12

This magic of Ains’s—when faced for the first time, it left opponents bewildered and reacting a step too late. It gave form to substance through mana and wielded sword techniques.

At the same time, one had to deal with three blades and the techniques of each. The more refined the swordsmanship of the one using this magic—this Divine Art—the more proportionally terrifying it became.

And whether or not one could use Divine Arts marked the absolute boundary between a Sword King and a Sword Saint in the Gairin Empire.

Talidge could not use Divine Arts—Triple included. That was why he remained no more than a Sword King.

And why were the sword classes divided into Sword King, Sword Saint, and Sword Emperor? Because between them lay an almost absolute difference in strength that could not be overturned. A Sword King could not defeat a Sword Saint.

Even if Divine Power was used to reinforce the body, those movements still remained within the realm of human capability. In contrast, Triple, which Ains was using now, could not be reproduced through mere bodily enhancement.

Arms did not multiply. Swords did not multiply. It was impossible to produce slashes through separate sword techniques simultaneously.

Divine Arts made that possible. That was why they were called Divine Arts.

To Ains, it was merely one spell among many he could use. But to Talidge, its use signified an absolute, insurmountable gap in power.

Unease flickered in Talidge’s sharp gaze, yet he still clung desperately to the three incoming blades.

“Damn it!!”

Talidge was not seeing it for the first time. But that did not mean a mere Sword King could deal with a Divine Art.

Among the three trajectories, he selected the one that needed to be handled first.

With his greatsword, Talidge knocked aside the blade formed by Ains’s true left arm.

With a violent clash of steel, the crude sword Ains held shattered, its blade breaking apart.

But the two blades manifested by mana sliced simultaneously into Talidge’s exposed thigh and flank.

He attempted to leap back to evade, but it was too late. Though not fatal, the wounds were severe enough that blood sprayed forth.

Ains did not pursue.

Talidge grimaced in pain as he steadied his breathing.

“I see… so you call this a Divine Art…”

Ains, left holding only the hilt of his shattered sword, tossed it aside and tapped the ground several times with his prosthetic leg.

Immediately afterward, a single blade was formed from the ground.

Without even looking at it, Ains calmly took the newly formed sword in hand.

“You use Divine Power, Divine Arts, and magic all at once—what the hell are you!? Where did you learn that Divine Art!? How did you master it!? How did you reach that realm no matter how hard I struggle I never could!”

Talidge panted heavily, his gaze still fixed on Ains.

Ains, for his part, was confused.

What Talidge called Divine Power was, from the perspective of magic culture, nothing more than mana—and merely reinforcing the body through mana manipulation. Divine Arts were likewise nothing more than magic.

Talidge had spoken of mages and seemed familiar with spells like fire lances and ice lances. That meant he was not ignorant of magic entirely.

“…I see. Perhaps swordsmen of the Gairin Empire do not strictly understand magic.”

The same likely applied to Divine Power and Divine Arts. They were probably perceived as phenomena that existed only at the pinnacle of swordsmanship, refined to its extreme.

Within Ains, his interest in Talidge—and in swordsmanship itself—grew rapidly.

Magic had developed within the framework of sword arts, evolving in a form specialized to that discipline.

And that it had been elevated into a culture known as Divine Arts. From a certain perspective, it was magic—and yet not magic.

Ains realized that the corners of his mouth had risen without his noticing.

“…Haha. I see. Even a mage can use Divine Arts, and yet I… what a joke.”

Talidge let out a dry laugh in response.

Looking down at the claymore that an ordinary person could barely lift, Talidge spoke his heart.

“I can’t use Divine Arts. So even knowing it was the wrong path, I came to Santia to try to learn magic—and this is what I get… I can’t beat that.”

His fighting spirit drained away, the arm gripping the claymore hanging limply at his side.

“That bastard’s Divine Art… I picked up this sword just to take that bastard’s head, and yet this arm won’t learn Divine Arts. I can’t understand magic either. There’s nothing I can use for swordsmanship…”

The Ains standing before him now bore multiple bodily impairments—a man who, by any normal measure, should be useless. And yet what of it? Though his style differed, he had mastered advanced sword techniques and called himself a sorcerer. Even among the mages Talidge had seen, Ains was clearly an exceptional practitioner.

That sorcerer used not only magic, but Divine Power—more refined than Talidge’s own. And beyond that, he wielded Divine Arts that Talidge had never reached, no matter how much blood he spat while swinging his sword.

Within Talidge’s heart, something snapped.

Though his personality had its flaws, Talidge had once been a straightforward man.

His arrogant attitude in Kirk and his violent behavior were ways he had used to avert his eyes from his circumstances.

Talidge himself understood how foolish that was.

The fact that he could never even touch the edge of Divine Arts, the fact that he could not master magic—the forbidden path for a swordsman—bred impatience and irritation. And the comfortable indulgence of being allowed his excesses only affirmed and vented those frustrations.

At some point, Talidge had rotted.

No—standing against Ains, he had been made to realize it.

“You seem to have your own circumstances. It doesn’t look like you came all the way to the Santia Kingdom just to survive.”

“…Hah. It’s got nothing to do with you. Even if I told you, nothing would change, and I don’t expect you to do anything about it. All I have now is this pathetic version of myself—and the self who couldn’t even earn the right to avenge his grudge.”

Talidge still possessed a muscular body, but looking at his arms and hands—now carrying excess flesh unimaginable in his prime—he felt laughter well up.

“…”

Ains planted the sword he held into the ground and released it.

“What’s your name?”

At Ains’s question, Talidge scoffed at himself for realizing that his name had not even been remembered.

“Talidge. A man not worth remembering to someone like you, who stands at a swordsman’s height I can’t reach, despite being a sorcerer.”

“I see—Talidge, then. And as I said earlier, I’m not a mage, but a sorcerer. Sorcerer Ains Silvetas.”