Chapter 64

Chapter 64. Sword Emperor Aritolt

Memories of the past swirled through my mind.

The era when the world was dying.

A time of despair when humanity had been cornered and not a speck of hope remained.

It was when I'd declared I would create the Philosopher's Stone.

An insane plan to inscribe Magic Circles across the entire globe and mobilize tens of thousands of personnel.

Everyone tried to talk me out of it.

-Jeong-seok, stop this.

-What's the point of this meaningless nonsense?

-Spend that time killing one more Demonic Beast instead.

Criticism and ridicule poured in.

A natural reaction.

The probability of my plan succeeding was close to zero.

I couldn't guarantee results, and failure meant the last of humanity's fighting strength would be squandered for nothing.

But.

One person.

Only Aritolt stood by my side.

-Impossible? Limits?

He'd scoffed, a blood-soaked sword slung over his shoulder.

-Those are my least favorite words in the entire world.

Aritolt despised limits.

He was a man who loathed the very concept of 'impossible' from the marrow of his bones.

-Do it. If you're the one setting the board, I'll lead the charge and clear the way.

-I believe in you, Kim Jeong-seok.

Those weren't empty words.

Everyone else turned their backs and rejected my plan.

But Aritolt took the initiative and helped me.

He gave his flesh and broke his bones buying time so that I could inscribe Magic Circles at the world's key strongholds.

He persuaded people and rallied them to the cause.

Without his sword.

Without his blind faith.

I could never have completed the Philosopher's Stone.

I would never have dared even attempt that final miracle -- detonating my own heart to obliterate both Earth and the Tower together.

I turned my head and pulled up a Status Window in the air.

Episode 4, Hall of Fame.

I lowered my gaze.

[5th: Aritolt]

[Score: 850]

His name was still firmly etched there.

5th place.

A score of 850.

'That's too high.'

Clearly different from my memories of the past.

Before the Regression, Aritolt at this stage had certainly been strong, but nowhere near the level to produce a score like that.

There are limits to what a human body can achieve.

And yet his current score had vaulted abnormally high compared to the past, just like Yamamoto's.

Why?

Because I'd warped history?

Had the emergence of an Irregular like me raised the baseline of the entire world?

Or.

'Is he...... also an Avatar?'

Like Yamamoto.

Could Aritolt also be drawing on the Divinity of a true body?

Acting the part of an ordinary human while secretly consuming more Nectar behind the scenes -- is that how he'd recorded this impossible score?

My mouth was bitter.

Far more bitter than when I'd learned Flunum had been an Avatar's shell.

Because Aritolt had been more than a simple comrade to me.

He'd been the only person who believed in me to the very end.

"......"

I shook my head.

I swept the stray thoughts away.

No amount of agonizing here and now would give me an answer.

Assumptions are poison.

I just had to meet him in person and see for myself.

Whether he's real, or a god wearing a disgusting skin.

"Park Jihun."

"Yes, Boss!"

"Keep the surveillance on Yamamoto going. Tell Satoshi to keep it within safe limits -- just track his movements."

"Got it. But where are you headed, Boss? You don't look like yourself at all."

"Got things to take care of."

I rose from my seat.

Episode 4 on Earth was over.

The immediate threat was gone, and my tasks here were concluded for now.

Time to return to the main job.

The Tower of God.

A mountain of things awaited me there.

After sending Park Jihun off, I activated the Aegis of the Ancient God.

Then I closed my eyes and focused my consciousness.

'Login.'

DING!

[Logging in to the divine land, 'Asgard'.]

My vision flickered.

Kim Jeong-seok's body sank into a deep sleep.

And across dimensions immeasurably distant, upon the throne on Floor 55 of the Tower of God.

With a surge of immense Divine Power, Rag's eyes opened.

***

The fatigue I'd carried from Earth was washed away in an instant.

The pure, dense Mana radiating from the Crystal enveloped my entire body.

With every breath, it felt as though the deepest recesses of my lungs were being cleansed.

I rose slowly from my seat.

I stepped out of the temple.

From a distance, heavy battle cries were reverberating through the air.

"HAAP!"

"Hold the formation! Your eyes are wavering!"

The training ground.

I directed my steps toward the source of the sound.

There, familiar faces were drenched in sweat.

Seria and the Frost Tribe elves.

And standing before them like a massive wall -- the ancient warriors.

The Four Barbarian Brothers.

They were training in synergy with one another.

The desire to grow stronger.

Their fierce fighting spirit radiated like heat, palpable even from afar.

The Four Barbarian Brothers had taken charge of the training for Seria and the elves.

They were veterans among veterans, having fought across countless battlefields for millennia.

Beings who had engraved the essence of combat deep into their bones.

"Your fingers are tensing on the bowstring! Steady your breathing!"

"Don't rely on Mana! If your body crumbles, your Mana scatters with it!"

Turan barked commands.

The elves tumbled and fell over and over, only to rise again without pause.

Seria drew her bow with even greater ferocity.

This was what it meant to grow stronger by the day.

It was nothing like simply drinking Nectar and watching stats climb.

Compressed live-combat training.

The art of battle was being etched into their very bodies.

Hsssh.

I'd arrived at the entrance of the training ground.

Despite approaching with my presence concealed, Turan's ears twitched.

He immediately halted the training.

"My lord!"

Turan dropped to one knee.

At the signal of his voice, Seria, Kalak, Barkan, Urk.

And dozens of Frost Tribe elves all prostrated themselves before me in unison.

They pressed their heads to the ground, still caked in unsettled dust.

"Have you awoken, Master?!"

Seria's voice rang out clearly.

I waved a hand lightly.

"Rise."

I spoke plainly.

"Pay me no mind and continue your training."

"By your command!"

Turan sprang to his feet.

He turned back toward the elves.

The moment my order fell, the training ground's atmosphere grew even heavier.

The knowledge that I was watching drove them to even greater intensity.

"Reform the ranks! Defensive unit, forward!"

High-intensity sparring resumed.

The massive Barbarians pressed the elves with weapons drawn.

Seria slipped into unseen blind spots and drew her bowstring.

It was fierce.

I stood with arms crossed, silently watching them grow.

'Satisfying.'

The shields that would guard my territory, the extensions of my will, were being honed to a razor's edge.

But.

CRACK.

I clenched my fist.

'My body's itching for a fight.'

In Earth's Demon Realm, breaking through the Incomprehensible difficulty had pushed my body past its limits.

In particular.

[Skill 'Heavenly Demon Swordsmanship' has reached 3-Star!]

Cutting through the abyss of the Incomprehensible, the Heavenly Demon Divine Art had grown at breakneck speed.

It had punched through the wall of 3-Star.

A miracle born from the Great Sage's Staff's 200% proficiency gain boost and the hidden trait 'The One Who Surpasses.'

I wanted to unleash it.

I wanted to test the limits of this power by clashing head-on.

......Turan.

The eldest of the Four Barbarian Brothers.

A monster who'd hit 800 in Strength despite being in an incomplete resurrection state.

The pressure radiating from a frame even larger than the other Barbarians was no joke.

I moved.

"Turan."

At my call, the training ground fell silent again.

Turan lowered his greatsword and turned.

"You called, my lord?"

"Care to cross blades with me?"

A direct proposal.

For an instant, Turan's eyes shook visibly.

His thick brows twitched.

Reluctance.

The rigid loyalty of a man who couldn't bear to point a blade at his lord.

"How could I possibly raise my sword against you, my lord?"

He bowed his head, signaling refusal.

But I didn't back down.

"That's an order."

"......"

"Hone my blade. With everything you have."

My firm command bent Turan's stubbornness.

He nodded, his expression set in stone.

"......By your command."

Turan planted his heavy footsteps before me.

Seria and the elves held their breath and withdrew.

SHING.

I gripped the Holy Sword Abriel.

"I'll go first."

I kicked off the ground.

BOOM--!

The Heavenly Demon Shoes' effect triggered, and my body rocketed forward like a cannonball.

I closed the distance in a flash.

Heavenly Demon Swordsmanship, 3-Star.

An overwhelming downward cleave, as though carving through space itself.

CLAAANG--!

A screech of metal that could burst eardrums tore through the training ground.

Turan heaved his greatsword up horizontally to block.

"Grkh......!"

Turan's feet sank deep into the earth.

Evenly matched.

Blade locked against blade, sparks flying.

But I narrowed my eyes.

The recoil traveling through my wrist.

His greatsword was trembling.

No -- it wasn't trembling.

'He's holding back.'

He was deliberately moderating his strength.

Afraid he might wound me, he was suppressing his monstrous 800 Strength from within.

I twisted Abriel and deflected his greatsword.

Turan stumbled two steps back.

I snapped coldly.

"I told you to give it everything. Do I look like a glass ornament that'd shatter from one hit?"

"My lord, but......"

"Strike."

I let killing intent pour out.

"If you don't, you're the one who gets cut."

At my warning, Turan's eyes changed.

His yellow, beast-like irises flashed.

The sealed instinct of an ancient warrior.

The feral nature of a Barbarian, forged for nothing but slaughter and battle, awakened.

RUMMMBLE--!

The fighting spirit erupting from Turan's body tore the air.

"......Forgive my impudence."

His voice shifted to a beast's snarl.

CRASH--!

This time, he was the one who launched forward.

Fast.

An absurd speed that belied his massive frame.

My vision went black.

A greatsword the size of a house came crashing down from above.

Overwhelming, devastating swordwork.

KRAANG--!

I crossed Abriel into a guard.

A shockwave erupted.

My feet skidded backward.

The Heavenly Demon Armor screamed.

'Not bad.'

The corners of my mouth split upward.

Fun.

This was fun.

If Aritolt saw me like this, his jaw would drop.

I'd always loathed sweaty combat and refused melee whenever I could.

CLANG--! CRASH--! KRAANG--!

Blades met dozens of times.

Sparks rained down like a shower.

Turan's offense was relentless.

A suffocating chain of strikes.

I channeled the Heavenly Demon Swordsmanship's enigmatic arcs to deflect his power and drove into his openings with thrusts.

But Turan batted those attacks aside without flinching and pressed in again.

A sparring match against a true beast.

That was when it happened.

WOOOOONG--!

Abriel, held in my hand, suddenly let out a bizarre keen.

"......Hm?"

"Hup......!"

An intensely blinding light erupted from the blade.

Blue and red intertwined -- a strange, iridescent radiance.

I hastily withdrew the sword and leaped back.

Turan likewise halted his attack and widened the gap.

FLASH--!

Abriel left my hand and floated into the air.

It began to vibrate, generating its own pillar of light.

'Evolution......!'

I knew it instinctively.

The Holy Sword was elevating its own Caliber.

The reason was easy to guess.

Most likely.

What it had consumed during the Incomprehensible difficulty.

Abriel had been unable to digest the Incomprehensible's remnants all at once and had been holding them in.

But why now, of all times?

'Could the sparring with Turan have tempered it?'

Like a blacksmith's hammer strikes, had Turan's greatsword honed the Holy Sword Abriel?

DING!

[Tempering of Holy Sword Abriel complete.]

[Holy Sword Abriel has fully purified and absorbed the Incomprehensible's demonic energy.]

[Holy Sword Abriel is evolving.]

[Surpassing the Caliber of Archangel.]

[Ascending to Principality!]

RUMMMBLE--!

Light exploded.

The form of Abriel, suspended in the air, changed.

Across the once-noble cruciform blade, intricate golden patterns were etched.

The edge grew even keener, and the holy power emanating from it was incomparably heavier than before.

It had been honed as the blade of a Principality -- the angel that governs the world and guards its authority.

WHOOOOSH.

The newly evolved Abriel dropped back into my hand.

The moment I gripped the sword, the sheer power that traveled through my palm drew a short gasp from me.

'Incredible.'

I barely held back the laughter threatening to burst out.

That was when it happened.

WHOOOOSH--!

A bolt of tempestuous wind swept across the sky above the training ground.

The light of the Artificial Sun was blotted out, and a massive shadow plummeted into the center of the grounds.

It was the God of Typhoons, Heimdal.

He opened his mouth with an imposing air.

"My Apostle God, Rag, hear me. We must attend the Banquet of the Gods, so prepare your......"

He trailed off mid-sentence.

Because Heimdal's gaze had locked onto the Holy Sword Abriel.

"......A Principality?"

Utter bewilderment saturated his voice.

He stared, dumbfounded, alternating between the newly evolved Abriel and me.