Chapter 113
Swiak-!
Ryan Winterbell’s sword flew toward Ran Winterbell’s neck.
It was an unbelievable speed.
Even with his mana sealed, his sword surged like lightning.
Hoo-woong!
But I extended my sword and blocked it.
The countless experiences engraved into my body through past battles and my previous life moved .
“That’s impressive movent. It’s hard to believe this is the body of soone who was bedridden just a few months ago.”
Ryan’s cold voice echoed.
“But……”
By the ti his foot stamped the ground again, he was already swinging his sword from my left. It was a perfect swordsmanship with not a single inch of hesitation nor a trace of waste.
Whiik-!
I bent my body backward and avoided the strike.
But Ryan’s attack didn’t end there.
A continuous barrage of sword strikes poured down like a waterfall.
The mont one movent ended, the next attack began, leaving not even the blink of an eye as a gap.
“As expected of Ryan Winterbell…… The difference is still obvious. If there hadn’t been the restriction of not being able to use mana, I wouldn’t have even been able to cross swords with him like this.”
A murmur slipped from my lips.
“But this level……”
The tattoo engraved on my back began to glow red.
At first, the mark near my heart pulsed faintly, then gradually turned into a clearer crimson. The patterns engraved in ancient characters writhed as if they were alive.
The light of the tattoo spread along my spine.
Like blood flowing through veins, the red light filled my back, awakening each pattern one by one. Every ti a character awakened, my muscles stiffened firmly.
The power of the Blood Flower Great Divine Art flowed through my veins once again. My hot blood circulated throughout my body, pushing all my senses to their limits. The veins beneath my skin swelled as if they would burst, and the blood flowing within them glowed red like lava.
As the tattoo covering my back fully awakened, my hair began to dye itself crimson. My eyes also turned red. Around my body, a faint blood aura rose like steam.
A heat as if my entire body was boiling.
Senses sharpened to the extre.
The ultimate power created by the blood of the Halla Clan completely dominated my body.
“You cannot stop .”
The red blood aura flowed along the blade.
Like molten lava, the crimson energy stread along the sword’s edge. At first, the red aura that began at the hilt slowly soaked the blade. Then, in an instant, the entire sword was dyed red as if drenched in blood.
[Focus. Ran Winterbell.]
It was Behemoth’s voice, one I hadn’t heard in a very long ti.
[No need to answer. Focus on this fight.]
Every ti I swung my sword, the blood aura scattered in the air like flower petals. It was like a painting drawn with blood. Along the trajectory of the sword, a crimson afterimage remained, and from there, the blood aura rose like mist.
My sword cut through the air and received Ryan’s attack. The mont the two swords collided, the blood aura flowing from my blade burst forth explosively.
Like a fountain of blood, the scattered red energy beca a shield that blocked Ryan Winterbell’s fierce assault.
Every ti the swords brushed against each other, crimson sparks flew.
It wasn’t just the sound of tal—it was a special power created by my blood. The blood aura shattering in the air created a scene both beautiful and threatening, like red lotuses blooming.
Even at this mont, Ryan Winterbell’s expression remained incomparably calm. I couldn’t read what he was thinking at all.
That was exactly why he felt even more unsettling to .
‘Strange. It feels like Winterbell swordsmanship, yet there’s sothing foreign about it. Has Ryan also modified the swordsmanship to suit his own taste?’
This was still nothing more than a probing exchange.
There was no way this was the full extent of Ryan Winterbell’s power.
Among the many siblings of the Winterbell family, the most shrouded in mystery was none other than Ryan Winterbell.
“Your movents are stiff. What’s wrong, little brother? Are you perhaps afraid of ?”
“…….”
“Since you don’t answer, I suppose it’s true. Were all those brave appearances you’ve shown until now nothing more than a mask?”
“Since when did you start fighting with your mouth?”
“Heh heh heh.”
Ryan’s gaze turned cold.
All emotion vanished from his silver eyes. Clear and transparent like cold ice, yet only a ruthless light akin to death remained. A chilling aura began to rise around him.
The surrounding air froze as if it were midwinter.
A phenonon manifesting even without the use of mana.
Each ti I breathed, white vapor rose from my mouth. The air of the training ground turned frigid in an instant, as if it had dropped below freezing. It felt as though his very existence had beco the embodint of winter.
Swiak-!
His sword split through the air once more.
The silver trajectory shone coldly like moonlight. Frost ford where the blade passed, only to shatter and scatter. It was a completely different level of speed than before—so fast it was difficult even to follow with the eyes.
“……!”
“I have seen you, little brother.”
The true form of the orthodox Winterbell swordsmanship revealed itself.
The ultimate sword art forged by the strongest northern family over hundreds of years. The silver blade imbued with cold seed to perform a dance of death.
My sword t it head-on.
Each ti the crimson blood aura and the frigid cold collided, sparks flew. Every clash of these opposing forces erupted in flashes of light. It was a bizarre sight, as if blood and ice were mixing together.
Two opposing energies coiled around the training ground.
On one side, my red blood aura surged; on the other, Ryan’s cold chill spiraled. Wherever the two forces t, it was as if both sparks and frost blood at once.
“You’re making quite good use of the blood of that woman whom the Patriarch personally cut down, little brother.”
Ryan’s sword glead like a flash of light. The silver blade reflected the moonlight, shining even colder.
“But you are a Winterbell. If you rely only on the half-blood within you, you will never beco a true mber of Winterbell. Isn’t that right?”
In an instant, his body blurred.
Like a shadow moving within a snowstorm, never staying in one place—an illusion-like movent. His afterimages swept around like a blizzard, completely surrounding .
Swaaak-!
Sword strikes poured in from all directions.
It felt as if dozens of blades were raining down at once within a snowstorm. Ryan’s sword raged like a tempest. His silver hair fluttered, rging with the trajectory of his blade as it danced. Not a single opening, not a trace of hesitation—perfect swordsmanship.
This was the ultimate sword art created by the Winterbell family. A perfect sword dance of cold born from pure Winterbell blood.
“Damn it. You’ve been yapping nonstop—yap, yap. If you’re a swordsman, then shut your mouth and swing your sword. Why are you talking so much? Do you swing your sword with your mouth?”
Ryan Winterbell burst into laughter.
“Hahahaha! Now you finally show your true colors!”
In that instant,
Ran Winterbell’s gaze changed drastically.
From deep within his crimson eyes, a new light awakened. It was neither the madness of the Blood Flower Great Divine Art nor the cold dignity of Winterbell, but a gaze imbued with profound insight.
No longer.
I would no longer fight relying solely on the blood of Winterbell, nor only on the power of the Halla Clan.
Beyond the physical abilities created by the two bloodlines, another power that had been dormant within awakened.
The experience of a warrior who had surpassed death thousands of tis.
The countless mories of battles I had endured as Van Descartes added a new dinsion to my swordsmanship.
“You’re so damn noisy, I’ll just cut you down myself.”
The crimson blood aura flowed along the blade.
But this ti, it was different.
Instead of bursting out as raw power like before, the precisely controlled blood aura flowed along the blade, drawing a special trajectory. Like a living organism, the blood aura coiled around the sword.
The path my sword traced took on a completely different form than before. It was based on the orthodox Winterbell swordsmanship, but interwoven with irregular movents born from the experience of Van Descartes. It was a unique sword style that filled the gaps of structured swordsmanship with unpredictable variations.
Within Ryan’s sword dance that raged like a snowstorm, I captured a fatal opening.
Winterbell’s swordsmanship was perfect. Each movent flowed seamlessly into the next without the slightest gap. But that very perfection beca its weakness. In pursuing such an ideal form, it had instead created a consistent pattern.
‘I see it. I can finally see it.’
With the insight I had gained from experiencing thousands of battles in my previous life, I was able to read that subtle rhythm. Precisely because it was perfect, it had beco predictable—and within that flow, I found a fatal gap.
Swaeaeaeeng!
My sword pierced into that gap.
An attack aid at that fleeting instant just before Ryan’s next movent began.
At the unexpected timing, Ryan’s eyes widened.
“……!”
My unpredictable swordsmanship began to shatter Ryan’s perfect rhythm piece by piece. This was the answer I had found—my own path. A unique sword forged by combining the physical abilities of Winterbell and Halla blood with the combat experience of Van Descartes.
Orthodoxy and irregularity, power and technique, instinct and experience—all in perfect harmony.
Swiak-!
My sword split through the air.
A flash-like strike tore through the air. The blade imbued with crimson blood aura glead eerily under the moonlight. The strike aid at Ryan’s right arm flew in from an unpredictable angle like the attack of a viper.
It grazed his right arm.
Even Ryan, who boasted perfect defense, could not evade it. His pure white training uniform tore, and a vivid red line was drawn across it. Blood seeped from the wound that split cloth and flesh alike.
“Keuk.”
For the first ti, a groan escaped Ryan’s lips. The genius, the perfect successor of Winterbell, revealed pain for the first ti.
But my attack did not stop.
Having drawn first blood, my blade grew even sharper.
A continuous barrage of strikes poured down like a waterfall. Before one attack even finished, the next had already begun. Based on Winterbell’s orthodox swordsmanship, yet filled with unpredictable continuity through the experience of Van Descartes.
Fatal strikes that pierced through Ryan’s perfect defense carved wounds across his body.
A deep gash ford on his left shoulder. Blood flowed from the wound that had cut deep into the flesh. The depth, as if it had torn through muscle, began to hinder his movents.
A slash grazed his right thigh. The sharp wound that cut through cloth and skin dulled his footwork.
His once-perfect steps began to falter.
A red line crossing his chest.
He had barely avoided the strike aid at his heart, but a deep wound remained from the aftermath.
A red flower spreading across his white training uniform.
At the shocking sight, the entire training ground fell into silence.
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