Chapter 155: Not a Swordsman, But a Beast

Chapter 155: Not a Swordsman, But a Beast

Chapter 155

Not a Swordsman, But a BeastRead latest chapters at novelhall.com Only

Sylas was feeling many things at this particular moment--confusion, awe, anger, some more confusion, irritation, hope, and quite a lot more confusion. Forcibly sitting by the Prince's side, his lips sewn shut, listening to the effective history of this world, he couldn't help but realize that what he knew and what he was being told... had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, it seemed as though his summoning and Valen's fate were entirely coincidental, in a strange and macabre way. Then again, if he was supposed to march south with Valen... how was the Prince ever to discover this place? And learn all these things?

Something doesnt add up, Sylas concluded. It was either that the one-eyed man--thing--whatever they were--was lying about most of what was said, or that Sylas conclusions thus far were so far off the beaten path they were in a completely different dimension by comparison. Besides, this was a little bit bigger than just putting the Prince on the throne--no, not little. Fucking gigantic, Jesus...

This... it all sounds like too much, Valen mumbled. If even Sylas felt his head hurting, he could only imagine how the young Prince was handling it.

It is, the one-eyed man said. But it is not the easy times that forge heroes, Prince. If you feel like it is too much... you can simply walk away.

H-huh?

"Time is eternal," the one-eyed man continued. "In time, undoubtedly, another bearer of the Eye shall be born. However... the strength of mankind will continue to wane."

... Something is off, Sylas concluded. If even all the combined races were unable to defeat the Gods in the outright war, the hell kind of a chance do we alone have now? Or is he implying that the Visitors will help us or something? Plus, hes doing all the things I was doing when trying to con--convince Valen.

I... but Im just a cripple! Valen protested. I cant even walk up a flight of stairs, let alone lead people into the war--against Gods no less!

But you can fly, the one-eyed man said, grinning. What worth are legs to those with wings, young Prince?

I...

The more Sylas thought about it, the more he didn't like that he was silenced. Valen, clever though the Prince was, came into the conversation with an overwhelmed mind already. He didn't know to ask the right questions. Additionally, if the man truly was vehemently opposed to the Gods, why did he barely spare a glance at Asha? The virtual embodiment of the Gods in the Mortal World?

"Cast your doubts aside," the man said as Sylas decided to break out whatever ephemeral chains were cast onto him. Perhaps it was impossible for everyone else in the world--but not for him, he was confident. The reason being a very simple one--his Way. "You are meant for far more than simply an adorned Throne! Your Bestowed Gift is the proof of it! When mankind falters and the dark begins to seep inside their hearts, you shall become the Light to guide them proper! It is your destiny, young Prince!"

Destiny my ass, Sylas grumbled inwardly, urging his slumbering energy to awake. It felt as though it had completely frozen in place and in time, as everything was unmoving--including his blood. Hm? Arent I used to my blood not moving? Rather than focusing on his energy, he instead focused on his blood--the indescribably magnetic and regenerative substance that he had absolute control over. Sensing it standing still, he first began to stir it--bit by bit--drop by drop, as he used to do when he first attempted practicing Derrek's Way.

Sylas heaved forward, his muscles bulging, the sword cutting through the air and racing toward the one-eyed man. The latter swung back, from below up, meeting the sword squarely and repelling the strike before retaliating, stabbing toward Sylas heart. He dodged, shuffling slightly to the side, moving forward into the man and stabbing back. The man quickly moved back, trying to gain some modicum of distance while continuing to swing his blade.

Within the hall of the white, the sounds of the swords clashing continued to echo. Sylas was the aggressor--no, rather than merely an aggressor, he fought with no regard for anything. He completely abandoned defending, happily taking stabs in exchange for hitting his strikes as well. Slowly, the one-eyed man began to realize he was falling further and further into the hole.

After all, unless someone was able to kill Sylas in one strike--they would never win in a war of attrition against him. He was effectively immortal short of being beheaded, and engaging in a long-term battle with him was one of the most painful forms of suicide.

The man stirred the blade with energy and knocked Sylas back some ten feet back before moving out as well, creating separation between the two. His clothes were disheveled, though there were no traces of blood. It wasnt strange--after all, the man wasnt made of flesh and bones, that much Sylas had realized a long while back. He wasnt yet certain exactly what he was made of, but it didnt matter--as he could still clearly hurt, which was enough.

Youre no swordsman, the one-eyed man said. Youre a mad beast masquerading as one. Without your body, you are nothing.

Uh, arent we all nothing without our bodies? Sylas cracked a joke, heaving the longsword over his shoulder. Besides, should you really be talkin bout bodies, Mr. Im-more-a-ghost-than-I-am-a-man?

Your Way is an anomaly, I admit, the one-eyed man said. But you cant stop it.

Stop what?

What is meant to be.

... yknow, Sylas tone grew darker and angrier as he lowered his head. I was tired of this horseshit eighty lifetimes ago. Every time I find someone with some answers, its always this vague garbage that gets tossed around. Its never a name, its always a he, she, they, its never a place, its there and here and over yonder, and its never nothin concrete. Tell me--what in the name of tarnished fucks does what is meant to be mean? Do you think youre somehow coming off as cool by saying this junk?

You have no right to know, little one, the one-eyed man replied. You may have stopped it today, but the Promised One will listen to us, one day. He has to. It is foretold.

Foretold, huh? Sylas mumbled, letting the sword down and dragging it across the stone as he moved toward the man. You know what else is foretold, you ugly fuck?

What?

You, Sylas said, pointing at the man with the sword. Hanging on the tip of my sword, choking on your own ethereal blood, begging me to end you. And spilling your guts of all the answers I want. Aye, twas foretold. cause thats how things work, you dumbass.