397 - Regressor of the Fallen Family

Episode 397 'Cutting the origin won’t work. He’ll dodge easily. Metal slicing… no, no.' Eileen stood contemplating while observing the enemy hovering in mid-air. Following a sudden intuition, she focused her mind on the flow of magic the enemy had released. 'If there’s a high chance my attack won't succeed anyway...' Her spells aimed both at protecting herself and attacking the three people atop the fortress. Although divided in four directions, it was essentially a single spell. If she could grasp the flow, disrupting it was... 'Definitely possible.' The Force Core of the Mystic Sword transmitted extraordinary improvements in her physical abilities and senses. It was why Eileen and her companions, Ronian and Viktor, possessing unique powers from special awakenings, could match the strength of other aura users with mere physical prowess. Although her husband, blessed with transcendent physical abilities and senses from the start, claimed he could see mana with his eyes, she didn’t reach that level. However, she was not lacking in sensing massive flows of magic. Just before mana transformed into a wind of destruction that would tear everything apart, she sensed its flow. The flow that was outrageously swift and transparent, intentionally hidden by its master. 'Found it!' Vwoom. The crimson aura surged from her sword, rapidly extending to a length nearing twenty meters, morphing into a colossal giant's blade—or rather, a cudgel. Soon, the red cudgel swung repeatedly, not at the enemy, but at the empty space all around. Wham! A strike aimed at irrelevant void rather than the enemy. But the outcome was splendid. Crash! The gusting winds poised to tear apart the trio were seamlessly severed. “Haha!” “We survived!” As Clayton and Victoria gasped praises with pale faces, Galen's expression twisted with frustration. The enemy mages suffered minor wounds, at best, but the battlemage emerged unscathed, not a scratch in sight. “How is that possible…!” A shrill outcry erupted. It was understandable. Had the mighty winds been a magic severable by a mere stroke from an aura user, they would never have garnered such renown. For magic of that caliber to be dismantled, another 'battlemage' must accurately read the mana flow and possess enough destructive power to sever it. Conventional wisdom dictated that only a mage surpassing Galen's strength could achieve such a feat. It didn’t matter that the effort left the battlemage drenched in sweat, staggering from the toll. "…How dare you!!" A haughty mage, second to only two others even in the Empire, gathered his magical power in fury. Just as his next assault was about to unfold— –We did it! A thunderous cheer emanated from within the castle, accompanied by a peculiar wave radiating through and beyond Kyle Castle. At that moment, a change occurred. "My power!" "My power is returning!" The expressions of the previously plummeting Empire knights atop the fortress shifted dramatically. The power of the grand magic circle that had bound them weakened noticeably. However, the response from the imperial forces struggling beneath was starkly different. “Ma, magic!” “What!” A pained scream erupted from the Empire’s newly joined magic corps, numbering three thousand. Some mages, making efforts to cast spells, began coughing up blood. The auxiliary spells intended for the front collapsed, their mana reversing explosively. “Urgh.” “Wh-what is this!” “What, what happened!?” The ‘Anti-Magic Barrier,’ a defensive measure thought long vanished into history but resurrected by the genius Victoria from an enigmatic research journal. Developed as a desperate measure to immobilize the Empire's superior magic corps by Victoria and Maclain’s magic corps. Although it drastically diminished the advantageous effects of the grand magic circle to do so, they deemed it necessary considering the enormous power of the enemy magic corps. At the moment, its effect was magnified on the battlefield of mages. As the barrier activated, the backflowing mana dealt significant shock to its wielders. Though the “Anti-Mana Field” applied to both inside and outside the fortress, the Maclain side, prepared for the impact, was in a vastly different state from the Empire side caught unaware. Clayton and Victoria, teeth gritted and stumbling, barely held their ground. "Argh!" The Wave Mage Lexie collapsed helplessly. Gasp. Celine of the Earth Mage title couldn’t even scream, blood spewing from her mouth. "Ugh! This, what…!" Despite the devastation, the Flame Mage Greg stood, bleeding from eyes, nose, and mouth. Yet, there was one who endured. “You damned…!” Indeed, the top mage of the Empire, Galen DeCaid, somehow maintained his magic, though with a ghastly pale face. Yet he, too, appeared far from normal. Then, Eileen moved. ‘Now!’ Eileen shot forth like lightning, first targeting the Flame Mage struggling to stay upright. “What…!?” A vacant gaze met the blade looming before him, eyes wide in astonishment. Seizing the opportunity, Eileen’s sword did not falter. Slash. “No!” Galen shouted, unable to cast magic as intended, with fury palpable in his voice. However, Greg’s head had already rolled to the ground. 'Next!' Despite straining every ounce of her dwindling energy, with her whole body creaking from accumulated stress, Eileen didn’t intend to stop. ‘The opportunity where mages collectively fall for the barrier won’t come again!’ Her sheer resolve kept her moving. However, as her sword sought its next target, she found no enemies within reach. Vwoom. Though Galen couldn’t prevent Greg’s demise, he swiftly adjusted, initiating new spells. Before Eileen could approach other mages, they had already ascended into the air. 'Even utilizing magic within the activated anti-magic barrier? It's impossible, isn't it?' Dumbfounded, Eileen glanced back, only to find even Victoria, the one who unearthed this very magic, looking at Galen with an incredulous expression. And the one who shattered her understanding wore a twisted expression, letting out a bizarre laugh. “Ha... Restoring an ancient anti-magic circle…? Who could possibly have done such a thing?” It was a laugh lacking any dignity, and with blood trickling down his lips, it was evident he wasn’t in the best shape either. Galen, who had been glaring as though to kill Eileen, turned his eyes to follow hers. There, he saw Victoria standing pale, leaning against her mentor for support. By then, Eileen realized her mistake, but it was already too late. “A genius, the genius of the century, isn’t that right...?” Galen cast a chilling smile at the young mage. Even while witnessing this, Eileen could not launch an attack. Despite clearly having taken a significant hit, Galen displayed no visible weakness. But in that tense moment of standoff, it was the Wind Mage who first turned his back. “Watch. It won’t happen a second time...!” Just as the handsome face twisted into a grimace. Cheers erupted suddenly from below the fortress. – Hurraaaah! Everyone atop the fortress turned their gaze toward the battlefield below. * * * The sword assault of the determined Swordmaster was frightfully fierce. One swing cleaved tens of meters in radius, and with a single step, the ground cracked under the pressure. Truly, it was a display of transcendent might. Yet Logan was not afraid of the Swordmaster's blade. His aura and authority could negate the attacks that reached vast distances, and the sheer force used to rupture the ground seemed like an overuse of power. If not for the freezing spells that sought to block his movement, the battle might have ended long ago. Oddly enough, the earlier threat felt from the Swordmaster atop the fortress seemed more substantial now. ‘Why is this happening?’ Tris’s face, aging rapidly in real-time, was distorted, and the force and speed behind his blade were markedly different from when he stood atop the fortress. Yet Logan remained unchanged. The physical augmentation provided by the relics of the Sword Saint's lineage was not enough to explain this discrepancy in power. Even having previously used the time acceleration of his beloved sword Lux, it should have been a situation where he was constantly on the defensive, yet inexplicably, he felt at ease. He was even able to discern the strengths and weaknesses of the Swordmaster's techniques. ‘How in the world am I doing this?’ As Logan stood bewildered, he sensed he stood at a pivotal moment. The possibility of reaching a legendary realm loomed before him. Thus, he focused solely on defense, even as he forgot the battlefield. And after a lengthy exchange of blows, after watching the Swordmaster’s techniques repeatedly, he realized: he was anticipating the Swordmaster’s every move, countering a step ahead. ‘I see now.’ His late realization came from his lack of relevant knowledge. Reading an opponent’s flow and moves was a fundamental skill for any warrior. But this transcended mere skill. For, in terms of skill, the Swordmaster was superior by any measure. The root cause lay in his altered perception, more precisely, his senses. ‘To see the soul…’ Tris Hornsby’s movements, thoughts, were entirely visible to him. He could predict even those responsive maneuvers close to improvisation, moves of which Tris himself might not even be aware. Having finally grasped the meaning of an Aura Master’s domain over the soul, Logan now truly understood. And in that moment of realization, he saw Tris’s eyes, bloodshot with fury. “Dodging like a rat, aren’t you!” The old knight surely sensed his impending defeat. “You too have seen beyond, haven’t you?” A dry voice filled with an inscrutable rage, but there was no need to engage with such inexplicable wrath. It was time to end it. Clang! Clang clang! Boom! Slice. “Well learned.” The earth split apart, the sight before him a wasteland of devastation. Amidst the fierce collision, Logan’s calm voice rang clear in Tris’s ears. “…Unacceptable!” His deepened wrinkles and fading eyes. The old knight, feeling his end near, refused to acknowledge his defeat. He harnessed every ounce of remaining life force onto the edge of his sword. “I refuse to die alone!” With those words, the Swordmaster became still. The storm of sword strikes ceased, and fiery aura soared high. As if to declare that all efforts until now were mere child’s play, the blazing aura forced the dust cloud to settle. As the view cleared, the enormous flame of aura vanished, and the Swordmaster’s blade extended long. Shiiiiing! A clean strike, from above Logan’s head down to his toes. The very power he demonstrated years ago at the Imperial Palace using just a finger. The pinnacle of swordsmanship, the Soul Blade, executed with all the aura a former continent’s strongest aura user could muster, was unleashed. In his lifetime’s twilight, the Swordmaster’s parting strike released a brilliantly radiant red light. A vivid crimson light enveloped everything. Momentarily, the fervor of the battlefield died down, all fights paused, and every gaze transfixed upon the explosion of light. The single strike possessed a magnetic power that drew in the essence of man’s spirit. Yet, there was one. Facing this spectacle, Logan's face bore only a look of pity. ‘It’s powerful, but...’ Perhaps the Swordmaster had longed endlessly to surpass his own limits since facing the wall. In the end, it succeeded only in mimicking a truly unreachable ascendant state. Indeed, it was a mere imitation. ‘He poured his soul into it, but it’s not the true power to cleave souls.’ The anguish faced by a knight who struggled for decades against an insurmountable wall. That despair. And the hope he couldn’t let go, all of it was reflected in that final strike. Witnessing this, Logan resolved to bid farewell to the old knight’s end with all the respect he could muster. By demonstrating the ultimate power he aspired to grasp. Thud. The moment he resolved and took a step forward, the special trait 'Up' activated, surging tremendous power through him. With all his strength concentrated, a pristine sword slash met the Swordmaster head-on. At the exact same angle and range, a golden strike clashed against the incoming crimson light. Crash! The strike, which had crossed the wall through unconventional means, faced the years of struggle endured by the old knight at that very wall. In that incredibly brief moment—a mere heartbeat—the stark difference was clearly drawn, leaving an indelible mark on Logan’s soul. ‘Thanks to you, it seems I’ll soon be able to fully surpass the wall.’ The eighth form of the Mystic Sword Art, Soul Cleave. Executed without any preparation, this technique, the blazing golden light, consumed the last remnants of life from the old knight as it advanced. Perhaps it was the impact of the brilliant light. Or maybe life had already departed before that. Before the soul-cleaving light even touched his body, the Swordmaster collapsed. Leaving only a fearfully twisted expression behind. “Master!” The one-eyed knight, who watched for an opportunity but never managed to intervene, let out a scream-like shout. “No!” The mage, experiencing for the first time a situation impervious to any spell, cried out in despair. Amidst the shocking scene where everyone’s attention was drawn. Logan raised his sword. Despite the draining aftereffects of the trait activation and the gaze of the surrounding imperial soldiers, he remained unshaken. And then. “I have defeated the Swordmaster!” His voice echoed across the battlefield, proclaiming the end of the battle.