Awakening the Great Chapter 68

Chapter 68: Prelude to Flas

The war horses had completely transford how the Antelopes carried out their missions. It wasn't simply that they'd gotten faster. What was truly remarkable was their sense of balance and adaptability to terrain.

A journey through mountain paths was no easy feat even for humans. Soil that swallowed feet whole, thick undergrowth and scattered piles of small stones, roots jutting out irregularly. Yet the beasts raised by the Holy Empire brushed past every obstacle as though sweeping them aside.

Thud, crack!

As though walking on flat ground, they kicked up the damp earth with thick, sturdy hind legs, and the undergrowth parted quietly, pushed aside by leather barding.

"……These things are better than people. Train them a little more and they'd be carrying swords into battle."

"If that were possible, they'd be conscripting beast-handlers instead of soldiers."

Basim couldn't help but marvel, and Volga imdiately latched onto the tail end of his words. When snickers rippled through those nearby, the dwarf's face turned red.

"Blasted thing. Always dying to get one over on your master, aren't you. These ones are definitely smarter than you. Isn't that right?"

"Basim, it was just a joke."

"A joke, my foot. Not even funny—just unpleasant."

Zahira stepped in to take his side, and in turn her student's face also turned red, while the veteran rcenaries grinned mischievously and tossed more quips their way.

It was possible only because there was breathing room.

The Antelopes were cutting across territory under the Niboria Empire's control. Despite their fast pace, there was almost no sense of fatigue. Though their backsides were screaming in protest, the relatively mild climate and gentle ridgelines left them with energy to spare.

Yet at the sa ti, woven into the jokes they exchanged was an unfamiliar unease. No one said it aloud, but the mont things seed to be going smoothly, experience sounded its warning bell.

"It's awfully quiet."

Royce muttered under his breath, and Vice-captain Marik imdiately picked up the thread.

"Yes. There's no sign of anyone at all. It's not that there are no villages……. So places have been left in ruins with nothing but the foundations remaining, while others look peaceful, as though no war has passed through them."

"……It's very Niboria. rcy for those who kneel, death for those who resist. A simple standard, but a clear one."

This marked the seventh day since they'd crossed into the Holy Empire's borders. Having barely passed the threshold of their journey, a weight of worry settled between both their brows.

It went unsaid, but they would be discovered eventually. The only question was when. The land under Niboria's rule was that kind of place.

Rustle.

Just then, Hadiya—who had gone ahead to scout—pushed through the undergrowth and appeared. The group's movent ca to a brief halt. She dismounted, wiped the sweat from her brow, and made straight for the leader.

"There are traces of Imperial forces passing through up ahead. The map marks it as a supply route, but……. The movents are too precise. They were left deliberately, as though soone wanted them to be seen."

Royce let out a short, low sound.

"A lure?"

"I don't think so. The troop numbers themselves weren't large. There was nothing unusual in the surrounding area either."

"It could be to confirm the safety of the supply route."

"……I can't say for certain."

"In our current situation, nothing can be."

The unintended rest ca to an end quickly.

"We go around along the mountain ridge. Not leaving traces is what matters."

"Yes."

The leader of the Antelopes decided without hesitation.

Hadiya had also received a new neural accelerator implant. The output was roughly equivalent, but stability had improved—aning her active ti had increased, leaving no room for doubt in her abilities.

Above all, she had grown up in the desert. An extre environnt where the piercing sun warped the ground and sandstorms buried everything whole. If Hadiya said sothing, that was how it was.

Drrrrr——

Imdiately after, the Antelopes moved swiftly.

Erasing their tracks was an added asure. They tied branches to the horses' tails so that hoofprints were swept away, and chose only firm ground to travel across. On stretches passing through rocky terrain, Royce took the lead, and the war horses followed of their own accord.

Their pace of movent picked up steadily.

From the mont the leader declared 'we pass through dangerous zones as quickly as possible', to the mont they crested over to the opposite ridge. The problem was that not everyone was accustod to riding.

"I can't feel anything below my waist……."

Volga muttered through gritted teeth. The mid-ranking rcenaries reflexively nodded along. He was speaking for all of them.

"It's like they've shoved my backside in a stone mortar and are grinding it……."

"Quiet, you fool. Stop complaining."

"Are you alright, Master?"

"……Do I look alright? My groin has been ground to nothing for ages now. My future children have t their end."

"Future children aning……. Ugh!"

His student made a nauseated expression, but unfortunately there was no room to laugh heartily about it. Dwarf Basim was practically hanging off his saddle.

Marik, on the other hand, endured in silence. Zahira shifted her position several tis and soothed her horse. Each mber of the group devised countless thods to sohow hold on. In a way, this too was part of the process of learning horsemanship.

And yet, amidst all the commotion, Calix stood apart, untouched by the chaos. Not a single sway. The war horse's footwork, reaction speed, and pacing were exceptional—but above all, it was because Calix himself was accustod to riding.

In his childhood, at the Ashapel Marquis House, learning had ant a ans for survival. The skills learned at dawn, given in exchange for what the stable hands wanted, were now coming alive in this very mont.

Thanks to that, he was given a quiet, still space to look inward.

Whoooosh.

Horse and rider moved as one, and the wind ca and gently teased the edge of his brow. Deep within his mind, the conversation he'd had with Gregor not long ago surfaced.

'It's not obsessing over technique—you need belief in yourself.'

'Belief, you say……. Do you an sothing like conviction?'

'Exactly! Didn't Kriya's wife break through at so point and suddenly shoot up? Different field, sa road leading to one place. Falling Fire is the sa. It's not a question of the neural accelerator's output, speed, or mana. There needs to be will in it.'

What was it that he wanted a complete Falling Fire for?

He had pondered it in fragnts, and yet he still could not produce a clear answer. Simply being faster, or more precisely—swinging it was not enough.

The veteran rcenary's voice rang out again.

'The heart. If you don't put that into it……. Neither the sword, nor the fla, nor anything else will follow.'

This was precisely the problem.

Calix could not understand what the 'heart' even was. Just as it was difficult to distinguish between belief, will, and conviction—he knew what the words ant, but had not grasped their true aning.

So Calix turned his head. The one who had exchanged the Antelopes' oath with him and his greatest master—Gregor—was riding beside him.

He was letting out a soundless scream.

'Kiyaaaaa——!'

His lower half was bound to the horse's body with rope, but his arms and upper body were billowing every which way with the wind. He seed to be having trendous fun.

"……Gregor."

"Shh! Friend the cook, keep your voice down. We never know when the enemy might be listening."

"……."

"But why are you making a face like a wet cat? Whatever's the matter?"

The scolding lasted only a mont. The old man stroked his beard and asked in return, and Calix lowered his voice and unburdened himself of his worry.

"……I still don't know what the heart is."

The other man tilted his head and ca to a stop. The arms that had been waving through the air went still, and then slowly ca down.

"The heart is……. In cooking terms, it's like seasoning to taste."

"Seasoning?"

"Too little and it's bland, too much and it's salty. The standard differs from person to person. But the closer you get to completion, the more it becos the sa. High-level cooking focuses not on adding salt but on drawing out the flavor of the ingredients. Swordsmanship is the sa."

He no longer smiled.

Instead, he replied clearly, in his characteristically deep voice.

"A sword is sothing ant to kill people. That itself is the sa as an expression of will. The declaration—that I will kill you—the most ferocious and powerful proclamation in all the world. What I was asking was: what must be placed inside it."

Calix's mouth closed. There was no need to answer. For now, it was enough to turn his words over and over again.

"Don't misunderstand. I don't an that your sword is empty. Nor that you must layer a new heart upon it. If the word is too difficult to grasp, let's replace it with life."

"……Life."

"Yes, life. A cook's life is held in a single bowl, and a swordsman's life is held in a blade of steel. It's not sothing forced inside. It seeps in naturally. Like taking root in the place you were born, and spreading your branches wider the more you have lived through."

It felt as though, just a little further, it would be within reach. As if understanding Calix's state of mind, Gregor pressed on without pause.

"So shorten this long, long process and call it 'swordsmanship'. But I call it the heart. Or I might call it life. My own way, my own definition, my own standard. In short—conviction. That is what we are crying out to the world."

"……."

"The closer you draw to the summit, the more it becos clear. Even if you try to conceal it, it shows, and even if you try to contain it, it is already overflowing. So the question itself is wrong. It is a worry that cannot produce an answer to begin with."

The final words struck hard against his mind. The question itself was wrong. Had he been working through this alone, he would have spent quite a long ti unable to find the right direction.

But now he knew. Or rather, he felt he knew. The advice the veteran rcenary had offered was, in itself, like a thread to follow.

Calix drew a slow breath. As though ti had stopped, he looked around once.

The mountains stood in quiet stillness, and the horses drove their feet into the earth with ragged breaths. His companions were each enduring the hardship in their own way. Not one of them said it aloud, but all of them were pressing forward toward the sa destination.

In that mont, he suddenly seized upon the first thread of understanding.

What was it that the Antelopes endured so much for?

'When humans have a goal, a cause, and a sense of purpose, they draw out strength beyond what they possess.'

Before long, only three words remained in his mind.

'Expression of will, powerful proclamation, and conviction.'

Calix himself was no different. To wield destructive power, there needed to be a fitting reason. Only then could he convince himself, and wield it as he intended.

Naturally, the very definition of Falling Fire changed as well.

It was no longer 'a technique for cutting down an opponent'. This was a power that changed the flow. A fla born of conviction—one that, by his own will, would snap the wind, push against the current, and wrench the very rhythm of the battlefield from its roots.

Shhk.

Calix's eyes opened—very, very slowly. The thin film that had been obscuring his sight faded away without even the sound of tearing.

He had not yet found a clear answer.

But he had co to understand a part of it.

That life seeps into the sword, and the sword answers to that life. And that in this mont, he needed to ask himself—for what does he swing his blade.

[Bloodline Ability Change Detected]

[You have awakened a portion of the Essence of Swordsmanship]

[Ashapel's Instinct/Avatar of the Battlefield '7%' increase, currently '32%']

[Until 2nd Awakening, '8%' remaining]

Right on cue, the neural accelerator's congratulatory gift arrived.

His bloodline ability had risen without experiencing any new swordsmanship. Just as the ways of living are truly varied, so too is swordsmanship. Looking inward into the heart was also one such thod.

As expected, Gregor's words had not been wrong.

But the sense of accomplishnt did not last long.

[Warning! Unidentified Interference Signal Detected]

[No Output Interference, Analysis Impossible]

[Neural Network and Sensory System Under Examination]

[Activating Core]

Along with the neural accelerator's warning, an alien sensation grazed down his spine. It caused no direct harm, but there was sothing unmistakably cold about the feeling.

"……What is that?"

"Whoa, easy. It's alright, settle down."

The horse's breathing grew rough in tandem, and its long ears folded back. The war horses were frightened. The Antelopes soothed their agitated mounts and all looked toward the sa spot.

"……Was it that direction."

"Mm."

It couldn't be described precisely. But it was clear that they had all sensed the sa thing. A strange gaze that seeped in on the mountain air—seemingly cautious at a glance, yet coming brazenly closer, rustling through the undergrowth.

It was near the edge of the forest, beyond the ridge.

"Sothing is searching."

"And that 'sothing' is likely the Antelopes."

"……."

After that, no one opened their mouths. Until the leader's order fell, not a single person could move.

They knew. That the calm of their journey had begun, slowly but unmistakably, to crack.

It was ti to part ways with peace.