Chapter 26: Value, Courage, and the Sword (Part 2)
Joshua had once said that he wanted to reverse all of this. He could not sit idly by, nor could he remain indifferent. These words were sincere, without a shred of falsehood. But could helping these survivors drive away the Shadow Wraiths reverse the decline of a dying world? Could aiding these warriors in battle, slaying their enemies, save the multitudes? No. Everyone has their own path. The warriors fighting within the Holy City did not need such shallow assistance to hinder them; they were already burning their own hearts. So, nothing needed to be done.
What Joshua needed was to reach the source—the origin of the Shadow Wraith Calamity: the Imperial Capital of the Ulan Empire, Gatar. There, he would find the truth behind everything.
The number of Shadow Wraiths was far too vast, obscuring even the view ahead. At such times, the warrior would act, swinging his greatsword or giant axe to carve out a blade of light. The dim radiance flickered for but an instant, and all Shadow Wraiths within several kilometers ahead were swept clean. Countless soul imprints were thus absorbed by the Soul Abyss, never to be reborn within the dark mist.
—Too many.
This was Joshua's inner thought. The Soul Abyss could not absorb complete souls; it could only take the soul fragments of those who died by Joshua's hand. But at this moment, the endless army of Shadow Wraiths represented an endless supply of soul fragments. Such a vast quantity of soul energy being drawn in left even the warrior himself uncertain of the consequences. Yet, to advance toward the deepest lair of the Shadow Wraiths, this was a necessary step.
Deep within the dark Soul Abyss, countless crystal-like fragments howled curses, emitting noise devoid of all reason. But now, as an unending, seemingly limitless flood of soul fragments poured in, the original fragments were piled atop one another, forming a towering mountain. These soul fragments were already the smallest components of a soul, yet under such speed and volume of accumulation, the mountain began to compress and condense layer by layer, finally collapsing into a small, black core.
This silent black sphere floated at the very center of the Soul Abyss, like a bottomless void, actively drawing in all the soul fragments within the Abyss, assimilating them into itself.
Meanwhile, at the Karola Fortress, atop the observatory at the city's center, the construct old man, now merged with the entire city, gazed into the distance—toward the place where light flickered.
"Power... approaching the Saint Domain."
He murmured in disbelief: "But how is this possible?"
Since twenty-seven years ago, no new Saint Domain-level existence could appear in the Grandia World. Even former Saint Domain powerhouses had to seal away part of their strength, suppressing themselves to the peak of the Heaven Realm.
This was because the entire world was slowly dying, sinking into silence. Saint Domain power connected with the whole of heaven and earth, even linking to the world's most fundamental source. The gradual destruction of the Grandia Continent naturally affected those beings most closely tied to the world. To continue merging with this dying source power would cause oneself to also sink into silence.
This effect was even more pronounced for the powerful. The old man himself, because he had been a step too slow and was tainted by the aura of silence, had to use a construct body to replace his dead flesh, becoming a half-machine lifeform. Other Saint Domain powerhouses had faced similar problems, though they had found various ways to circumvent them.
But this did not mean that one could not break through to the Saint Domain in the Grandia World. It simply meant that, due to the silent environment, the moment a powerhouse attempted to break through or use Saint Domain power, death would descend upon them.
Joshua did not know this.
But even if he did, he would not care in the slightest.
70%, 71%, 72%, 73%... The number crept forward bit by bit. As he continuously absorbed the free-floating energy in the surrounding atmosphere—energy scattered from the shattered Shadow Wraiths—this progress bar steadily advanced toward one hundred percent.
At this moment, the warrior was merely puzzled. He had been walking through the Shadow Wraith army for most of the day, slaying hundreds of thousands of them. Yet why had no powerhouse like Arman come to block his path?
Where were those Grand Shadow Wraith Commanders?
And far away, at the southeastern edge of the continent, surrounded by seas of clouds and vast mountain ranges, a massive mountain range lay slumbering across the land like a giant lying prone.
A powerful swordsman, wrapped in shadow and darkness, ranked third among all Shadow Wraith Commanders, stood amidst the clouds, his eyes closed. Around him, the wind seemed still, the atmosphere frozen solid. No sound existed in heaven or earth; the world was utterly silent.
He had not concealed his face now, and one could see the features usually hidden in darkness.
It was an ordinary face, with no distinguishing characteristics. Yet this visage—one that could easily be lost in a crowd—exuded a sharp, piercing aura capable of cutting through and tearing apart anything. Even with his eyes closed and his body motionless, the rolling sea of clouds in the mountains was occasionally shredded by invisible blades from unknown sources, turning into mist and light rain.
The swordsman stood atop the clouds, as if waiting for someone's arrival.
Not long after, a streak of light flew from a mountain that seemed to have been horizontally severed. It landed on a peak not far from the swordsman, revealing the figure of an old man.
This old man was also a swordsman. His body was composed of countless specks of light, clearly not a living being but a Heroic Spirit. He held a longsword in his hand, and his gaze toward the Shadow Wraith Commander was complex.
"Junior apprentice brother..." the old swordsman began, but before he could finish, the Shadow Wraith Commander interrupted him coldly.
"Spare me the pleasantries, senior apprentice brother. I am no longer your junior apprentice brother. I am a Shadow Wraith Commander of the Takur Annihilation Order." The Shadow Wraith Commander's tone was flat, but his words carried a sharp edge. "I have come to stop you. You should know that the Holy City is already doomed. Why bother protecting these insignificant ants? If you come with me now and submit to the Order, you might still survive."
The old swordsman remained silent for a long time before finally speaking: "I cannot."
"Then die," the Shadow Wraith Commander said indifferently.
The old swordsman sighed deeply. He looked down at the small town below the mountain—a town that had been under his protection for nearly thirty years. The town was called Yalen Town, and its inhabitants were all his descendants. They were the bloodline of the former Sword Saint, Yalen·Astoria.
"Junior apprentice brother," the old swordsman said, his voice heavy, "do you still remember the oath we took when we first learned the sword?"
The Shadow Wraith Commander did not answer.
"The sword is the soul; the soul is the sword. The sword's light never fades; glory never dies. My life continues; my sword never breaks." The old swordsman recited the oath softly, as if speaking to himself. "Have you forgotten all of this?"
"Enough!" The Shadow Wraith Commander suddenly roared, his voice filled with rage. "Don't speak to me of those hypocritical oaths! What has this world given us? Betrayal! Death! Despair! Only the Order can bring true salvation!"
The old swordsman looked at his junior apprentice brother with pity in his eyes. "You have lost your way."
"I have found the true path!" the Shadow Wraith Commander retorted. He then sneered, "Enough talk. Since you refuse to submit, I will send you to meet your descendants."
As he spoke, he pointed downward. Below, the endless tide of Shadow Wraiths was already surging toward Yalen Town. The town's defenders were fighting desperately, but they were vastly outnumbered.
"Look, senior apprentice brother," the Shadow Wraith Commander said mockingly, "your descendants are about to die. What can you do? You can't save them. You can't even save yourself."
The old swordsman's body trembled slightly. He looked down at the town, at his descendants fighting and dying, and a deep pain flickered in his eyes.
But then, he heard a voice from below.
"Shut up!"
It was an old man from Yalen Town. He had heard the Shadow Wraith Commander's words and was now glaring upward with fury. This old man, who looked nearly as ancient as his own ancestors, angrily drew his sword—the sword he had wielded in his youth—and shouted: "Do not insult the glory of our ancestors!"
And then, voices erupted from the town one after another, like a rising tide.
"Don't worry about us, ancestor! Strike!"
"What is our lives worth? After all these years, we still need our ancestor's protection? We don't want this life anymore!"
The townspeople, who had been terrified by the advancing undead army, now seemed like gunpowder touched by a fuse. They roared with a courage they had never shown before. At the forefront was a scarred female knight. She stood beside the old man, glaring at the sky: "The Astoria family has no cowards! Undead, draw your swords! Even if death befalls us, we will not flinch!"
The next moment, the old man beside her shook off the hands supporting him and walked to the edge of the town wall. He stared at the endless tide of Shadow Wraiths slowly surging forward, gripped his sword tightly, and held it before him. His voice was almost hoarse as he shouted with a devout tone: "I am the seventeenth-generation descendant of Sword Saint Yalen·Astoria! The sword's light never fades; glory never dies! My life continues; my sword never breaks!"
He turned to look at the townspeople and roared: "What are you waiting for?! Descendants of the Sword Saint! We have been holding our ancestor back!"
"Draw your swords!"
High above, the old swordsman, who had been about to tell them to flee, was stunned.
Because then, everyone in the entire town—young and old, men and women, even children, except for infants who could not move—all who took pride in being descendants of the Sword Saint—drew their swords!
"The sword's light never fades; glory never dies!"
"My life continues; my sword never breaks!"
Everyone roared the inscription engraved on their family crest.
These villagers, who had struggled to survive in this apocalypse for nearly thirty years, who had never once forgotten to practice swordsmanship even in the hardest of times, felt pride from the deepest part of their hearts for their surname.
And so, to uphold that glory, they drew their swords. These swordsmen even opened the town gates and charged out, attacking the undead army that was several times, dozens of times larger than themselves—an army as vast and boundless as the sea.
Not a single person retreated. Not a single person fled.
The old swordsman stood frozen in the sky, watching his own blood descendants charge from beneath his feet into the battlefield, into death, while he was held back by his junior apprentice brother, unable to stop them, unable to prevent it.
This was their courage and their glory.
Faint magical energy light radiated from their blades. Wind and thunder roared, shattering the atmosphere. The residents of Yalen Town were not weak. Under their charge, even the undead army fell into chaos. Silver-white sword lights flashed and crisscrossed in the darkness, filling the air with the sound of tearing wind. Tens of thousands of Shadow Wraiths were turned to ash by these sounds, returning to the earth.
But how could a few hundred, less than a thousand villagers, stir the sea? After a brief disturbance, the endless tide of Shadow Wraiths, now moving again, instantly swallowed these swordsmen, cutting off their already unnecessary retreat.
Swinging his sword, creating bursts of air explosions, a male swordsman fought for a long time before finally collapsing from exhaustion under the siege of countless Shadow Wraiths. Bleeding from the mouth, the dying man fell to the ground. But seeing the swarm of enemies closing in, he forced himself up, swung his final sword, and cut dozens of approaching Shadow Wraiths in two. In the end, however, he was swallowed by the endless shadows, vanishing into the darkness.
—My ancestor, we are your descendants. The blood flowing in our veins is the blood of heroes who never yield.
A voice suddenly echoed in the old swordsman's mind. It was the voice of a man who had regarded the Heroic Spirit—who had protected them for thirty years since the apocalypse began—as his faith.
—Yes.
A female voice followed. It was the voice of another fallen female swordsman. Her voice was young, and she did not lament her death, only felt regret and hope.
—So do not hold back for our sake. We... want to see you as you once were—as a hero.
"Ah... I know... I understand."
I know that tears are useless. In this cruel and hopeless world, there is no salvation.
And yet,
Tears of the soul fell.
And yet,
The sword in hand tightened.
The old swordsman—the Heroic Spirit—the former Sword Saint of the Riven Earth, Yalen·Astoria, gripped his sword tightly. Facing his aggressive junior apprentice brother, the third Shadow Wraith Commander, who seemed ready to strike at any moment, the Heroic Spirit closed his eyes to prevent tears from falling, calming his surging heart.
The world is as fleeting as dew. I know this battle is meaningless, just futile sacrifice. I know that if they had only run, if they had only not fought, they could have lived. They could have become the last one hundred and three thousand people in this world.
That would have been enough.
But there are some things that surpass death, that can never be escaped or betrayed.
Boundless power seemed to surge from the depths of his heart. Yalen opened his eyes. His body, originally composed of countless specks of light, suddenly began to fluctuate violently. It looked as if the billions of light particles forming his body were rapidly exploding and splitting apart. A force surpassing a volcanic eruption, one that could make tsunamis and heaven-shaking events pale in comparison, burst forth from his body, spreading rapidly toward the eight directions and the high heavens.
The old swordsman's hand also grasped the sword hilt, drawing this long-silent holy sword from its sheath.
"Saint Domain—"
The Shadow Wraith swordsman, who had been silently watching all of this, suddenly cried out in shock. He roared: "How dare you?!"
"Why wouldn't I dare?"
Amidst this bloody wind and rain, amidst this mountain of corpses and sea of blood, amidst the freely flowing blood of his kin, the Sword Saint laughed loudly, and then—drew his sword and struck!
In that instant, mountains toppled, and the earth split into an abyss.