533 Trap (1/2)
Sword Saints weren't considered common in the world of Eich, nor was Sword Saint an actual power level, but rather a glorious title.
An elf, a human, or a beastman could all become a Sword Saint. This glorious title wasn't limited to any single species or power level. The title of Sword Saint was given to those who had reached a certain level of expertise in martial arts. And, the symbol of being a Sword Saint was the ability to cast sword energy as one pleased.
Eich was no mystical cultivation world where existences could send out energy waves according to their whim. All martial artists would have to start by cultivating their physical bodies as the foundation. The physical body could only be strengthened slowly, step by step. And, most individuals would never amount to anything but a slightly strong melee combat unit no matter how much they cultivated, unless they could utilize the power of the elements or had an excellent bloodline.
Another way of putting it was that ordinary individuals incapable of casting sword energy would forever be nothing more than melee combat fighters. In that case, in front of any high-level mage, that warrior would be nothing more than a slightly tougher sandbag. So, one should never underestimate the fact that Sword Saints were now capable of casting sword energy. Quite often, the difference in reach would be the difference between life and death for a warrior.
Only the Sword Saints themselves knew that achieving their level meant breaking the boundary between oneself and the outside world. A special connection was created where one's will and killing intent could be transformed into a physical threat. The energy inside one's own body could be transformed into sword energy to attack others with. It would also be possible to begin using much larger area-of-effect ultimate sword techniques, transforming the impossible into the possible.
Didn't this sound rather familiar? After all, the world of Eich already had the power level called Saint rank, meaning above Legend, and entering the realm of the divine. The specialty of Saint-ranked individuals was also that they could control the world around them, transforming their own wills into a power that could affect reality.
Everything stemmed from the soul. The will of a sufficiently powerful soul could distort even dimensional laws and interfere with the world. Of course, it would be correct to say that such individuals had reached the realm of the divine.
But, it was only the Sword Saints themselves who knew that the realm of Sword Saint was just a beginning…
”There's far too much of a difference in power.”
Mercenaries were now lying helplessly after collapsing all over the ground. Meanwhile, Roland's spirit image copy stood there, acting bored and condescending as always.
This was no result of having fought for something like three days and three nights. No, this was the end result of a mere ten minutes. The mercenaries had followed Timlad's strategy of going up one at a time to use up the spirit image Roland's energy, but since everyone was defeated almost instantly, that would be of barely any use in using up energy.
In the end, the mercenaries got angry and attempted to swarm the spirit image regardless of Timlad's strategy…
”Twelve seconds? Or did it take eleven seconds? Forget it, it doesn't make a difference. This is completely like an adult bullying a young child. He's not even being serious yet.”
The mercenaries obtained experience regarding what it was like to fight against the most powerful Sword Saint in the world firsthand. Although the Roland spirit image was so lacking in physical strength that he could only wield a wooden stick, just the sword energy he produced from waving the wooden stick around felt like a tornado. No matter how fast the mercenaries attacked, the spirit image Roland was always faster, without the mercenaries even noticing his movements.
Twelve mercenaries went up to challenge spirit image Roland, and twelve mercenaries were sent back by twelve rays of sword energy. The spirit image Roland didn't even need to use any ultimate sword techniques, because he didn't need to.
The spirit image was so obviously condescending that it no longer even bothered with insults. Spirit image Roland simply crouched there while yawning in boredom. He looked at everyone with a patronizing expression as if they were just young children having a playground fight, which really injured the pride of all the mercenaries who had risked their lives in battle all this time.
Still, the mercenaries were secretly relieved that this spirit image had been created by a training field with the restriction of being forbidden from killing anyone. Otherwise, it was likely that there would be a mountain of corpses already.
Amongst all the collapsed mercenaries, Barton was the most seriously injured. He had charged at spirit image Roland several times already, and kept being manipulated by the latter to be injured by his own strength.
Even though the spirit image had the setting of being unable to kill, the duplicate Roland was unable to go easy against the other Sword Saint. And, not being able to go easy meant that Barton was the most seriously injured.
However, Barton still didn't hesitate one bit. He gave his wounds only the most basic treatment before rushing to attack spirit image Roland yet again, and then Barton was sent flying back at an even higher speed.
This wasn't because he had suddenly awakened to being a masochist or anything like that. Rather, this was his responsibility as the leader. He couldn't be seen retreating in front of everyone. Timlad mentally praised Old Barton for his persistence…
”Are all of you idiots? There's the strongest Sword Saint of all time who's taking his time to practice swordsmanship with all of you, and you don't even need to worry about dying against him. Where else are you supposed to go find such an opportunity!”
Alright then, it would seem that perhaps Barton wasn't thinking so deep into things after all. Could it be that he was simply a fanatical martial artist? But, Timlad saw the seemingly coarse Old Barton's mouth arcing upwards rather strangely. Perhaps Barton wasn't as simple-minded as he appeared.
Pleasantries would never be as effective as taunts on these mercenaries. Benefits would motivate them far more than volunteering could. Barton's angry roar was quite effective. With Sword Saint Barton leading the way, everyone else recovered their courage. They agreed that this was indeed a rare opportunity.