Chapter Eighty-Two: Metamorphosis (4)
Boom boom boom boom—
Outside the West Town, amidst the tremendous rumbling, torrents of flaming meteors rained down from the sky like some cosmic armageddon, scattering clouds from a height of over a thousand meters, bringing with them waves of thick smoke and heat, crashing down toward the First Knights Order’s position.
In that instant, the entire universe seemed to change color.
“Faith Organization, everyone, listen up—!”
Above, terrifying infernal flames rolled ceaselessly, rushing into sight, stirring up a maelstrom that made the desert tremble beneath them. Sand flew, rocks scattered, and the faces of those around began to blur. Young Bishop Aresta’s heart raced; his shout barely carried through the wind and sand: “Follow my lead! Within thirty meters above, unleash the Sin Barrier with all your might!! Onasthasi —”
Buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz…
In an instant, golden light flared outside the town, glimmering among the golden-armored tide like stars. The light swiftly gathered in the sky where Aresta pointed, while above, the flames surged closer. The overwhelming inferno sent scorching winds through the golden haze forming below, toppling warriors left and right. Teeth gritted, some began to feel the heat on their faces, faint burns spreading from their skin.
“Block it! Block it—!!”
The young bishop’s eyes widened in terror as he yanked off the heavy, cumbersome mitre that was heating up in the wind, gazing eagerly at the massive fireball rolling from the sky, and the golden light above that hadn’t yet solidified into a Sin Barrier. His nervous expression flickered between gold and red.
Time was running out…
Zing—
In the next moment, he heard the sharp hum of a blade beside him.
“…Old Man!”
Aresta quickly turned, a flicker of hope and surprise crossing his face.
Finally ready to act…
He spied the thin old man had somehow dismounted from his beast and was stepping forward. His overly loose robe waved dramatically in the wind, fluttering like a flag.
A relentless heat bore down on them, growing fiercer, yet it didn’t affect the elderly man’s steps at all; even his seemingly ordinary clothing remained untouched by the flames, as if sparks were afraid of him, curving away at great distances.
Aresta’s pupils widened.
That’s…
Wind?
Zing buzz—
Another clear, peaceful sound, akin to a sword or wind singing.
In view, the aged man held the sword with one hand, the blade angled gently downwards. His silvery hair was tied back with rough twine, dancing in the wind. He moved slightly ahead in the ranks, stopping, lifting his gaze to the sky now suffused with flames.
That skeletal figure stood unwavering amidst the raging sand and scorching winds, like a rock.
Rustle rustle rustle—
In a daze, there was a sound like a gentle breeze emanating from the sword tightly gripped in the old man’s hand.
It was a long, slender sword, entirely black and slightly curved, resembling a unique curved blade.
Aresta recognized it instantly.
In his memories of their rare meetings, that sword had always been sheathed at the old man’s side, residing in a plain, somewhat shabby leather scabbard that looked like it hadn’t been replaced or maintained for years… Aresta had never seen the old man draw it.
Yet in that moment, as the legendary weapon suddenly came into view, a kind of excitement swelled within the young bishop that he never thought he could feel, reminiscent of a child’s glee.
Valen Empire, made in the Central Forge.
The Moon Blade—
Sun-Chasing City.
Legend had it that when the grand furnace was built in the forge, it gathered nearly all the skilled artisans from the Valen Empire, forged with the finest metallurgy from Winter City, it was the first of its kind to come into being and the most famous Moon Blade.
That sword bore the hopes of countless people, crafted by the dreams of the Central Forge’s creator, and when the empire’s wars subsided, its head—Pope Knight Duke Skarlick—under the orders of the previous Pope, gifted it to the legendary hero worthy of the name “Sun Chaser.”
And that hero was none other than the Sword Saint Ryan.
It was a sword of battle, yet one for healing too.
Rumor had it that ever since the sword had joined Ryan, it seldom left its sheath. After all, at that time, the old man had already reached a level of prowess unmatched across the continents; no one could truly challenge him. Even the fiercest villains posed no more than a slight inconvenience, enough to be overcome with a casual snap of a branch or vine within three moves—if the old man could return to his youthful prime, perhaps one move would suffice.
Aresta thought it would be just like that…
He wouldn’t get to see the old man truly draw his sword.
But at this moment, he did.
The young bishop’s heart raced as he strained to keep his eyes open against the wind and sand, staring at the old man’s stooped yet resolute figure, countless thoughts swirling in his mind—though in reality, less than two seconds had passed.
He saw the black blade resonate with the wind, its sound sharpening into an almost painful clarity, as if invisible currents rushed from all directions, swirling and gathering around the sword. The old man lifted it; swishing sounds sliced through the air past Aresta’s ears, causing an itch at his temples. He reached up to touch it and felt a strand of hair had been inadvertently snipped away.
…It was the wind.
He thought to himself.
In the sky, that fireball approached, its heat unbearable, now less than five hundred meters from the ground.
In the next moment, the old man cut through the air with a light swing, directing his blade skyward.
That swing was soft and gentle.
But it unleashed a cataclysmic wave that turned the world upside down!
Boom—!!!
The impact was as if mountains crumbled, resembling the grand force of a tsunami. What seemed like a weak, gentle swing to Aresta felt like some silent yet incredibly skilled sword technique, a clever move designed to diffuse the oncoming inferno. Yet it was quite the opposite.
This sword, wielded by a man over seventy years of age, boldly met force with force, head-on. A terrifying gale burst forth from his blade, forming a nearly hundred-meter-long visible vortex in the air, brimming with destructive intent, rushing toward the falling fireball!
Amidst the earth-shattering noise, Aresta couldn’t help but cover his ears. The Horned Horses whinnied frantically, and warriors around him instinctively cupped their ears in shock, unsure of what was happening. Many hadn’t even caught the old man’s swing, but in the next moment, the fearsome wind vortex tore through the air, crashing past the still-forming golden Sin Barrier and slicing the massive fireball in half like cutting through tofu!
Boom boom boom boom boom—!!!
In the cacophonous roar, the sky above erupted in a scarlet blaze, exploding in a brilliant spectacle before the wide eyes of all watching.
