Chapter 56: Water striking the bedrock, sound piercing the flames, the grace of the Water Sage

Blade flashes danced amidst the firelight as over thirty bandits lunged at Alan. Planting his stance and dropping low, Alan swept his gaze rapidly across the surroundings. Shouts, curses, the shrill whistle of blades cleaving the air, and the rustle of leaves whipped by the northern wind rushed into his ears.

Shadowy figures blurred, shattering the light and motion in Alan's field of vision.

Yet, he still heard it—mingled amidst the discordant chaos...

The palpable, substantive intent to kill and the faint, murmured cadence of magic.

In that fraction of a second, Alan looked past the crowd toward the Spotted Leopard in the distance, who was staring back at him. Farther away, a dense pillar of fire was roiling upward, churning the dark of night.

*So that’s it. A textbook response from the unorthodox faction... Noticing something off about my Immovable Rock secret technique just now, he first tested me personally to dispel his comrades' cowardice, then verbally goaded them into attacking me together.*

*Then, treating them all as expendable chess pieces, he used their corpses and bones as physical obstructions against me. Banking on the assumption that I hadn't mastered the Sword God Style, he instantly devised a battle plan to buy time for his true finishing blow... This magical fluctuation—an Advanced Mage, or perhaps... Saint-tier?*

*A nice thought, but what a terrible pity...*

*Healing magic crest activated. Duration: ten seconds.*

The dragon saint battle aura etched upon his skin erupted with a brilliant green radiance! Aura and magic surged playfully, instantly flooding every limb and bone of Alan's body!

At the same time! The human tide crashed over Alan like a flood, instantly submerging him!

Alan’s smile rippled through the night, his whispered words lighter than the wind, severed mid-air by the dense chorus of swinging blades.

"The clash of the Water God Style and the North God Style, the fusion of the Immovable Rock secret technique and Twenty Slashes... Self-created secret technique, advancement."

"Immovable Rock, Rushing Waters."

Alan's eyes snapped wide open. A blur of blades plunged into the darkness, darting rapidly through the crowd. The ultimate fluid technique deflected the dozen incoming blades in swift succession, and in the gaps between movements came the Twenty Slashes, squeezing the physical limits of his flesh through sheer battle aura!

Blade light flared amidst the crowd!

At the forefront, the dozen figures whose swords had been batted away seemed to freeze for a single heartbeat. The next second, their bodies violently disintegrated right in front of Alan!

Severed arms! Broken legs! Torsos!

Viscera! Bones! Skulls!

Chunks of flesh fell like rain, the stench of blood grew tangible, and the throng of figures slumped downward in unison like harvested wheat.

Alan's line of sight suddenly cleared before him. Smiling grimly through the rain of blood, he looked toward the fierce flames rising steadily into the sky in the distance.

Beneath the leaping, rampant fire stood Gray Hawk, holding his magic staff high, roaring out the final syllables of his incantation!

"Hellfire Burst! Die, you monster!"

As the visually oppressive spell was hurled forward, the two men locked eyes.

There was no trace of triumphant excitement over a successful strategy in Gray Hawk's eyes; there was only deep wariness and sheer horror.

*In the blink of an eye, half of these men are dead... Good thing the spell incantation is complete... Spotted Leopard's judgment was right. Though the sacrifice was brutal... as long as we're still alive, it's enough...*

Before the thought could finish, the scorching night wind lashed against his bald head.

A bloody gash spread across the top of his head, extending downward past his pupil.

Reflected in his bewildered, shrinking pupils was Alan's figure, wreathed in wisps of smoke.

Right before him.

Shock and incomprehension had only just surfaced in Gray Hawk's eyes as he stared blankly at the distorted air swirling around the blade in Alan's hand...

The next instant, his face melted away like cheese sliced by a hot knife.

Identical to the 'two' Hellfire Bursts that had just streaked past Alan from behind.

Amidst screams and wails, the Hellfire Burst, split clean in two, detonated right within the crowd of bandits behind Alan!

The fierce explosion whipped up a scorching wind pressure that battered Alan's back! The congealed, sticky blood on his swordsman's tunic was baked dry in the span of a single breath.

Alan casually tossed aside the scalding blade he had snatched up to slice through the firebomb. As for his own sword, it had already been ruined during the first round of the Immovable Rock technique.

Skin scorched by the fiery fangs healed rapidly in the explosion's light. Reaching out, he patted his clothes, causing flakes of scabs to shed from his body. Alan bent down and picked up a decoy sword from the dead man's waist.

"Turns out the most threatening one in the camp was the most unassuming... Pity the incantation was still too slow, and his killing intent was far too obvious to my senses... As for the next part..."

He turned his head toward the edge of the forest, where Spotted Leopard's figure, retreating at high speed, was perfectly clear in his vision.

Smiling, Alan stepped forward with his right leg.

"I see."

The next instant.

Spotted Leopard's head fell off.

A pillar of blood geysered skyward, his torso kneeling limply to the ground. Two unactivated smoke bombs rolled from his hands, while his head remained suspended in the air, spinning, spinning...

Spotted Leopard's eyes were dazed.

***

From the very instant the Hellfire Burst was cleaved in two, his heart had gone into chaos.

And Gray Hawk's immediate death that followed was a stark signpost that his most specialized tactical planning had been pulverized into dust by Alan's despair-inducing, overwhelming might.

Re-strategize? You've got to be kidding me! Are there any men left usable in this camp?

A 1v1? At the same rank, in a 1v1 between the Sword God Style and the Water God Style, the latter is stronger! Not only did Alan possess the perfect self-created secret technique of parrying, but he could actually execute the Soundless Blade as well.

A monster.

Unbeatable by force. Escape first, plan later.

Fear overwhelmed his fighting spirit. Without a second thought, he reached for the smoke bomb at his waist—standard escape gear for the unorthodox faction.

Then, he died.

Before he could even swing the Soundless Blade.

The execution of the Sword God Style is often just that unadorned and direct.

The next second, the light in Spotted Leopard's eyes extinguished.

His torso and head collapsed to the earth under Alan's gaze.

The blade pierced the air and pinned into the ground, its tip slowly carving a shallow furrow between Spotted Leopard's skull and severed neck, 'splitting' his corpse apart.

Amidst the squelching sound of churning mud, a slightly immature, innocent voice announced the end of the hunt.

"I sever."

***

[North God Style techniques and Water God Style self-created secret technique fused and advanced.]
[North God Style rank increased, Water God Style rank increased.]
[North God Style—Advanced.]
[Water God Style—Saint.]

Mist and dust churned, roiling and leaping as text merged, jumped, and reorganized.

[Evaluation: The dragon's wrath kindles the flames; as the flames sweep past, the maned wolf hasn't even time to let out a whimper.]

Year 412 of the Dragon Era.
Midsummer night.
Alan steps into the realm of the Water Saint.

***

"Why do I remember Roxy's exact words being 'not even bones left of the maned wolf'?"
[Yet there are plenty of bones on the ground.]

Looking down at the corpse of Spotted Leopard on the ground, who was staring fixedly with unclosed eyes, Alan stroked his chin in speechlessness.

"These bandits' strength was way higher than expected... James went to such great lengths behind the scenes just to kill me?"

"I keep feeling something's off... I originally wanted to leave a live captive to interrogate about the details of the bounty, but alas, the moment he pulled out his smoke bomb I had no choice but to use the Soundless Blade to kill him first. If I tried to capture him alive under those circumstances and accidentally let him get away, that would've been a real disaster."

[Sound reasoning.]

Catching the scent of burning protein in the air, Alan pinched his nose.

"Things have come to this, so it can't be helped... Even if there are other plots behind this, I suppose once I cower and grind my way to the King-tier, before absolute strength, James won't be able to stir up any waves."

<span>"Besides, he won't necessarily deduce that these people were killed by me. Back at the Red Dragon's Upper Jaw, I only displayed Water God Style techniques. Given their understanding of me, they certainly wouldn't think I could wipe out this gang overnight."</span>

The dust drifted before Alan, seemingly carrying a trace of a smile.

[Oh? What if he does?]

Alan turned his head to look at the two large craters smashed out by the Hellfire Burst in the distance. The area around his original standing spot remained completely intact, littered with severed limbs and broken bodies, while sticky blood continued to flow and spread across the ground.

Yet the two craters slightly off to the sides were charred black, with a few burning, carbonized corpses scattered along their edges. As for the members of the bandit group directly struck head-on by the Hellfire Burst, they no longer resembled human shapes.

One had to admit, Gray Hawk and Spotted Leopard's tactical plan had been remarkably thorough and unexpected.

The scene had been sheer chaos at the time; the stronger members of the bandit group approaching Alan had moved at extreme speed, with the clearly high-level swordsmen positioned at the front of the pack, while the weaker ones lagged behind.

That way, if they were indeed being overly cautious and Alan's strength truly matched their estimate—merely Advanced-tier in the Water God Style—he would have been hacked to death during the first wave of encirclement. Gray Hawk could have simply lobbed his magic upward or into the nearby lake.

If Alan's strength vastly exceeded their understanding, then these reckless, swarming elite bandits would serve as stumbling blocks for Alan.

Even if he could slaughter this group in a short time, his pace would be obstructed by a barrier built of flesh and bone. At that moment, Gray Hawk would have tossed his magic into the crowd without a second hesitation.

It was a flawless plan, except they hadn't expected Alan to unleash more than ten Twenty Slashes in a single instant.

They hadn't even witnessed such a move before. After all, Twenty Slashes was a technique Alan had pilfered three years ago from Alex Kalman Reiback, the Second North God who happened to visit the Water God main dojo.

At the time, that guy had kept trying to lure Alan away, scaring Alan into spending half a month working as a bathhouse scrubber in the capital just to dodge that variable. After all, he had to get to Buena Village; if there were too many variables, subsequent events would generate even more complications.

Looking at the system interface before him, Alan shrugged.

"To step back ten thousand steps, even if James figures it out, he still won't be able to accurately determine my whereabouts. I've never revealed my intention to head to Buena Village to a single soul; to them, it's a complete blind spot in their field of vision."

"At worst, he might stake out Roa City for me. But two years from now, leaving aside whether the people he sends could even recognize me, the prolonged radio silence during this period should be enough for him to drop his guard against me."

[Heh, I suppose so...]

The dust dispersed. Alan smiled, stepping forward toward the distant crater, swinging his arms as he walked.

*Both styles have improved...*

*The Water God Style reached the Saint-tier, as expected.*

*Still, I feel like the Sword God Style handles more smoothly. That style really is unreasonable—it completely relies on raw talent and comprehension. Difficult? Extremely. But once you catch the feeling, the progression is frighteningly fast. I'm starting to understand the experience of a cheater like Gino...*

*The North God Style reached the Advanced-tier, which is a bit strange.*

*Logically speaking, practitioner styles still rely on healing magic crests for temporary boosts. I asked the system before; temporary power-ups achieved without long-term mastery of techniques through one's own effort don't count... So where did the improvement come from... Wait, could it be...*

Alan blinked, tossing the blade he held into the air, and suddenly let his body go limp as if losing all strength, falling face-forward. But the instant his face was about to meet the ground, he slammed both hands against the earth. Utilizing the counter-force, battle aura coiled and vibrated through the muscles of his arms and waist!

The next second, maintaining a posture with all four limbs down, Alan executed a sideways barrel roll in the air and landed steadily on the ground beside him.

He caught the blade falling back down from the air.

Thanks to the foundation of Alan's North God Style practical training, merely witnessing it once had allowed him to intuitively grasp the essence of the Four-Footed Form.

*Spotted Leopard's Four-Footed Form really was just like a beast... The unorthodox faction of the North God Style has its merits in certain areas... I used to rarely see anyone use this move in person; the royal capital is entirely filled with Water God Style swordsmen...*
*I'm still extremely rigid in my execution; can this kind of Four-Footed Form of mine really rank as Advanced? Could it be that there are simply too many Advanced swordsmen in the North God Style, causing the average baseline to span a wide range of quality?*

[Correct. The skill level of North God Style unorthodox swordsmen varies wildly. There are even instances where individuals lacking sufficient skill rely on underhanded tactics to parasite their way into high positions. Judging by the host's current state, you sit right at the 10% lower threshold of the average North God Style Advanced swordsman.]

Alan blinked in curiosity.

"Since you know the average level of North God Style Advanced swordsmen, how many North God Style Advanced swordsmen are there in the entire world right now?"

The mist paused for a fraction of a second, as if pondering for a moment, before the text shifted and reorganized.

[...3,340. The North God Style is extremely prevalent among adventurers and bandit groups, boasting a large headcount, with the majority concentrated in the Disputed Lands.]

"Hmm... Well, there is a North God Style main dojo right next door... What about the Sword God Style?"

[...827. Most are concentrated in the Sword Sanctuary.]

"That number is fairly reasonable... It pretty much matches the scale of that illiterate sanctuary town... And the number of high-tier Sword God Style swordsmen wandering outside isn't large. This place is still not far from the Sword Sanctuary, so running into a few is possible; the farther south and east I go, the scarcer they'll get... What about the Water God Style?"

[...4,732. Water God Style elites are trump-card bodyguards irresistible to nobles worldwide, and it is the most widely adopted style.]

"Reasonable... Then North Saint—"

[The host should focus on the present and not aim too high.]

"Oh..."

Speaking to himself, 'conversing' with the system, Alan had already walked into the two pitch-black craters. His boots stepped once more upon the sticky blood on the ground, the dark, dried surface of his shoes from moments earlier soaking through with blood once again.

He strolled into the piles of butchered flesh and debris, squatting down to rummage through the gore and viscera with his blade for a long while before ultimately scratching his head in helplessness.

"Swords and chunks of meat everywhere... I can't find my sword hilt anymore... Had I known, I wouldn't have chopped them up so fine."

He turned his head again to look at the burning craters on either side, falling silent for a moment.

"Forget it, won't bother looking. Time to slip away... The magic commotion was too big, it'll be troublesome if anyone shows up..."

Mid-sentence, Alan's expression darkened. He turned his gaze toward the woods at the edge of the camp.

The shadows of the woods swayed, leaves rustled, and a figure stepped out from within. Their pace was somewhat hurried, cautious, and carried a hint of hesitation.

Alan's pupils slowly widened. Following familiar-looking boots that didn't reach the knee, his gaze traveled up to the black tube socks, the hem of the wizard robe, the water-blue braided pigtails, the heaving bosom, and the bewildered, thin lips...

And rested upon those deep blue pupils.

The newcomer was Roxy.

Breathing heavily, she covered her mouth with her hand, stared at Alan, and came to a halt.

The night wind blew between the two of them, yet it failed to disperse the thick stench of blood and burning human flesh.