A dull longsword and a heartbroken villager

“I, Jonathan, as God’s agent, will bring paradise to the gods, and then grant myself a sweet death—”

"If you want to move forward, if you want to meet the will of the world, then overcome me."

"BOOM!!!" A black ball fell, shattering the stage.

"BOOM!!!!!!!!!!" Two black spheres fell, and the surrounding audience was all blown into black mist.

The booming sounds were continuous, making Bray's eardrums ache.

Bray struggled to slice through a "concept bomb" he was facing, nearly losing his footing.

But after he made his first strike, the other concept bombs exploded and completely engulfed him.

"Blockade", "Exclusion", "Binding" —

"Fabricating reality," "Feeling the grief of the dead," "Rebirth of things"—

“Mr. Preceptor, Mr. Preceptor, in this situation, what should you do?”

“Let’s give the little guy a surprise!” Jonathan said in a lighthearted tone.

He needed to kill Bray.

Yet he yearned for Bray to seize a miracle.

Bray now only has a broken sword, "Klass," and the hilt of "The Last Echo."

Moreover, neither "Klass" nor "The Last Echo" is a real entity.

"Klas" is a false remnant of the white face, and the hilt of "The Last Echo" is also a false remnant brought from a dream.

While Bray can indeed suppress the concept now, the effect is poor.

Moreover, there is no mental image world, and no full set of equipment.

Bray was fighting Jonathan entirely with his mortal body.

How exactly can I win?

"Ding--"

A crisp sound rang out from the thick smoke.

Bray used his longsword, which was on the verge of collapse, to prop up his swaying body.

His right hand, which was originally used to hold the sword, was completely useless, so he could only hold the sword with his left hand.

Blood streamed down his forehead, obscuring his right eye's vision.

Her short, jet-black hair is now turning slightly gray.

And these are just the visible injuries; the deeper effects are not visible to the naked eye.

"Ha..." But his weak breathing told everyone that he was still alive.

Upon seeing this, the original form of chaos opened the eyes on the clown mask.

“Mr. Monk, this world is full of miracles,” Jonathan said with a smile, his hands kneading into a bottomless black hole on his shoulders.

"So, will a miracle happen to you?"

“I think it is certain, because you are a person who observes the precepts.”

The black hole was tearing and devouring everything around it, slowly pulling Brey into it.

"Clang!" But the blade pierced the ground, and Bray abruptly stopped his body from being pulled away.

“A shaman?” Bray raised his tired right eye and asked.

“Isn’t that right? What else could Mr. Monk be but a Monk?” Jonathan exclaimed.

The stage he built is no longer there, but now it seems that such formalities are no longer needed.

This is the final, the best stage.

“I am Brayclas,” Bray said coldly. He didn’t know when it had started, but the title “Ringed One” had become synonymous with Bray.

However, Bray doesn't really care about his identity.

Admittedly, the identity of a monk brought Bray many conveniences and even saved him more than once.

But he still didn't care about this identity, for reasons similar to those of Gurid.

Often, the identity of the person observing the precepts overshadows the name "Brekels".

But he is clearly Bray; the title of "bearer" is completely irrelevant.

He came here not because he was a person who observed the precepts.

He fights, not because he is a monastic.

The further he went, the more he understood the meaning of the curse of the one who keeps the vows.

Bray has always been bound in chains.

The shackles limited his direction and the fate of everyone around him.

His life was like walking in a room surrounded by illusions.

How illusory, how vague.

"Phew—" Bray exhaled.

This world is indeed full of miracles, and Bray has encountered many miracles as well.

Is it ironic that I would encounter so many miracles simply because I am a person who observes the precepts?

Bray's heart was as calm as a stagnant pool.

In his eyes, there was neither Jonathan nor the will of the world behind him.

His pupils reflected his own image as he chased after a certain painting.

His blood didn't boil at all; fear and despair were foreign to him.

People may not be able to understand each other.

But at the very least, you must understand yourself; you must spend your whole life trying to understand yourself.

They have no sense of righteousness in their hearts and no desire to save the world.

An ordinary person is fighting for other reasons, but is genuinely "giving the world possibility".

If people were alive, would they praise, slander, or forget?

Hmph...whatever.

Unbeknownst to anyone, the sleeping Bray in the world of Kapras quietly disappeared.

At this moment, there is no longer a distinction between dreams and reality.

“Jonathan, remember this: before I was a Ringbearer, I was Blakelas,” he said quietly.

The same broadsword, still gleaming black, was still slung across his back.

He still carried that simple longsword at his waist.

The demigod's remains still lingered in the cracks on his body, never fully healed.

The sword in his hand, a gift from someone else, seemed like it would shatter at any moment, yet he has stubbornly held on until now.

"Ah ...

"A miracle! Miracles do happen!"

“I know the reason for this miracle,” the Joker said in a deep voice, gazing into Bray’s deep right eye.

"Not because you are a person who observes the precepts, but because of yourself."

"Incredible!"

Accompanied by Jonathan's lighthearted words, the black hole was trying to devour everything.

"Ding—" The sound of water droplets falling into the lake surface rang out.

In an instant, the gray-white longsword sliced ​​through the black hole.

Along with Jonathan's giant hand holding the black hole, it was sliced ​​into countless pieces.

This sword, forged from scrap metal, finally completed its mission, falling apart in the turbulent currents and being blown far away.

It has done what it could; now it can be handed over to the other two swords.

Bray's injuries have not fully healed, but his momentum is rising wildly.

It climbed up little by little until it crushed Jonathan's aura.

The aura brought by the concept of gold has vanished completely.

“Mr. Monk… no! Mr. Bray!” For the first time in his life, Jonathan addressed Bray as “Mr. Bray.”

He acknowledged Bray's concept that the other party was first and foremost Braycras, and only then the one who held the precepts.

"I have been so rude all this time, I don't even understand such a simple principle!"

“But it doesn’t matter, I understand now.” Jonathan removed the two giant hands that had been severed from his shoulders.

He raised his symbolic cane with his right hand and pointed it upwards.

"Rise up and resist! I am neither a golden man nor a demigod!"

“A petty person is an enemy you ‘may’ defeat.”

So struggle, and show the villains your will!

"What petty people want to see is not lofty spirit, but 'your will'! Only when they see your will does it have meaning!"

The space began to shake; every inch of it trembled.

Bray's body also trembled, and unusually violently, as if his body might split apart at any moment.

This feeling is not an illusion; Jonathan is "tearing apart" everything around him, including Bray himself.

The cracks in Bray's body were widening, and he would probably be completely torn apart in no time.

Faced with this situation, Bray chose to take a deep breath first and then calm down.

Despite being provoked by Jonathan's words, Bray didn't get excited at all.

The world of mental images unfolds—

Unfortunately, before nightfall, it was ruthlessly crushed by Jonathan.

“The world of mental images won’t work, Mr. Bray.”

“As expected…” Bray murmured, his right eye lowered.

Bray knew long ago that the mental world would be torn apart by powerful beings.

However, there's no harm in trying it out.

Bray gripped a broadsword upright in his right hand and a longsword in reverse in his left, striking his stance.

There should be no natural wind here except for air currents.

However, both Jonathan and Bray felt a refreshing breeze.

The tranquil village was revealed to everyone.

“…” Bray remained silent.

The mental world appeared on its own.

"We've already done it once, so it doesn't matter if we do it a second time, right?" the girl said to Bray in an almost coquettish tone.

The literary girl finally let go of her feigned aloofness. Isn't it normal for a "daughter" to act coquettishly towards her "father"?

Nobody knows if this is the last time, so if she doesn't continue, she'll regret it.

“Mr. Bray, as I’ve said, the mental world is useless,” Jonathan said, raising his left hand, which was not holding his cane.

He clenched his left hand, wanting to crush the world of his heart.

But he discovered that the mental world was still there, not torn apart.

All the concepts are no longer valid.

"I see. So this is the mental image that Mr. Bray rarely uses?"