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The "arrogant" declaration hung in the air.
Ghislaine remained expressionless.
But her tail lashed against the wind.
She was enjoying this.
For a moment, she saw a familiar shadow in Allen's demeanor.
Her master.
The man who lounged on the "throne" of the Holy Land of Swords, spouting vulgarities like "this great one" and "your lord," his blade sweeping aside all challengers with contemptuous ease.
The current Sword God—Gal Farion.
Her lips curled slightly before she shook her head.
No.
Allen wasn't like him.
"You suit the Sword God Style."
"But those words… aren't your desire."
The statement was cryptic. Eris and Rudeus exchanged confused glances.
But Allen understood.
The reason the Sword God Style relied on epiphanies was simple—
Two factors drove the progression of the Light Reaper:
Was the swordsman's foundation solid?
Was the flame of desire burning fiercely?
Was Allen's foundation solid?
The answer was obvious.
Thus, as long as his desire burned bright, his breakthroughs would come swiftly.
Desire.
It was the fuel for the Light Reaper's fire—a blaze that only grew wilder with time.
But that same fire could not change its fuel midway.
Because once extinguished…
Relighting it would be near impossible.
Allen called this driving force—the desire that shaped the Sword God Style—
"Sword Heart."
His earlier "arrogance" fit the classic mold of a Sword God Style master.
The blood of Boreas ran in his veins—stubborn, unyielding, thirsting for power.
If he embraced that mindset—the resolve to reign supreme over all swordsmen—wouldn't that itself be a form of desire? A form of Sword Heart?
But—
That wasn't the path Allen had chosen.
Because that kind of Sword Heart was too simple. Too direct.
It seemed unburdened, as if one could effortlessly ascend to the title of Sword God.
But—
A blade too rigid snaps easily.
Unlike the Water God Style—a gradual, methodical climb—the Sword God Style was different.
As long as desire burned, the Light Reaper remained sharp, swift, incomprehensibly fast.
But the moment that fire faltered?
The blade would break.
Stagnation. Decline. Or worse—irreparable collapse.
Especially for desires like "supremacy" or "strength."
Once shattered, no one could piece them back together.
Because the heart refused to lie to itself.
If someone crushed you outright…
How could you still call yourself strong?
How could you?
The clearest example?
Gal Farion.
In the original timeline, after being surpassed by his own disciple, he fell from the title of Sword God. He began doubting the Sword God Style itself—so much so that during the final battle, he abandoned it entirely, switching to the Water God Style's defensive tactics against his former student, Eris.
And so—
He died.
Cut down by Rudeus, a foe far weaker than his prime.
A clean, merciless end.
Allen shrugged at the thought.
"That kind of desire… doesn't suit someone like me."
Ghislaine studied him.
She understood.
Because the moment she chose to stay in Boreas, she had abandoned her own desire.
That was why she remained a Sword King.
And she had no regrets.
Life needed moments worth pausing for, didn't it?
Though her master would probably curse her for it next time they met.
Her gaze sharpened.
Then…
What was Allen's desire?
Her smile faded.
She bowed slightly.
Heijou slid into its sheath with a whisper.
"'Strongest beneath the King'?"
Her tone suggested she had lost interest in sparring.
But Eris—
Was practically vibrating.
Her frantic stomping sent clumps of grass flying into Rudeus' face.
The Light Reaper had three stances.
This was the hardest to predict—
The Iaido draw.
Ghislaine's specialty.
Her next words were calm.
"Then what if your opponent… was a King?"
"Or should I slow my blade—'take it easy' on you?"
Allen narrowed his eyes.
A Sword King's Light Reaper.
An Iaido strike.
Right now, his Flow Sense detected—
Nothing.
No killing intent.
No tells.
The blade's intent was perfectly concealed within the sheath.
Unlike the earlier middle guard, where he had sensed the strike's trajectory beforehand…
Now?
His senses were blind.
For the Water God Style, reading killing intent was the only reliable counter against the Sword God Style at equal levels.
Let alone when facing a Sword King at full strength.
In the original timeline, the reason Isolte, Nina, and Eris formed a rock-paper-scissors dynamic in the Holy Land's duels boiled down to this:
Isolte dominated Eris because Eris' killing intent was too obvious.
Nina crushed Isolte because she had grown up in the Holy Land's "ivory tower"—her swordsmanship was pure, devoid of real battle instinct. That was why Eris' rough, survival-honed style later overwhelmed her.
But that same purity made Nina nearly untouchable to Isolte. Because without life-or-death stakes, her killing intent was too faint to detect.
And if you couldn't sense it—
How could you counter it?
Allen faced the same dilemma now.
Should he take Ghislaine's offer?
Let her slow her blade, giving him time to adapt?
He could.
But—
He didn't want to.
Allen grinned.
Closed his eyes.
If killing intent was hard to sense…
Then he'd make it easier to sense.
In that instant—
The Dragon Saint Qi in his core compressed.
Then expanded.
Flooding his veins!
Sensory Overload.
The world sharpened.
Sight. Sound. Smell. Taste. Touch.
Every scrap of information from the courtyard assembled in his mind, constructing a map of the battlefield.
For a moment—
He heard his own breath.
A roar like wind through a canyon!
Then—
Silence.
Flow Sense contracted.
Discarding all extraneous input.
Leaving only—
The pulse of killing intent.
The mental map darkened.
Inky blackness pooled at his feet, swallowing the world.
In that void—
A single white thread flickered.
Five meters away.
Near Ghislaine's hip.
The blade about to be drawn.
The hidden killing intent.
The darkness rippled.
Allen's voice echoed in his own mind.
"No need."
"Come at me."
"Show me what a King's Light Reaper…"
"...really looks like."
Note: So far this story is published up to chapter 210 on my patreon, go check it out and remember that if we reach the goal of 75 power stones I will publish the next chapter.