Chapter 44: Transcendence

A madness that had not been sensed before was now evident in the charging Bricalla.

Like a warhorse whipped into a frenzy, it forcibly maintained a state of awakening by electrifying its own body. The sight of it charging on two legs and four hands was enough to intimidate any human.

Yet here, the first to move was a man twisted from the human path.

"Glory to Helmuuuunt!"

Jonathan, the Helmut fanatic. The sticky, thick aura emanating from his greatsword had now transformed into something that could barely still be called Crimson Descent.

Kwaaaang!

The moment the two monsters clashed, aura and electricity scattered in all directions.

The balance of power was broken from the very beginning. Upon impact, Jonathan's greatsword was deflected, and he was pushed back. Bricalla crushed and trampled over Jonathan as it passed by.

"Ugh!"

"What the hell?! Acting all tough and then getting wrecked?!"

Sharen's reaction was delayed by a beat because Jonathan was taken down too quickly.

Before she could even complete her horizontal slash, Bricalla deflected the greatsword with its fist.

Her eyes widened in shock as she instinctively unleashed Crimson Descent to resist—

"Kyaaah!"

—but she, too, failed to stop Bricalla's charge and was sent flying into the wall.

If the angle had been slightly off, she would have fallen straight down.

"...!"

Bricalla's target had been Isaac from the very beginning.

It clearly recognized the one being here who had almost taken its life.

'There's no chance of winning in a head-on fight…!'

But there was nowhere to run either. With Sharen now far away, Isaac's body was once again freezing over.

Kwoong!

Isaac stomped his right foot forward with force. Abandoning the Pearlsun, he placed his hand on the last remaining sword at his waist.

[What do you think is the greatest power of your master's sword?]

'Fear.'

At the time, Isaac had answered without hesitation, and the Grand Master had chuckled, muttering, [You're too sharp for your own good.]

There was no hesitation in Isaac's actions. The moment his trembling, frozen hand touched the hilt of the sword, he felt an almost deceptive sense of freedom.

Bricalla was intelligent.

It possesses wisdom, can reason, learn, and grow.

And because of that…

Kwoong!

Bricalla stopped in front of Isaac and spread its four hands wide, as if on guard.

'It fears because it knows. It's wary because it has learned.'

Isaac was posing a question.

His Iaido.

Could you follow it with your eyes?

That flash-like sword strike.

Could you block it again, like you did by chance last time?

Bricalla's gaze, which had been unwavering, now fixed on Isaac's sword. It was focused on when and how that blade, sheathed in its scabbard, would be drawn.

A bluff.

A lie played with one's life on the line, like in a card game.

The sword?

The moment it's drawn, it would be swept away by the electric current, rendering it useless, unable to even cut through air.

But it doesn't know whether the sword at Isaac's waist is the same as the one from before.

'Thought holds back action. Knowledge builds fear.'

It had felt that single moment of death firsthand.

The terror of that strike had seared itself into its mind.

And so, despite its anger, despite its thirst for blood—

Bricalla hesitated before approaching Isaac.

Of course, that hesitation did not last long.

"Kwaaaaah!"

As Bricalla's fist slammed into the ground, sending a wave of electricity surging through the barricade toward Isaac.

A tide of lightning poured in.

He hurled the Pearlsun into the path of the electricity to block it, but it barely lessened the impact.

In the end, the lightning struck him full force.

"Ughhh!"

It felt like his entire body was about to burst. Just moments ago, his body had been freezing, but now his skin was burning, emitting a charred smell as steam rose.

"Kraaaa!"

Finally, perhaps judging that Isaac had completely fallen, Bricalla approached with heavy footsteps.

Whack!

With all its strength, it struck Isaac with the back of its hand.

"Issaaac!"

Sharen's scream echoed. Thanks to that, Jonathan, who had been knocked out, woke up, but it was already too late.

Isaac's body was flung into the air, thrown past the wall, and sent plummeting straight down.

A bone-crushing shock tore through his frozen body. Even the wind slicing past him felt like pure agony.

This is how I die.

"Some-one-! He's-falling-!"

"Everyone, brace-catch-him-!"

"Sir-Isaac!"

The fragmented, distant voices barely kept Isaac tethered to consciousness.

Through his hazy vision, he could make out the towering fortress wall.

'Ah.'

Before he even realized it, he had already reached the ground.

Yet, there was no impact.

He had expected instant death-but it never came.

"What the hell were you thinking!?"

The answer was clear soon enough.

A warm green mana enveloped his body.

The overwhelming pain that had been wracking his entire body slowly faded, as if it were seeping back into his skin.

His fingers twitched, and his blurred vision returned to normal.

Vivian, the infirmary mage.

"If I hadn't caught you with magic, you would've died instantly without even getting treatment!" he shouted, coughing violently.

"You told us to run! Cough, cough! But what the hell were you thinking, staying back and fighting-! Ugh! Keugh!"

He turned his head to the side and spat out phlegm. Using healing magic had taken a heavy toll on him, and his pale face showed that he had exhausted most of his mana.

"Ah."

Isaac slowly got up.

He wasn't in perfect condition, but he was well enough to fight again.

"Sir Isaac, are you alright?!"

The soldiers stationed at the Malidan Wall gathered around him, their expressions filled with concern.

"…What's the situation?"

Isaac brushed off the frost clinging to his body and asked.

The reply came immediately.

"No casualties aside from the initial ambush. Thanks to your quick judgment in ordering a retreat, we minimized our losses."

They seemed to want to reassure him that his judgment hadn't been wrong. But Isaac pushed past the soldiers blocking his way and trudged toward the wall.

"…It's not over yet."

Sharen and Jonathan were still fighting Bricalla up there, weren't they?

With heavy footsteps, he moved forward. Other soldiers hurriedly blocked his path.

"You can't!"

"Going up now is suicide!"

"We'll go instead! Please, rest here, Sir Isaac!"

"Protecting the Malidan wall is our duty!"

Each of them insisted that they should go in his place.

Isaac's bloodshot eyes narrowed.

"You're going to climb up there? All of you? And freeze to death together?"

"..."

"You're the guardians of the Malidan Wall. That's why you need to stay here."

Because-

"If we die, you'll be the last line of defense."

The longer Bricalla stayed on the wall, the more damage it would accumulate. If they couldn't kill it, they had to fight it for as long as possible to wear it down.

"We can fight with everything we have… because we know you'll be here to hold the line."

The soldiers fell silent, unable to argue further.

Isaac resumed his march-until someone unexpected stepped in front of him.

"…Where are the rest of your swords?"

"Antonio…"

He snatched Isaac's sword as if taking it away and drew it.

Crackle!

The blade was completely blackened and unusable. It seemed to have been destroyed when Isaac was struck by the lightning.

"The sword—"

Isaac held out his hand, demanding the silver sword Antonio was holding.

"I wasn't planning to give it to you like this."

But now wasn't the time for that. Antonio handed over the silver sword, struggling to explain his mixed emotions before finally laughing it off.

"Save your thanks… for when you return. Tell the young lady yourself."

Isaac's eyes widened slightly.

The sword in his hand was surprisingly light and carried a mysteriously pure energy.

He instantly recognized it as a sword forged from Frost Silver. Nodding slightly, Isaac walked back inside, his body growing hot.

"Cough! Hack! Cough!"

Judging by the way Vivian was vomiting, it seemed he had cast a final warming spell on Isaac's body.

He moved toward the wall.

The soldiers standing by parted to clear his path.

They raised their hands in silent salute—no words, only respect for the swordsman walking toward battle.

***

[Enlightenment?]

On the stairs leading up to the wall, amidst the chilling cold that froze his brain, Isaac heard the familiar voice of his Grand Master.

[When does one attain enlightenment? Ha, I thought there were too many slow-witted disciples lately, and now you ask something so trivial.]

Isaac could picture his master, swirling the drink, sighing in exasperation.

[When do you think it happens?]

'....'

[Hmm? Answer me. I won't laugh.]

'When you fight for your life? When you swing your sword with all your might, or when you focus to survive, right?'

[How romantic!]

His master chuckled.

Wasn't that how most people imagined it?

The moment when one sheds all their limits and reaches enlightenment—surely it would happen in the direst of crises, when standing at the edge of life and death.

[Let me ask you something in return.]

His master swayed an empty bottle in disappointment before setting it down and smiling.

[Then why do people die?]

'....'

[A desperate situation? A life-threatening crisis? Those things happen to everyone. They're common occurrences. Does that mean everyone reaches enlightenment when facing death?]

Isaac's steps grew heavier.

[Everyone dies. Don't place too much weight on death. True enlightenment is not born from the ordinary. It is rare precisely because it is exceptional.]

A gust of wind pressed down on his head, signaling the end of the staircase.

He reached the top of the wall.

Everything was frozen—ice and icicles covered on the wall, making them glisten under the pale light.

[Haha! How about it? Do you understand now?]

'Understand what?'

A high-altitude wind swept past him.

A white, frost-like breath flowed out.

Amidst the flowing white mist, Jonathan and Sharen lay collapsed.

[Still don't get it? Enlightenment is rare because it's not universal. Think of it the other way around.]

Bricalla, the monstrous foe with four arms, pounded its chest.

It froze when it saw Isaac return.

As if furious that he had come back again, it exhaled through its nostrils, fiery rage glowing in its eyes, and let out a thunderous roar.

[Enlightenment doesn't come from something everyone experiences, but from situations that are hard to come by, don't you think?]

The lightning, scattering falling snowflakes, stabbed in all directions like spears.

The concentrated mana had taken the form of electricity, and Isaac couldn't help but be impressed by the sheer amount that remained.

'And what is it?'

He took his stance.

His right leg boldly stepped forward.

His left leg planted itself firmly, like a pillar.

As his hand rested on the sword at his waist, the posture he had always taken came naturally.

[What is it, you ask?]

The grandmaster's crescent-moon smile curved upward.

[You should know well, considering you helped write the manuals.]

[When the moon shone brightest, who wielded the sword?]

'....'

[Who was it that wielded their sword under the stars at dawn?]

[When the moon faded and the sun rose, who stood drenched in sweat, witnessing the sunrise?]

[Who shouted their battle cries even before the rooster's crow?]

[Who repeated this routine, day after day, without fail?]

[It's rare, isn't it? Someone who spends their time like that.]

Thud!

The sound of the Grand Master's sword hitting the ground overlapped with Bricalla's footsteps.

Snapping back to the present, Isaac's gaze sharpened, locking onto Bricalla, who kept a wary distance, watching him closely.

[That's the one.]

'....'

[That's the one who has reached what you call enlightenment.]

Bzzzzzzt!

Bricalla's lightning poured out in all directions. Just like before, it tried to suppress Isaac with waves of electricity, aiming to counter his sword.

But the sword slid out smoothly.

Here, in the north.

He swung his sword when the moon was brightest.

He had gripped it beneath the starlit dawn.

He watched the moon retreat and the sunrise, drenched in sweat.

He shouted his battle cries even before the rooster's crow.

And.

And he had done so, every single day, without fail.

"The moment the blade is drawn—."

Having reached the very end, and beyond—

It was called Grand Iaido.

A silver line was drawn.

It stretched, and stretched further, reaching somewhere unknown.

Cutting the beast's head was merely one step in the process of moving forward.

[If you call it enlightenment, doesn't it seem trivial?]

[So if it must be named—]

[It is Transcendence.]