Chapter 14 : The Devoured One (3)
Chapter 14: The Devoured One (3)
Dardium stared at Hindir with a hardened expression.
He figured he had gauged Hindir’s full strength from the audacity with which he smashed the sword ritual.
All that stood out was sheer power, nothing else.
Yet when he seized the perfect opportunity and struck, Hindir effortlessly blocked it.
No, he couldn’t even pinpoint how exactly the block happened.
By instinct, Dardium merely chose to discard his sword.
The swordsman had discarded his sword.
And not just anyone—he himself….
Suspicions churned in his head.
Was his perception flawed… or was that beast-masked barbarian truly strong enough to pose a threat?
Mana still remained undetectable, yet….
A thud—
At that moment, Hindir kicked the sword on the ground back toward Dardium.
When Dardium caught the precisely thrown sword, his expression turned grim.
“You’re overthinking. Accept what you see and charge with all your strength.”
But his next words dissolved Dardium’s tension and filled him with rage.
“You….”
The tone had been like that from the start, but now he turned him fully into a mere pawn and challenger in a single phrase.
Still, Dardium was prideful and arrogant, but not foolish.
He didn’t dismiss Hindir’s backhanded advice lightly and instead let his momentum rise properly.
“Reinforce the sword ritual! Kill that bastard by any means!”
At Dardium’s shout, the ritual dismissed Ubol and Duar and reformed around Hindir with renewed strength.
Dozens of mana resonated, pressing heavily on Hindir, and not satisfied with that, they enclosed him in a second layer of ritual.
“Can’t we just slash their backs while we’re at it?”
Duar spoke as if fine with being ignored completely, but only because he knew nothing.
“Hey. Can you even fight?”
“I’ll throw a punch.”
Ubol quickly realized Duar was utterly worthless.
“The moment we move, I don’t know about me, but your neck will be cleanly cut.”
“Huh? Why?”
Because Second General’s senses were entirely focused this way.
“Seriously, you’re the fighter, so why are you nervous?”
“This… bastard…. Shut your mouth….”
But Ubol knew it was pointless to say that to someone so low-level, so he silenced himself.
He wanted to kill that fool before Hindir’s back, but the moment he drew his sword, the Second General might move—it prevented him.
Hindir initiated the fight again.
Yet it felt hardly different than before.
No sword struck Hindir, and every attacker either died immediately or, if lucky, broke a limb and tumbled away.
Attacks gradually became cautious.
Knowing that those who swung their swords invariably got knocked out, they instinctively realized:
“If we don’t swing, we’re fine!”
Once they started eyeing each other, the sword ritual ceased to function.
Watching that dreadful scene, Dardium fell silent.
He had trained so many under him as disciples, and yet not one could handle even a single layer of the ritual properly.
“There’s no trickery; I see no unusual items.”
He suspected perhaps the aid of an enchanted artifact, but saw nothing obvious….
“No. No.”
Then a sudden realization occurred.
“That skin!”
The red hide—he had noticed it prominently, yet paid little heed.
It must be the Blood Bear’s pelt.
Dardium had paid little thought to the Blood Bear before…
“That bear lived long, they say. If so, that hide itself might harbor extraordinary power.”
It was a completely flawed analysis—but Dardium had lived too long, stubborn to consider he could be wrong.
“Strip that hide from him! It’s a magical tool!”
Spoke with such certainty, who would doubt it was false?
The ordered subordinates advanced again, hopeful.
More than anything, not needing to aim directly fueled their confidence.
Swoosh—
They unleashed full sword winds to peel off the Blood Bear’s pelt—and fortunately, they succeeded.
No, technically Hindir seemed to throw it off himself willingly.
They just chose to ignore that fact.
Flutter—
Thud!
The heavy pelt hit the ground with a dull thud.
Seeing Hindir’s bare body fully exposed, they couldn’t help but gape.
A muscular physique sculpted so roughly it seemed as if stones were lodged inside.
How much training could produce that body… or indeed, whether a human could ever train to such extent was questionable.
But Hindir did not let them linger ogling his body.
Kraang—!
With a roar, one pillar of the sword ritual crumbled violently.
“Kuh‑huagh!”
“Gkahk!”
Loud screams erupted everywhere.
It was a signal that the ritual’s collapse accelerated.
Dardium, surprised, watched Hindir move not differently—but faster than before.
“Could it be?”
Only then did he recall the heavy sound he heard earlier when the cloak dropped to the floor.
He finally realized that heavy cloak had been restricting Hindir’s movement.
Yet Hindir withstood his ambush nonetheless.
Kwaaang—!
At another thunderous crash, Dardium recovered and leapt at once over the collapsed ritual toward Hindir.
His motion bore urgency—only now did he understand Hindir’s warning was no bluff.
“That bastard!”
Subtlety now erased completely.
A sword attuned solely to pierce flesh.
As Hindir had suspected, traces of Trinity swordsmanship were felt.
The murderous intent and chaotic movements to dazzle the eyes were likely colored by Dardium’s own tendencies.
A massive wave of mana engulfed him.
It was true—Dardium was on a different level from those Hindir had fought before.
But Hindir shook his head.
“You still don’t intend to go all out?”
“Shut up!”
Swoosh—
In an instant, the sword split into several and aimed for Hindir’s limbs.
But the real threat lay hidden in the opposite hand—a concealed dagger.
Just as the move veiled in the brutal storm of swords, unlike anything from his disciples, was about to touch Hindir’s neck—
Hindir opened his mouth wide and bit down on the sword.
“Whuh?”
Dardium was shocked once by the unexpected reaction, and a second time when the dagger, held between Hindir’s teeth, wouldn’t budge at all.
Then Hindir slammed his large hand across Dardium’s face and flung him to the opposite floor.
Just before he crashed, Dardium twisted his arm and slammed the ground with a thud, forcing himself upright again.
“You beast of a man!”
Because he failed to redirect Hindir’s power properly, pain throbbed in the hand that hit the floor.
But he couldn't afford to show it, so he lunged forward again with wide, sweeping sword techniques.
“Haaah!”
A sharp sword aura created with a shout sliced a strand of Hindir’s hair.
At last, he managed a meaningful hit to Hindir’s body—but it felt laughable to even call that meaningful.
And when he saw Hindir’s unwavering gaze, even that petty sense of accomplishment vanished.
“How dare you look at me with such eyes!”
It felt like being looked down upon endlessly.
Not the attitude of just a strong man.
It was a natural hierarchy, an innate gap of power found among living beings in the great wild.
Dardium felt it and found himself shrinking inward.
His attacks toward Hindir grew wilder, his breathing rougher.
The swordsmanship he’d spent years refining was crumbling to dust.
Watching it all, Hindir spoke.
“Trinity’s swordsmanship dazzles the opponent with flair, but it values the harmony of mind, energy, and body above all else. Without that, the user is devoured by the very flair they wield. Man should wield the sword—but in reverse, ends up wielded.”
“Shut up!”
At the mention of Trinity Academy, Dardium’s movements became more erratic.
Hindir didn’t counterattack but calmly dodged everything, continuing to speak.
“The difficult part of Trinity swordsmanship lies in that ambiguity. Those lacking skill mistake being consumed for having achieved enlightenment.”
“You bastard! I told you to shut up!”
Kwagwang—!
A missed sword strike hit the ground, and with a thunderous boom, a long shockwave erupted in a straight line.
“One who fails to overcome that can never be called a Trinity swordsman. There have been countless who were cast out, and I’m sure it’s still the same today.”
Those who leave the academy make a vow.
That they will never use Trinity’s teachings for wrongful purposes.
But in reality, what matter are words or a slip of paper?
Especially when the person has already been consumed by the sword.
“You are no different. You might think you’ve mastered your own style, but what you are now is just a broken trinity.”
“Aaaargh!”
With a roar—whether scream or battle cry—Dardium hurled his entire body forward.
In that moment, Hindir saw Dardium not as a man, but as a giant sword.
Completely consumed by the sword.
But a satisfied smile spread across Hindir’s lips.
Kwaaaang—!
He didn’t evade—he took the hit head-on with his entire body.
The shockwave that burst forth in a flash utterly obliterated what remained of the already failing sword ritual.
Duar’s heavy body was flung far into the distance, and even Ubol had to step back several paces.
The only one who managed to endure was Second General Moritz, but only because she drew her sword and split the shockwave.
Rumble—
A faint, low echo from the lingering aftermath of the blast.
And through the slowly settling snow-dust appeared a towering silhouette.
Everyone could tell who it was.
But the opponent was nowhere in sight….
“Cough…”
A troubling cough came from somewhere very low, and everyone’s face stiffened.
“In the end… I couldn’t reach him.”
Lying on the ground, Dardium spoke in a voice filled with regret.
From that recent clash, he had aged to the point where he no longer looked like a swordsman.
A long, deep wound stretched across his chest—clearly cut by a sword—though Hindir held no weapon in hand.
“A dreadful sword indeed. Was that the sword you sought?”
“Heh… cough…”
A sword style where failure means the sword cuts its own master.
An extreme swordsmanship where one entrusts everything—body and soul—to the sword.
Never before had he seen such a reckless sword technique.
…No, he had seen something similar once.
“Who was your master?”
“There was none.”
“This isn’t something you created. This does not suit you.”
This was not a technique devised by someone who hides behind sword formations to ambush and conceal daggers within flashy movements.
A straightforward sword made only to smash and cut down what stands in its way.
A sword that resembled that of the Charun tribe.
“Teran.”
Hindir sensed traces of him in Dardium’s final technique.
But Dardium, already losing his vitality, seemed unwilling to explain further.
“I am not a failure of Trinity… I am no imitation… I am a new wave, a pioneer…”
He mumbled as if in a trance.
“Behold. Did you see it? This is the path I walked.”
Was that meant for Second General… no, for his disciples?
Or perhaps he was speaking to himself.
“This is the Oxcart Sword.”
The strength to pull an ox.
But the old man, mistaking himself for leading the ox, met his end beneath hooves that wouldn’t stop, even when he tried.
A still silence fell.
The leader who brought the Snowy King’s Army—and its second-in-command—was dead.
Yet the one who faced him bore not a single wound, nor showed any sign of exhaustion.
So then, what were they to do now?
Though the Second General still remained, how could she handle someone the First General couldn’t overcome?
There was no need to wait for the outcome.
Hindir slowly looked around.
As he made eye contact with each one of them, their eyes trembled faintly.
All except one.
Second General Moritz did not.
And as Hindir quietly gazed at her, he spoke.
“Ubol.”
“What?”
“It’s time to prove your resolve.”