Supreme Swordfiend

Hammer blows rang through the clearing as Leon moulded the core, holding the image of the gilded armour in his mind.

Unlike the common ground he’d found with the Woods Tyrant, the Swamp Lord resisted his attempts to shape her core

The resistance proved ineffectual. No mere spiritual remnant could stop Leon.

The gleam of golden armour soon materialised, Leon began stripping as soon as the work finished, burning energy to restore fatigued muscles, his hammer falling to the earthen floor.

A desolate wind had swept away the cloud of emotions, the urges that normally pulled Leon, leaving a vacuum in their place.

A spiritual exhaustion ate his innards, a bone-deep fatigue that sleep would not cure.

Beneath all the joy, the dopamine that flooded him with every dead enemy, the endorphins that kept him standing despite the pain, divorced even from the influence of his bloodline, lay Leon’s fraying mental state.

His core of unbending steel now covering in cracks.

Approaching its breaking point.

He ruminated as he strapped the armour on, belting Wavecutter to his side and blasting all his mana into an Ebb and Flow.

He didn’t blame Zerasos.

The Somnarachnid’s illusion overwrote memories.

Knowing of its existence wouldn’t have helped him.

He couldn’t blame the Tutorial or System.

The Trials were optional- ways to earn powerful gear, but not required.

He’d chosen to take on the Trial.

Leon could only blame himself.

Despite all his strength, parts of him remained weak.

Pitifully so.

Another fracture formed upon his soul as he internalised the lesson.

A bleary-eyed William stumbled out as Leon swept his Droplet Soldier Armour into his storage ring, eyes meeting Leon’s.

“Well boss. Now a good time? The loot we got yesterday has some stuff I think you’ll be interested in...”

He trailed off as Leon raised a hand.

He needed a win.

An honourable win against an unambiguously evil creature.

He would drown the shame of yesterday in the blood of today.

He didn’t have time to look at trinkets.

Digging his incisors into the tender skin of his lower lip, Leon drew blood.

Then he took a breath and responded.

“There’s a shark in the water William. A Megalodon. Killed a guy the first day I arrived here. Level ninety, I think? Can’t remember. Doesn’t matter. I’m gonna kill it dead. Come watch if you want.”

He didn’t look back to check whether William followed.

It didn’t matter.

Strength.

Chasing it had seemed so easy at the start.

Just pile ‘em up and watch the numbers go up.

There wasn’t a mentality stat though, not a low number he could point to that explained why Leon had broken so easily.

His own weakness disgusted him.

That wasn’t the heart of his loathing, no, that lay deeper.

He had wept for no one, not all the dead who had arrived on this island alongside him.

Not the family he doubted he would ever see alive again.

He had wept only for himself.

For his own hurt feelings.

For people, that hadn’t even been real.

That selfishness, that self-interest which he’d so heavily depended on to justify his actions, hadn’t made him strong.

It had merely built barriers between Leon and his weakness.

Now, loathing drove him towards the ocean spray.

A single moment passed as he prepared himself.

Then his footfalls carried him under the sea.

The rational part of his brain screamed at this course of action.

His odds of victory, of even holding his ground, were infinitesimally small against a foe that stood three times his level, plus some change.

Leon rejected that on the grounds that all fights were fifty-fifty.

He would either win or lose.

The morning sun sent thin light beams into the ocean, illuminating the clear depths.

They deepened the darkness, the waters where light dared not penetrate grew more foreboding as Leon looked upon them.

With no sign of his prey, Leon stopped.

His breaths came easily and his feet adhered to the silken sands through the enchantment upon his boots.

Yet a problem presented itself.

Long strands billowed freely, obscuring his vision.

Retreating to the beach, Leon sighed as he gathered his mane into one hand, the other pulling Wavecutter free.

Acting quickly so as not to have the sword dull, Leon chopped through his hair, watching fair brown strands fall to the beach.

Tossing the clump in hand aside, he paused as memories rose to the fore.

His sister throwing a hair tie at him, extracting a promise that he’d return it.

His mother chiding him as he came in the door one Saturday morning after having spent the night roaming the town with Jin, her hands brushing loose hairs from his eyes so she could fix him with her withering glare of disapproval.

Beneath her stern exterior, he knew she’d only been worried when he hadn’t returned.

His father, laughing as Leon recounted another wild tale, the duo sharing beers on a lazy afternoon, meat sizzling on the barbeque.

The thrum of mana racing in his veins snapped Leon from his reverie.

A reminder that he had a time limit to be wary of.

Tearing his eyes away from the last reminder of his old life, Leon ran his hands through shorter hair.

“You’re gonna die, kid.”

Zerasos stood a short distance behind him, breaths laboured. Leon noted how the devil remained outside his sphere of perception with detached amusement, his head slightly turned to observe his guide.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Jury's out for now.”

Snorting, the devil turned away. One last piece of advice given before he left.

“Put it on its back. That’s your only shot at winning here. I’d talk you down, but that look in your eyes tells me I’d be wasting my breath. Good hunting Leon.”

His piece said the devil vanished.

Leaving Leon to reply to the empty air.

“Thanks.”

Sheathing Wavecutter, Leon descended into the clear ocean, his heart tranquil.

He would succeed or die.

While Leon prepared to start a fight, he had no business picking, William ran back and forth, tendrils of mana wrenching his fellow survivors from their beds.

William had seen it in Leon’s eyes yesterday and today.

Impotent rage warring with self-loathing and morose ennui.

Like the light inside had died and now a machine bent on self-ruination guided their boss’ actions.

For all the man’s flaws, his skills were the best chance they had to escape this place, with minimal casualties.

So, William roused the rabble.

Some complained, others simply strapped their gear on as swiftly as possible.

Kong Xia, the unnerving bastard, joined William first.

“A most unusual form of waking.”

William bit back a retort, answering the unasked question.

“Leon’s in trouble. Something happened to him. He’s got a crazed look in his eyes. He’s down by the beach, gearing up to fight a level ninety shark. Can’t stop him, but we can pull his ass out of the water before he gets himself killed.”

Kong Xia merely smoothed his ruffled robes before replying.

“I wish you luck. A swordsman of his ilk will not accept help. To do so would tarnish his path.”

The man flounced off after that and William sighed.

Honestly, Kong Xia would be of little help.

They needed magic, specifically ice magic, for William’s plan to work.

Once the group had gathered, pointed looks directed at William, he explained himself again.

Immediately, ideas flowed.

“Can’t you just use one of your tendrils man- like, hook it around him and yank him onto the beach?”

Pierre’s question touched on how William’s tendrils of mana functioned. A trick he wasn’t keen to explain.

“Wouldn’t work on its own. The level disparity means he can break them easily, but I’m confident they’d hold for a second or two. Problem is, I can’t reach him if he’s too deep or far out. No, we need ice platforms to get me above him, then I’ll have to chain tendrils together to haul him back. Anyone got any icy tricks they’ve been holding in reserve?”

Silence followed, then a voice from the trees rang out.

“I do. Glacial Blastbolts, they’ll explode and freeze an area. I’ve tested on the ocean. They’ll form solid platforms for you.”

Fred emerged from behind a redwood, nervous and pale, tripping over his words as he spoke.

“I’ll help if you can get me back in that psycho’s good graces.”

Pointedly scanning the crowd, William judged their reactions.

Pity.

Guilt.

Wariness.

Judging it safe enough to accept, he extended a hand to Fred.

“Deal. No promises, though. Don’t call him a psycho to his face either.”

Shaking, Fred winced as he felt William’s superior Power press upon his bones.

“Don’t mess this up, Fred. He’s our only shot at escaping this hellhole. Understand?”

Nodding, Fred fell in by William’s side.

“Let’s go. Odds are he’s already under the water.”

William struck his deal with the outcast as Leon descended.

Once more under the ocean, his vision now unobscured.

Keeping a hand by his blade, he walked deep enough to test his capabilities.

Leaping from the sand, he found himself unable to swim, his jump carrying him into the water, his descent slower than it would have been on land.

Drawing his blade, he faced the same restrictions, the metal slow to move through the water.

Any action he took would be sluggish, borderline ineffectual if he didn’t commit to it, meaning aquatic combat required a different mode of thought.

A paradigm shift.

Trudging into the murky abyss, Leon’s thoughts slowed.

He remained tightly wound, a spring ready to explode with force the second he spotted the shark.

He didn’t wait long.

It emerged from the dark, charging at him, mouth agape.

He could have comfortably stood within its jaws and not felt its teeth on his skin.

Each chipped tooth, each patch of scarred sandpaper skin screamed that this beast had fought and bled for its power.

Beady black eyes, with no spark.

No sign of greater intelligence or emotional depth.

Just a machine of meat and bone that moved to destroy any intruders in its domain.

Calling on his bloodline, Leon felt the hungry predator of his soul reawaken in the face of adversity, his Swordfiend aura pressuring the shark and revealing the disparity between them.

In that moment, he did not lament his folly, as his bloodline recognised how utterly outclassed they were, how Leon had a minuscule chance at survival, let alone victory.

Leon embraced his mortality.

His fear and anxiety melted away as death’s jaws drew near and a heartfelt grin split his face.

In the face of oblivion, what care had he for his weakness, what room remained for self-pity?

None.

In the hollow of their absence, one emotion lingered, sinking barbed hooks into the Swordfiend.

Pure bloodlust guided him where all others had lost their path.

Tonight, he would dine on shark fin soup or dine in hell.

Throwing himself to the side, Leon allowed the ocean’s current to carry him past the charging shark, Wavecutter scoring a deep slice into the beast, drawing blood and stoking his lust for battle.

A cloud of sand scattered through the water as the Megalodon spun through the ocean, snarling maw wheeling to face him once again.

For a time they danced, Leon’s ability to manoeuvre as though he stood on dry land, allowing him to dip, duck, dive and dodge his way around his lumbering adversary.

Thick crimson streaks stained the iridescent waters, Leon’s Speed only growing as he landed blow after blow.

He realised something as he sliced through soft flesh.

They’d never intended him to fight this.

Never expected a coresmith to stumble upon armour that would allow them to enter the Oceanic Apex’s domain on even footing.

He laughed as he danced with the shark, changing his targets as he grew closer to doubling his stats, his body weeping as he forced his torn muscles to heal.

Tooth after tooth he chipped from the leviathan’s maw, but as he aimed to chip another, his blade caught on a serrated edge, vanishing from his grip as the beast wrenched it free.

It spun for a single agonisingly small moment, then vanished in a cloud of sand.

Lost.

The sword he’d carried from his first day, the link that had marked him as a Swordfiend.

Gone.

The skin on his palms stung. Even shielded by his gauntlets, he felt the abrasions from the sudden friction forming.

Disarmed and dazed, Leon prepared to perform what could only be called sacrilege.