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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: FusionX
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“What happens when you receive divine power?”
He had asked that question once. In the South, around the time he received divine power from Adriana.
His frail body, a burden since birth, had prevented him from fully channeling his mana. It restricted his swordsmanship, hindering him in battle.
Yet, he had reached the peak of swordsmanship because, unlike others, he possessed infinite time.
He couldn’t achieve it with his original body, but through repeated regressions, he had elevated his skill.
He wouldn’t have reached this level without divine power.
He had recovered because the divine power he received in the South had significantly enhanced his physical capabilities.
The ground trembled beneath his feet.
He knew this fight wouldn’t last long.
The Minotaur, weakened by necromancy, was roughly equal to him in strength.
He had to strike with full force. The divine power within him wouldn’t last.
He had never fought a monster of this size. He had only ever crossed blades with humans. He had no idea how to approach this battle.
So, he relied on instinct. Not experience, but the primal instinct to let his sword guide him.
That would be his path to victory.
‘It’s not as fast as I thought.’
If that massive body was faster than him, he would be in trouble. But the monster’s movements were slow enough for him to react.
He could easily outmaneuver it.
Slower than a human. Of course. Otherwise, he wouldn’t stand a chance.
He had to exploit this difference. Mana surged through him, igniting like a flame. Blue flames enveloped his sword, slicing through the air.
The wind pressure from the Minotaur’s movements was a force of nature.
He launched himself forward, dodging falling debris.
He lunged, his sword piercing the monster’s hide. He was surprised by its toughness. He couldn’t inflict significant damage at this rate.
He quickly retreated.
A massive fist slammed into the spot where he had stood moments before.
“A pesky fly. Just like the others.”
He didn’t respond.
If he seemed like a fly, he would continue to buzz around it. But he needed to inflict more than just distractions. He placed his hand on his chest, feeling the pulsating mana within his heart.
He inhaled slowly.
Muscles draw strength from breath. He had learned to control his breathing to unleash bursts of power.
By regulating his breath, he could distribute energy throughout his body, then focus it for explosive attacks.
He gripped his sword with both hands.
His figure vanished.
The Minotaur’s fist swung through empty air again.
A flicker of excitement flashed in its crimson eyes.
This was good. He had intended to provoke it. Though its increasing speed was unexpected.
“Come. Many have fought like you, but I have always prevailed!”
“I’m sure you have.”
The Minotaur had only been defeated once, by the Moon Goddess. Before that, it had never lost to a human.
Could such a being even comprehend defeat?
Anyone observing this fight would surely bet on the Minotaur.
But he was certain of his victory. The reason was simple. He was beginning to see through the monster’s movements.
Humans and monsters were different. Their forms, their movements. The actions of a creature once called a demon were unpredictable.
An ordinary person wouldn’t be able to discern its patterns. But there were tells.
A twitch of the shoulder before a punch. A shift in the hips before a step. All movements originated from the spine.
He could anticipate them even before they happened.
The Minotaur slammed its fist into the ground, sending a cloud of dust billowing into the air. It stared at him, a strange expression on its face.
He had felt a slight resistance, a subtle difference in its movement. A decrease in power.
The Minotaur chuckled, looking at its severed arm.
Amusement flickered in its eyes. This was unprecedented. A human had pierced its hide.
It was reminiscent of its battle against the Moon Goddess.
With each swing of his sword, more wounds appeared.
He targeted its knees, its heels, its elbows, hindering its movement.
Yet, his speed didn’t falter.
The monster roared in defiance, its wounds multiplying. It laughed, a sound filled with madness.
This was its first battle in a thousand years, yet it was surpassing its former self.
Its crimson eyes blazed, fueled by the unprecedented sensation of a human blade piercing its flesh.
Debris erupted from the shattered ground, flying towards him.
He sliced through the rocks, his sword moving in a zigzag pattern.
The Minotaur’s fist flew towards him. Its white mane whipped around its head.
He saw the upward curve of its horns, the massive fist descending. He twisted his body, dodging the blow.
The monster grinned, bringing its other fist down.
He didn’t dodge. Divine power formed a shield around him.
He glanced back.
Adriana was channeling her power, her hands clasped together.
‘Three minutes?’
The time remaining before the divine power within him was depleted. It was consumed rapidly with each swing of his sword.
He had to use it efficiently. His body felt light.
Perhaps he had fully regained the power he possessed when he earned the title of Sword Saint.
Should he try it?
If it worked, the fight would end in an instant.
He had nothing to lose. He didn’t waste time on deep breaths.
Short, shallow breaths were enough.
He moved lightly, his footsteps barely disturbing the dust on the ground.
He moved like a phantom, leaving no trace.
The Minotaur’s fist seemed to slow down.
Even as it hurtled towards him, he recognized the familiar sensation. He had regained his former skill.
Even if it was only for a brief moment, it was enough. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time.
The power he exuded made the Minotaur’s expression shift.
“You’ve changed.”
This was a level he had never encountered, even during his time as a demon.
With each step, the human seemed to slice through the very air, his presence as sharp as a honed blade.
The Minotaur laughed.
He had believed the world hadn’t changed in a thousand years. But this… this was something new.
Battle was everything to the Minotaur.
Perhaps it was meaningless, but his purpose was to conquer any challenge.
He snorted, his breath hot and heavy.
His muscles bulged, veins throbbing with dark blood.
“Do you know why I was once called Violence?”
Robert, his mana gathered, shook his head.
He didn’t know, but he could guess.
To the knights, that massive form must have seemed like an unstoppable force.
Its horns, reaching towards the heavens, symbolized defiance. Its bull-like head, an embodiment of aggression.
Its massive, powerful body, capable of withstanding any impact.
An unyielding warrior, a demon who had never known defeat.
That was Violence.
Unstoppable, irresistible.
A presence that shattered the will of those who dared to oppose it.
“You’ll learn soon. I hope you survive long enough to understand.”
The Minotaur grinned, its jaws wide.
Robert closed his eyes, gripping his sword.
Sight wouldn’t help him here. He had regained his skill, his senses, but not the full extent of his former power. He had to sharpen his senses.
He sacrificed sight for enhanced perception. It was too late to react visually. He had to rely on sound, on instinct.
The ground cracked.
The monster roared, shaking the spire.
Verod shielded Adriana with divine power, deflecting falling debris.
The fragments didn’t reach Robert. He had already sliced through them.
He chuckled softly, realizing he had moved instinctively.
He heard it.
The monster’s heartbeat, thrumming like a drum.
He felt the shifting of its massive muscles, the explosive power in its legs as it prepared to charge.
He had never fought a monster like this. He couldn’t comprehend its strength, couldn’t even begin to estimate it.
But could he cut it?
He shook his head.
The question was irrelevant.
As long as he held his sword, he could cut anything. The arrogance of a swordsman, the confidence of one who had reached the peak of their art. He could cut anything in this world.
He raised his sword, holding it lightly in one hand.
The Minotaur’s massive form vanished.
Even Verod lost sight of it for a moment. It moved with incredible speed.
A delayed thud echoed through the chamber. In the slowed perception granted by his heightened senses, Robert drew a line in the air.
One strike was all he needed. One precise cut to fell the giant.
A single, effortless stroke.
The pinnacle of swordsmanship.
As the Minotaur’s charge ended, a geyser of blood erupted from its severed arm.
Robert was unharmed. That was the essence of a Sword Saint.
An untouchable star, a title earned through unparalleled skill.
The Minotaur chuckled, the light fading from its eyes, leaving only a dull, red glow.
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