Chapter 259: Sword Tomb (5)
“Twin Fang Ambush,” the ultimate art of swordsmanship in Baskerville.
And nine fangs.
What does this signify? Baskerville’s Ninth Style.
If there is a difference in skill levels among experts and graduators, just as there is in the realm of Swordmasters… then this is a technique that only those at the High-Tier of Swordmaster can perform.
Each of the nine fangs thrust, grasp, tear, cut, cleave, sever, slash, crush, and grind, devour the entire world.
It was more extraordinary and destructive than any other sword technique existing in the current era. Even Vikir, a seasoned warrior who lived through the era of destruction, was witnessing something unprecedented.
‘To think there exists a person in this world who can wield such a sword, and among humans!’ – admiration from a swordsman, walking the same path as a guide.
It was a marvel that transcended the boundaries of humans, purely erupting without any preconceived notions. However, one couldn’t just admire.
Even at this moment, Baskerville 9th Style, unleashed by Cane Corso, was relentlessly advancing, breaking apart towards Vikir.
In the urgency of the storm of these sharp blades, Vikir unleashed his maximum strength. Baskerville 7th Style.
Vikir swung the tip of his sword, creating seven fangs, confronting the nine fangs before him. A hunting dog of the Ironblood Sword Clan faced the monster with all its might.
The result was… a resounding clash! The inevitability of Vikir’s defeat, given the clash between 7th Style and 9th Style. Vikir felt his entire body being torn apart, as if a small piece of flesh had fallen into the mouth of a giant toothed monster—an excruciating pain beyond the regenerative ability of Fog lizard.
Then, at that moment, Vikir grasped something on the brink of death. It was a fragment of survival instinct, a glimpse of desperation he had never felt before.
When would a Swordmaster ever experience such a thing? Even if one could avoid experiencing the helplessness of succumbing to immense fear and violence.
And paradoxically, when one realizes they are nothing, just an insignificant speck of life.
…Flash!
The 8th Style of Baskerville, the desperate need to survive, the desire for life, and the need for extreme combat experience.
Only when one has lost and regained their emotions, and then becomes attached to life after touching death, does one open the door to the 8th fang.
Vikir swung his sword and drew the 8th fang. Still small, but still brimming with power.
Simultaneously, Styles 9th and 8th clashed, canceling each other out. And then… swoosh! Cane Corso’s long-drawn fang pierced diagonally into Vikir’s body.
Crash! In the end, Vikir was helplessly thrown aside and buried on the outskirts of the Sword Tomb.
[…….]
Cane Corso. High-Tier Swordmaster. No, the Peak level. The absolute being at the pinnacle of Baskerville 9th Style. He silently watched the rising dust and debris.
And soon, within Cane Corso’s eyes filled with darkness, a glimmer of hope emerged once again.
Thud, thud, thud…
Underneath the falling aura, sparks, and fragments of blades like snow, Vikir emerged.
Tsst, tsst, tsst, tsst…
Deep diagonal sword marks, almost close to severing, rapidly healed on Vikir’s body.
A regenerative power that had long surpassed human capabilities. Even most high-level monsters specializing in regeneration would find it challenging to match such incredible recovery speed.
[…Basilisk?]
Cane Corso saw through Vikir’s abilities at a glance.
Vikir halted his steps.
Beelzebub
– Slot 1: Venom – Madam Eight-Legs (S)
– Slot 2: Invincibility -Basilisk (S)
– Slot 3: Silence Heel -Musuhushu (A+)
‘Discovering the Basilisk’s corpse before entering the Sword Tomb was fortunate.’
Vikir had absorbed the regenerative aura of the Basilisk, which had been buried in salt, making its regeneration his own.
It was truly fortunate, considering that with the regenerative power of the Fog Lizard, he wouldn’t have survived Cane Corso’s strike.
In any case,
Due to the abilities of the cursed sword Beelzebub, Vikir managed to escape death. In return, he was able to reach a higher state.
It was at the threshold of death, does one grasp the 8th style.
Swordmasters, once they step into the realm, rarely find themselves in life-threatening battles.
The dilemma arises here.
[Only those who, after entering the realm of Sword master, fight with the same zeal as when they first picked up the sword will gain something].
Cane Corso’s words were fundamental and closest to the correct answer. Meanwhile, Vikir lifted his head, gazing at Cane Corso before him.
“The ‘Twin fang Ambush’ swordsmanship skill. Were you the one who wrote that technique manual?”
[No. How could that be? I myself haven’t understood all the complexities of the 10 Styles written in that technique manual.]
“Then…”
As Vikir’s words trailed off, Cane Corso simply nodded.
[I’m just a descendant who saw the technique manual. But instead of fully comprehending it myself, I tore up a few pages and scattered them. I feared that someone other than me might learn it.]
“Wouldn’t it have been better to just burn it away?”
[I couldn’t muster the courage to destroy the technique manual itself. How could I dare to destroy such an extraordinary treasure with my own hands?]
Vikir didn’t explicitly mention burning the technique manual in front of Cane Corso. Meanwhile, Cane Corso, having obtained the final copy of the Twin Fang Ambush technique manual, found it quite strange.
[…Indeed, those destined to meet will somehow find each other.]
Cane Corso retrieved his greatsword, signifying his intention not to attack Vikir any further. Simultaneously, the heavy pressure that surrounded them dissipated.
Vikir also had no intention to continue the fight. He had just stepped on the threshold of death and barely returned alive, reaching the 8th fang. On the other hand, his opponent had long ascended to 9th Style. There was no way he could be a match.
Then, Cane Corso spoke.
[Young nephew, both by blood and lineage. Come here and take what you desire.]
This was a different and amicable attitude from before. Vikir asked with a puzzled expression.
“Can I take the Ghostwood behind the Iron Throne?”
[Do as you wish. To me, it’s just a weed. Isn’t such a thing meaningful only to magicians?]
“Weren’t you here to protect this?”
[Of course not. I’m here for an entirely different reason. These roots, well, I simply respect them as living beings that rooted themselves in this tower before me. I don’t have any particular attachment.]
Vikir grinned. Eventually, Ghostwood from behind the Iron Throne found its way into Vikir’s hands. They were dry and sturdy, emitting a disturbingly cold and damp sensation.
Vikir turned his head away. Cane Corso, at some point, was sitting on the Iron Throne again. However, the curious gaze in his eyes as he looked at Vikir remained.
Vikir silently observed Cane Corso.
Sixth Style. A state that can only be reached by transcending all emotions.
Seventh Style. A state that can only be reached by reclaiming discarded emotions.
A stage that can only be attained through attachment to life and harsh combat experience (8th style)
In reality, reaching Style 8th was a stage that was difficult to experience without a senior guiding in the realm of Swordmasters.
Otherwise, it would’ve taken a LOT of effort.
Then where did the level of the 9th Style fall in this context?
While Vikir pondered alone, Cane Corso spoke.
[Curious about the 9th Style?]
It was a pointed question.
“…”
Vikir remained silent, offering an affirmative gesture through his silence. Cane Corso smiled faintly.
[You probably won’t be able to reach this level in your life.]
Vikir furrowed his brows, as if challenging Cane Corso’s statement.
However, Cane Corso spoke with a serious tone, [9th Style exists beyond the threshold of death.]
This meant that one could only learn the 9th Style after truly experiencing death.
But then, what did this mean for the Cane Corso standing before Vikir?
He was clearly performing the 9th Style.
Seeing Vikir’s puzzled expression, Cane Corso placed his greatsword down and raised both hands.
Tsst, tsst, tsst, tsst…
Gradually, a shimmering aura began to boil.
Swoosh! Clatter!
The heavy iron gauntlets that had enveloped Cane Corso’s hands fell to the ground.
“…!”
Vikir’s eyes widened. Cane Corso’s revealed hands were now nothing but bones and dry, shriveled skin – resembling the hands of a corpse.
[I already crossed the threshold of death.]
As a result, Cane Corso died – alone in an unknown and remote place, where nobody would ever know. Yet, he harbored no regrets until his last breath.
In exchange for his solitary death, he had approached the core of transcendence, untouched by any human for centuries.
An esteemed knight who ascended to the peak of Master, turning into an ethereal being upon death.
Death Knight.
That was the true identity of Cane Corso.
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