Reincarnated as a Duck

Claymore swayed, leaving a thin line on the ground and creasing the air with shaky air. Sword Intent advanced, yet it cut nobody. It cut something—not the portal thought, as it swirled in no apparent activity or change.

It was always open, so there was no point in cutting into something this insane and mad, yet Razmund was far out of his mind to care. His cut latched to the ground after Lisa had gone missing.

As she did, Lorry dodged the blade as much as he could and darted around Razmund like a laughing clown. This time, he sounded like a shameless maniac and didn't give a shit about shame or peace. Then, he met Razmund's eyes with mockery and glory bordering on pride.

He had never met something so funny and satisfying. Sure, Lisa might end up dissatisfied, but that wouldn't be the first or last time that happened. Frankly, she should be thankful and not be like before.

Still, she wanted to compare something good or make one hell of a terrible mistake. Lorry decided to act accordingly and stopped laughing.

Following this baseless nonsense, Razmund rested his claymore on the ground, spat blood aside, and let everything run its course. He shouldn't have gotten ahead of himself. It was never worth it and good. But that ghost asked for it! She really fucking did...

Sighing and shaking his head, he still had one last try remaining. He cracked his right hand, pushed his claymore to the ground, and grabbed Lorry so fast the Guide couldn't even clatter his bones. Then he shoved him along with his hand into the portal.

Nothing happened besides Lorry's swirling Soul Flames half-submerging into this weird space and hitting those waves like very dense fog. For Razmund, it felt as if he had punched a brick wall and tried to walk through the cracks. He failed, but this bone did not.

That act sounded plausible for his power level and physical capabilities. He wasn't weak, certainly. He was pushing against a realm beyond his own reason, so he failed as anyone in his position would.

The Dice agreed and halted its carnival, as both mistakes were now gone! That should prove the validity for the second carnival! It's a shame it wasn't the right time.

Neither Razmund's hand nor Lorry's skull went inside, as there was either interference from Razmund's Token, Lorry's standing as a Guide, or Mindarch did something to this process. Razmund was unaware of the answer, and this Guide's sick laughter and eyes did nothing to help.

Another possibility was something about the other side that was tricky and beyond the norm. After all, the secrets and image of this place stank of a craze that Razmund correlated to the Somalis' Hell, or it was connected to Sun God.

The last possibility landed on Levandis as a whole, but at the moment, Razmund didn't consider the position of a Rank 1 God as important or feasible.

He doubted this portal mattered to him since this whole room mattered even less.

Also, that ghost and his hunting target moved inside without any hitch, which was either an intentional action by someone or a stupid part of this game called Hellscape Run.

Razmund had his own little run as well, yet this portal wasn't it! It was far from any right examples carefully examined and uncovered by the Centralis Kingdom.

He, of all people, should know everything, for he had prepared and knew what this place was. That, and Centralis and his Master, really did push him to learn, or not be a stupid, overconfident Blessed.

It didn't help much, Razmund had to say.

"You," Razmund wished to curse when his ideas and tries died. Holding all inclination to destroy this damned skull, he didn't seem to gain any idea, wrongs, or repercussions for his actions.

It should have had limitations, but Razmund smiled like a maniac and felt the last remaining anchor to the ground coming off.

He didn't drown. He was just angry and knew different plans were happening. It was weird; he recalled how his Master argued that the worst possible outcomes should be the most researched and dealt with ahead of time. Almost as if it was the plan from the beginning, it put ideas into weird perspectives.

Razmund wished to laugh, much like in that Silver Room when he realized the world was wrong, the Voice was no more, and his life had shifted in a rather hellish direction.

It was wrong for a long time anyway. Ever since he had died once... Then he was born into a world of magic and sorcery, followed by gods, vast knowledge of the cosmos, and who knew what else.

He didn't know that, certainly. He was a mortal boy once, and he ended up as one once again. Of course, this time was different as he was just a tad bigger and stronger boy.

He should grasp this change, they say. Well, the people surrounding this new life weren't all too shabby. Some were greater than others, though. That never changed.

"Too bad, isn't it?" Lorry said, feeling the Chaos Space with half of his face as he tried his best to suppress his fear and tremors. "Fate is a terrible tool to depend on, so that... Dice should calm down within your steps, boyo. It guided you with a stick and definitely no carrot, while you kept feeding it like a fool. It chirps so happily, I can't stop laughing."

Tensing his fingers, Razmund was a second away from trashing this thing to the depths of all Ends and misery!

In the end, he thought Lorry's kind wouldn't find it pleasant and wrong anyway, as every Guide was pretty much boiled down to Undead and Soul-related Paths that Levandis and her kin maintained.

Before further escalation, one voice of reason spoke up after a while.

[Wait a second, you Blessed fool!] Mindarch suddenly shouted, his voice hastening, and followed behind by a few steps from the entrance.

Lookish walked inside the chamber without his sack, clearly bothered by the occurrences in his old home and the numerous visitors. It was almost fun, yet destructive, and he was changing his mind. Not for long.

Lookish saw the overall destruction, and a rush of disappointment came next. He hadn't done what he should have done... and now saw the consequences of his actions.

"Now, now, what in the godly ways is going on here? I say, we all calm down and talk some bloody truth, all of you," Lookish said calmly, hunching and looking as if he needed a stick for walking. Alas, his steps and voice were firm, and his eyes were surprisingly strong and almost blazing.

His eyes were sharp enough to assess this entire situation in a blink, but the main problem still came from watching crazy Razmund and that weird pair.

Lookish looked aside, noticing the destroyed Sunlord Slapper that he carefully renovated to a crisp condition over the decades, and felt as if something malevolent clutched his heart. Then, throbs arose, blood boiled and froze, and reality was crashing and trashing in his mind.

His eyes bulged, his mouth opened, and he nearly fell to his knees when he saw that hole and an internal major component missing along with... what else? What was the point if it was destroyed so thoroughly?

[Back! Go back!] Mindarch urged him. [Ignore that, Lookish! It is just a bad dream. Just an idea set by your Lady to pivot and challenge your mind. A picture. Terrible nightmares are haunting your every step. Like a whisper, you see. Imagine all the terrible things that could come from failures and repairs, and see the less likely one.]

His sweet, sweet voice echoed all around Lookish, giving him sweet little lies that changed his heart.

Smiling as if he had fallen into a dream, Lookish laughed it off, feeling as if he had made a terrible fool out of himself.

"Right, right? This must be a terrible mistake. How could this be my Slapper? That thing had enough output to challenge every maximum of the first three Gates. I can't be wrong, yet why was its energy low? And why act shamelessly? Oh, have I imagined the low outputs and corrected myself? Um..."

As clarity deepened, Lookish walked forward, his eyes squinting in a weird smile, hiding sharpness. He forgot about the hot metal hill in the middle of the room.

Razmund stopped crushing Lorry to pieces and glanced at the unpleasant guest. "Leave us, devil. I have nothing to do with you as I did before. This is no exception." He said coldly.

"Now, now." Lookish moved his hands behind his back, waved his hand forth, and held a type of fruit. "I got a gift from you, you see. I remember. You spent it to seek something, yet that something has nothing to do with some frontiers. A Guide, you see, that skull is an important member of our society, and I would recognize a talking sneaky skull any time. Even if I am fading in all sorts of acts, Devil's eyes don't mistake every shadow or doubt, human."

More cracks spread, shuddering Lorry and his soul.

Lookish was apathetic and continued walking and speaking as he approached Razmund.

"Not as if the bodies are what is left of every soul, as what is forged and what is a dream? Or a bone? What is the End? Am I dreaming for one, or... " He passed and walked behind the Sunlord Golem, taking it as a bunch of boulders in the way.

Unfortunately, the heat was incredible, and that glister around the smooth armor pieces skipped his heart. He noticed that hole again and shuddered, glancing back and forth, and rolled his eyes.

Lookish was in a nightmare, after all.

And then, he woke up, glint sharpened at the right position, and his heart skipped to better hues of red.

[Ah, crap,] Mindarch gave up. [Please, run.] He pled for Razmund's sake.

Yet, contrary to surprises, Lookish stumbled by some rock, rolled his eyes, and blinked. He passed the golem and started playing with the fruit in his hand, tossing it up and down without letting it fall to his face, which would be unprofessional and embarrassing for his position and status.

Alas, what did any of that indicate if not his muted or broken mind or ears? He was lonely, so he shouldn't care about any face whatsoever.

Razmund watched him, curious and not afraid. "What do you want with that fruit? Is my face wrong, or is this gift insufficient?"

"Answers, boy. That's enough for me," Lookish said drily, stepping and tossing the fruit up and down on his palm as its one-half slowly declined.

Razmund shuddered, and blood splurged out of his many wounds as if he were cut, or every bloody drop or wound became twice more impaired. Everything happened on its own instantly, and he started to cry blood and cough and struggle to stand.

"Oh," Lookish nodded. "That is some sturdy Physique you've earned. For a mortal boy, I almost feel impressed, Challenger. Nothing fine walks to this place, you see. I have the privilege to kill and deal with any invaders."

[That's not true!]

It didn't even matter. Very few problems ever did.

Razmund felt how his blood escaped from all the holes in his body. He tossed Lorry to the ground, where cracks spread until Lorry started to act like a rock. All his laughter disappeared, and even his Soul Flames turned calm like a sea before a storm.

"Devil..." Razmund grunted, sounding sorry for speaking. "This doesn't concern old relics. I looked for someone. Found it... and failed."

[Yes, what occurred has no consequences to anything anyway. Your failure is just another failure on top of more failures. Hunt... Failure. Now, bear the price and get out of this place! You don't belong here!]

"You shut up." Razmund tried to shout, but sounded incoherent.

Lookish gnawed at the fruit, eating a large chunk in one bite. "Yes. Shut off your nonsense about failure, Archie. You see, boy," he stated as he chewed. "I like truths. They don't stink, but they can sink very deep. Do you want to hear it yourself?"

He tossed the fruit up again. "I don't owe anyone anything. Why? This place includes it and hides things. Why? It is just a place. How? The state of body and mind is close yet different, as body, soul, and existence keep on lingering. Your Fate approaches a hill. A steep one, I reckon. Can you climb it?"

"Don't... care," Razmund said and limped for his claymore that he left close, leaving a trail of blood as he bled. His left hand, in particular, felt the worst, as it was part of a very nasty open wound. Everything within him fought back, trying to feel everything messed up.

"I have no purpose in touching many things." Lookish caught the fruit and seemed confused about a couple of things. "But, you, boy, are looking worse than my shoes."

In fact, Lookish had no shoes. They always wore down so quickly that he couldn't bother with them and often stumbled. Lowering his gravity, hence the hunching, his age didn't help as well.

Razmund clutched his claymore and took these words for the blabbering of an old devil. "Failure is but a part of life." He recited the mantra from his manual. "I endured worse trials. This is a walk. A passing dream, too, if you may."

Lookish definitely liked how that sounded. He smiled and laughed again in his peculiar, aged manner.

"I hate when youths think their actions are inconsequential. That they are immune to their shortcomings as if they are masters of their lives. They, in fact, are part of nothing but something endearing and right. Young, I call it. Bodies and fluids build their existence and muscles. Little tiny units drive the rest, or are we just a meandering existence of everything? Think of a soul as anything you wish, yet you might ask what it is made of, or what we are."

Razmund didn't care; he swallowed blood and felt how his claymore almost slipped from his clutch. "What about those left behind? Did you let them go and disappear?"

"Oh, those are old fools. I wouldn't bother with that. You see, that portal is something few could visit, let alone desire. I don't even protect it. It isn't as if they can't do that, but... they shouldn't. Why am I even talking..."

Razmund clutched his bleeding left arm, enduring the bleeding, creating a small pool behind and around him. His dirty look turned red and mixed into a new kind of dirt.

"Leave me...be. I have to go. Portal or this place, it doesn't matter if you are unhappy. I don't owe you anything and will gladly leave."

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

"Sure," Lookish nodded and gestured with his arm sideways. "After all, I did receive your gift. It makes sense to accept it with sincerity."

Razmund stepped forward, and then he bumped into Lookish again, who stepped in his way. His fingers creased his left arm, tasting blood, but that pink hue was disturbing and shook him off.

"Heed my words, boy, don't take steps that stem from utter despair. You will burn."

Blood from his wounds stopped oozing, and Razmund felt like empty shit as the blood renewed. He opened his mouth as if willing to argue that they had nothing in common and that his suggestions were better left for dogs.

Rather than arguing, Razmund gritted his teeth and walked past him.

Lookish took another bite before tossing away the exact half of the fruit. It rolled around before it rotted into mist in a couple of moments.

"By the way," Lookish said, licking his lips. "What of those above? They are of no sequence to you, or are you looking for cheap End?"

Razmund heard new steps and shadows emerging from the entrance.

Nothing was ever simple.

A blazing figure came for him next, followed by a group of horrid, metallic sculptures.

***

Some time ago, before Razmund went down and broke even further.

Bagus watched how Lisa sparkled and left in that bizarre fog of her sona, leaving him alone and facing an approaching beast of a Blessed.

Razmund wasn't rushing anywhere, even though he should be. To go quicker towards his fated prey, he ought to be fast and to a point, yet he couldn't comprehend the weight of this place at all, let alone guess what was underneath him.

He didn't understand Murai's action and why they were going around Ip'ur Mountain's underground as if they were looking for something.

Lacking a portal was one thing that allowed him to reach his current steps with a calm desire. Dealing with his prey in this manner should suffice since they won't run away from him.

He had nothing to lose with his steady step, and his stamina wasn't too terrible. He could play with multiple exchanges and fight beyond his Level. His prey should hardly escape now, where he caught it and glimpsed those familiar legs and wings he had crushed weeks ago.

It felt like yesterday, yet so many things happened, worsened, and changed since then.

Uncaring for most of it, Razmund followed the road of his Destiny Dice, which ended in a thunderous roar and steps of someone standing in his way.

Bagus wasn't unafraid, ashamed, or one to lose his wits under pressure. But this was different; he roared to put his spirit together and spread his wings around the width of this corridor.

He stood before the shaft Murai disappeared into and protected it, though he wasn't doing it because of Murai alone.

He found multiple reasons to clash with his common sense, and doing his best against this Blessed was just... asking for it. He didn't do everything, despite arguing or letting it down, which seemed decent. Not as sleeping and rotting.

Bagus wasn't an insane freak to lose that part of his head, heart, or conscience. He was a different kind of insane, yet it was hardly something new in this Gate, let alone in this temple or among the beings involved in Murai's current life.

At last, Bagus felt his options were closing, and he had to put some weight on his spirit. Here, alone, he wasn't there for vast sakes.

However, Mindarch and who knew how many Gods were watchful.

Razmund heard that beastly breath and roar, while those cluttering feathers did look majestic and almost metallic. His claymore was nothing different, and it was as ready as ever.

Before breaking into a fight, a hurrying figure passed in the air.

Lint wasn't so quick to go through all those stretching corridors and shafts.

At least he wasn't too late, or... why was he even here? Bagus found it odd. Wasn't it too late or opposing considering Hellscape Runs or the rules of this entire nonsense? Perhaps this Blessed was indeed different.

How to influence anything between the takers of rewards or the greed and hopes of these people? For some reason, Bagus felt small no matter how he lived, yet he was a splendid Grifhart!

He was just a spectator—he felt and judged.

Lint wished to be the same but knew he couldn't ever be that again.

Opposing one another, a standing pair eyed their steps, overseen by one floating Guide. Both couldn't care less about the floating one.

Everything that Razmund wanted was to clutch that thin neck that he should have killed a long time ago. Alas, it not only lived, but it grew into a very problematic mess.

And opportunity, of course. It was too good to pass, so there was gladness and hope in this struggle and mockery.

Razmund couldn't help but condemn anything. In fact, he would love to thank Murai a little bit, as he was the one who endured that beating and who knows what else.

It was more about understanding what was worse. Greed and fairness were long-standing and opposing forces, until they ultimately rushed to extremes.

After a catch, he almost had an itch to earn some respect or give away all that he desired. It was personal, after all, so these matters were beyond impossible.

Raznund Clashed again with another Blessed without even knowing about it until an Encounter was born, and Gods found reason in its creation. Which one, and why and how?

Mortals shouldn't question them. Encounters were their chance to shine, and countless fools sought this prideful and achievable rise.

That was absolutely insane and should never happen without a reason.

That pointed to a bunch of weird things. For example, what was that duck, and how in the blazing sun did this Encounter even function? Razmund didn't want to know.

But where was he even standing right now, or what were true rains of reasons? Some matters should be obvious or incoming.

Well, he had his own reason, which should be plenty enough for everything under his little heaven.

It reeked of godly exploits, much to Centralis's awareness. It was a shame that Razmund didn't give a shit about it.

After all, they were but tools to allow something to happen, and many beings had died because of it. More shall join later, further increasing this hunt. Or right now.

Razmund didn't know. He shouldn't know. He only wanted to succeed and leave everything behind him.

If it meant to become what he feared or hoped, so be it.

Behind him and close, a weird game of cat and mouse ended up harmful and hard. He wished to believe it would be a simple condition and target, yet many parties got in the way.

Upon arrival at this shaft and having a clearer picture of his enemy, he calmed down after many hours of running and digging.

Taking a stroll to Bagus seemed like a nice appetizer, so Razmund looked steady as he clutched his claymore and eyed that beast.

He wasn't sure what this party discussed after he arrived, or what their reasons were. Be it their conversation or words, he cared less about their point than his own.

Razmund smiled wryly at one beast-looking lady who ran from a Grifhart instead of attacking and hoping for a chance. Then, he watched how his prey fled away under some arguments and got out of his sight. That should have been horrible, yet he remained unnaturally calm and watched it.

He almost laughed because what Itrosh had done was very stupid. If anything, attacking him in a pair would pose at least a better challenge and give them more survivability.

Now, this lone beast was as good as dead. But once again, he didn't care how much blood was shed and how many lives fulfilled their End.

He didn't care because this world was set ablaze, drawn in blood and death, and he shall watch it. Razmund didn't even know how much it would change him or hinder him.

It was a wonderous approach to the Old World that felt better. Again, it further pestered his shame that the present one wasn't fair. Where very little could be seen in an overall picture, perhaps fairness was an uncommon fanciness or mere fantasy.

Mediators like Will of the Battleworld could grant a clear picture, easing and elevating living forms and cultures. Vastness would come to one little life, and create what one might consider a different world, or trick everyone into a nasty direction.

The only imposing figure that remained was the tallest and wildest.

A tall Grifhart, with a hefty chest filled with hidden or obvious sharp feathers, stood in his way. Its eyes were set straight on the opposition, and its roar and steps didn't waver one single time. Its deep, colorful feathers were definitely powerful, though they shouldn't be a match for his claymore or dances.

Bagus was no Anatidae. That ridiculous sense was obvious, though he wasn't weak.

Ozeki made sure to give Razmund whatever information he got about Lost Brothers; Ultium and Bagus included a lot of news that Ozeki considered provocative, and every piece of news was better than none.

A former slave. A current slave... It was interesting to see how this party formed when the whole issue arrived at this temple like a wild tempest. Frankly, Razmund was no different. He forced his hands and got his own team, while even Ozeki joined, and Centralis had other nefarious intentions.

Ever since those screens spread above the Hellscape, every Hunted became a hot topic in this Gate. Information gathering went over the roof and established companies, and warriors were up next. Some moved; others didn't or couldn't.

Razmund saw Bagus as someone fitting to wield Laws, which he didn't know.

It didn't matter. A simple cut could do wonders, regardless of magic.

"What is this, beast?" Razmund mumbled, oblivious to the fact he was still long away from his best striking distance. A couple of his Steps should do this job just fine.

Caring or not, the moment Grifhart pushed forward, it was time to put away introductions and casual attitude.

It feinted nothing and went for a kill with an absolute desire and less stalling.

Bagus didn't need to say a word. He grunted in a thunderous low howl, and his attitude was adamant.

"T-this fucking thing!" Razmund grimaced, his face contouring under his brief smirk that hid unknown intentions. It was questionable why he was like this since his previous times had been quite unflustered.

He killed numerous Hunters without a shred of hesitation. So why was it now, seeking bravery, that he thought of it as impressive? Was it because he felt a little greed out of this beast, or was it a familiar pride, or... hope? Nope.

Dreams were the worst kind.

Perhaps his face and eyes made sense and gave a peculiar perspective, for it was something he couldn't get used to at all. It wouldn't be rare, since he was a human who died in a magicless world, yet full of war.

Why, even when this world harbored the resources and wisdom of many planets, did they fight? Was it a simple nature of how lives were meant to end, start, and engage one another?

Ants waged wars all the time, yet was it even a war? Often ending with absolute annihilation. Nature wasn't dishonest. It was brutal.

What wasn't was also an interesting question.

Humans were very emotional and always had a lot on their minds. Perhaps too much, as far as Razmund was seeing and feeling it for himself. He was no different.

He wouldn't be very different if he were to return to his previous world with his current mindset. But the body? Magic? Perhaps he was naive and unaware of the changes within himself, but he would kill that entire world, or it would kill him first.

This world had corrupted him, so perhaps he would be even worse and do nothing new or different. After all, what could even one man do when his world was ending?

Some looked for more, while most died off.

With Murai and Lisa gone, Bagus roared forward. "Bagus is my name," he shouted as if the name was everything that mattered to him.

"Quiet," Razmund mumbled and held his Dice on top of his palm. Lint behind him remained silent and observed how and where this situation would devolve or turn.

"Do you know what my reward is for this clash?" Bagus asked. "No. Perhaps you don't care. I know your kin, human. It was a rhetorical question that makes no further judgments."

Bagus stretched his neck and stepped forward as Razmund remained silent. "It was freedom. Going and seeing it all. The soft air and Surface. Even a whiff of a true sky sounds like a blessing. To see Blitalia. To meet my ancestors. Not this prison of a Hell. It's not unsightly as it is hope."

"And stupid," Razmund said coldly. "Dreams; they are for those worthy of such choices, and everyone can get sick of them."

Bagus almost laughed and appeared as if he wasn't joking about anything he had said. Was there even true freedom in anything that Battleworld provided? Not at all.

It was just a game of a jungle unless one was nothing or everything.

"Words should go and whiff the air when they matter, while acts make us, beasts, bigger. I am big, human." Bagus commented and completely sidelined Itrosh's absence. "My apologies. I misspoke. I will stop you regardless."

Like Murai or Lisa, he didn't blame Itrosh for something that came from her fear or hopes. Living was something that many people held in the highest regard possible. Most beings lived only once, so that made sense. One. That was it.

It was an opinion anyone with a healthy mind would share, while ideas about limits and living created better judgment. Only those loved or hated by the heavens—or certain individuals—would get the privilege of tasting such lofty things as living again.

It was kind of lucky in its bizarre and fantastic way.

Murai was just wrong—an abomination that was wrong at all levels. From mind, living, and judgments, it wasn't a normal way. Yet, Bagus found him fascinating, and not just because of Anatidaes.

Lisa disappeared on her own terms after passing Bagus what she could. Perhaps fighting and upsetting this Blessed was something she could've done as well, but Murai was an understanding priority that Bagus couldn't refute.

He understood it, so he stood in a wide and tall shaft that was enough for dozens of people, knowing that someone was depending on him again.

It felt like no dream or a position of dueling and battling with Itrosh. He fought and killed. Perhaps it was a misconception, though it sure felt validating, almost like a drug of praise that one hardly heard in hell.

According to most stories of the old miners, these mining shafts were dug out by Orcuns, who were the most favored race relative to the mining companies and warring states. They built things to last, and they were also great miners and formidable warriors.

Such races weren't old, or young, or eloquent or aloof. Enslaved members made up the majority, as their intellect was lacking, but many could grow to great sizes and held resemblances to actual Giants, which was commendable. Not Titans, of course. That would be a ridiculous expectation from a race stemming from regular Orcs.

For most powerful races, it was hard to become slaves for no apparent reason or misguided attention. Some demons were just too damn chaotic and privy to their core instincts.

In most cases, troubles arise because of Depths, terrible reputation, or simply because of oppression and prejudice of more potent races or cultural settings. Or those far above them in might, which pointed to Gods, and where true power was advancing.

Razmund was partly aware of all of them, while Bagus was not. He squinted his eyes, focusing on Bagus's steps that seemed to come closer and closer.

It was his last hurdle that he could gladly destroy. It was always like this. A desire fueled by an even stronger desire, making an unending cycle that could stick to any soul.

Razmund knew this opponent was the same as him: full of hopes, ideas, and terrific vision, not to give up.

Wrong.

He was the right one, and no one shall disturb his Path. Hence, Bagus was like an annoying guardian dog, and it was ideal to crush his kind.

Grasping the handle of his beloved claymore, Razmund was unaware of how little time he had left. A right hand was his priority, thus the strongest.

With the way his claymore moved down and away in its hefty length and mass, using it without two hands meant improper stability.

Stature and power to lift it all and expand from it were what true swordsmen retained and tried to master—especially the ones who focused on a single Path of a specific tool like Razmund.

Still, being a great warring soldier, if not a general or captain, meant having the strength to wipe out general soldiers. Frankly, claymores weren't common because of it, but Razmund didn't care.

By now, he had calmed his aura and gathered his momentum and stance. Barely a dozen meters before Bagus, both stepped into their striking position.

However, only one of them had a clear advantage.

Razmund was terrifying. Bagus's body trembled upon the closer inspection of his stance and flesh, while his doubts resurfaced.

There, not far from everything, Lint watched them with a skeptical approach to this duel.

Perhaps there should be no duel. Bagus should let him go down and flee for the betterment of his prime time and life. Sure, he wasn't someone important to this Gate or Levandis, though he shouldn't forget where he lived and how to keep it together. Lint felt conflicted.

It was an unimportant matter, as far as Bagus witnessed everything over the past few days.

After the last step, right past the striking distance, Bagus sensed how Razmund's aura poured out, feeling threatening and strange. It was no Domain or true Aura that some people possessed.

This was bordering on both, however, and acting like a distinct feeling of a person who walked a Path and lived on the edge of greatness.

It stemmed from the Will Attribute, which carried the weight of a person, what they carried, harbored, and overcame in their life.

Razmund's was enough to emphasize this whole shaft, making it closed and inescapable in one direction. This was the sole thing that led to Itrosh's escape, as there was only one way to get out of there.

"Beast," Razmund said in a raspy voice. It was close enough for it to be understandable. "I don't respect fools. You aren't a fool, I know. Get out and leave it all to Fate." He tossed the Dice up, letting it chirp in agreement. Then he caught it before it did more things and started another song.

"Madman," Bagus said in his peculiar voice. "Catch me or fight me, I don't care. Stall too. I think it is good for both of us."

"Stall? Well, talking beasts are rare, I will give you that. Yeah. I don't think I am that insane, after all. This world is insane." Razmund said, angling his knees and moving his feet to form a familiar stance for his Dance.

Claymore went behind him, harboring a deep slashing motion over his left shoulder. "I will not kill you. Just obliterate you enough so you won't walk for a while, for it is the will of heaven for Men to be core beings. Not your kind, beast. It's not fair."

Razmund unleashed his Flying Steps and his aura disappeared for a moment as if it was sliced in half. The body movement shocked Bagus to his core.

Before he knew it, a claymore was so damn close to his neck, he felt his life fleeing from his body. Such a wild, wide, and powerful slash couldn't keep him alive! If he let it go...

He had his plans—not forgetting freedom and fighting for it!

Bagus latched his feet onto the ground, cracking them as his feathers frenzied alongside his overall mass. He didn't become bigger, but every single cell in his body screamed as his feathers and power increased.

Then, his feathers changed, grew, and began to undulate sounds akin to swords clashing together. It was weirdly metallic, cluttering, and quick.

Bagus turned his head into a motion like a whip, catching the speedy slice that wanted to cleave his neck apart alongside half of his body.

His body screamed again when the beak hit the metal, pushing his feathers and neck to the limits.

Bagus was still proud in his own ways. His body was his art! His Bloodline was part of him like anything living, and he didn't forget where he came from or who he was. He might not be a beast with a mana core, but it didn't mean his Laws or ways to handle mana didn't exist.

Two Laws within his body were subjectively great for all of the Griffin sub-species.

Law of Wind. Law of Steel. Two distinct Laws created potent variables and a multitude of possibilities. How to use them was up to the user, and Bagus planned to do magic and art.

His body moved like he wanted, yet this clash still unlatched his feet from the ground. That was where it ended, because Bagus swayed and pushed his weight down, directly clashing against the claymore that didn't shed any blood.

Still, it was far from an equal clash. Razmund was fast and powerful, and his claymore and momentum were enough for Bagus to feel he was sliced without being touched.

Bagus caught the slash; that was bad enough for Razmund to start smiling even more and realize that this beast was more than meets the eye.

"An interesting beak you have there. Those feathers... this. Allow me to test its capabilities, freak, before I hit the small one," he said without backing away and pushing his mana onwards.

Then, his aura significantly changed, and the actual fight began.