* * *
* * *
Don’t get caught up in anything.
walk your way
A path that is only yours and not tied to anything.
‘Don’t be caught up in shape, weight, or anything else.’
Lark grabbed the hilt of the sword.
The moment he exhaled while holding the hilt of the sword, what was in Lark’s hand was not the hilt of the sword. It wasn’t a holy sword. Maybe it wasn’t a sword either.
The first holy sword that no longer shines.
Lark took a step forward, clutching his pride that had lost its form. I took his stance. Neither the brilliant starlight nor the torrent of mana nor anything else enveloped Lark anymore. He is just a young man standing here.
Not a hero who inherited the starlight, not a follower who inherited the pride of the first hero, much less a warrior from the north… but a mere human being. After putting everything down, all that is left is his name. He opened his mouth, thinking over his own name.
“come.”
lakh.
“The blow that broke my sword. The strongest blow you have. Come back with that.”
exclaimed Lark Van Grace.
“This time, I will crush you from the front.”
* * *
“This time, I will crush you from the front.”
Barta’s gaze wavered at his rival’s declaration. Barta looked at the human standing in front of him in silence. A human who comes back from the dead. A pale complexion that looks like it might collapse at any moment. He was a man standing on the threshold of death.
That’s what that person said.
Show yourself that skill one more time.
Show me what power you have. This time, I’ll punch it from the front. Pretentiousness, arrogance, arrogance… countless words passed through Barta’s mind. After those words are swept away like a sandstorm, all that remains is one word.
‘Pride.’
Barta’s mouth opened.
What escapes from the open mouth is uncontrollable laughter. It is by no means a mocking laugh. It wasn’t a laugh either. Barta was delighted.
thud.
Barta’s heart beat violently at the sight of his rival declaring that the match was not over yet. Barta put his foot down with a thud, as if in sync with his heartbeat.
Wow.
There were cracks running down the floor of the temple. Barta responded by raising his sword while the shattered fragments of the temple flew around.
‘Okay, I’ll show you as much as I want.’
Barta never backs down from his rival who shows pride. He would be able to bide his time and walk away from this position, but Barta doesn’t do that.
All you see is everything you have.
It is your power, and it is your life.
There was no need for a simple victory. There was even no need for a half-hearted victory created by combining sloppy moves and clever tricks. What Barta longs for is his best, his strength, and the victory achieved by putting everything together.
Only that makes Barta’s heart beat.
‘So, show your best too.’
With his heart beating violently, Barta lowered his sword. He took his stance. At that moment, the pieces of stone that bounced into the air and the swirling storm stopped for an instant. Barta moved in frozen time.
A world where sound has disappeared. A world that has stopped.
Barta’s sword moved as if cutting through everything. Every time the blade moved an inch, a tick, tick, or splitting sound rang out. What the sword splits is space, time, distance, everything.
As he swings his sword, Barta asks himself a question.
···What is a sword?
Barta, who was a beast, a demonic beast, and the king of demonic beasts who stood at the top of the demonic beasts, has seen countless humans. He has seen many beasts. Sometimes from the perspective of an animal, sometimes from the perspective of a human.
Because Barta did not belong to either side, paradoxically, he was able to look at both objectively.
Animals sharpen their fangs and claws to hunt prey and protect themselves. And this is also true for humans. Humans picked up swords to deal with beings stronger than themselves. He took up his weapon.
By sharpening their swords, training their swordsmanship, and swinging their swords again and again, they take on the strong. In the end, for humans, the sword is like a part of them.
Although it is not part of the body from birth.
After training, you treat it like a part of yourself.
That is the meaning of the sword to humans. Animals that longed for humans, and animals that ended up becoming humans after longing for them, gained enlightenment from their lives. Barta pondered over the realization he had gained.
‘To me, a sword is…’
Barta laughed.
‘The sword is a part of me.’
My body, I am the sword.
At this moment, as he was swinging his sword, Barta felt as if his arms were stretched out. He could feel the blade cutting through the air and the space all too clearly.
The sword is yourself, and you are the sword.
Unity of body and sword. Barta accelerated, turning himself into a sword. Barta’s sword, or Barta himself, was swung in a split second.
Kwajak.
The moment the sword was swung, the space in the area exploded as if bitten by an animal. However, the darkness that surges in is extremely calm. A sword of beast and man. A sword strike that literally symbolized Barta rushed towards Lark.
—————!
A blow that tears apart space and crushes.
A sword strike that ignores distance and devours oneself. Lark’s body slowly moved as he looked at it. At that moment, Barta’s eyes opened wide.
This is a person who couldn’t even react just before.
He is a human being who has not been able to move even an inch in frozen time.
That person was now moving at the same speed as himself. He was moving while looking at the same scenery as himself. Barta is delighted with that sight. Swinging his sword, he kicked off the ground and rushed towards Lark.
Heaven and earth are split apart. A shaking landscape. Torn space.
Splitting and splitting each second, two humans swung their swords in frozen time.
see. Everything.
Lark looked ahead with his own eyes. He recognized the surge of sword strikes. It’s different from a little while ago, when I was swept away without even understanding. With wide-open eyes, Lark saw everything.
Tick, tiddididdiq.
——————
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——————
A blow shown by Barta. The blow bites and shatters everything it touches. It destroys everything it touches, including space, earth, and sky. We move forward without being bound by any providence.
‘So, it must be broken.’
A holy sword that never breaks.
Among them, even the sharpest holy sword was shattered in front of that sword strike. It had to be that way. Because there was nothing in the sword. It must have been so light.
Lark moved while looking at the incoming sword strikes.
Suddenly, the sound of something breaking was heard. The body is already broken. Every time I moved my body, blood poured out from the open wound. Bones and muscles scream. My intuition warned me that I couldn’t fight with a body like this.
Lark overlooked it all.
A body that can’t fight? Every time you move, your body breaks down? Can’t contain the power? What does algebra mean? Lark moved, completely ignoring the alarm bells ringing in his body. There was no need to get caught up in something like this in the first place.
There is no need to be obsessed with form.
Don’t be obsessed with perfection.
Put it down, this and that and everything.
As he built the tower again, Lark realized something.
That he was caught up in too many things. I was obsessed with things I didn’t need. He was obsessed with the compulsion to be like Ganikhalt van Galatik and Kyle Torben.
“It’s funny,” Lark laughed.
The life I lived is different. The path I lived was different.
Even though I admire them, I shouldn’t try to be like them. The problem was that they tried to imitate the level they had reached. Didn’t Kyle Torben, and even Barta right in front of him, reinterpret his state according to his own will?
The path our seniors have walked is just a milestone.
They only provide direction, they do not map the path.
It was up to him to draw a path in the vast wilderness. So, how should the path be drawn? The answer was close at hand. Lark thought of the tower he had built. His own life.
‘Me, my life, myself.’
The sword energy was wrapped around the hilt of the sword he was holding. No, it’s not sword energy. It was unrefined energy. A simple energy that has no form or direction yet.
‘I am a hot fire.’
The pure energy boiled like a flame.
‘It is iron that does not cool down and can be tempered forever.’
A flame that would never cool down and would burn forever wrapped around the hilt of the sword. Instead of bright red flames, white flames burned fiercely like a blizzard. The burning flames did not take any form.
A shape that is not a blade, a spear blade, or anything else.
That’s what iron is, after all.
It can change a lot depending on how you hit the hammer, how you temper it, and the situation. So the form is not important. Lark swung his life in his hands.
There is no sound of time splitting, space being torn apart, or any other sound. All that can be heard is the sound of metal being struck.
Kang, Kang, Kang, Kang!
Every time a sound was heard, flames sprang up.
The iron blinked white. The pride that had been shattered by the burning white flames collided with the sword energy launched by Barta.
Since there is no set form, it is formless.
Since there is no set framework, it is intangible.
Even if it breaks, breaks, or rusts, it will be forged once again and boil bright red… Iron that never cools down and will be forged forever.
Kaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
A loud noise echoed at the moment of impact.
Even with the sword power of Varta, which shatters everything it touches, the broken blade held by Lark is not shattered. Every time the flames wrapped around the broken holy sword collided with the sword energy, a sound like a hammer was resounding.
Cheeeeeeeeeee!
The sound that echoes along with the sound of “kaaang” is the sound of burning. Lark’s sword drew a complete path, pushing away Barta’s sword energy. The moment the trajectory was drawn, the flames contained in the blade spewed out in an instant.
Flames spewed out.
Traces as if hot molten iron had been scattered.
The scattered molten iron has its own shape. The form of swinging as if pressing down with weight, the swing full of anticipation, the cut of the shoulder blade, the burst, all the techniques that Lark had trained were reproduced in the form of flames. The heated sword strike enveloped Barta’s sword energy as it was pushed away.
Quaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Finally, Barta’s sword energy breaks.
The moment the sword energy was broken, a roaring sound was heard and the torrent of power contained in the sword energy swirled around. A scattering halo of light. A raging storm. Dust swirling around.
Throw in!
Through it all, Barta appeared in front of Lark. He swung his sword at Varthagarak, who closed the distance by slamming the ground.
As if I knew he would push me away.
As if I was trusting that you would do that.
A sword that is struck down like a guillotine with the ferocious sword energy on the blade. The situation is the same as when we first encountered it. And, this time too, Lark did not back down.
Cooung.
Instead, he took a step further and twisted his wrist holding the broken hilt of the sword. The shape formed by rising flames wrapping around the hilt of the sword… is the most familiar form of weapon to Lark. The first weapon I heard.
Flames in the shape of an axe.
The moment the ax and Barta’s sword collided, a loud noise shook the entire area. The spaces that had been split, cracked, and eaten could not withstand the impact and split like glass windows. Thus, a space completely isolated from the world.
In their own space, the two completed their respective strikes. Suddenly, and then suddenly. Two sounds rang out at the same time.
The blood of demonic beasts and the blood of humans soared.
fantasy,
