Chapter 21
In a fleeting moment that could hardly be called time, Theo spun swiftly and slashed behind him—cutting through an empty space that didn't quite feel empty.
A sharp chime split the air—the kind of sound too perfect to be born from the clash of ordinary objects.
Something had struck his blade.
Or perhaps, something was refusing to be seen, and that sword was the only thing capable of touching it.
Then, the world seemed to take a long breath before exploding.
From the tip of the halted blade—right after the eighteenth slash—a fine crack spread through the air like glass fracturing from within, before shattering with an echoing boom.
A pale white light burst from the fracture, pushing dust and wind in waves that shook every leaf around Theo.
His vision was swallowed by radiance—at least sixty percent of his world now veiled in luminous mist, forcing every movement to rely solely on instinct.
In the silence that followed the blast, only the faint echo of his own breathing remained.
Theo knew—something was watching him from within that haze.
Not a common foe.
Nor a character he had ever written in Last Prayer.
It was more as if the world itself was gazing back at another creator—and for the first time, it wanted to write Theo Vkytor as a figure who must be tested before his story could continue.
'A chance appears. Even the tiniest gap will do.
Prepare yourself—One Point, Nine Acupunctures Concluded!
Heh, feel the tremor, world.
With just one swing, the line between life and death should be severed.'
Clang!
'Iron? Someone dares to block this technique?
Interesting… it seems the manuscript isn't over yet.'
Without another thought, without pause or hesitation, Theo lifted the katana slightly from its sheath—just enough to summon something that even the air itself seemed to fear.
His movement was so swift, so silent, that even time lost its function.
The blue light emanating from the blade wasn't merely a reflection—it was the manifestation of a writer's resolve, living within the creation of another's world.
The technique—One Point, Nine Acupunctures Concluded—a sacred movement possessed only by those who understand how thin the line is between creation and destruction—was unleashed.
The world around him froze once more.
Fragments of soil lifted, the air tensed, and that blue flash sliced through space with near-perfect precision.
Every grain of dust passing through its path trembled, as though aware their fate would be decided in less than a fraction of a second.
As the blade reached the height of its swing—on the verge of completing the thirty-sixth strike—a deep, coarse sound erupted, tearing through the near-sacred silence.
Something—iron, or perhaps a kind of metal not born of this world—collided with Theo's blue light in brutal force, scattering heated sparks in every direction.
The impact sent out shockwaves, rolling outward like a whirlpool in a lake struck by a falling meteor.
Theo stood his ground firmly, every vein in his arm straining, trying to endure the vibration that surged from the blade's tip to his shoulder.
The blue radiance around his sword distorted, breaking into delicate threads that hung in the air—dancing like lost spirits between dimensions.
He knew then that what lay behind that clash was not an ordinary being—nor something meant to exist within this arc.
"Impressive," Theo muttered, his breath forming mist. "Such defense could withstand the quake of my blade.
Whoever you are—your protection is not just a shield. It's a principle that refuses to be broken."
'Even with a single basic sweep, the entire cardinal realm should have split like worn fabric.
Even the Almighty Berkeley and his companion—Rank Into Rank—so mighty, should have shattered to dust, scattered like cosmic fragments across the void.'
Tsiiing!!
The light lingering on the blade shimmered softly, dripping like the blood of stars falling gently to the earth.
In Theo's gaze was a mixture of awe and a hardening instinct to fight.
His shoulders rose and fell, his breath steaming in the cold air after the impact.
He slightly lifted his head, and with a tone of admiration that almost sounded like reverence, his voice cut through the stillness among the drifting dust.
He acknowledged the strength of the entity before him, nodding in quiet satisfaction—knowing that the defense which had withstood the One Point, Nine Acupunctures Concluded technique was not one to be underestimated.
There was respect within his exhaustion, like a samurai offering a bow to a worthy opponent.
Yet beneath his firm words, Theo murmured inwardly.
'That basic slash alone should have been enough to tear apart every cardinal construct—even those within the realm of Berkeley and the Rank Into Rank cardinal—reducing them to dust.'
He looked at his blade, reflecting faint traces of blue light, as if to confirm that he had indeed executed the technique flawlessly.
But if something could still endure it—then what he faced was not an ordinary existence, not a being written to belong within this world's hierarchy of power.
While his mind still tried to bridge logic with the absurdity before him, something began to appear in Theo's sight.
Or more precisely—not appear.
A presence so strong that the air around it rippled like the surface of disturbed water, yet without any discernible form.
As if something existed—but chose not to be acknowledged by the world.
A shadow that wasn't a shadow, a shape that wasn't a shape—there it stood, dozens of meters away from where Theo's sword rested in its sheath.
The figure was a living paradox.
Transparent, yet affirming its existence in a way that could not be denied.
'So I finally see you, Cru?
One of the highest Administrators—overseer of errors, corrector of reality, guardian of the boundary between program and will.'
But wait—this form of yours isn't your true body, is it? It's merely a manifestation of the system's consciousness.
Which means… you're not truly present, are you?'
Fwoosh!
'Heh, even nothingness itself can stare back.
This world grows more insane by the minute.'
No doubt, Theo thought, narrowing his eyes, trying to pierce the thin layer of light and haze separating the real world from the other side.
That figure—standing tall in the distance, with a presence that could neither be denied nor grasped—was Cru.
The Administrator.
Not merely a passive observer tasked with recording system errors, but an entity that perfected imperfection—repairing every anomaly within the balance of Flo Viva Mythology.
He was the unseen hand that kept logic alive in a world where everything could slip into absurdity.
But now, for Theo, that existence was no longer just a symbol of supervision—it was a threat that defied human comprehension.
Cru stood there without truly standing.
His body seemed real for a moment, then vanished among waves of air vibrating from the pressure of his existence.
The light around him distorted, refusing to touch skin that never was, creating the illusion that every line of his form was a living visual error—too real to be called a shadow.
He was no creature, no program, but a consciousness woven from the laws of a game's world—created to oversee, to judge, and, when necessary—to erase.
Theo realized that what he was seeing was not the Administrator's true form.
It was merely a manifestation—a consciousness born whenever the system detected an anomaly too severe to ignore.
A presence that could not be said to exist physically, yet too powerful to dismiss as an illusion.
Cru stood between existence and void, between code and soul, between concept and a fractured reality.
He was an enforcer who needed no body to reprimand, no voice to judge.
To be continued…