Osber-Vaya

Rawlslev swung in a slash, blocking the thrust.

Thierry was startled. His opponent had actually stopped his fierce strike.

Rawlslev frowned. He sensed a tiny scorch mark on the chainsaw blade. Though it was only the size of a grain of rice, it showed that the weapon he had taken from the officer was inferior to his opponent's inherited Power Sword.

A flash of interest appeared in Thierry's eyes as he flicked his wrist.

The second form of the Osber-Vaya way, Reverse Thrust. The Power Sword twisted like a nimble serpent, brushing past the Chainsword as it went straight for Rawlslev's arm.

Rawlslev did not dodge. His weapon was inferior, so he had to end this battle quickly.

He stepped forward and drew back to evade the thrust, while delivering a sword strike with the twenty-third form of Osber-Vaya, one he had practiced tens of thousands of times.

Although he did not even know which principle of the Osber-Vaya way it belonged to, he had completely mastered its art of defeating the strong with the weak.

The Chainsword roared as it slashed down at Thierry's shoulder. A brilliant light bloomed in Thierry's eyes. This was the first time he had encountered an opponent who had mastered the twenty-third form to such an extent, one who was not even bound by its original creed.

His opponent's slash did not merely strike at a weakness; it had also anticipated his earlier attack.

The moment Thierry realized this, flames burned in his eyes. Rawlslev had changed from a warm-up opponent into a formidable enemy he needed to defeat with all his strength.

Using the sixth form of Osber-Vaya, he swung his Power Sword, forcibly twisting his arm and raising the blade to block the Chainsword.

Wearing a bulletproof vest, Szczesny stood behind Nimrod and the company commander, his azure eyes fixed tightly upon the thrilling sword duel ahead.

Every strike from Commander Rawlslev targeted a vital point, vicious and concise.

So this was the commander's true strength. When I challenged him before, he hadn't gone all out.

If he had used his full strength then, I wouldn't have lasted a minute.

What astonished Szczesny even more was that Rawlslev's fierce offensive had failed to gain the upper hand. His opponent's sword seemed alive, its agile attacks like a great net that constantly forced the commander to alter his moves.

Realizing this, he could not help worrying for the commander.

Nimrod had already deduced the outcome of the battle, and he had gained a clearer understanding of Sequence 9's strength.

Sequence 9 Beyonders can push ordinary people to their limits, but there have always been countless extraordinary figures among humanity. They are no ordinary mortals.

Perhaps Rawlslev would have a chance of winning if he completely digested the potion and became a true Warrior, but right now, he is no match for Thierry.

And his weapon is inadequate as well. If that charged strike failed, he would have no further chance.

Nimrod's superhuman brain simultaneously recorded Thierry's every movement and every attack.

Within ten minutes, he had completely absorbed the thousands of years of swordsmanship crystallized by the Vostonians—Osber-Vaya—and further deduced it to heights no one could reach.

Rawlslev had lost.

As Nimrod caught the wail of the Chainsword, he sighed inwardly. Thierry seized the opportunity and unleashed the killing move of the thirty-third form of Osber-Vaya. The Power Sword became like a heavy hammer, launching a sustained barrage of smashing blows.

Rawlslev used the sixth form he had comprehended from his opponent's attacks, doing his utmost to fend them off.

However, Thierry's violent attacks were like the tides of legend, wave after wave crashing against the Chainsword.

With a thunderous blast, the fine weapon was smashed apart.

Roaring fragments scattered in every direction, and Rawlslev revealed a bitter smile.

"I lost."

He silently walked back. The warriors of the 1st Vostonian Regiment looked despondent. Their commander had been defeated.

Thierry opened his mouth and took several deep breaths before recovering.

Though only ten minutes had passed, the physical and mental exertion had surpassed that of a major battle. Had his opponent's weapon not shattered, the battle would have continued.

Several seconds later, he silently picked up the Las-pistol, and Majesty's voice sounded beside his ear.

"I'll give you half an hour to rest."

"All right."

Thierry answered. Before the duel, he would not have accepted, but now he could not help feeling a trace of doubt in himself.

One of Nimrod's nameless subordinates was already this formidable. Nimrod himself seemed skilled in battle as well. Could I really defeat him?

Ten minutes later, Thierry walked toward the giant. His gaze was resolute; he had already regained his conviction of certain victory.

As he took his fourth step, he suddenly charged forward with incredible speed.

Nimrod did not move. He saw clearly that just before Thierry entered the heavy halberd's range, he would abruptly change direction and circle around him in rapid leaps.

Nimrod understood. Thierry had anticipated that he would exploit his advantage in strength and launch a violent attack once he entered range. He intended to seize the opening exposed when Nimrod turned during his leaps.

Nimrod moved. He swung the heavy halberd. To Thierry's surprise, the giant's attack was not violent; he launched a precise thrust with the halberd's tip.

Thierry's expression changed. He sensed that the strike contained the swift thrust of the first form of Osber-Vaya, as well as the direct strike at weakness of the twenty-third form.

He could not even parry it. He could only roll awkwardly across the ground to evade the attack.

The moment Thierry sprang back to his feet, the heavy halberd swept toward his face. Gritting his teeth, he exerted both arms and met it head-on.

The impact he expected never came. Nimrod flicked his wrist, and the heavy halberd spun like a windmill. The gust it raised had already disrupted his sword form, while the halberd's tip thrust straight at his chest.

Thierry desperately leaped backward. His chest turned cold; his armor had already been cut open.

He used the second form.

No! He also fused in the twenty-third form.

How did he do that?

As Thierry flew backward, his heart shook violently. The giant had not exploited his advantage in strength. Instead, he had fused Osber-Vaya together and used it with exquisite skill.

He had used Vostonian sword techniques, yet he had gone beyond them.

After landing, Thierry ignored the blood dripping from his chest. He suddenly swung his sword and lunged forward, the silver light of his Power Sword like a storm.

After thirty-three consecutive attacks, Thierry was flung away like a kite with its string cut.

He dropped to one knee. "I concede."

Thierry gave a self-mocking smile. He already knew that Nimrod could defeat him in a single strike, yet Nimrod had used technique to break every principle of his Osber-Vaya way.

He wanted to break every principle I had mastered! He wanted to force me to understand that the gap between us was not merely strength, but technique as well!

This was a complete and utter defeat. Thoroughly convinced, he said, "King Nimrod, I swear upon the honor of House Viera and my soul that as long as you kill Puhach, I will serve you for all eternity!"

"I accept your allegiance."

Nimrod said in a deep voice, "Treat your wounds, then lead the way."

"Yes."

As Thierry walked toward his subordinates, the warriors of the 1st Vostonian Regiment finally came back to their senses.

Their morale soared. The new recruits especially had witnessed Nimrod's divine might with their own eyes, and they believed victory in this battle was certain.

Szczesny looked up at Nimrod's back, his eyes filled with worship.

Five minutes later, Thierry had medical gel applied to his wounds. After changing into a suit of armor in a military tent, he walked before Nimrod.

"My lord, please follow me."