Clang! Clang!
Isaac’s sword clashed violently with Dera Heman’s blade.
The most skilled paladins present were the first to notice the change. The sound of the swords striking was different—sharper, fiercer. As they realized something unusual was happening, the rest of the onlookers widened their eyes, watching the duel with rapt attention.
Yet, only Dera Heman truly understood what had changed. The others merely saw Dera starting to lose ground, confused by his sudden disadvantage.
But Dera? He knew exactly what was happening.
To him, the opponent before him wasn’t Isaac.
It was Kalsen.
Although the movements weren’t identical to what Dera had studied and prepared for, only Kalsen could wield such unpredictable and powerful swordsmanship.
This was the Kalsen Miller he had fought before.
The Isaac before Dera now wielded his sword with an eerie, refined precision—like a predator lurking in the depths of a dark abyss, ready to strike at any moment. Yet, unlike before, there was no wild, raw killing intent. This was a swordsmanship that had been honed to perfection.
Dera’s instincts brought forth memories of the distant eastern snowstorms, where the Immortal Order could conjure deathly cold with their magic. In those storms, nothing could survive. The sharp, icy wind was as deadly as a blade, and hiding within that storm was always a hunter. The storm wasn’t a threat itself; it was merely a tool for the hunter, using the blizzard, the biting snow, and the howling wind to mask his presence and trap his prey.
Kalsen had been the hunter in the snowstorm.
And Dera had been the prey.
‘You’ve returned! Kalsen, you’re back!’
Despite being treated like prey once again, Dera felt no humiliation. Instead, he was filled with excitement and deep regret.
He had no idea what kind of transformation Kalsen had undergone to stand before him now. But he didn’t care. The man he had longed to fight again was finally here.
‘Of course, you didn’t remain idle! I, too, have imagined countless times how much stronger you’d become, and trained myself relentlessly for this moment, to ensure I could surpass whatever monster you’d become!’
Though it was difficult to fathom, the idea that Kalsen could have returned as a Holy Grail Knight now seemed irrelevant.
All that mattered to Dera was that the long-awaited rematch had finally come. His desire to win burned even hotter.
The clash of their swords and the pressure from their strikes created a scene that was almost impossible to believe. In mere moments, the once-pristine courtyard of the Milishar Monastery was reduced to rubble. The walls and pillars bore deep scars from the fierce swordplay, and the paladins, watching from the sidelines, struggled to keep up with the intensity, knowing one misstep could cost them their heads.
Clang!
And then, another sudden change.
Once again, Dera Heman was the first to notice.
He sensed not just a hunter in the storm—but another lurking, monstrous presence within the abyss.
***
Isaac felt as though his entire body was melting in a scorching-hot cauldron.
Kalsen Miller’s memories, experiences, knowledge, aura, and understanding of swordsmanship were flooding into him. With every clash of their swords, Kalsen’s life—the decades he had lived and fought—was seeping into Isaac’s muscles, his very cells. Isaac was absorbing everything that made Kalsen who he was, compressing years of experience into mere minutes of combat.
Every time their swords met, Isaac’s body was tempered like metal being hammered into shape. Every wound left a mark on his soul, engraving itself in his memory.
Even his shallow breaths felt like they were being tempered in freezing water.
The pain was excruciating, but it was working.
The more Isaac absorbed Kalsen’s experience and knowledge, the more Kalsen’s presence within him seemed to fade. At some point, Isaac realized that he was now the one swinging the sword—not Kalsen.
It wasn’t that Kalsen had willingly handed over control. It was as if Isaac had always been Kalsen from the start.
‘Go.’
As Kalsen’s fading consciousness whispered in Isaac’s ear, he left him with one final message.
“The next era belongs to you, Isaac.”
Isaac, still feeling somewhat dazed, swung his sword upward. Dera Heman, following his usual approach, moved to block the strike with his own sword. However, something made him hesitate, and he stepped back, a rare action that did not go unnoticed by the surrounding paladins.
Those watching were shocked.
‘He took that black sphere head-on yesterday, but now he’s backing off?’