A dull longsword and a heartbroken villager

“Breclas, let me see how mortals can turn the tide in this desperate situation.” He casually tossed out stones torn from the fortress.

Bray dodged the direct hit from the rock, glanced at Umkandal, and switched the longsword to his right hand.

The ground began to roar, and the sky began to shatter.

Umm Kandar manipulated everything with his own will, and no other living creature could be found here except for Him and Bray.

A meteorite fell from the distant sky, and scorching magma surged and rolled beneath the ground, even the air currents were twisted into gales.

Umkandal took a step forward, and three arms rained down on the spot where the beacon was.

Dodging and blocking, Bray did everything he could to avoid damage.

Even if he were to take just one direct hit, he would die here.

A furious onslaught... no, Umkandar's offensive was nothing short of devastating.

Bray was like a lone boat that could capsize at any moment, teetering precariously within its confines.

The mental world is fading away, and Bray will never be able to stand up again after taking damage.

People think Bray is very strong? But in reality, Bray himself never thought he was that strong.

It wasn't that he was being overly modest; he simply believed that this was the truth.

Bray isn't exactly humble; for example, he thinks he's good at fixing things and maneuvering vehicles.

However, he never considered himself powerful.

Even after killing countless Silver-ranked individuals, he still held this belief.

He could die from a single oversight, a single careless mistake.

Therefore, no matter how many outrageous guys he defeats, he doesn't think he can win again next time.

Just as Whiteface asserted, Bray is still very weak.

Yet this person, who considered himself weaker than the Silver Race, showed no fear whatsoever when facing Umkandal, who held an absolute advantage.

What can he do in this apocalypse?

Creating a happy and joyful life for everyone? He can't do that.

He was just a guy who knew how to use a sword, and all he could think of was fighting these silver-level beings.

This world is so noisy these days, really, really noisy.

It's not sound, but something else that makes the world so noisy.

"Let's be a little quieter." Without realizing it, Bray blurted out what was on his mind.

The scorching heat lifted his bangs and clothes, as if it could blow this not-so-strong man away at any moment.

But Bray remained standing in place and was not easily blown away.

One strike might miss, two strikes might miss... so—

He took a deep breath and, after splitting a falling rock high in the sky, assumed a fighting stance.

Focus your attention on one point, then close your right eye.

The world sheds all its colors and is then replaced by another kind of "color." Bray immerses himself in this perspective, becoming deeply absorbed in it.

Whether it's real or illusory, her behavior around Umkandal is distorted.

If Ummkandar wanted to, what Bray's Mind Eye saw would have a completely different outcome the next second.

Even the flaws in Umkandal's body are constantly shifting and impossible to detect.

At first, there was a lot of rumbling noise around, with various explosions and cracking sounds echoing in my ears.

But gradually, these sounds faded away, and Bray only "saw" one thing: Umkandal, where even the death lines were in utter chaos.

The Death Line, as the name suggests, is the line that connects to "death," which is the "core" of what Bray has always been cutting.

"You can't win by relying solely on your own strength."

"I'm too weak. If I continue like this, I'll only die here."

The annoying whispers of "Divine Source" have never stopped since the moment the battle began.

Bray was already used to this whisper that could drive anyone mad.

If Bray was fighting for the sake of the lower races, then sacrificing himself to become an Aragami would be perfectly normal.

Rather, it's more accurate to say that doing this is the right thing to do for the greater good.

Faced with such a difficult battle, who would leave their readily available power unused?

Bray encountered many heroes who sacrificed themselves for others.

Carlogaris is like this, and so is Whiteface...

But Bray still wouldn't use that kind of power that would make him lose himself; if he won that way, what would the world have to do with him afterwards?

If victory is not achieved as a human being, then all the struggles of everyone, including myself, would seem ridiculous.

After persisting and struggling for so long, why give up at this moment?

It's so funny, so funny that it's laughable.

If they were to lose to "Divine Source" so easily, they would give up what they were proud of.

Then he wouldn't be Blakeras.

The organs had already been damaged due to the previous battles.

Fractures and bleeding were injuries that he naturally sustained.

Now, every movement causes him excruciating pain.

And this was only after Bray avoided most of the damage; those unavoidable attacks, even if blocked, still put him under tremendous pressure.

Even so, he lowered his body, held his breath, and concentrated all his strength on the blade.

The churning lava seemed to sense something and immediately stopped.

The thick clouds had stopped moving.

Eighteen white streaks swept across the sky, slicing the meteorites into fragments.

The clouds were parted, like a wisp of smoke being scattered by a large hand.

White replaced all other colors in the world, its cold light so dazzling that it was impossible to open one's eyes.

Faintly, one could even hear the crisp sound of the steel wire being stretched taut.

In that instant, at that point—the sword was all that Umkandar could see.

"Eighteen Styles of Style" and "Eighteen Cuts to Sever the Sky"

One sword strike missed, two sword strikes missed, three sword strikes missed... and then the tenth sword strike began, shattering the distorted cause and effect.

Bray's Mind Eyes saw the chaotic death lines break one by one, until finally all the death lines disappeared.

Instead, a line drifted toward Umkandal's body.

The sword flashed amidst the white lines, etching constellation-like marks in the air.

The crimson giant stopped his attack in that instant, because he felt a chill behind him.

The two thick arms on his back had just been cleanly severed and fell to the ground.

The armor on his arm was also cut off.

There is no mental imagery world, and no powerful tools.

Some of them were those short, sharp sword moves.

"Breaklas—" Umkandal stomped through all the ground around Brey, enduring the excruciating pain as he called out Brey's name.

He could feel his power draining away, and now the only arm he could use was his left arm.

The blood flowed on the ground, pooling into a small river.

"I cannot see where your will lies."

"I don't understand what your obsession is."

What exactly prompted his actions? Was it a sense of righteousness? Survival? A promise?

"Ah, it doesn't matter anyway." But a few seconds later, Umkandal put away all his questions.

Actually, I'm just like Blakeras; there are many things about me that others don't understand.

For example, why does He insist on sitting in this dilapidated castle when it clearly makes no sense?

Yes, that's true. There are many meaningless things, but it's not bad this way.

His right arm began to grow rapidly from the severed wound, magic mixed with resentment, merging with the giant's body.

The arm, which was more than three times thicker than the original, was spliced ​​onto Umkandal's shoulder.

The resentment transformed into a robe, which wrapped around His body.

Those jet-black sideburns now seem to be flowing, constantly spreading outwards.

Even if the music from the Buddhist temple were to echo around at this moment, it wouldn't feel out of place.

Because of Umkandal's posture, his title of "demigod" was not diminished in the slightest. Deep resentment from both humans and monsters lingered on Umkandal's right arm.

The arm was so strong it seemed almost cumbersome; it was so large it could drag on the ground.

The almost tangible resentment polluted the surrounding air, making the atmosphere much more gloomy.

However, the one who controls this resentment exudes an aura like that of an angry Buddha.

Two completely different feelings are mixed together, yet they don't feel out of place at all.

"Boom!"

"Boom boom boom!"

With a strong throbbing sound, the wound on Umkandar's back tightened, stopping the continuous bleeding.

His resurrected right arm pushed toward Bray.

The already long arms suddenly grew longer in that instant, "surging" like fluid.

"Snap!" Bray didn't even have a chance to dodge before Umkandal grabbed him.

The grip was strong enough to crush Bray into pieces; if he did nothing, he would be crushed into a ball in the next moment.

But Ummkandar knew that Bray wouldn't just sit there and wait to die, so he didn't hold on to him for long.

His arm lashed out like a whip, slamming Bray to the ground.

Even if Umkandar had just casually tossed it, the ground would have sunk again, but when Bray was thrown onto the ground, it didn't shatter the earth.

He simply bounced up heavily, rolled a few times, and quickly got back up.

“Indeed, this is the aspect we have been neglecting all along.” Umkandal’s voice was louder than before, like thunder in an angry sky.

Majestic and terrifying.

Umkandal knew that the Silver Race, because they possessed the concept, had never considered that detail.

How exactly did Bray manage to defuse this force so miraculously?

The combat skills of mortals are something that the Silver race has always looked down upon.

They preferred to use almost instinctive "hunting skills" rather than imitate lower species.

However, it turns out that this combat skill is the only area where the lower-level species are stronger than the silver-level species.

"What are you saying?" Bray, whose head was bruised, struggled to open his right eye and spoke to Umkandar.

He got up and staggered a little, but soon regained his balance.

After wiping the blood from his face that was obscuring his vision, he prepared to fight again.

"What am I saying? Nothing, just a simple reflection to you all." Umkandal clenched his right fist as he finished speaking.

Cracks appeared in space, gradually spreading towards where Bray was.

When Umkandal threw that punch, the crack turned into a deep fissure.

Through the crack, one can almost see the "other side" of the world, a bottomless abyss of darkness.