Ch.155Miracle (2)
by fnovelpia
“…A miracle?”
It’s not that the word “miracle” doesn’t exist in Grim Darker.
But there was a gap with reality. Unlike reality, in Grim Darker, miracles were closer to the image of impossibility.
For whatever reason, it was the dark age that came after the mythical era ended. In such times, it was clearly a word that remained as a vestige of mythology.
That’s why that reaction was reasonable.
“What kind of wordplay is this? You shouldn’t be allowed to have a unique skill.”
But suspicious, he doesn’t approach. He stops his soldiers and, despite preparing magic, doesn’t fire it.
It made sense. Azdan was a cautious person, and that caution had saved his life many times.
But now, that caution became poison. I smiled while gripping my sword.
“I don’t know what trick you’re trying, but with just a Finance Minister’s sword…”
“Shut up.”
I tilted my head, and with that tilt, I slightly changed my posture, turning my body sideways.
It was a minor, insignificant change in posture. But Azdan’s expression hardened.
“You talk too much.”
I quickly read through the power flowing through my body, the history of a certain human.
Like pages of a book rustling past my fingertips, the time accumulated by an individual passed by, and accordingly, my movements were quickly corrected.
“…Everyone, fire.”
Azdan didn’t just stand there watching me. He was cautious, and he attacked cautiously.
The soldiers all aimed their arrows at once. Crossbowmen in the second row stood up abruptly to aim their crossbows, and the spearmen approaching me also took out their hand crossbows and aimed.
Eventually, my entire field of vision was filled with arrows and crossbow bolts.
Despite the difference between short and long, countless arrows were fired almost simultaneously.
I didn’t dodge. Though they were blackening my entire field of vision, I felt no sense of crisis.
Instead, I ostentatiously pointed my sword forward.
The blade faced forward, and I moved my body along the extended sword.
There was a sense of dissonance.
A naturally occurring dissonance. There was no helping it. Rather, it was because of that dissonance that I wasn’t swept away.
My sense, far beyond my human capabilities, scanned all the arrows.
They were fired almost simultaneously, but not completely so.
Azdan, though confused that I wasn’t dodging, prepared magic in case of any unexpected developments.
The two streams of flame floating beside him revealed a move that would have been fatal to my previous self.
But I wasn’t intimidated. With eyesight beyond my normal senses, I perceived the speed of the arrows.
The approaching time, the first collision, the final encounter.
They would all hit within a timespan of less than 0.1 seconds each. Without defense, my entire body would be pierced.
Even if immortality meant not dying when beheaded, wounds of that magnitude would cause problems with movement afterward.
I could almost see the future where I’d be pierced by the approaching spearmen, subdued, and have my head cut off with an axe.
If I did nothing, that is.
I looked at the arrows. Very fast, and fired almost simultaneously, but not truly at the same time. As evident from the differences in the time they would reach me, there were subtle variations.
Someone heard the command too late, someone had shorter arms, someone’s bow wasn’t in good condition.
Or it could be due to haste, or delayed for some other reason.
Either way, upon closer inspection, each arrow had a different speed and position.
Though they shared the same target, they weren’t completely enveloping my front.
I gripped my sword.
Flowing through my body was an individual’s time, memories, and training.
Pouring rain, parents swept away to their deaths.
The sorrow of a girl left alone who had to survive somehow.
A swordsmanship born from the intertwining of that twisted genius. I exhaled twice briefly, then stepped forward.
Azdan flinched and raised his hand high, but it was already too late.
I pivoted on my foot and turned my body. The sword naturally flew.
It was the flat of the blade. Not a sword strike meant to cut or stab someone.
This was truly a swordsmanship created by a child with nowhere to escape the rain, who resented the pouring downpour.
At the same time, it was also the swordsmanship of an adult who realized that even if she could sweep away all the raindrops falling at their peak, her parents would never return.
I presented the flat of my blade toward the falling rain of arrows.
Clang!
Thus, an arrow touched the flame-heated flat of my blade. The brief metallic sound was buried under countless other metallic sounds that echoed in succession.
It’s like falling rain. The sound of raindrops hitting the ground has a rhythm that buries the initial collision.
This rain of arrows is the same. Despite being fired all at once, there’s a rhythm created by different habits and situations.
That’s where I needed to delve.
What remained was to perform the feat.
An excellent sense of balance that allows standing on one foot even on a swaying bow, superhuman concentration that could stack a tower with the edges of cards.
Along with a bit of obsession and longing, emptiness, and light wrist movements.
I twisted my waist straight through.
With that, the arrows targeting me all seemed to stick to the flat of my blade as if following it.
The moment the arrows hit the blade, I twisted my wrist and tilted the edge to catch them all.
Then I scattered the attached arrows. With a final flick of my wrist, the arrows dispersed in all directions.
The arrows that followed couldn’t penetrate the curtain of scattered arrows and were thwarted.
To me, it sounded like falling rain.
The sound of flying arrows breaking upon meeting the scattered ones, the sound of arrows settling down like that.
It was different from the swordsmanship I commonly knew and learned.
A swordsmanship of complete defense, a movement that didn’t seem to consider facing humans.
A swordsmanship created to defy principles, laws. A swordsmanship that could even fight nature.
I readjusted my grip on the sword and exhaled amidst the patter of falling arrows.
By the time the falling sounds ceased, the two streams of flame that had formed in the air had long disappeared.
I could see Azdan with his hardened expression. It was a sight to behold. His hands trembled slightly, and his eyes captured me and shook roughly.
“What’s wrong?”
I felt the corners of my mouth rising. How could I not?
“Aren’t you going to do more?”
Because in my mind, a certain calculating woman, who even accepted her own life as a field of decline and rebound in business, was smiling.
I smiled along with her and gripped my sword properly.
No, there was a discrepancy in saying I gripped it properly.
I gripped the sword incorrectly. I held it so the blade faced the ground again, lowered the sword point diagonally, and aimed at the ground.
Surely it would look full of openings with the shoulder leading the posture, but in reality, it wasn’t.
This was a stance of counterattack. A movement not often used even by the owner of this swordsmanship, so not many know it, but a thorough being like Azdan would inevitably recognize it.
With that, Azdan’s conviction solidified.
“Not just a simple replication…?”
It has no name. It was just called a miracle. Since it’s a name I have to decide, it didn’t have one yet.
But its ability was clear. I erased my gently crafted smile and stared at Azdan.
In a way, it’s copying.
But it’s different from the kind of copying you’d typically find in manga.
Usually, copying, whether used by an enemy, ally, or protagonist, has clear weaknesses. Lack of proficiency, or bringing in a more degraded version, etc.
But this wasn’t like that. In reality, this was something different from copying.
Reading the memories and history of beings within the range of my heartbeat and temporarily making them my own.
Completely understanding that being and temporarily taking all that individual has built up as my own to handle.
Of course, it doesn’t subdue or neutralize that individual. But there are advantages to that extent.
Since I’m using exactly what that individual has built up, there’s no discomfort in handling it because the proficiency, experience, and little know-how they’ve accumulated are all integrated.
Like the Origin that Lorian used, a miracle that perfectly makes even that individual’s techniques my own.
Not just mere imitation, but temporarily becoming that individual.
Azdan looked at me and comprehended all of this. With a hardened expression, he reached into his chest and took something out.
It was something I hadn’t thought Azdan would take out until now.
His preparation was thorough, and as a result of looking at everything objectively without overconfidence, capturing me wasn’t impossible.
But not anymore. I could hear his thoughts.
The most dangerous thing in this mountain range right now is that pretender, Luwellin.
The orb in Azdan’s hand shone brightly, and he infused it with magical power.
Then the orb shot up into the sky. So fast that even my reflexes would find it hard to catch.
But even if I knew what he was doing, I wouldn’t have stopped it. I calmly gripped my sword.
Azdan looked down at me and said:
“Everyone, assemble.”
The orb that shot up into the sky broke and burned brightly.
Bright enough to be seen clearly throughout the mountain range.
*
It was a place full of sword marks in all directions. Only two people were standing, and just by standing side by side, they showed a stark contrast.
A giant man in heavy armor holding a longsword with a tense look, and a thin-bodied woman holding a single longsword, blankly looking up at the sky.
Neither had any wounds. However, the numerous sword marks engraved on the armor and the woman’s tattered longsword proved that the fight had not been gentle.
But such fighting had stopped and not resumed since a gray ripple swept across the entire battlefield.
The woman blankly looked up at the sky. Until a brightly burning sphere rose into the sky and exploded.
It’s a rally signal. A flare agreed to be used in case variables arise due to unforeseen situations, preventing the execution of the emperor’s will.
It was obvious even to those who didn’t know the facts. Anyone could see it was a rally signal.
But the woman didn’t move. She just stood blankly, feeling the blowing wind while loosely holding her sword.
Valterok looked at the woman intently.
“Aren’t you going to check it out?”
“…Would you like me to, sir?”
She asked casually without turning her head. It wasn’t because she knew that surprise attacks wouldn’t work on her.
Rather, it was because she couldn’t even consider such things.
She blankly looked at the flame and pondered all the signals and signs being conveyed to her.
Though she hadn’t seen it directly or observed it right in front of her.
After the spreading heartbeat reached her, she felt as if someone had read and understood her sword and memories.
And such a feeling continued as if it wasn’t false.
So Lie Hezedia looked at the longsword in her hand.
A blade that was worn out and about to break.
It was merely a tool. It had been from the beginning.
A common swordsmanship manual that could be found anywhere. A piece of junk that wouldn’t even be considered waste paper if one had just a bit of skill, as its ideals were higher than reality.
However, the woman started learning swordsmanship from such a manual.
The manual said:
The grander the goal, the better, and that only by swinging with the determination to cut the world can one truly develop a swordsmanship capable of cutting the world.
In the end, all the movements recorded were meaningless, and all the phrases seemed like grasping at clouds.
But she had established the foundation of her swordsmanship by looking at that manual.
But it was just a goal, and she never felt it was actually possible.
Haha, a hollow laugh escaped.
“I never thought it would actually work.”
As Valterok looked at her questioningly, the woman shook off her sword and returned it to its scabbard.
Tucking her hair, which had been fluttering in the blowing wind, behind her ear, the woman asked with a clear smile:
“By any chance, do you know a place where a capable Finance Minister could work?”
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