Chapter 20
Even in the original manuscript, they wrote it as the ultimate technique—one that appeared only once in the entire history of the Birtash Samurai.
One Point, Nine Acupunctures Concluded.
The technique was not an attack in the ordinary sense.
It was a fine line between existence and emptiness, the art of killing by drawing one's sword without truly swinging it.
Just a faint motion to pull the sheath, and the world screamed.
Within the flow of time that should have moved, the technique rejected the concept of motion and reaction, piercing through every law of space and duration.
For the opponent, there was no time to look, no time to regret.
In less than a fraction of a second—before time itself could even notice—their bodies had unraveled, organ by organ, as if dismantled by divine hands too cold to be called human.
Even the surrounding space cracked, trembling like thin glass struck from within.
Theo remembered clearly how he once wrote that technique—with details he thought would only live on paper.
A memory from Last Prayer.
He had written it to portray an impossible perfection—a power beyond fear, and an invincibility that was also a curse to its wielder.
Now, in the world born from his own words, he could see how his writing had turned into breath and blood.
He could feel the flow of energy he once imagined—nine currents branching from a single point in his chest, spreading toward his wrists, waiting for the command to be released.
The air around Theo began to hum faintly, forming invisible rings around him.
Dust stopped moving, fragments of light drifted slowly downward like falling snow.
The world froze in an instant, as though it held its breath before the will of one man.
In his eyes, everything seemed silent—except for his heartbeat, now in rhythm with the blade in his left hand.
He knew that the moment the sword was even slightly unsheathed, it would all be over.
One Point, Nine Acupunctures Concluded—a technique even time itself could never witness from the start.
"So this is how it feels to be a true samurai dancing on the edge of death. Incredible."
Slash!!
But just as Theo's determination neared its peak—with his face slowly twisting into something fearsome, revealing a smile no longer belonging to an ordinary man, but a small god drunk on power and curiosity—something suddenly rammed into his body from the side.
The impact was immense, like molten iron hurled by a giant's hand.
Theo's body was thrown, spinning uncontrollably through the air before crashing into the damp earth.
The dull thud echoed faintly amid the reverberations of Aldraya and Erietta's duel, as though the world itself was scolding him.
"Not everything you write is meant to be lived here."
His body rolled, but the instincts of someone who had written thousands of battle scenes saved him.
He rolled backward, using his shoulder to absorb the momentum, and stopped his movement with the tip of his heel digging into the ground.
In his left hand, the sword he had just begun to draw trembled, nearly slipping away—but Theo gripped it tighter, restoring its balance.
The veins in his wrist tensed, and for a brief moment, his eyes flashed gold—a mixture of anger and disbelief he refused to admit.
The scent of torn earth filled his nose, his breathing ragged and uneven.
He looked up toward the direction of the attack.
Nothing stood out—only a swirl of dust slowly fading in the air.
Yet behind that haze, Theo could feel a pressure as terrifying as his own technique—a presence that defied the logic of the world he was trying to create.
He wasn't just attacked—he was reminded.
That even in a world written by others, he was no longer the sole god who could dictate fate at will.
In the distance, the wind began to blow again.
The faint scrape of metal echoed, like two swords whispering behind a thin veil of mist.
"What was that? Something hit me—but it didn't come from either of them.
So this world, too, is beginning to move beyond its script.
A lunatic world."
Wussssh!
"Alright. That's enough.
I'm the one who wrote this story, and I'll be the one to end this forbidden scenario.
Let's finish it before everything truly goes astray."
Theo certainly intended to end it all—or rather, to bury a scenario that should never have existed, uprooting the most deviant oddity from the script of Flo Viva Mythology.
He wanted to close a chapter that wasn't meant to be opened, to silence a fate bold enough to write him before he could even type the final line.
But now, something had struck him.
Something he couldn't predict, evade, or even sense—and that made Theo's eyes narrow, sharpening like blades ready to cleave the dark.
The air around him felt strange.
Silent, but not truly quiet—more like stillness holding its breath.
He scanned his surroundings, his gaze probing every corner that might hide a meaning unseen.
Only two sounds remained alive amid the fog of battle—
The clash of Erietta's and Aldraya's swords, melding like two notes devouring each other.
Each strike sparked a cold light that carried no heat, only fury crystallized into steel.
Theo knew that this battle was no longer just a clash of two egos from the Star Academy girls.
It was a collision of two storylines that were never meant to meet in this chapter.
Then, his awareness began to dig into layers unseen by the naked eye.
He tried connecting what had attacked him earlier to the subtle shifts he had ignored.
The air had cooled, the ground felt softer than it should, and the light no longer obeyed the direction of the sun.
This world was changing.
Not following the script.
Not following his will.
Theo could feel it—a bitter taste crawling down his spine, like ink dripping from a broken pen.
And in that sudden, suffocating silence, Theo took a deep breath.
He lowered his stance slightly, preparing his next move.
In the distance, the two girls he created continued to dance amid swordlight, forming a symphony of destruction that increasingly resembled a story he never wrote.
"So quiet, but not the peace of solitude.
Something hides within this pause of breath.
The wind changed direction—no, not wind.
Something is moving fast, too fast for light to catch.
In that case, I won't wait any longer."
Rassh!
"Ideal rotation—head down, feet up—two seconds to confirm the target.
Now!
Switching stance, left to right, and—"
Clang!!
The air around him seemed to shatter under invisible tension.
In the crushing silence, Theo stood firm in the center of the anomaly.
His eyes traced every shadow that might be lurking within the trembling light.
But before he could steady his breath, his body moved faster than his thoughts.
A sudden slash tore through the air from left to right, leaving a faint wound in the fabric of space itself.
Then his body spun—a full rotation in midair, graceful yet brutal, like the dance of a Samurai refusing to die.
Within two seconds, Theo's head faced the earth, his feet toward the sky, and he landed flawlessly, his stance unbroken.
The moment his feet touched the ground, instinct seized full control of his body.
His weapon—a blade shaped like a katana, though only a sixth of its size—was tossed from his left hand into the air, gleaming briefly before falling neatly into his right.
To be continued…