Chapter 366: One Strike Only
Despite never having met Roy before, Reid felt a surge of excitement. Instinct told him this was an opponent who demanded his full strength.
As someone revered as the "Sword Saint," it had been a long time since he'd faced an adversary who made his hands tremble slightly.
He quickly took a deep breath, steadying his mind. Against an opponent of this caliber, even the slightest wavering of spirit could spell defeat.
Reid had trained with the sword since childhood, dedicating his life to the blade. He knew exactly what the heart of a true swordsman should be.
Roy stood in place, sword in his left hand, his expression calm yet carrying a faint smile—one tinged with provocation. Most hot-blooded youths would have been unable to resist charging in recklessly.
But Reid didn't take the bait. Instead, he studied Roy, searching for a flaw in his aura, hoping to seize control of the battle from the very beginning.
After observing for a while, cold sweat began to bead on his forehead. His opponent's presence was overwhelming—so much so that he couldn't find a single opening to strike. Worse yet, Reid's years of combat experience told him that this seemingly young man, barely twenty, was no mere brute relying on raw power.
That brutal aura spoke of countless battles on the battlefield, and that icy will seemed to declare to the world that he had faced death itself time and time again.
But how was this possible? A swordsman of such skill and experience—why had Reid never heard of him? The world wasn't so vast that someone like Roy, with such a wealth of battle prowess, could remain unknown.
For the first time, Reid's resolve wavered.
"Not attacking? If you won't make the first move, then I will… Reid van Astrea, the 'Sword Saint.' Your heart has already shown its weakness."
Roy took a step forward, and in the blink of an eye, he was already in front of Reid. Without hesitation, the Sword of Judgment in his hand slashed down. Had Reid been even slightly distracted, he would have met certain death.
This was Roy's swordsmanship—a pure, lethal art honed in the crucible of life and death. There was no extravagance, no flourish—only the singular purpose of defeating and killing his opponent.
Back in the Land of Shadows, Scáthach had trained him with the intent to kill. Had it not been for her effortless control over her strength, refined to perfection, and the aid of the Primordial Runes she wielded, Roy would have truly died by her hand.
Yet, every battle with Scáthach had been a desperate struggle for survival. Each time, Roy suffered near-fatal wounds. Every day, every hour, every minute, every second—this was the nature of their clashes. And such battles had lasted for five full years!
Even though Reid had trained with the sword since childhood, never slacking, even though he too had tempered his swordsmanship through life-and-death trials, there was still a gap between him and Roy, whose skills had been forged at the very limits of mortality.
Their blades clashed, weaving countless afterimages and flashes of light. Neither relied on any external power—only their pure swordsmanship.
Their speed was so immense that all that remained in their wake was a storm of steel. Though neither used abilities like magic, the mere wind from their slashes was enough to sever thick trees, shatter boulders, and carve deep fissures into the earth.
Four hundred years later, a girl named Crusch, blessed with the "Wind Reader's Divine Protection," would combine her swordsmanship with wind magic to develop a secret technique capable of delivering sword strikes that ignored distance. But had Crusch lived in this era and witnessed the battle between Reid and Roy, she would likely have been so ashamed that she drew her blade to take her own life.
For these two surpassed her ultimate technique—crafted with all her abilities—using nothing but pure swordsmanship, without magic, divine protections, or authorities.
One could say that every strike Reid and Roy unleashed was, to others, a secret technique in itself.
Flugel watched their battle in awe, envy rising in his heart.
As a transmigrator, he lacked the perseverance and time to train in swordsmanship—a discipline that demanded immense willpower and endurance. Flugel's expertise lay solely in magic, and even then, only in the "Yin" attribute. While this school had some high-powered spells, most of its abilities were geared toward battlefield control.
To put it bluntly, Flugel was no archmage—just a support and control specialist. Yet, as a man, he couldn't help but yearn for the sword. Watching Reid and Roy's clash, his face betrayed his longing.
In mere moments, Reid and Roy had exchanged thousands of blows. Each clash shook the air with explosive force, each slash reduced rocks and trees to ruin. But gradually, Reid found himself at a disadvantage.
Roy's swordsmanship was not only tempered through life-and-death trials but also refined under the guidance of a master.
For the 'Demon Gods,' things like sword techniques and magic are utterly useless. They themselves are akin to nearly omnipotent deities. Although they might throw punches in battles among themselves, what they rely on is no longer skill.
Thus, the pinnacle of swordsmanship or martial arts is the peak of human capability. Beyond that, such skills hold no value against Demon Gods. Coincidentally, Scáthach is a master who has reached the pinnacle of human skill in spear techniques and martial arts. In terms of technical prowess alone, she is arguably the strongest in the world. Roy, meticulously trained and guided by her, though not yet her equal, is steadily approaching that realm.
This is the advantage of having a mentor and backing. In contrast, Reid is a swordsman who couldn't even break through the limits of his own world—how could he possibly compare to Roy?
"Pfft—"
A spray of blood erupted, splattering onto the ground. Reid felt a searing pain in his chest as he blocked Roy's strike and hastily retreated. Only after putting distance between them did he glance down at his chest, where a deep gash ran from his left shoulder to his right abdomen. Had he reacted even a fraction slower, that slash would have cleaved his heart in two.
"Hiss—"
Reid sucked in a sharp breath. It had been a long time since he'd suffered such a severe injury, though he'd faced countless life-or-death situations and endured wounds far worse than this. The pain itself didn't faze him.
"I lost… I never imagined I'd be so thoroughly defeated in a contest of swordsmanship."
Reid gave a bitter smile and shouted at Roy, "...Hey, what's your name?"
"Roy Crowley."
Roy answered with a faint smile, flicking the Judgment Sword in his hand, which seemed to grow even more crimson.
"Roy Crowley? Never heard of it. Seems there are still many strong warriors and swordsmen in this world I don't know about."
Reid muttered to himself, shaking his head, but a glimmer of excitement flickered in his eyes.
Flugel, too, was muttering under his breath. This was the first time he'd heard Roy's full name. He'd always assumed "Roy" was just that—Roy. But now, it sounded like a Western name.
Could it be an alias? Or was Roy actually from the West? Then again, it was hard to tell. The guy looked both masculine and feminine, Eastern and Western—utterly contradictory and bizarre.
"I can't beat you in swordsmanship, but next, I'll use everything I've got. Be ready!"
Reid's gaze darkened. Losing in swordplay didn't discourage him—he'd lost countless times before. But surrendering outright left a bad taste in his mouth, so he resolved to go all out.
"Are you sure?"
Roy raised an eyebrow and smirked. "...Let me be clear: if you rely on anything other than swordsmanship, you'll lose even faster."
"One move. If you can withstand a single strike from me, I'll concede."
Roy held up a single finger, his words dripping with provocation.
This wasn't arrogance on Roy's part—among all the powerful figures in this world, Reid was likely the easiest for him to handle.