NOVEL NEXT Chapter 78: Sword Saint (2)
"Ah man! I didn't wish to hurt a sword tonight." Armin sighed regretfully, a genuine hint of sadness in his voice, even as the monstrous maw of the enemy's blade rushed toward him.
But that moment of casual regret vanished instantly.
An immense pressure, a palpable, suffocating bloodlust, descended from Armin.
His longsword began to vibrate violently, not with lightning or visible energy, but with an invisible, concentrated aura gathering at the blade's edge, an energy that felt terrifyingly absolute.
The figure's huge eyes opened wide in utter shock. He felt an ominous certainty, as if he were about to lose something infinitely precious to him—not just his life, but the very weapon that defined him.
In the nick of time, just before Armin's vibrating sword could make contact with his splitting blade, he pulled back.
With a desperate, choked cry, the veins on his arms bulged like cords as he exerted every ounce of strength to retract his weapon.
BOOM! CRASH!
The power released by Armin's near-strike was devastating. The distant trees that lay in the theoretical line of his sword were obliterated into dust.
A thin, perfectly defined trench formed in the ground ahead, and the earth cracked in a fine line, testifying to the suppressed force that had nearly been unleashed.
The figure rolled wildly across the ground, finally stopping only when he slammed painfully into a thick tree trunk in the distance.
Beads of cold sweat formed instantly on his forehead. His heart hammered in his chest.
He took a horrified look at his colossal sword and saw it—a slight, hairline nick at the edge of the otherwise indestructible metal.
He couldn't imagine the aftermath if he hadn't retracted his sword in time; the blade would have been cleaved entirely, perhaps taking his arms with it.
A profound chill went down his spine. He finally realized the suicidal danger he had willingly charged into.
Armin remained where he stood, calm as the waterfall.
"I'll keep my promise," Armin said, his voice carrying clearly over the fading noise.
"I'll use one skill for you. If you survive, then learn to pick your opponents carefully in the future, and if you don't... well, we'll meet in the afterlife, though you'd have to wait a long time for me." He finished with a small, deadly smirk.
An invisible, terrifying aura gathered at the sharp edge of Armin's sword, causing the air around it to distort and the blade to vibrate voraciously.
"W-What kind of a-aura is that?" the figure asked, his voice shaking with undisguised fear. He could feel only one thing radiating from Armin's sword... death.
"It's not aura... it's will," Armin whispered softly, the words barely escaping his lips. "World Cleaver!"
With that word, he swung his sword in a simple, effortless vertical slash at the lying figure.
For a chilling instant, sound vanished from the world. Everything went utterly silent, the roar of the waterfall becoming a muffled void.
But the very next moment, a devastating shrill filled the air, a bright and utterly silent flash of light exploded, momentarily blinding all sight.
BOOOOOOOOOOM!
As the blinding flash subsided, the scene became terrifyingly clear.
Armin stood, his sword now lowered in a relaxed, sheathing motion. He was unmoving and pristine.
But everything in front of him had disappeared. The wide forest, the massive cliff face, the waterfall, and the pool it fed—there was nothing.
Only a gargantuan canyon had formed, a straight, deep trench carved into the earth, devoid of anything except pulverized soil and shattered rock.
"He's quite something. He escaped at the end," Armin muttered, a frown crossing his face. He punched the air regretfully. "Damn! I fucking wasted my strike, man."
He slid his sword back into its sheath with a soft, final click.
"Guess I'm really getting old," a deep sigh escaped Armin as he looked up at the clear, moonlit sky above the newly formed chasm.
A wide, determined smile spread across his face as he spoke softly to himself. "I need to take a disciple soon then."
*****
A long distance away, almost at the very edge of the vast forest, where the sound of the vanished waterfall was now merely a faint memory, a small object hung suspended in the air.
It was a piece of parchment, floating precariously, covered in intricate circular patterns drawn in dried blood.
Suddenly, the paper glowed bright with an intense, sickly yellow light. It immediately spat out a figure, throwing him forcefully toward the ground.
With a devastating crash, the blackened figure impacted the earth, forming a deep, jagged pit.
Smoke curled upward from his massive, charred body. From his right shoulder diagonally down to his left waist, a vast, horrific cut had nearly separated his torso into two halves.
He was whizzing, groaning in agonizing pain, the monstrous sword with the thorny edge lying discarded beside him. The teleportation spell had saved his life, but not his body.
Just then, another figure landed silently right beside the pit.
This new arrival was clad in an elegant, jet-black kimono trimmed with crimson.
His posture was severe, one palm gripping the sheath of a short katana at his hip. His long, dark, curly hair billowed gently in the air, but his face was the stuff of nightmares: it was utterly devoid of skin, nothing but a bare, gleaming skull with four unnaturally long, pointed canines jutting out from the upper jaw.
"I told you, you're no match for him, Halmu," the skull-faced figure stated, his voice devoid of inflection, a dry, chilling rattle in the air.
"I-I ap-pologize, m-master," Halmu somehow squeezed the words out, the effort sending tremors of pain through his ruined body.
"This is the limit of your arrogance and childishness," the skull face continued, his tone icy cold. "The next time you decide not to listen to me... I'll kill you myself."
A sigh, surprisingly weary, escaped the skull's jaw. "Let's go now. You'll die if we don't hurry."
The skull face waved his long, dark-gloved hand. Another blood-patterned talisman, identical to the first, appeared between his fingers.
The circular patterns on the parchment glowed with the same sickly yellow light as it began to hum, actively sucking both of them into its luminous fold.
In a flicker of light and shadow, the skull face, the critically injured Halmu, and the talisman vanished, leaving only the freshly dug pit and the lingering smell of ozone in the air.