Chapter Thirty-Five: The Water God Style’s Self-Created Secret Art and the Allure of the Sword God Style

Rudy was flustered for a moment, but then he suddenly blinked and looked at Allen’s face. After hesitating briefly, he ventured, “So you can’t do it, can you? That’s just a deceptive trick of the North God Style…”

The next instant, a stone spun through the air and grazed Rudy’s cheek before vanishing into the thick fog.

Rudy stared blankly as he touched his cheek, then looked toward Allen, who was just lowering his arm after adopting a throwing stance.

The stone had come from Allen’s left hand—the one not holding his sword.

Seeing Rudy’s dazed expression, Allen lowered his blade as well and said cheerfully, “I was only warning you. If you ever encounter a swordsman of the North God Style, you’d better watch out for that move.”

Rudy stared at Allen for a long while, then sighed and rose from the ground.

“I lose…”

“Continue.”

A look of astonishment flickered through Rudy’s eyes, but Allen had already put away his smile. His expression turned serious as he continued, “Think of it the other way around. If I couldn’t use throwing techniques, you would have completed your spell by now, wouldn’t you? So finish setting everything up. I want to see how far you can push me if I’m unable to use throwing techniques.”

Rudy’s expression grew solemn as well.

“All right…”

Allen shifted his legs in the mud.

“Don’t lose heart. Give it everything you’ve got. You wouldn’t want me to beat you twice in a single match, would you?”

Rudy crouched down and continued releasing heat into the ground with both hands.

“Don’t joke around, Allen. Once I complete the fog spell, I…”

He raised his head and spread his lips into a grin.

“I’ll win.”

Not long after his words fell, Rudy’s figure was swallowed by the rising mist. Before long, the fog grew increasingly dense, reducing visibility to a mere five meters.

Allen silently watched the place where Rudy’s figure had vanished behind the fog.

Suddenly, a massive stone cannonball tore through the mist and shot toward him at tremendous speed! The wind it stirred carved a hole through the fog, revealing Rudy’s face. For that brief instant, the two of them locked eyes.

Allen was expressionless.

Rudy was smiling.

In the next moment, Allen drew his sword and slashed at the stone cannonball flying straight toward him. A shrill scraping sound rang out as battle aura coated the blade. The stone projectile split cleanly in two and crashed down on either side of him.

He looked toward Rudy’s position again. The fog had already concealed Rudy’s figure once more, but instinct told Allen that Rudy had left his previous location.

He’s using the sound of the stone cannonball being cut apart to conceal his footsteps. The next attack probably won’t be such a large projectile. It will likely be a blade-shaped spell that won’t disturb the fog as much—an ice blade, perhaps. If I cut that apart as well, he’ll use the sound to change positions again… Then, while dodging the attack, I can determine Rudy’s location during the instant the fog is disturbed and close in on him.

Allen tried taking two steps through the mire, but his speed was noticeably impaired.

The resistance is greater than I expected. The heat magic has solidified part of the mud at the bottom… Without a foothold capable of supporting my weight above the mire, it’ll be difficult to close the distance in an instant.

Allen lowered his eyelids, then closed his eyes.

Inwardly, he sighed.

In that case… I’ve fallen back on the Water God Style, the discipline I’m best at after all. Fortunately, the Dragon Saint’s Battle Aura has greatly enhanced my senses. Otherwise, Rudy might actually wear me down to death here. We’re both reincarnated outsiders, but at least I have the Swordsman’s Path system—and I’m four years older than him. Even though he started a hundred meters away, it would still be hard to accept losing like this.

Three ice blades silently slipped into the fog from diagonally ahead of Allen, gliding toward him at a slow speed that would not excessively disturb the mist. The fog rippled slightly, faintly revealing Rudy’s face.

Allen did not open his eyes. The smiling face of a petite old woman flashed through his mind.

Last year, I was fortunate enough to create an ultimate technique called the Iron Tortoise—an art devoted entirely to taking a beating. It’s rather perfectly suited to the present situation.

The three ice blades had already reached the area beside his right ear.

With his eyes closed, Allen raised his sword with lazy ease. The blade’s gleam threaded between the ice projectiles.

Amid a series of delicate cracking sounds, the ice blades split neatly into six pieces. Yet, strangely, the fragments did not continue flying forward as they had before. Instead, they abruptly changed direction beside Allen’s ear and plunged straight down into the mire.

It was as though their trajectory had suddenly been altered.

Allen held his blade suspended beside him and “watched” the traces of magic gradually fading from the ice blades in the mud. A silent smile touched his lips.

Laitan’s words from the previous year seemed to echo in his ears.

“Taking inspiration from one of the five ultimate arts of the Water God Style, ‘Flow Perception,’ abandon the distracted sensing of information at a distance and concentrate all five senses entirely within the range of the blade’s trajectory. That allows you to completely capture every detail of the area within one meter in front of you. Then, using the highest level currently possible with the Flow arts you’ve mastered, deflect the trajectories of every physical and magical attack that comes at you as much as possible… Not bad. Interesting.”

“The flaws? They’re obvious. First, because of the limited range covered by this simplified version of ‘Flow Perception,’ it’s far too passive. All you can do is cover your head and take a beating. Second, if you encounter an expert of a higher level—someone whose speed exceeds your perception, or whose attacks are too powerful to be redirected by the Flow arts—it becomes completely useless. Still, its strengths outweigh its weaknesses. Keep at it, Allen. The moment you master it completely, you’ll be a Water Saint.”

“…Hm? You want this old man to give it a name? ‘Striking the water midstream, calm as a steadfast rock’… Let’s call it Boulder.”

Allen opened his eyes and looked at the dense fog before him. He smiled silently.

Water God Style—self-created ultimate art.

Boulder.

The fog surged. Perhaps realizing that the ice blades were too weak, Rudy changed tactics and sent a thick ice spear toward him, deliberately compressed to a narrow point. Yet, the instant it approached within a meter of Allen, it broke apart once more and fell beneath him.

Rudy seemed startled for a moment. Then he swiftly changed positions and launched several rapidly spinning stone cannonballs.

The result was the same: each was sliced into pieces and dropped into the mire.

Allen’s gaze shifted. When the fog briefly parted and revealed Rudy, their eyes met. Rudy gritted his teeth, then vanished into the mist again.

Allen chuckled and said disdainfully, “Haven’t eaten yet? Try sending something bigger!”

Unaffected by Allen’s provocation, Rudy instead fired three consecutive stone cannonballs, each honed to an even sharper point.

The light of Allen’s blade twisted around him, and the projectiles were once again cut into several pieces that fell straight beneath his feet.

Allen glanced down at the ground. His eyelashes trembled faintly.

It seems he still hasn’t noticed… The foundation is almost built. I have enough footholds now. So, the instant Rudy casts his next spell, I’ll determine his position and strike with the Sword God Style before he can disappear into the fog.

I can’t keep taking hits forever…

Allen exhaled and broke free of the Boulder technique. Then he let out a thunderous shout.

“Rudy! I can see you!”

The instant his voice fell, the fog directly to his left surged violently. In the next moment, a massive ice spear shot out of the mist.

Allen moved.

He planted one foot on the “platform” beneath him, buried less than five centimeters below the surface of the mire. The sensation of having nowhere to exert force vanished instantly. Strength traveled from his foot through his body, and Allen felt astonishingly light.

By then, Rudy’s face was on the verge of fading back into the fog, and the ice spear was already within arm’s reach.

Allen’s gaze shifted. In that instant, the tip of the ice spear and Rudy’s face aligned perfectly, reflected together in Allen’s eyes.

A smile spread across his face. Looking at Rudy, whose expression showed the slightest hint of panic, Allen parted his lips.

The two of them were too far apart for Rudy to hear him clearly, but he could read Allen’s lips.

Allen was saying—

“I see you.”

The fog churned, rippling in wave after visible wave.

Under Rudy’s wide-eyed gaze, Allen stepped out of the ripples and leisurely placed his blade one meter in front of him.

The tip of the sword still quivered with a faint hum.

“You lose.”

As his words fell, the ice spear cracked with a sharp snap behind them, split into two, and dropped helplessly into the mire.

The fog solidified as smoothly as flowing water before Rudy’s stunned face.

[You have grasped the essence of the Sword God Style and mastered the Silent Blade. Sword God Style level increased: Sword God Style—Advanced.]

Allen reached out to return his sword to its sheath, only to discover that the blade had been rolled and could no longer be sheathed.

He fell silent for a moment, then asked inwardly,

Then… what about the Water God Style?