Linley didn't sleep the night after Olivier left.
Sitting on a blue stone atop the mountain, a Purple Blood Soft Sword lay before him. The mountain was bathed in cold moonlight, and the wind whistled in his ears, sometimes high-pitched, sometimes low. But he held the sword in his hand, his mind constantly replaying Olivier's sword strike—the sword had merged with the laws, rather than the laws being attached to the sword. The more he thought about this word "merge," the more mysterious and unpredictable it seemed, but no matter what he did, he couldn't grasp the essence of that sword strike.
He conducted this experiment all night long. From moonset until dawn, the sword struck countless times, but the wind was still carried away by the sword, and the earth remained firmly standing beneath his feet without the slightest tremor; the two never merged.
Only after a sliver of light crossed the mountain ridge did a person in white robes slowly emerge from the mountain pass.
Olivier stood behind Linley, looking at the young man who hadn't slept all night and whose eyes were red. She didn't speak immediately, but quietly watched him for a while before saying softly, "A whole day and night has passed, and you still can't sleep?"
After sheathing his longsword, Linley turned around and, though exhausted, said earnestly, "I tried all night, but I felt something was missing. The wind is a sharp blade, the earth a thick shield; I know I need to integrate them into my body, but they still separated when I actually attacked."
Olivier didn't speak. She walked up to Linley, drew her longsword, and handed the hilt to Linley.
He said, "Pierce it again with my sword. Don't think about the wind, don't think about the ground, only think about the Eight-Winged Angel in front of you, and thrust the sword out before it falls."
Linley hesitated for a moment before reaching out and taking Olivier's sword. Although the blade was light, its sharpness was clear and cold, as if the sword itself was part of the law.
He held a sword in his hand, closed his eyes, and the image of the Eight-Winged Angel that had already loomed over his head before it even appeared flashed through his mind, along with Doehring's words, "Just go and catch it." After taking a deep breath, he thrust the sword forward.
The sword strike still didn't "close".
But Olivier's eyes narrowed slightly. After looking at the mark left by Linley's sword, he said, "Stab again. Don't think about techniques; just focus on how you will counterattack when the angel pounces on you."
Linley did as he was told and stabbed him again.
This time, he didn't think about anything else, focusing his mind on the sword's momentum. The wind flowed along the blade, and the earth rippled beneath his feet, but he didn't deliberately guide them; he simply followed his instincts and delivered the sword smoothly.
Buzz--
A slight tremor. As the sword blade pierced the air, Linley could feel the ground beneath his feet tremble slightly, as if shaken by his sword strike. As the blade swept past, the sound of the wind no longer followed the blade but became one with it.
A glint flashed in Olivier's eyes, but she quickly regained her composure. "Interesting. But still a long way off. That last strike of yours was driven by instinct, but your mind still saw it as 'the strike I'm going to wield.' Let the sword become the wind, the earth, and don't let your actions interfere with it."
Linley stood there, sword in hand, stunned. Olivier's words were like a fine needle gently piercing the veil that had always been on his mind. He had always believed that he was using the sword, commanding the wind, and controlling the earth. But a true master is one who merges himself with the sword, making the sword a law of his own.
He didn't ask any further questions. He took Olivier's sword in his hand and began practicing again on the mountaintop. This time, he didn't consider the moves, the wind, or the terrain; he simply cleared his mind again and again, as if trying to merge with the sword, or as if trying to merge the sword into his own body.
The mountain winds blew for days on end, and the day of the duel drew ever closer.
Olivier didn't urge him. Every morning after sunrise, he would go up to the mountaintop, and without saying a word, he would just quietly watch Linley practice his sword. If Linley's sword missed its mark, he would frown; if the sword strike was meant to be a "win", he would nod, but he would never praise him.
On the evening of the seventh day.
Linley stood there at dusk, holding Olivier's sword. He closed his eyes, his breathing even, as if he had merged into the mountain breeze and the earth. Suddenly, he opened his eyes and thrust his sword out.
There was no imposing presence, no sword energy, and no sound of wind. Just as the sword pierced the air, several large trees, as thick as bowls, around the mountaintop trembled simultaneously. They weren't struck by the sword energy, but rather it was as if an invisible force gently bent them down.
Olivier's pupils contracted slightly, and then, surprisingly, a smile appeared on her face, "It's done."
After sheathing his longsword, Linley looked down at it, then up at the ancient trees that were slowly straightening up. He remained silent for a long time. For the first time, he felt that the wind and the earth were no longer weapons he could wield, but had become part of his very being, ingrained in his very being.
Linley whispered, " Myriad Swords Return to the Origin. So that's how it is."
Olivier walked over and took her sword, not continuing the discussion about sword forging. She simply said, "You've grasped the essence. But grasping it isn't enough— the Eight-Winged Angel is Lowgod. Even if this sword strike can 'merge' with the wind and earth, it's still far from being able to withstand it head-on."
After a while, Linley looked up at him. "So, do you know how to fill in this missing part?"
Olivier looked at him but didn't answer directly. She turned to gaze at the darkening southern sky, and after a moment slowly said, "I came here to help you solve this problem. The Eight-Winged Angel of the Radiant Church are not invincible; the stronger they are, the more they need to rely on the source they worship. As long as you force your opponent to summon Deity Level being in the duel arena, then you'll have a chance to kill them with a single blow from Doehring."
Linley's heart skipped a beat, and he suddenly understood. The move that Doehring had made, and the game that Olivier had solved for him, were actually pointing in the same direction— the Eight-Winged Angel was just bait, and the true weakness of the Radiant Church lay in the Deity Level statue behind it. As long as the Deity Level was forced into the open of the dueling arena, Doehring could openly take action and uproot the Radiant Church from its very foundation.
Linley said in a low voice, "Oh. This battle isn't about me defeating that angel, but about forcing the Radiant Church to reveal its true colors."
Olivier nodded, saying nothing more. She turned and strode down the mountain, saying only, "I'll be there on the day of the duel. Go ahead and take that sword; leave the rest to Doehring and me."
As evening fell, the man in white robes gradually moved away from Linley. Linley stood there, holding the sword he had practiced for seven days, gazing at the dark, cloud-covered sky to the south, his expression slowly becoming calm and composed.
He knew the time for the duel had come. This time, however, it wasn't just about winning or losing.