The Indomitable Martial King - Chapter 69

[ Chapter 69 ]

Once he recognized the identity of his opponent, his face also became unmistakably clear. Those sharp eyes, the cold demeanor, and the lips stubbornly pressed together.

There was no mistake.

It was Cyrus, the greatest swordsman of the continent, the Sword Saint who had tormented him so.

Repenhardt inadvertently let slip a word that made Russ show a moment of surprise.

“How do you know my real name?”

His full name was Cyrus von Tenes. It was the name he received when he was knighted. However, nobody recognized him as a knight, so everyone called him Russ, the name his humble mother used, not the name given by the Count of Tenes.

Seeing Russ flustered, Repenhardt clicked his tongue.

‘Really, why didn’t I recognize him at first? Even though I knew he was from the Tenes Count family.’

Now, the Tenes family was famous as the Golden Knights, but 30 years later, it was different. Having produced an outstanding swordsman, the Sword Saint, the Tenes family had risen from a Count family to a Marquis, shedding the disgrace of being called a sword family that relied on magical tools. The reason Repenhardt briefly failed to recognize them when he first heard the story of the Golden Knights was precisely because, in his time, the Golden Knight was already a forgotten figure.

As Repenhardt was staring at Russ, suddenly Russ blushed and murmured.

“…Moreover, the Sword Saint. Such an immense title is too much…”

‘Ah, he’s embarrassed, that guy.’

After all, having just awakened his aura, it must be embarrassing to be called by such an immense title as the Sword Saint by a senior aura user.

It was a bit awkward to say, ‘Not you now, but you in the future.’ Shaking his head, Repenhardt simply waved his hand.

“Ah, you looked similar to someone I know. Don’t mind it.”

At that, Russ’s expression noticeably fell.

‘Ah, he’s disappointed, that guy.’

Why are his inner feelings so transparent? The Sword Saint, Cyrus, in his previous life, always had a stiff face and an indifferent gaze, perfectly fitting the image of a saint.

‘It seems people really do change as they age.’

Meeting his past enemy once again brought complex feelings to Repenhardt. With a complicated expression, Repenhardt readied himself once more. Russ, too, regained his composure and aimed his sword. The moment their gazes met in the air.

“Charge!”

Russ was the first to leap forward.

* * *

The blue blade aura slashed down with the intent to split Repenhardt’s head in two. He defended with his forearm, causing the auras to collide and generate a shockwave.

“Whoosh!”

The shockwave from the collision spread in all directions, tearing up the ground. Cutting through the vibrating air, Repenhardt thrust his fist forward. Russ, unable to dodge in time, took a direct hit to the abdomen. The shockwave pierced through his armor and penetrated his torso. In that moment, a shout burst from Russ’s mouth.

“Haap!”

The blue aura flared briefly before seeping into his body, wrapping around his insides to neutralize the shockwave. Then, he executed a swift left and right slicing attack!

“Huh?”

Surprised, Repenhardt stepped back to avoid the onslaught. To think he managed to so cleanly block an attack that could nullify defenses! Even Eusus had only endured the impact before healing his body with Eldrad’s healing magic. It had taken Repenhardt a whole month to master the technique of protecting his insides with aura.

‘This newly awakened one has some tricks up his sleeve.’

Russ swung his sword relentlessly at Repenhardt. Blade auras from all directions surged towards Repenhardt, producing a grand noise, as if to beat him down. A flicker of panic passed through Repenhardt’s eyes.

‘What? This is…’

He couldn’t read the attacks. They were coming from completely unexpected directions, making them impossible to predict.

Whether it’s weapon skills or unarmed combat, all martial arts are based on some established theory. It was a system honed over many years by countless warriors, which Repenhardt had also practiced under Gerard.

But Russ’s swordsmanship was different. It wasn’t bound by any form. He didn’t assume any fixed stance. He simply rampaged like a wild beast.

Logically, such movements should lack proper power and be full of openings.

‘But it’s actually powerful and I can’t see any openings.’

It was fascinating. Despite seeming erratic, the flow of power was correct and efficient. Even though the movements appeared random, each sword strike arrived at the perfect timing and angle. Moreover, all those attacks were imbued with blue aura, lending them proper force.

‘So, he’s just swinging around as he pleases, but it’s not against the principles?’

Gerard had also said that among martial artists, there are those who don’t follow instructions and just swing as they like. Most are fools who quickly end up dead, but occasionally, a real genius emerges.

‘Indeed, a sword genius that comes once every hundred years, as they say!’

Suddenly, Repenhardt’s expression turned cold.

‘Indeed… With such innate talent, it’s no wonder he was called a Sword Saint…’

And it made sense that he could have defeated Tassid, the great orc warrior, who was both a precious subordinate and a friend!

Gradually, killing intent began to rise within him.

He knew that the young man before him was not Tassid’s enemy. That was a matter of the future, yet to occur. However, the unchanging fact in his memory was that the Sword Saint Cyrus was Tassid’s enemy.

‘Tassid!’

A corner of his heart began to boil. Repenhardt, with a hardened complexion, launched a counterattack.

Golden aura was overtaken by a blue hue. Every incoming blade aura shattered against the advancing fists, scattering into the void.

As soon as Repenhardt went on the offensive, Russ began to be overwhelmingly pushed back. Russ, having been pushed back more than ten meters in an instant, groaned in despair.

“Argh!”

All attacks missed. The sword light he swung more than dozens of times cut through the air in vain.

And with each attempt, a counterattack came. Countless fists struck his entire body. Even his aura, summoned for defense, was shattered by the intense shock waves imbued in the fists, inflicting severe damage on his body.

“Damn it!”

Swear words naturally spilled out.

Russ’s movements were undoubtedly impressive. Even Repenhardt couldn’t predict them.

But avoiding attacks isn’t always about prediction.

Can’t predict them? Then just watch and dodge.

Once Repenhardt began his counterattack, Russ was continually pushed back without being able to properly swing his sword. Despite Russ’s remarkable talent, the fundamental difference in their abilities was too great.

In strength, speed, visual tracking, reflexes, and even resilience, Repenhardt was significantly superior. His aura control occasionally showed brilliant flashes of sense but did not maintain consistency overall.

He was no match. No matter how much power Russ derived from his aura, he was no match.

Filled with humiliation, Russ howled like a wild beast.

“I am the sword of Tenes!”

Russ raised his sword above his head. The blade aura blazed in a bright blue. His most confident and long-practiced downward slash exploded towards Repenhardt with a force that seemed to split the heavens and earth.

Boom!

The aura tore through the air, thundering. But Repenhardt was no longer there. He had already moved to Russ’s left, launching an uppercut.

“Hup!”

With a short shout, Repenhardt delivered a majestic uppercut to Russ’s side. Concentrating the explosive power of the aura and the elasticity of his entire body into one point, he struck with devastating force!

“Cough!”

Spitting blood, Russ’s body was launched into the air.

* * *

In the cold embrace of winter winds within Viscount Kelberen’s castle grounds, a young knight groaned in agony upon the frostbitten earth.

“Ah, ahh… Ahh…”

Surrounded by a pool of vomited blood at his feet, unable to steady himself yet refusing to fall, the young knight leaned on his longsword as if it were a staff, barely holding himself upright as he continuously muttered,

“I, I am the sword of Tenes… The sword of Tenes does not break…”

Despite the battle being decisively over, with his body on the brink of collapse, held up solely by his willpower, refusing to kneel, Russ, the young knight, was observed with cold eyes by Repenhardt.

‘Cyrus…’

The punch had been intended to kill, a strike delivered with a lethal intent unlike any he had thrown at Eusus or others.

Yet, Russ did not die. Nor did he fall. Though he had exhausted all his strength, standing there as if he were but a corpse, he still stood before him.

This sight left Repenhardt conflicted.

‘…Should I finish him off?’

He wished to kill him right there, yet part of him resisted that desire.

It wasn’t solely because Russ was yet to commit any crime. Was it not better to remove a potential threat now, who might harm someone important to him in the future?

‘But…’

If he were the Tassid he knew, the orc possessing the soul of a great warrior, he would never desire such an outcome. He might even be angry with Repenhardt for not allowing him to seek revenge himself.

‘Tassid would seriously be angry, no doubt.’

Repenhardt suddenly smirked. Upon reflection, it was about an event that hadn’t even occurred – why worry about seeking revenge?

Besides, even if it wasn’t about revenge, there were still lingering concerns. Tassid had clashed with the Sword Saint Cyrus several times in a previous life. Each encounter pushed both to reach greater heights. Perhaps Tassid’s attainment of the Great Orc Warrior’s strength was, in some way, thanks to Cyrus. Rivals, after all, are meant to push each other.

Thus, harming this individual here might potentially disrupt Tassid’s future.

Ultimately, Repenhardt retracted his intent to kill.

‘Yes, this one is for Tassid to deal with.’

The Great Orc Warrior he knew was never weak. He only lost due to unfavorable circumstances; in a fair fight, he would never be defeated by the Sword Saint Cyrus.

‘And my duty is to provide Tassid with a fair battlefield.’

Repenhardt slowly approached Russ. Russ’s complexion hardened under the cold glare directed at him.

He was on the verge of collapse. A mere swipe from his opponent could end his life. Sensing his imminent death, Russ closed his eyes, but then a chilling voice reached his ears.

“I shall spare you.”

Startled, Russ opened his eyes. The gaze that met his was still cold, almost eerie, as the figure continued speaking.

“Survive. And become stronger. For my friend Tassid.”

“What, what?”

Leaving a bewildered Russ behind, Repenhardt stomped the ground, launching his massive form into the air, flying towards the outer walls. Leaving a golden trail behind, Repenhardt leaped over the inner walls and through the broken outer walls, disappearing from sight beyond the castle of Kelberen, leaving Russ and the knights of Tenes dumbfounded.

Silence prevailed. No one spoke.

The enemy had vanished. What remained was the shattered castle, the decimated knights of Tenes, and their leader, still struggling to regain his senses.

“Aaaaaah!”

With a cry, Russ swung his sword down. The blade aura tore through the earth, emitting a majestic roar.

Boom!

Among the flying debris and cloud of dust, Russ let out a long, animalistic howl, like a wounded beast crying out in agony.

“Uaaaaah!”