Chapter: 237
Ivan witnesses a miracle. A miracle he has created.
He sees the angle of the sword’s tip, the concentrated weight of a decisive strike, the shifting center of gravity and trajectory, and a straight line without wavering.
Many evaluate him as having good eyesight. This was rather a curse. What does it mean to be able to replicate something just by seeing it once?
It means he can disassemble and understand all the elements of the opponent’s actions just by observing them. The process of mastering skills becomes unnecessary through repetition. If one is accustomed to using their body, all techniques that utilize the body can be imitated.
Thus, he could not grow. He merely traced the footsteps of those who have grown. It is akin to walking in the path of footprints left by others on the long road of martial arts.
He does not grow. He only stands still on the path of those who walked ahead of him. If there are no longer those in front of him, his steps will also come to a halt there.
That is stagnation. And like every process, stagnation is akin to regression. As Edel evaluated, his martial arts resembled that of a child just learning to walk.
He was finally attempting to grasp and take steps on his own. What all martial artists had done from the beginning, he was only now beginning to do.
But now, he is witnessing a miracle.
The moment Isabelle takes her step, he immediately perceives the action she intends to perform. She is attempting to part the heavens.
The distribution of her weight is perfect. She is wholly imitating his posture. The lack of strength is compensated for by talent. And the postures he had to attempt while disengaging his focus are filled with instinct.
The instinct points not towards Maximilian but to Ivan, to him.
Ka-a-a-aang—!!
The tip of the sword rang out. The hand gripping the sword was straight, lifting the blade upward.
Yes, Maximilian did not need that posture. His talent was at a level where he could execute that strike without any preparatory movements.
However, it was necessary for Ivan. Before he could insert the strike, a process of exploding all the muscles in his body was required. To follow the trajectory drawn in his mind, a kind of mind training was needed.
Isabelle likely did not need such a process. Yet, she still takes that stance.
Kwa-jik—!!
The blade twists. The empty air is torn apart. A strong force and mana surge tore through the atmosphere.
And then, a flash followed.
A sharp ‘ki-ing’ of the blade. With that alone, the movement is complete. What was torn apart instead of the heavens is an illusion. The darkness that had clouded Isabelle’s eyes dissipates.
The true form of Lamerics reveals itself. Isabelle hangs the blade downwards, letting out a deep breath as she feels the aftermath.
Hero…!!?
The exclamation of Lamerics echoed in shock. She must have been surprised. The only one she was wary of was Ivan, who stood in the back, half a corpse.
She lost the veil that she thought was just a meat shield made of a young girl. The curse and power of the Seven Dragon Lords shattered into pieces.
What remains is a massive spider covered in a shell, and the injured body of a pale woman.
At the point where the mana dissipated, the Seven Dragon Lords became nothing more than a gigantic monster. While it contained the Sacred, it would require time to weave spells once again.
With that one move, Isabelle had pulled the position of the divine down to the mortal level.
Hoo…
In the time suspended, Ivan felt a sense of regret.
Insufficient. Even though it was a perfect strike in his eyes, it had only neutralized the spell of the Seven Dragon Lords. Yes, the opponent is the Seven Dragon Lords.
They were the gods that the Hero Party had fought against all together. To bear that alone, her utmost was not short of the best seen by heroes of that era, yet it was still not enough.
If I had been there instead.
Ivan imagined it and immediately shook his head. The best strike he could have produced was that one. And now Isabelle was proving that it was not enough to kill the creature.
After that, he would have permitted the creature’s attack in order to produce that strike.
Just like how Lamerics was closing in on Isabelle now.
Sweeeeeek!!
The creature’s leg came crashing down towards Isabelle’s body. The sharp claws surrounded by black armor plunged toward her frail frame.
She will die. The moment that thought crossed his mind, Ivan threw himself forward.
Was it because a hero must not die here? No. Was it because Isabelle had to become the protagonist of this world? Absolutely not.
It was because he had created a miracle, something that had only been a mere imitation all his life, a mediocrity that had only walked stupidly in pursuit of others’ footsteps, had finally created something of his own.
Though all he had taught Isabelle were minor survival skills, combat techniques, and the use of mana, he could still dare consider himself a master.
Because she had followed his sword path completely.
Ivan willingly threw himself, bracing to take the brunt of Lamerics’s assault, content to die in her place if need be.
However.
Key-i-i-ng…!!
Even in that moment, Isabelle’s gaze remained fixed on Lamerics. Her wrist moved.
Ivan halted his rushing body. He looked at her. From the movements of her wrist and the shift in her center of gravity, he saw a multitude of possible sword paths derived anew.
The pinnacle of martial arts shown by the hero, the strike mimicking it. In other words, the furthest step he could take. Beyond that.
Isabelle’s right foot stepped deeper inside the body of Lamerics.
The hand gripping the sword, the tip lowered towards the ground, twisted and turned it upward.
Watching the incoming onslaught, the death looming over her from all around.
Isabelle took another step. Standing in front of the countless footprints of past masters that Ivan believed to be the end of the path of martial arts. One big step further.
Ivan sees a miracle. A miracle that he created.
If the entire process of gripping the sword, adjusting weight, and swinging it can be called swordsmanship.
Then the aim and target of that swordsmanship, such as targeting the neck, cutting through the chest, and deflecting the arm—the principles of penetrating the gaps when swords collide—can be called ‘sword theory.’
To quote Edel, it is the essence of swordsmanship. The framework that makes up the sword.
However, one cannot move solely with the framework. Swordsmanship has a heart.
The ideology. The thoughts unfurled when wielding the sword.
At the moment her first attack tore through the veil, Isabelle understood the essence of this swordsmanship.
“To split despair and seek hope.”
Perhaps this was what her father thought when he first performed that strike. That scene unfurled vividly before her eyes.
In the dark Demon Realm, endless enemies, each moment of survival was perilous in deep enemy territory.
And the journey towards a formidable foe, where she could not dare to predict a victory, and the many… declines that could occur upon defeat.
Even bearing the weight of human civilization’s destruction, one must always move forward with a smile. Someone who symbolized hope for this world. At the moment of giving up or despairing, human civilization would follow suit.
Yet, if he were the hope of humanity, what was his hope?
Where must he seek hope? Who would a God pray to amid despair?
It is oneself. Just like the knights of Tylesse, people must use themselves as lamps. Hence, Maximilian tore through the heavens of that time.
To tear asunder the dark clouds and find the morning star. Even if just for a moment, to confirm that a star still remained to shine for him in the night sky.
That is this strike. The parting of the heavens. The ideology contained within it.
And now, the next step.
Key-i-i-ng—!!!
She recalls the steps taken after finding hope. Not Maximilian’s, but her own steps.
It must not be simply a hope for her own comfort; this is a hope that properly should encompass everyone in the world.
She twist the blade, adjusts her stance, and the vision she raises points upwards.
To draw down the shining morning star in the sky, to the ground.
In the land without gods, where the god who hates humanity lurks. Hope that can equally be shared with all who will now live.
“Isabelle’s—”
Holding the ideology, she steps forward. Towards hope.
She steps with her left foot, grounding herself with enough weight for those left behind.
For Maximilian, for my father.
For Ivan, my idol.
And for Isabelle, my… my goal.
“Morning star—”
Hope.
“Descend.”
To my family, to my idol, to myself.
To my friends, to my nation, to my world.
Delivering the hope I grasped to everyone.
The blade pierces through Lamerics’s chest, driving deep to crush his body and sink into his heart.
Kwa-jik, the armor shatters and pale flesh is scattered. In between,
A throbbing heart is revealed. The divine heart stained black, emitting mana.
Before that.
The blade pushes forward and halts.
“…It was insufficient.”
Isabelle bit her lip in lament. Ideology, technique, strength. Is this all there is? Yes, though she did her utmost. It may be a mere excuse, but she did all she could.
Therefore, Isabelle lifted her gaze. The giant spider’s eyes were looking down at her. She saw its sneer.
Isabelle responded with a smile. A hero must smile at all times.
“It’s the end, contemporary hero. You fell before you could fully mature, so hope shall remain for none of you now.”
The creature’s voice echoed in her head.
“But a hero does not mean the strongest alone.”
A rough hand was placed on Isabelle’s motionless palm.
“It signifies the bravest. The one who, even in despair, continues to smile and press on.”
“…Uncle…?”
“So go ahead. Isabelle, the rest must be supported by your party, don’t you think?”
—Upppp!!
With Isabelle’s back covered, Ivan’s touch guided her hand.
Just beside her ear, Ivan continued speaking in a low, resonant voice.
“If it were me, I would loosen my grip a bit more. Step out more boldly, straighten my waist…”
Ivan has good eyesight. The moment he observes an action, he can analyze the underlying posture and distribution of strength. Therefore, he understood Isabelle’s sword strike the moment he saw it.
The first strike, before the recoil of parting the heavens dissipated, she reversed her body, creating distance. The upward swing of her sword twisted and pulled downwards.
That one step which had been insufficient for him. The ideology from a realm unreachable by mediocrity. A fragment of a level that ordinary people could not even imagine, a miracle. He saw that miracle, embraced it, and reinforced it.
To complement it with an even more perfect step. Together, gripping the same sword, stepping out together.
Towards the path that no one had ever reached in his lifetime, the end of martial arts. Towards that distant road, with careful but fearlessly bold determination.
One more step.
Isabelle vacantly follows his words and moves her sword. The halted tip of the sword finds its strength again and plunges forward. The recovering armor and flesh crumble.
“God Slayer—!! No!! Stop!! I am—!!”
“I am a god.”
Ivan gazed at the astonished face of the spider as he spoke.
“And this land no longer needs gods.”
It can be said that the commonality among all those who were once called gods is this: They too could die.
If one were to name this land, to define this world, it would be thus. A place where all things can equally die. The land of mortals where mortals live. In this realm, nothing can be eternal or absolute.
But, it is the land of life. Not covered in the corpses of the dead, but the ground where life sprouts and blossoms. It is not a realm of death, but a foundation where life blooms.
Between the birth and death of all things, immortality is merely a paradoxical deviation.
Thus, this land no longer requires gods.
Isabelle and Ivan’s hands ripped apart the heart of the god and plunged deep inside.
“If all that the gods have given us was despair, then the god’s epitaph shall become hope.”
The epitaph of the gods shall become hope for humanity, for mortals, for all things.
Hope for a world where life blooms.
In the Sacred land Ovidis, where the gods were once worshiped, the god attempting to dominate humanity met its demise.
“If proof exists that hope remains in this world…”
Elizaveta concluded as she gazed down at the scene from above.
“This very spot is it.”
The hope that humans could face the gods and triumph.
Even if all beings in this world despised humanity, even if fate itself pushed humanity away. Even so, the evidence that hope still exists.
Proof that humanity will not collapse today, just as it did yesterday.
Therefore, this land shall remain a sacred place, even without gods.
It proves that humanity can march toward the gods with their own hands, a sanctuary dedicated to humanity.
Elizaveta wept as she looked down at the scattered remains of the Seven Dragon Lords.
EP38. The Position of Hope.
