep into his precious daughter.
"Th-then how about a wager with your father?"
Deciding this might actually work in his favor, Lokan raised his index finger.
"A wager?"
"That's right. I'll show you just how severe a gap in realm can be. Come this way."
Lokan led Runaan to the left side of the training ground.
"Your father will use only half a realm more power than you."
"Mm."
"If you land even a single attack on me, I'll give you a present."
"A present…"
At the word present, Runaan's eyes sparkled. She was definitely thinking of ice cream.
"But if you don't land a single one, you forget about Raon from this moment on and focus on your father's lessons. Understood?"
"Mm."
Runaan nodded at once. She drew her sword as if to say, hurry up.
"Then — begin!"
Lokan called the start, but Runaan did not rush in. She lowered her stance, a clear will burning in her violet eyes.
Hoh. Not bad.
He had known she had grown, but he had not expected this kind of composure. She was his daughter, after all.
"I'm coming."
Runaan gave him warning first, then stretched her right leg far behind her. Like a mountain goat taking a cliff, her leg slammed the earth and she shot forward.
"Hhk—!"
The speed was a thunderbolt riding ice. Lokan's hand twitched.
This is…
The charging technique of the female chieftain who guarded the Katam Jungle. Fast as a shaft of light, and free to change direction at will. Runaan was reproducing the technique perfectly.
I can't cut this off at the level I promised.
At his current output — the martial realm he had sworn to her — he was not confident he could fully stop that charge.
"Kh—!"
If he drew up even a fraction more power he could turn it aside with ease, but Lokan could not bring himself to cheat his daughter. He settled into a guard using only the strength he had promised.
A sharp crack split the air.
Runaan flashed past him, and Lokan's sleeve tore in a short, clean rip.
"Runaan…"
Lokan stared at the sleeve and let out a hollow breath. It was not mere growth in raw power. She had learned a technique like this. He was so moved he thought he might cry.
"To use the footwork of the chieftain who guards the Katam Jungle at that level! Magnificent!"
He had forgotten Raon entirely, eyes welling with pride — and then he heard Runaan's answer, and froze like a broken doll.
"To help Raon."
"T-to help Raon?"
"Mm."
Runaan nodded as if that were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Ra-Raon. Raon Zieghart…"
Lokan's shoulders and arms shook as he muttered the name.
"I can't take this anymore!"
He stamped the ground as if he meant to charge at Raon that very instant.
"I'll break that brat's legs!"
"Hey! The family head's at it again!"
"Stop him! Everyone grab on!"
"You — go get the madam! She's the only one who can hold him!"
The swordsmen of House Sullion, who had been watching in growing dread, rushed in as a pack and seized Lokan.
"Raaaaaoooon!"
Runaan left Lokan's howling behind her, kicked her feet idly, and stared blankly up at the sky.
"We have to eat ice cream together."
Raon refused to let the opening slip. With his learning ability temporarily heightened, he unfolded Flower Spirit without end.
He did not sleep, of course. He did not even chew the Nadin Bread Wrath so despised — he swallowed it whole. He shaved the time it took to drink water down to nothing and swung his sword, and swung it, and swung it.
He turned the Ring of Fire, emptied his aura completely, filled it again with the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames, emptied it again, filled it again, and repeated Flower Spirit and nothing else.
The achievement speed of Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames: Flower Spirit has returned to normal.
Even after the achievement speed fell back to what it had been, Raon's blade wandered the empty air without rest. Only when his aura, his stamina, and his mind all struck their limit did he finally lower the sword.
As I thought. Copying that was impossible.
He had given up sleep and meals to train, and still he could not reproduce the Flower Spirit from that memory.
Not at my current realm.
He understood it clearly now.
He would need to be Upper Master at the very least before he could scatter a Flower Spirit that covered the world the way that man had.
And yet—
It wasn't a waste of time.
The achievement of Flower Spirit itself had climbed sharply, and his mastery of transformation sword and illusion sword had risen at an exponential rate.
As he was now, he felt he could show a transformation sword and an illusion sword that would not fall far behind even against the Horaine he had sparred with then.
"Hoo."
Raon let out a murky breath and lowered his sword.
"Wrath."
"You little—"
Wrath crawled up onto the bracelet, trembling with rage.
"You shook This King around so This King couldn't sleep, and now that This King is finally about to close his eyes, you call?"
"How much time has passed?"
"This King has failed to eat a proper meal fifty-six times since arriving here, so fourteen days have gone by!"
Wrath, who served as both clock and calendar, produced the answer without needing to calculate. Something about it still felt off.
"Fifty-six meals would be nineteen days, not fourteen."
"What are you talking about. The Demon Realm takes four meals a day. Meaning today marks two weeks."
That the Demon Realm ran on four meals a day was surprising enough. That a Demon King counted the date in meals was genuinely new.
"Then today's the day we leave."
"To endure two weeks stuffing down that rubber bread — you heaven-cursed brat!"
Cursed by heaven for eating bad bread. A Demon King's way of thinking was, as always, beyond him.
"Don't get so angry. Once we're out today, we'll be able to eat a proper meal."
"……"
Wrath, who had been gnawing on his lip, flinched to a stop and drifted closer, slow and careful.
"I-is that true?"
"It is. I'll eat whatever you want. But before that…"
Raon lifted his sword again and dragged up every last scrap of aura he had left.
"I'm going to use Flower Spirit one more time."
Stamina, mind, and aura were all at their limit — but his focus was honed sharper than it had ever been.
If there was a moment he could follow that man's sword even a little, it was now.
A low, gathering roar built in the steel.
The gentle light of the Luminescent Stone spilled down the line of his angular shoulders and soaked into the blade. He stretched his legs and turned his wrist, smooth as water.
The crimson edge curved with his wrist, embroidering the empty air like the limbs of a tree, and from those branches fully bloomed flowers unfurled and scattered.
Flame joined flame. Petals of blazing fire opened and covered the cave.
A swordsman's petals, carrying the keenness of a well-honed edge and a splendor all their own, spread along the grain of nature — wandering the sky, soaking the earth.
The line of fire that had stretched like a horizon binding heaven to ground thickened and spread, raising a still greater stem of Flower Spirit.
The swarm of blossoms Raon had called forth embroidered the entire cave and whipped up a storm of flame.
In number and in power the petals were incomparably small — but the flow and the trajectory held inside Flower Spirit, having crossed a thousand years, bloomed in Raon's hands exactly as they once had.
A colossal detonation slammed through the cave as fragments of sword-aura struck the holes and released the energy packed inside them.
The cave shook as if it would come down, dumping heaps of stone — but Raon, already sunk in concentration, did not break the flow of Flower Spirit.
The petals of fire-demon flame grew denser, grinding boulders to powder, adding to their number and their edge.
The sight of a single sword holding back an endless fall of stone was, just as he had hoped, close to the ancestor's blade.
The cave's shaking settled. The boulders that had poured without limit reached their end.
A long breath left him.
Raon stood among the stone dust that carpeted the floor and dragged in a ragged lungful of air.
He had poured the best sword art he could from a place of want, and while he was still sunk in that fierce joy, a message rose.
A message announcing that the title King of Destruction had been born.
"No…."
Wrath glared at the message, blue eyes blazing.
"Why would you give a title to a colt who smashes everything anyway! And with This King's power, no less!"
Irritation finally boiled over. He shouted himself hoarse and shook his head.
"This King's flesh, This King's power…"
"I'll get you something good to eat in a bit, so just hold on."
Raon caught Wrath as he wobbled like a slime and let out a quiet laugh.
"In a bit? Eat the moment we get out!"
"Sorry. I've got something to do first."
A red gleam kindled in Raon's eyes as he looked toward the passage leading out of the cave.
"I need to go pay my respects to the Heavy Martial Palace."
Thanks to them, he had gotten stronger.