Chapter 365: Clash of Blades
"Screech—"
The carriage braked sharply. The damp soil at the forest's edge prevented much dust from rising.
After the dragon carriage came to a wobbly halt, the 'Sword Saint' Reid van Astrea, who had earlier displayed his might at the canyon by single-handedly defeating the regular army of the Vollachian Empire, appeared before the group.
Satella, who had been crouching to help with the campfire and dinner preparations, stood up nervously. Her silver hair fluttered in the evening breeze as her amethyst eyes anxiously fixed on Roy, her small hands tightly clasped in front of her, her expression filled with concern.
Flugel, who was helping to stoke the fire nearby, noticed Satella's tension and softened. He couldn't help but say, "...Don't worry about that guy Roy. Though Reid is strong, from our previous encounter, he shouldn't be a match for Roy."
In Flugel's eyes, Roy didn't seem human at all. The vast, almost alien amount of mana he possessed was beyond what any human could have. Even Flugel, who bore the title of 'Archmage,' after comparing their mana reserves, felt his own total might not even reach a tenth of that monstrous individual's. If not for repeatedly confirming Roy's humanity, Flugel might have suspected him to be the Divine Dragon Volcanica.
This was sheer quantitative suppression. Roy's immense mana alone was enough to deem him a powerhouse, and Flugel doubted that was his only strength.
Hearing Flugel's reassurance, Satella relaxed slightly and gave him a sweet smile. "...Thank you, Mr. Flugel."
The beautiful silver-haired half-elf's radiant smile, like blooming violets, made Flugel's heart skip a beat. The image of the 'silver-haired half-elf' was deeply imprinted in his mind.
'Mother! I've seen an angel!'
Flugel clutched his chest and took two steps back, as if wounded.
"Mr. Flugel, are you alright?" Satella exclaimed upon seeing his pained expression.
"I'm fine, I'm fine!" Flugel waved his hands dismissively, wiping his nose.
"Hmph!"
Shaula, carrying firewood, pushed between them, separating the two with a displeased look.
Meanwhile, Roy gazed calmly at Reid and said, "...So, 'Sword Saint' Reid, what brings you here following us?"
"Don't call me 'Sword Saint.' I'm just a mere swordsman!" Reid waved his hand dismissively, jumping down from the dragon carriage with a hearty laugh. "...I'm not following you all. It's just that our destinations might coincide."
"Oh? So you're also heading to—"
Before Roy could finish, Reid interjected, "...That's right! I'm also looking for the 'Witch of Sin'!"
"Judging by your direction, you must be seeking the Witches too. I'm quite curious about them—want to see how they differ from humans."
Reid Astrea nonchalantly revealed his itinerary and purpose.
Then, the Sword Saint turned his blazing gaze toward Roy, his hand unconsciously gripping the hilt of his sword as he declared fervently, "...But I've lost interest in Witches now. Right now, I'm far more interested in you!"
"Sorry, but I have no interest in being pursued by men. If you're willing, you can go find someone named Flugel over there—he'd probably be interested in you."
Roy sidestepped, revealing Flugel behind him to Reid's view.
Reid froze for a moment before shaking his head repeatedly. "...That Flugel isn't weak, but he's not the one I'm looking for. No, wait—I'm not interested in men either! I'm already married and have a wife!"
He earnestly clarified his sexual orientation before taking a deep breath and gripping his sword hilt again to steady himself. "...My sword tells me you're an extraordinarily powerful swordsman—the strongest I've ever encountered in my life. I want to challenge you now. I hope you'll grant me this opportunity."
The sword in the Sword Saint's hand emitted a faint hum. Roy was certain it was just an ordinary blade, yet under the Sword Saint's blessing, it had gradually taken on a divine quality.
Reid's "Sword Saint's Blessing" was the first of its kind in this world, making his title as the original Sword Saint well-deserved.
Roy was somewhat surprised. It seemed that the so-called intuition among swordsmen was real. After five years of hellish training under Scáthach, Roy's martial prowess had long reached transcendent levels. While his fists were formidable, his swordsmanship was his greatest strength—precisely because both his fists and his sword were extensions of his divine authority.
'Is this what they call a sword fanatic?' Roy mused to himself.
He wasn't entirely taken aback by Reid's challenge. Judging by Reid's actions, even without his blessings, his swordsmanship alone would have made him a true master—worthy of being called a "model," unlike those "false masters" who relied solely on blessings and divine authority to display their strength. Reid's power was entirely self-forged through relentless training.
Such a man was undoubtedly one who thrived on challenges, growing stronger with each one.
Though Roy held a favorable impression of Reid—reminding him of his training years with Scáthach in the Land of Shadows—he had no real interest in Reid's strength.
"I haven't had dinner yet," Roy said with a bored expression.
Reid, unfazed, replied, "...You can eat first. I'll wait here. Need some wine or something? I've got some decent stuff on me."
"After a meal, what you need most is rest. Strenuous exercise right after eating could give you appendicitis," Roy countered before shaking his head with a wry smile. "...Fine. Since you're so insistent on a challenge, a little pre-dinner exercise might work up my appetite."
Roy knew that with Reid's temperament, refusing him would only lead to endless pestering—unless Roy killed him outright. But even then, Reid would likely welcome the lethal intent, as whether Roy fought with killing intent or for mere sparring, it would still fulfill Reid's goal of challenging him.
Since there was no avoiding it, Roy saw no reason to dodge. He had fought countless battles in his life—fear of another's challenge was never an option.
"First, let me make it clear—your blessing has no effect on me whatsoever, so I advise you not to waste it. If you want to defeat me, rely solely on your swordsmanship. Though, I must say, you stand absolutely no chance of winning."
Roy reached forward with his left hand, and the blood-red "Sword of Judgment" materialized in his grasp.
Reid's heart tightened. He hadn't expected Roy to see through him so completely. At the same time, the sight of the sword in Roy's hand left him puzzled. It seemed both physical and a coalescence of magical energy—something he couldn't quite define. But one thing was certain: this was no ordinary blade.
Roy's Sword of Judgment was a divine artifact, forged from authority itself.