Chapter 51 – It Wasn’t Just Some Meaningless Swordsmanship (2)

“……”

Even so, wielding this sword… He knew this wasn’t real, but that didn’t guarantee survival. Fortunately, Elhermina’s sword remained.

Think.

He attached the straight sword to his belt, drawing Elhermina’s blade. Barbarian warriors approached, their massive forms growing more imposing with each step. Thick muscles, writhing tendons, like powerful beasts.

Before Berke, a great empire. Bel, Vera, Ber, Bello. Berke, its successor. The empire, not built on individual strength, but on discipline, military law, strategy, tactics. They’d conquered continents, crushed enemies. Until the barbarians rose up, their chieftain seizing the throne.

These… were their descendants. Berke, and the western kingdoms, refined mana, fused it with martial skill. These eastern tribes relied on brute strength. Each had its merits. But in chaotic melees… they excelled. Hence, the development of ranged weapons, armor, metallurgy, magic items, even the reluctant adoption of magic. A desperate struggle of the weaker. Cowering behind walls, their only defense.

“……”

And these… treated foreign lands as their own. Pillaging, their way of life. Peace, a foreign concept. The strong ruled, the weak served, and died. Barbarians, feared, hated.

“……”

Facing them… like confronting a bear in the forest. Towering figures, massive weapons. Terror, crushing courage, sapping strength. An inescapable reality.

“Ready?”

Just three, yet their shadows loomed large.

“……”

But… not a reason to surrender. Cariel had faced worse, under the Demon King’s malice. He’d seen greater horrors, died countless times.

“Can you bear that name?!”

A massive axe swung, slow, deliberate, every muscle straining. A predator’s strike.

KWOOM!

The ground shook. Not mana enhancement, but raw power, amplified by mana used like a bomb. Alesia had warned him.

“Hah!”

A shield swung. He ducked, striking the underside with his pommel.

“Ugh!”

The warrior stumbled. Cariel dodged a spear thrust.

“Yes! That technique! It was like that before! Our strength… useless!”

“He knows the same swordsmanship! Of course!”

“Stop playing! Fight!”

They were excited, this long-awaited chance. Cheers, roars, screams of delight.

“……”

This was… harder than expected. A direct clash would break him. Disrupting their mana flow… difficult, like holding back a flood. He tried to apply the principles of stone and wood, but… he felt… fragile.

Not yet.

Incomplete. Unprepared. Mind and body, disconnected. Willpower held them together, but… it wasn’t enough. Everything was relative. And they were… overwhelming. Incompatible styles, outnumbered. Retreating… was natural. But he had to… push forward.

“Still running?!”

“Little squirrel!”

“You disgrace the name of Cariel! He never retreated!”

He and Cariel… different. Different circumstances. Not about right or wrong, better or worse. Just… different. Even Grandeus’s swordsmanship… different. Fundamentals versus… something else entirely. He hadn’t mastered it. Just glimpses of understanding. His body wouldn’t obey. Time, practice… he needed that. Like a blacksmith, even with the best materials, time was essential.

“HAAAA!”

A roar, the ground shaking. A charging warrior.

–?!!–

He blocked, but the force sent him flying. He’d countered just enough. A direct hit… would have shattered him.

“!!”

The ground rushed up. He twisted, preparing to roll, protecting his weapon. He landed, rolling, but the momentum dragged him.

“……”

Absurd. He hadn’t even started, and he was already… He’d seen the memories, but not the fight. Would it have helped?

“Yes! This is it! But… back then… it wasn’t like this!”

“You disgrace his name!”

“Look at you! Struggling!”

…True. No excuses. Excuses were for the defeated.

“……”

His sword, unbroken. Not his strength, but the sword’s durability. He was weak. Even with his father’s Holy Sword… he’d be no different. He lacked the foundation. He feared breaking, being uprooted.

“……”

He walked forward, no expectations, no hopes. His own strength, his own burden. If he failed… there was no second chance. Clinging to the impossible? Who defined impossible? He did. His weakness, his fear, his complacency.

“Still haven’t learned?!”

“Come on! Fight!”

“Show us your strength! This is nothing! Not even an offering! We’ll kill you all! Glory to the God!”

An axe whistled towards him.

“?!”

He adjusted his grip, both hands on the sword, forcing a parry.

KWAANG!

A deafening clang. His arms flew up, the shock reverberating through his body. He stumbled, falling.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

“Uwaaaa!”

A charging warrior, a rampaging beast. A dagger flashed, massive. He parried, dodged, shifted his sword to his left hand, slashing at the warrior’s arm.

Thunk!

It didn’t cut. Like striking steel.

“What?!”

The warrior swung, but missed. Cariel moved, a hair’s breadth.

“Huh?!”

The warrior stumbled. He’d known it wouldn’t cut. His strength… meaningless against mana users. He hadn’t changed. Just… tricks, techniques, knowledge. And… his mindset. But willpower wasn’t a miracle. He didn’t expect one. He had to make it happen.

“Wha?!”

He climbed onto the warrior, grabbing his hair, yanking him back. His left hand, reverse grip, plunged the sword into the warrior’s eye.

Crunch!

“GAAAAAH!”

He pushed off, slashing as he leaped back. The warrior screamed, flailing. Cariel landed, rolling away.

“Cough!”

He breathed deeply, watching. The warrior thrashed, blood gushing. Then…

Thud!

He collapsed.

“……”

One down. A lucky blow. They’d adapt. Did it matter? He could barely handle one…

“……”

He walked forward.

“Impressive!”

“Like a squirrel! So nimble!”

He ignored them. Death… a test of courage.

“……”

He lowered his sword, breathing deeply. His arms screamed, his ankle throbbed, his fingers ached. The impact lingered. His vision swam. Blood trickled from his nose. Even dodging… had consequences.

“Three at once… overwhelming.”

But now…

“Only two.”

“Don’t get cocky, boy.”

“One down, and you’re celebrating? You’ll die.”

“Too much talk.”

He drew the other sword.

“How about… this?”

Two swords. A playful stance, a childish game. Never seriously considered… Two swords… impractical. Unless… exceptionally skilled. A suicidal act.

“This lunatic…”

“You’ll regret this.”

He shifted his perspective. Not wielding swords, but… using tools. He closed the distance, threw one sword, then lunged left, towards the shield.