"Osber-Vaya"

Chapter 29 "Osterberg-Waya"

Rawlslev swung his blade in a slash, parrying the incoming thrust.

Thierry was startled; he had not expected his opponent to block such a fierce strike.

Rawlslev frowned, sensing a tiny scorch mark on his chainsword. Though no larger than a grain of rice, it proved that the weapon he had scavenged from an officer was inferior to his opponent's heirloom power sword.

A glimmer of brilliance flashed in Thierry's eyes as he flicked his wrist.

The 2nd form of the "Osterberg-Waya" path, a backhand thrust, saw the power sword twist like a nimble serpent, grazing the chainsword to strike directly at Rawlslev's arm.

Rawlslev did not dodge; with his weapon inferior to his opponent's, he had to end the fight quickly.

He stepped forward and shifted his body to avoid the thrust, simultaneously executing a sword technique from the 23rd form of "Osterberg-Waya," which he had practiced ten thousand times.

Although he did not even know which form of the "Osterberg-Waya" path this belonged to, he had fully mastered its essence of overcoming the strong with the weak.

The chainsword roared as it descended toward Thierry's shoulder. Thierry's eyes ignited with a dazzling light; this was the first time he had encountered an opponent who had mastered the 23rd form to such a degree, even disregarding the original tenets.

His opponent's slash was not only a direct strike at his weak point, but it also anticipated his own attack.

As this realization dawned on Thierry, flames burned in his eyes; Rawlslev had transformed from a warm-up opponent into a formidable rival who required his full effort to defeat.

Using the 6th form of "Osterberg-Waya," he swung his power sword, forcibly twisting his arm to raise the blade and parry the chainsword.

Szczesny, clad in flak armor and standing behind Nimrod and the company commander, kept his blue eyes fixed on the spectacular duel.

Every strike from Colonel Rawlslev was aimed at a vital point—ruthless and concise.

Is this the Colonel's true strength? When I challenged him before, he didn't use his full power.

If he had gone all out back then, I wouldn't have lasted a minute.

What surprised 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 forming a vast web that constantly forced the Colonel to change his tactics.

Realizing this, he could not help but worry for the Colonel.

Nimrod, meanwhile, had already deduced the outcome of the fight, and he had gained a clearer understanding of the strength of a Sequence 9.

A Sequence 9 Beyonder can push an ordinary human to their limit, but there are far too many extraordinary figures among humanity; they are not mere mortals.

Perhaps if Rawlslev fully digested his potion and became a true "Warrior," he would have a chance at victory, but as he is now, he is no match for Thierry.

Furthermore, his weapon is inadequate. That one strike he built up failed, and now there is no more opportunity.

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

Within ten minutes, he had completely absorbed the crystallization of the 1st Vostonian Regiment's millennia-old swordsmanship—"Osterberg-Waya"—and further extrapolated it to a height no one else could reach.

Rawlslev has lost.

As Nimrod caught the mournful whine of the chainsword, he sighed inwardly. Thierry seized the opportunity, unleashing a killing blow from the 33rd form of "Osterberg-Waya," his power sword striking like a heavy hammer in a continuous barrage.

Rawlslev utilized the 6th form he had gleaned from his opponent's attacks, struggling desperately to defend.

However, Thierry's violent assault was like a legendary tide, crashing against the chainsword wave after wave.

With a sharp explosion, the fine weapon was shattered.

Roaring fragments scattered in all directions, and Rawlslev revealed a bitter smile.

"I have lost."

He walked back in silence, the warriors of the 1st Vostonian Regiment looking grim; their Colonel had been defeated.

Thierry opened his mouth, taking several deep breaths before he could recover.

Although only ten minutes had passed, the physical and mental energy he had expended exceeded that of a major battle; had his opponent's weapon not shattered, the fight would have continued.

A few seconds later, he silently picked up his las-pistol as a majestic voice rang in his ears.

"I will give you half an hour to rest."

"Very well."

Thierry replied. Had this been before the duel, he would not have accepted, but now, he could not help but feel a sliver of doubt.

One of Nimrod's nameless subordinates is this formidable, and he himself seems to excel at combat as well. Can I truly defeat him?

Ten minutes later, Thierry walked toward the giant, his gaze resolute, having regained his conviction of victory.

As he took his fourth step, he lunged forward with sudden speed.

Nimrod did not move. He saw it clearly: just as Thierry was about to reach the range of the heavy halberd, he suddenly changed direction, circling him with rapid leaps.

He understood perfectly; Thierry anticipated that he would use his strength advantage to launch a violent attack the moment he entered range, so he intended to seize the opening exposed during Nimrod's turn while leaping.

Nimrod moved. The heavy halberd swung out, but to Thierry's surprise, the giant's attack was not violent; he executed a precise thrust with the tip of the halberd.

Thierry's expression changed. He felt that this attack contained the swift thrust of the 1st form of "Osterberg-Waya," as well as the direct strike at the weak point from the 23rd form.

Unable to parry, he could only roll on the ground in a disheveled manner to avoid the strike.

Just as Thierry scrambled to his feet, the heavy halberd swept toward his face. Gritting his teeth, he put all his strength into his arms and met it head-on.

The collision he expected did not occur. Nimrod flicked his wrist, and the heavy halberd spun like a windmill; the force of the wind alone disrupted his sword stance, and the tip of the halberd thrust straight toward his chest.

Thierry leaped backward with all his might, feeling a chill across his chest as his armor was already rent asunder.

[He used the 2nd form.

No! He even integrated the 23rd form.

How did he manage that?]

As Thierry retreated, his heart was shaken; the giant had not relied on his advantage in strength, but instead fused the "Osberh-Vaya" together, utilizing them with ingenious skill.

He employed the swordsmanship of the Vostonians, yet he went beyond it.

After landing, Thierry ignored the blood dripping from his chest and lunged forward with a fierce swing, the silver light of his Power Sword erupting like a storm.

After thirty-three consecutive strikes, Thierry was sent flying like a kite with a broken string.

He knelt on one knee: "I concede."

Thierry wore a self-deprecating smile, for he already knew that Nimrod could have defeated him with a single blow, yet he had used technique to shatter every profound mystery of his "Osberh-Vaya" path.

[He intends to break every mystery I have mastered! He wants to force me to realize that the gap between us is not just strength, but technique!]

This was a total and complete defeat, he said with sincere conviction.

"King Nimrod, I swear upon the honor of the Viera family and my own soul, as long as you slay Puhach, I shall serve you for all eternity!"

"I accept your fealty."

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

"Yes."

It was only as Thierry walked toward his men that the Warriors of the 1st Vostonian Regiment finally snapped out of their stupor.

Their morale soared; especially the new recruits, having witnessed Nimrod's divine might with their own eyes, were now convinced of victory.

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

Five minutes later, with medical gel applied to his wounds and a new set of armor donned inside a military tent, Thierry walked before Nimrod.

"My lord, please follow me."