Chapter 270
A movement too fast for even an Aura Master’s senses stole his rear. It happened in an instant, and Leon froze in that split second.
As a warrior, it was a blunder he’d deserve to die ten times over for, and a crisis on top of that. Even his sword domain failed to function, and he’d surrendered his domain to an uninvited intruder. The one who reacted a half-beat faster than even him was Rodlin.
“Abnormal approach by an unclassified entity confirmed,” she reported.
Unlike a human, Rodlin was built on reason and logic rather than emotion, and she didn’t flinch at unforeseen variables. She simply calculated the response that matched the variable and executed it.
The moment the unknown presence took their rear, she pivoted and activated the magic circles engraved into her skin. Dozens, or even hundreds, of mana pathways lit up as they pulled power from her core. In the span of a few seconds, fifth-tier spells were cast dozens of times.
“Lightning Spear.”
Bluish mana light interlaced like a net. At the same time, a magic array rose around her palms and erupted into hundreds of lightning lances that sprang into being. Each one carried enough force to blast a heavily armored knight to death.
Overcharged mana made them several times stronger, and the spears fired in a unified volley like a rain of arrows, crackling as they flashed and streaked into the distance. If there was one thing lightning magic could claim above all other elemental schools, it was raw speed.
Even if the entity was some monstrous humanoid that had stolen an Aura Master’s blind spot, it couldn’t dodge if she wiped the entire area out as a plane. Lightning hammered the ground, melting earth, shattering rock, and spraying fragments in every direction.
Hundreds—no, it had long since crossed into the thousand streaks of lightning. Without a single pause, Rodlin continued to pour out Lightning Spear with the intent to scour the terrain itself into wasteland to the point that the ground melted so thoroughly that it began to ooze like lava. Air ripped apart and vaporized by the lightning gave off a strange smell, and even the Nether Valley’s fog thinned a little.
But then, muttering words Leon couldn’t understand, the entity calmly walked out of the lightning storm.
“Μαγεία... Δεν, είναι αστείο.”
The man was standing. Barefoot. He stepped on ground that was flowing like lava, yet not only did he avoid burns—his skin didn’t even redden. There was no sign of Aura or mana shielding his body, either.
From that alone, Rodlin inferred its defensive capacity. “Neutralization of fifth-tier magic and resistance to extreme heat confirmed. The unclassified entity is assessed to possess either exceptional magic resistance or defensive strength exceeding adamantium.”
“Exceeding adamantium... without armor?” Leon asked in disbelief.
“Yes, Master. The combat capability of that entity is beyond what my functions can measure. I request permission to equip external combat armor. With only my core body, I estimate I cannot endure even a single strike.”
Leon didn’t hesitate and approved. “Go ahead.”
“As you command.”
With his permission, Rodlin activated her spatial magic, one of the magic circles inscribed into her core. Space rippled and disgorged a massive golden frame.
A surface so simple it bordered on crude, built for pure practicality, yet its joint assemblies were sculpted with almost artistic refinement. A golden golem, nearly twenty meters tall, wrapped itself around the small girl as if embracing her, and her core body slid into the center and began controlling the entire suit.
“Circuit is online.”
It wasn’t a tool for bombardment. Rodlin’s external armor was a ridiculous blunt weapon from mass and mobility alone, and if her only goal was efficient destruction, there was no need to reach into the domain of martial arts. It was a hobby at best, but Albion knew several old-era fighting styles, and she had injected the motions and principles so that the armor could imitate them.
“Switching to Smash Mode. Engaging.”
With Rodlin’s declaration, a golem twenty meters tall and weighing well over hundreds of tons began to beat down an opponent with master-level hand-to-hand technique. Its stride was dozens of times longer than a human’s, covering a hundred meters in just a single step.
Before the impact of her launch had even fully dissipated, Rodlin was already braking in front of the entity and throwing a kick. It wasn’t quite a low kick, but closer to punting a ball.
Leon’s eyes shone brighter as he thought, He’ll dodge. This time, I have to watch that movement properly...
Drawing even on his Stigmata, his vision crossed beyond color, entering a realm where even sound could be seen rippling like waves. Rodlin’s physical power inside that armor was beyond imagination.
To withstand that destructive force head-on, one would need to be, at minimum, a Titan among Titans—someone above a chief warrior. Aside from Kasim, Leon didn’t feel confident that anyone could stop it cleanly.
So the entity would dodge with that agility that had left Leon’s perception in the dust. Then, it spoke. Without moving from its spot.
“Χμμ.”
In a world where even sound crawled, it moved with a gentle smoothness, extending a hand toward the foot Rodlin was swinging in to punt it like a pebble.
Like a breeze carrying a leaf, like a quiet stream flowing.
Leon shuddered. He’s slipping it...?
The technique itself wasn’t complicated. Disrupt the direction of force and redirect it elsewhere to erase the threat. It was an archetype of “flowing,” the same root principle behind pushing a blade aside with the flat or catching it on the edge and sliding it away.
The problem was its level of completion. Leon had only seen it once before. Other than Kasim, his now brother, whom he had faced in the Titan Mountains, could anyone living reproduce this method? He couldn’t honestly say. Time, slowed to a crawl by concentration, started moving again.
The sight was unbelievable. Rodlin’s massive frame lifted cleanly off the ground, spun a wide half turn in midair, then slammed down into the earth. They said that if the skill the man had just executed reached its extreme, it became harmonization. This entity had demonstrated that realm using a golem weighing hundreds of tons.
When Rodlin crashed down with centrifugal force added to the throw, the very ground convulsed, kicking up a dense cloud of dirt. In that moment, Leon stepped forward.
“Sun Sword, Crimson Lotus, First Form.”
He used Prominence not as an attack, but as acceleration, venting it at maximum output along with the wings on his back. Flames roared out with terrifying momentum. With that fire at his back, Leon burst forward and surpassed Mach 3 in a few seconds, shooting out faster than the shockwave of the breaking sound barrier. Without using Corona, this was Leon’s top speed.
I’ll beat him with speed.
It was a principle he’d learned from Kasim.
“‘Soft can overcome hard. Hard can never be soft.’ They mean the same thing. Whether it’s softness overcoming force, or strength breaking finesse—what matters is superiority. The better one wins. Simple as that.”
But Leon’s “hard” couldn’t break this entity’s “soft.” To someone who had just redirected Rodlin’s weight and monstrous strength with a single throw, Leon’s sword stroke would feel light. Trying to crush it with power would only end the same way—buried in the dirt.
It was rock-paper-scissors. If paper beats rock, then scissors beat paper. He converted speed not into force but into sharpness.
“Hah!”
Leon burst through the dust cloud and brought his sword down in a diagonal cut. There was no need for an extravagant slash like Grand Chariot. He poured every ounce of momentum into a single swing, and a blade of light fell like a sunbeam.
And it was caught. Leon’s eyes widened, disbelief blazing in his stare.
“He caught it... With two fingers...?”
His fastest sword stroke, an instant slash that left even sound trailing behind, closer to lightning than steel, had been snatched out of the air between the index and middle fingers.
This is insane, Leon swallowed the thought down his throat.
If all it had done was read the slash and stop it, that would be one thing. But it had neutralized every bit of force riding on the blade. If it had countered with corresponding strength, Leon would’ve felt it, but he felt nothing at all.
Still holding the sword, the man smiled gently. He looked genuinely pleased.
“πολεμιστής, Καλός,” he said.
Then, he released the blade he’d caught between two fingers, took a few steps back, and pointed to himself.
“Σίσυφος.”
“Huh?” Leon repeated the pronunciation carefully. “Sis...phus?”
“Σίσυ, φος.”
“Sisyphus.”
“Καλός.”
The man—Sisyphus—nodded as if to say, “Well done.”
It was a bizarre situation. From the start, he showed neither killing intent nor hostility, and despite being attacked without warning, he didn’t seem to care much at all. Was it because the gap in ability was so obvious that it hadn’t even registered as a threat?
Leon couldn’t resolve that question, but he introduced himself anyway. “Leon.”
“Λέοντος? Χμμ.”
Sisyphus murmured the name a few times, then said, “λιοντάρι, Καλό όνομα.”
Leon couldn’t understand the words, yet it somehow sounded like praise.
He’d been ready to cut at full power a moment ago, but the steam had gone out of him. He no longer felt like fighting, and he let his sword hang low.
Right on cue, Rodlin pushed herself upright and asked, “Master, do we continue engagement?”
“No. He doesn’t look like he wants to fight us. And...”
We can’t win.
Leon bit down on his words before they could slip out. The Hero who had to bring down the Evil Dragon Britra, admitting total defeat to some unknown man? Separately from his awe at Sisyphus’s capability, the thought left him feeling hollow.
But then, Sisyphus spoke to him.
“Λέοντος.”
Even though they didn’t share a language, he tried to convey his intent with gestures and tone. And though he had been carrying a boulder the size of a house on his right shoulder, Leon couldn’t sense its weight at all. Come to think of it, even while facing Leon and Rodlin, he’d never set that boulder down. Was he just that confident? Or was there another reason?
“Ας παίξουμε.”
Still talking, Sisyphus finally lowered the boulder from his shoulder and set it on the ground. His body, which the rock had concealed, was revealed in full. He was over two meters tall with muscles thicker and denser than ropes braided from steel.
Each time the veins and muscle fibers bulged beneath his skin, power spilled out so tangibly that Leon could feel it. He resembled a human, but he definitely wasn’t one. If he were a prisoner who’d broken out of Tartaros, he might be one of the higher races that had existed in the distant past.
El-Cid chimed in, —Now I remember.
What? Leon asked, caught off-guard.
—Sisyphus. Hearing that name jogged something loose. He’s one of the legendary figures from ancient myth, so I could recall him. The fact that he’s calling himself that in that state makes it more confusing, though.
Legendary?
—Yeah.
In the old era, the boundary between dimensions hadn’t been as thick as it was now, and it wasn’t rare for this world to interact with friendly pantheons from beyond. Among them, one of the most famous was Olympus.
That otherworld, led by Zeus, the king of gods who symbolized sky and lightning, was notorious for constant incidents, perhaps because of the gods’ overflowing emotions. Gods and humans had fallen in love and even toppled multiple kingdoms over petty quarrels. Humans had trespassed into divine domains and clashed violently when punished.
—In Sisyphus’s case, it was the latter. With inborn wisdom and strength, he humiliated the gods who looked down on mortals, and in the end, he even subdued Thanatos, the god of death, and obtained immortality.
What...?
—If he could beat down a divine being who held one side of the life-and-death scales, of course, he’d be strong.
El-Cid continued, grumbling. —He must’ve lost most of his power by the time he was bound in Tartaros, but even after being shaved down that far, he’s a Grandmaster. If I’d met him alive and whole, I would’ve wanted to trade blows.
Grandmaster. At that word, Leon swallowed hard.
A transcendent being who had stepped beyond mortality into immortality, one who could surpass providence with his own law. Someone who had reached the very realm Leon was aiming for stood right in front of him.
While Sisyphus was making some incomprehensible beckoning gesture at Leon, El-Cid pushed at Leon’s back.
—This is your chance. Looks like he has no intention of killing you. He’s just itching to play. He’s probably rotted in Tartaros’s abyss for ages, so it makes sense he’d be starved for stimulation.
So you want me to ‘play’ with that monster?
—Exactly.
El-Cid affirmed. —You’ve got a chance to stack up experience while facing a Grandmaster, and you’re going to back out?
That’s...
—You don’t have time. If you use him, you can hit your target three times faster than I’d estimated. A Grandmaster who’ll take you seriously, without trying to kill you, just drops into your lap. That’s a once-in-a-lifetime stroke of fortune, isn’t it? Hm?
Leon felt sick of the aggressive coaxing, but he realized El-Cid wasn’t wrong. This was a Grandmaster who was different from Kasim.
When Leon trained with Kasim, even trading hands with a Grandmaster didn’t yield Leon much because the gap was so vast he could barely perceive anything.
Even the tiniest that he had learned was only possible because Kasim had moved slowly and annotated what he did; otherwise, Leon would’ve walked away with nothing but wounds.
But now, things could be different. Leon gestured for Rodlin to fall back, and as he stepped forward, the Holy Sword rose slowly in his grip.
Not Sun Sword, nor Grand Chariot. He couldn’t approach this with his ultimate techniques. He would ask as one warrior to another. That was the posture Leon needed right now. Holding the sword at mid-guard, he bowed with respect.
“Please, teach me a thing or two.”
Sisyphus chuckled like an innocent child—loud, careless, and huge. After laughing once, Sisyphus extended his hand.
“Έλα.”
Palm held out horizontally, fingers curling in a beckoning motion. Even across worlds, across eras, the meaning landed cleanly.
Come at me.
Leon understood the gesture and charged.
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