Chapter 79: Death Is Like the Wind, Ever by My Side

Huggins took several steps back, surveying the enormous fissure with wonder. “This crack doesn’t look like a natural formation—it’s as if someone split it open with a single stroke of the sword.”

Drawing his armed blade, he measured the length of the fissure, remarking, “The power of this strike is beyond the realm of mortals. Perhaps this is the sacred ground of the Beastfolk Sword Saint.”

Seeing the others’ gazes shift toward him, Huggins explained, “There’s a legend among the beastfolk of a mighty clan called the Blade Clan. Unlike other beastfolk tribes, every member of this clan is devoted to the way of the sword, making them all masters of swordsmanship.”

“The heroes of the Blade Clan are called Sword Saints. Their greatswords can cleave mountains, sever seas, even rend the very fabric of space. Only a Beastfolk Sword Saint could deliver a strike like this.”

Leo listened, utterly captivated, and as he gazed at the fissure before him, he found Huggins’ words ever more convincing.

It was clearly the mark of a sword: narrow at both ends, wide in the middle, the cut smooth and exuding a fierce aura.

But wasn’t a sword scar twenty meters long and a meter wide a bit excessive?

Like Leo, the rest of the adventuring party were rough country folk; all they could do was gape and mutter exclamations of disbelief.

Only Danise could keep pace with Huggins’ line of conversation.

She, too, sighed in wonder. “Though human records always extol our long history and deep heritage, the truth is otherwise. Whether elves or beastfolk, their cultural legacies far surpass our own. Ten thousand years ago, when humans were still tilling the earth with primitive tools, elves and beastfolk already had flourishing civilizations.”

“Many martial arts of the Northern Realms originate from the beastfolk. The two-handed sword techniques of the Otarov family, for instance, are said to be inherited from the Blade Clan.”

Huggins nodded. “A thousand years ago, the people of the North lived on the southern banks of the Anzeno River, while the beastfolk resided to the north. The interactions between the two peoples were even more frequent than those between the North and South of the Empire today.”

“The shamanistic beliefs of the beastfolk and the ancestor worship of the North spring from the same root—worship of the strong. This Storm Altar is both a place of worship and a Sword Saint’s dojo; there’s no contradiction.”

“This sword scar is most likely the handiwork of an ancestral Beastfolk Sword Saint, where young clan swordsmen would come to train, seeking to comprehend the sword intent of their forebears.”

As Danise and Huggins spoke, the weight of history and the aura of ancient legend filled the vast interior of the altar, and everyone’s expression grew solemn.

Danise looked to Leo and smiled. “You’re a swordsman too, Leo. Take this chance to study it well—perhaps you’ll grasp the sword intent of the Beastfolk Sword Saint.”

Leo couldn’t bear their lofty conversation, especially since he couldn’t join in, making himself seem uncultured.

So he drew his longsword with a steely ring, placed a hand upon the blade, and intoned in the refined Imperial tongue, “Death is like the wind—always by my side.”

Danise was instantly struck dumb, staring at Leo, her mouth slightly open in shock.

Every companion nearby was likewise stunned, eyes fixed on Leo in amazement.

Leo, inwardly gleeful, kept his expression cold and reserved. He twirled his blade in a flourish, then sheathed it in a smooth, practiced motion, declaring, “The road is long, but I walk it with my sword as my only companion!”

The thick air of history and legend vanished in an instant, leaving only Leo’s overwhelming presence dominating the dojo.

For a brief moment, everyone felt as if Leo had been possessed by the spirit of a Sword Saint.

Unable to contain himself, Leo was about to burst out laughing when, suddenly, he saw the massive sword scar on the stone wall bearing down upon him.

A blinding sword light engulfed him in an instant!

As the others watched in shock, Leo’s body went rigid like a puppet, and he fell backward.

Like a landslide, like the earth splitting open.

Like a mighty ship weighing tens of thousands of tons, bearing down on Leo.

Like the shockwave from a nuclear explosion, a destructive force sweeping everything before it, pulverizing him to dust.

If the mental lash from Brother Lawrence earlier had been like an axe splitting his skull, then this strike was like thunder splitting heaven and earth.

In short, this fierce, peerless sword intent could have obliterated Leo’s soul in an instant.

Before darkness swallowed him, Leo could still hear Danise’s startled cry, feel an overwhelming spiritual force surging from behind to shield his feeble soul, and catch a distant, ethereal “Huh?”

When he awoke again, dusk had fallen. Leo’s head throbbed so badly it felt as if it would split, and his mouth was parched.

So was this Heaven’s punishment for showing off too much?

Looking up, Leo realized he’d been moved to the stone plaza outside the altar, lying on a spread-out blanket.

Danise watched him with concern, handing him a cup of water. “You’re finally awake. Here, have a drink first.”

“What happened?” he asked.

Danise shook her head. “Nothing at all. You simply fainted.”

She added, uncertainly, “But before you passed out, you acted a little strange—as if something had possessed you.”

Nearby, Old Pete was busy cooking, but turned to say with conviction, “He was possessed by the Sword Saint! That look, that bearing—no ordinary man could have it!”

Danise’s eyes sparkled as she looked Leo up and down. “So, did you really comprehend the sword intent of the Beastfolk Sword Saint?”

Leo felt as if the two souls he’d painstakingly fused had been split apart by a sword, his head pounding even harder.

His mind was a jumbled mess, and he even wondered if the ordeal had been no more than a fevered dream.

Instead of answering Danise, he turned to Old Pete and asked, puzzled, “Weren’t all members of the adventuring party supposed to be extraordinary? What’s your specialty?”

Old Pete, holding his frying pan, replied uncertainly, “Does cooking count?”

When Old Pete walked away, Danise chuckled softly. “Don’t underestimate Uncle Pete. He’s incredible.”

She began counting on her fingers. “He can fish, cook, give first aid, care for horses, identify herbs, skin animals, forage, even repair armor! Whatever a regular adventurer can do, he can do; and what they can’t, he’s probably mastered too!”

Leo had always been attentive to details, and knew well how capable Old Pete was.

Whenever a fight broke out, Old Pete remained unflustered, unlike anyone else.

With a small skinning knife, he could strip a direwolf’s pelt more easily than cleaning a fish.

He simply hadn’t had the chance to fight seriously, which only made Leo more curious.

Just then, Fischer, who was on watch, raised his hand in a signal.

Everyone fell silent at once. Under Fischer’s guidance, they moved to the edge of the cliff.

They stood at the brink of a great canyon, its sheer walls rising hundreds of meters on either side, with the Storm Altar perched midway up, still a hundred meters above the canyon floor.

Now, down on the canyon floor, a large host of beastfolk had appeared, making their way upstream along the river.

There were forty or fifty of them, half riding direwolves, half on foot.

Several bear-like giants appeared at the upper end of the canyon, forming a blockade before the beastfolk.