Chapter: 189
“Yeah, that’s a Seven Dragon Lords level.”
Edelplatt adjusted her stance, turning her sword halfway. The empty socket of her lost eye twitched.
It was the eye taken by the Tumor of the Great Mountain. A symbol of the swordsman who fought the avatar of rage alone and withstood over a day and a half.
“Let’s see if it can reach that level.”
“What about Mana?”
“None. They were teaching me, but I didn’t have time to learn. Such complicated magic stories are too convoluted for us. But, Yon, what we hold is not Mana but a single sword, isn’t it?”
Edel smiled like a beast. Tying back her wildly fluttering hair, she gazed at the Elves lined up behind her.
All Elves despise moving with sweat. They regard martial arts as a mere inferior version of magic. The meditation of martial artists is no different from mana cultivation, and the techniques performed with swords are nothing more than tricks beneath Wind Cutter.
No matter how quickly you swing a sword, it takes years just to cut an object one meter away. That’s the extent of striking through space and delivering a decisive blow.
However, if one only learns the most basic destruction spell, that is merely basic curriculum possible within a couple of months. Under the environment of Kalion, the Elves felt no need to learn any skills other than magic.
However, there are those who, against the societal gaze and the instincts of their race, grasp a sword.
The most insane among the Elves. The martial artists crazed for martial arts. The disciples of the Swordsmanship Faction did just that.
Mana is only a means to master martial arts; the Mana itself cannot serve as the key to distinguish between martial artists and ordinary people. Believing that fiercely.
Even without a pinch of Mana, who wouldn’t have arms to wield a sword? Is there no leg to take a step?
With feet, they tread the ground.
With hands, they grasp the sword.
Thus, the extended posture is on the median line. The sword tip always pointing towards the sky. Soon, with a human body, to reach the high realm of the divine and ascend to the heavens.
Towards the end of this path. For some ideal of martial arts that may exist somewhere. Those who raise their swords for only that.
“Now, brothers and sisters. I, Edelplatt Cohenulf, the dueling representative of the Privy Council, the invincible of Kalion, and the master of the Swordsmanship Faction—.”
At Edelplatt’s words, all the Elves simultaneously and silently raised their swords.
“And, a mere Elf. I, a lone martial artist, ask you. What lies at the end of martial arts?”
At Edel’s question, her disciples all looked at her. The master’s, perhaps final, teaching.
Edel finished her words with a cheerful smile.
“There are people.”
All martial arts come forth from the hands of people and end in the hands of people. Therefore, at the end of martial arts, there is no technique, no secrets, no mythical feats or swordsmanship, nor any shocking Mana.
There is but one person wielding a single sword. Only that.
Thus, the swordsman who has reached the pinnacle of this era spoke while gazing at the god of winter with one eye.
“Let’s go. Martial artists of the Swordsmanship Faction. Today, we will fight as mere individuals, rise to the top with one person’s strength, and look down upon the world with one person’s eye.”
At her words, all the Elves of the Swordsmanship Faction burst into loud laughter. They each chuckled and, without much chatter, tightened their grips on their weapons.
Swords are raised. Spears go up. Whips and axes, and occasionally great swords and cavalry lances appear.
Those who have trained with various weapons for at least several decades, some for hundreds of years, move in unison.
If one were to add up the years dedicated to martial arts by the Elves present here, they could easily reach a millennium; how could it not compare to the slothful winter awakened from a thousand years of slumber?
“Edel, what’s the plan—.”
“What plan?”
Edel responded with a laugh against Ivan’s interruption.
“I will lead the way. You are my most proud disciple. I will offer my heart; you should pierce it.”
For a master is someone who opens the path for their disciples, and a disciple is someone who continues along the path paved by their master, handing it down to the next generation.
The path of martial arts is not continued otherwise.
Edel chuckled and jumped into the flow of Elves rushing like arrows towards the thousand-year castle.
“Senior, shall we keep the formation as is?”
“Yeah.”
“And the strategy?”
“A single formation for monster hunting.”
Ivan’s answer made Dmitri nod, gesturing with his hand. The orders were immediate, and there was no delay in action.
Thirty agents split into their respective teams. They quickly seeped into the darkness of the city.
“You’ll take the front. Shouldn’t the most experienced agent stand in the most dangerous place?”
“Yeah.”
“No, stand a couple of steps behind.”
“…What?”
Dmitri tossed a potion bottle to Elpheira and gestured to the remaining agents. They quickly handed emergency supplies like bandages and potions to the group and turned away.
“To be honest, I’ve been active longer than you, haven’t I? You took a four-year break.”
“…Dmitri Cherkatov.”
“Lieutenant Colonel. I’m a Lieutenant Colonel now, Senior.”
Dmitri chuckled.
“You caught someone like that when you were a Lieutenant Colonel, what could I not do? I am with the best men of this era.”
“Orders—.”
“Oh, I’m the field commander now. You’re currently under administrative suspension for treason. Make sure to apologize to His Majesty when we return. Now, kids?”
Dmitri said with a smile, quietly looking at the group who were staring at him.
“Our role was originally a scout. We’re the ones who bring you to the Seven Dragon Lords without injury. We’re just doing what we do best, so put on a smile. Laugh, kids.”
The Hero Party remained frozen without a response, as if they had just realized the weight of the burden they carried.
And Ivan, too, silently stared at them. At the mocking Cleanup Unit. At their final survivors.
At the last agents who carried the memories of the battlefield with them.
At the finest men of this era.
They bowed their heads in unison to a single person who had stepped a pace ahead to arrive at this place. Ivan received their bow in silence.
“Do not mourn for those who left first.”
The most representative bow of the Cleanup Unit.
So, he had to respond.
“I stand in the same ranks as them.”
That is all. If I survive, then I am the commander, right?
With that last word, Dmitri flicked his gloved hand. The Cleanup Unit agents turned around in unison. The coats of those leaving fluttered in the wind, vanishing from sight.
In the distant, muffled sounds of battle continue. Screams, destruction sounds, winter storms, fiercely twisted Mana, newly woven magic tear through human fabric, generating nauseating and fresh rupture sounds.
Ivan silently opened the potion he received and poured it onto his arm.
The wound heals.
However, the scars never disappear. Even if they fade, never.
Thus, the presence of scars will become evidence of having survived. Yet again, in place of better individuals’ lives.
The burden grows. Thus, step down with even more strength and move forward.
“You should have prepared for a longer time than this.”
Ivan said bitterly. Too fast. Too excessive. It is an unfair battlefield for mere kids who have just passed their first class in the University.
The members of the Hero Party had already gathered in a completed state. Even those lived in hardship on the grueling battlefield, feeling their souls whittled down and their fabric torn, were struggling and losing hope.
The journey to kill the Demon King was such a path. To kill a King who was called a god while alive required such resolve and skill.
In the era of peace now trapped in amber, the current Hero Party was unprepared. In skill, mindset, and sense of duty.
But there’s no time to lament the inadequacies. Each step taken by the Hero Party resonates with the blood and death of those great individuals, marking the passage of time.
Thus, they must move forward. Wasting a day is not different from wasting thousands of lives.
“It would be better to give up right now. Today is not the last day of the journey, and despair like today is just an everyday occurrence.”
“…”
“Yet, will you still lift your head, grasp your weapon, consider the lives tied behind your back, and raise your eyes to find the morning star?”
At Ivan’s words, the group bit their lips and briefly lowered their heads.
Accepting this lightly, is the folly of those who live thoughtlessly. The moment they realize their true duty, no person can be without fear.
The fate of their race rests upon them. They must have realized that.
However, being a Hero does not mean being the strongest. It signifies being among the bravest and standing up in any moment as symbols of hope.
If they are the Hero Party, they should rise again.
“I will.”
An Elf Mage nodded, still bleeding.
“When the Captain falls, it’ll be my turn.”
The vampire giggled as she grasped her weapon.
“By the way, did you know that when I entrusted myself to Krasilov, the fate of our race hung in the balance too?”
The Dwarf Princess rummaged and pulled out an impossibly large cannon from her sleeve.
“I now understand Count Yeremov’s feelings. This really is a damned isekai.”
The foreigner from another world smiled bitterly while standing up with his sword and staff.
At that, Ivan nodded and turned around. It was time to head back to the battlefield.
Though they had likely never learned it, these individuals formed the formation of the Hero Party from long ago. They surrounded Ivan, supporting one another, assembling the party.
Thus, they dared to occupy the Hero’s position. It felt somewhat bitter, but nonetheless, there was a bit of pride.
Ivan meticulously washed away the wounds with potions, grasped his weapon, and moved forward.
He doesn’t run. He doesn’t rush. The times they should hurry had already been provided by great individuals, far above them.
With the most perfectly prepared breath, and the best-prepared posture. Becoming a sharp dagger.
Towards the heart of god, stepping forward with the lives of thousands woven into a single step.
One step at a time, steadily, but unshakeably, becoming a straight line.
Walking towards the morning star.
Among the 694 total members of the Swordsmanship Faction and with 370 from the Cleanup Unit, now in Dmitri’s former Counterintelligence Command, 27 out of 30 members are still standing.
With the arm of the greatest Elf swordsman and the legs of the longest-trained agent.
They walked the peaceful path paved with the blood and flesh of all those individuals.
Finally, the Hero Party arrived at the heart of the crumbling thousand-year castle, passing through the shards of god.
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