Chapter 25
The realization weighed on his mind, pressing down both on his creative instinct and the moral responsibility bound to a writer whose life was reflected in the storyline he himself had crafted.
And beneath that pressure, one thing became clear to Theo.
No matter how brilliant the scenario or how grand his work Last Prayer—the very foundation of Flo Viva Mythology's world—he was now merely a wanderer walking a narrow path dictated by the laws of the system.
Every step, every decision had to be calculated with exact precision, or he would fall into the unforgiving traps of a scenario that granted no mercy, fully aware that this world was just as cruel to its creator as it was to the characters born within it.
"In this lopsided duel, you may strike first, Cru.
I want to know how deeply a system like yours can wound someone who has already lost everything."
'Heh, that movement… so fast.
No pause, no warning—just vanished.
So this is the style of a manifestation that refuses any form of pleasantry.'
Slash!
'That spear… is it made of glass?
No, not ordinary glass.
It reflects something deeper than light, as though within it lies an inverted law of nature—a command for the universe to forget its own distinctions.
One touch, and this body may not simply tear apart, but be erased from the concept of existence itself.
Love and hate, life and death, all collapsing into one—a void unworthy even of being called emptiness.'
Theo straightened his body as swiftly as possible, holding his breath for a moment as he felt the heated air trailing the glass spear that had passed so dangerously close.
Every strand of thought in his mind raced, measuring trajectories and calculating consequences, realizing that this weapon was not a mere physical tool, but an entity capable of shredding the fundamental structure of the reality he knew.
The space around him vibrated subtly, light glinting off the spear's surface and forming distorted shadows that moved wildly, defying human logic.
In every second stretched thin before impact, Theo felt the sting of potential destruction—the awareness that a single mistake could erase a vital fragment of his own existence or Ilux's.
With a reflex almost beyond reason, Theo rolled back, bending his body and twisting his sword—now gripped tightly in his left hand—to deflect the attack.
The ringing note of glass brushing the ground echoed sharply in his ears, the vibration crawling all the way to his pelvic bone.
Only a moment passed, yet it felt as though the entire universe held its breath.
Life and destruction were separated by a gap now erased.
Space-time itself crumbled, easily pierced by a spear that surpassed the boundaries of logic.
Amid the tension, Theo kept his eyes focused ahead and behind, knowing this assault was not merely a physical confrontation but a test for a writer bound to the scenario he had helped create.
'You think I'll stand still waiting for death to creep up behind me?
I've written hundreds of chapters about death—I know how to stare back without blinking.
But this time, I choose to rewrite the fate called Eshura Birtash.
So don't you dare underestimate me!!'
Theo's movements were impossible for ordinary human eyes to follow—even those that transcended space and time.
Every breath synchronized with the rhythm created whenever his sword clashed against the glass spear.
Sparks of blue and green light scattered wildly in the air, tracing collision paths that were chaotic yet instinctively arranged within the mind of a writer and Samurai.
The metallic chime echoed across stones and trees, forming reverberations that pierced space and time, ringing loud enough to shake the ground beneath them.
Theo's body twisted, shifted, bent—every movement guided not only by physical training but by an intricate understanding of scenario, reality, and possibilities not yet born.
'One step back doesn't mean surrender—it's space to reconsider the next move with ink far clearer than before.
Cru isn't an ordinary human, nor a spirit.
He stands between law and emptiness.
If I use normal techniques, my attacks will only bounce off, erased by his protective algorithm.
I need something that pierces two realities at once—wounding the physical and the abstract—cutting through law without touching space.'
Fuuuuuh!
'Heh… it's been a long time since I used that technique.
The Internal Severing Technique, a bitter product of Erusha Birtash's training—an identity not entirely mine, yet rooted in my blood.'
Theo retreated swiftly.
His steps bounced lightly upon dusty ground, leaving faint imprints among tree shadows warped by the amber light of sunset.
His sword was held firmly forward, Theo's gaze sweeping the area with a focus only a writer and warrior combined could possess.
Every movement, every potential position of his opponent unfurled in his mind like pages of an open scenario.
His breath hitched briefly.
His body continued aligning itself with the flow of Inti Lu coursing within him, drawing on the last remnants of strength from Flo Viva Mythology that had fused with reality—turning every second into a decisive moment, every step into careful preparation for an even greater clash.
In the fragile calm lingering between the echoes of their last exchange, Theo steadied himself, channeling his internal energy into every fiber of muscle, gathering his focus onto a single imaginary point ahead.
The Internal Severing Technique he was about to unleash was not merely physical motion.
It was the manifestation of Erusha Birtash—the Samurai born from Theo's own mind and craft—uniting body, blade, and the intuition of a writer.
All the time that had passed since the battle began now condensed into a single chance to alter the flow, to ensure the unpredictable could be controlled without shattering the delicate balance between reality and the game world.
'I admit this technique is far from perfect.
Erusha spent too much time indulging in bottles and women instead of completing the deadliest sword art in existence.
But that's where its aesthetic lies—
A technique born from negligence, from human flaws, and now I, Theo Vkytor, a writer living between script and nothingness, will perfect it with the logic and resolve of my pen.'
Husssh!
'The Internal Severing Technique—an attack that comes from no direction because it has no direction.
It is born within the opponent's body, emerging in the core—heart, lungs, soul, even Parameters.
There is no room to dodge—because the wound is not inflicted from outside, but formed from within.
Dozens of meters mean nothing.
Thousands of kilometers make no difference.
Once intent is anchored, no teleportation, no dimension, no law can erase a wound carved by this blade.'
Beneath a sky stretched tight like unwritten paper waiting for its ink to dry, Theo stood at the crossroads between script and reality, feeling every faint tremor around him as whispers from the most wounded tale.
The Internal Severing Technique he prepared was no ordinary warrior's swing—it was a strike born from the rawest fragment of manuscript merged with blood and memory, a spark that traveled down from Erusha Birtash's imagination to Theo's veins.
He knew the technique was unfinished—half-formed because its creator preferred bottles over discipline.
Yet its imperfection did nothing to diminish the vicious force contained within.
In the dense silence, he felt the technique coiling in his chest like breath held too long—a choice that demanded a price, not a strategy to be repeated like a discarded chapter.
To be continued…