Kaor’s sword emitted a radiant light unmistakably that of an aura blade. “Huh?” Even the wielder of the blade himself looked dumbfounded. The spectators’ jaws collectively dropped. Even the stoic Ghislain was no exception, while Belinda rubbed her temples in disbelief. Kaor, achieving the rank of transcendence? And doing so after openly proclaiming his desire to live lazily? Could such a carefree mindset truly constitute a strong enough foundation for a transcendent’s “world”? Alfoy muttered with a vacant expression, “So... his world is just about living without a care?” The absurdity left everyone speechless, too stunned even to curse. For all Alfoy’s love of leisure, even he had ambitions for wealth and recognition. Kaor, by contrast, appeared devoid of such desires—and yet here he stood, transcendent. Kaor stared at the glowing blade and mumbled, “This... this works?” As though in disbelief, he repeatedly tested the blade’s glow. There was no mistake—it was indeed an aura blade. For the first time since the long-ago day when he had accidentally summoned it, he now understood how to conjure it at will. A broad grin spread across his face as he laughed uncontrollably. “Pfft, hahahahaha! I’m a transcendent! A swordmaster!” The only thing setting him apart from other transcendents was the slightly less vivid hue of his aura blade—evidence that something was still lacking. But that mattered little. The key was that he had transcended the barrier of uncertainty and doubt that had weighed him down. Kaor laughed heartily, stepping forward with an unsteady but confident stride. His injuries and exhaustion were obvious—his aura blade flickered intermittently, on the verge of disappearing. Yet his confidence radiated stronger than ever. The priest standing opposite him looked visibly disturbed. “This... this insolence...” It wasn’t just his opponent’s sudden rise to transcendence that unsettled him. More than anything, the priest could not tolerate the notion that his rigid beliefs had been disproven by this irreverent fool. He resolved to prove his own convictions by any means necessary, even if it meant killing Kaor. The two clashed once again. The spectators watched, tension gripping the battlefield. Both combatants were visibly fatigued, their movements dulled compared to earlier. However, the priest still held the upper hand. Kaor, a newly ascended transcendent, bore far heavier injuries. But unlike before, he was no longer completely outmatched. Now able to keep pace with the priest’s movements, he no longer faced overwhelming attacks. Steel met steel in a frenzied exchange. Kaor, with his newfound strength, now posed a credible threat. His practical combat experience, honed through countless battles, was sharper than the priest’s. Finally, after a fierce struggle, Kaor’s blade wavered. The priest seized the opportunity, channeling his remaining energy into a devastating blow aimed at Kaor’s skull. Kaor’s eyes gleamed. “Double the power.” He adjusted his stance, releasing his dominant hand from his sword to draw a second blade strapped to his waist. This new blade, too, flared with a radiant blue aura. Slash! In one swift, decisive motion, Kaor’s second sword slashed through the priest’s neck. Too fatigued to react in time, the priest fell, his eyes wide with disbelief. “This... it wasn’t even a spare weapon...” With that final, incomplete thought, the priest collapsed, blood pooling around him. Kaor, breathing heavily, stood over the lifeless body and muttered, “I’ve always fought with dual swords.” He had deliberately concealed his second blade for the element of surprise. Against a transcendent opponent, a secret weapon was a necessity. And it had worked perfectly. Looking up at the sky, Kaor let out a triumphant roar. “WOOOOOOOOOOO!” The cheers of the surrounding soldiers soon joined his. “He did it! Kaor became a transcendent!” “We’ve gained another swordmaster!” “Damn, the world really is going to hell!” The first to rush forward were the knights, who promptly hoisted Kaor into the air in celebration. “Pwahaha—urk! Guh!” Blood spewed from Kaor’s mouth as the knights tossed him up and down. Startled, they quickly stepped back, dropping him unceremoniously to the ground. He lay there, convulsing, until Piote rushed forward to channel her divine power into him. Only after the priest’s remaining energy dissipated and his wounds began to heal did Kaor’s breathing finally steady. Sitting up, Kaor stared at his hands, a dazed smile creeping across his face. “This isn’t... a dream, right? Hehehe...” “It’s no dream. Congratulations,” Piote reassured him. Kaor’s laughter turned into a boisterous guffaw. He staggered to his feet, still weak but brimming with elation. Turning toward Ghislain, he raised his chin defiantly. “See that? I’m a transcendent now. No more looking down on me, old man. Anytime you feel like a fight, bring it.” With that, Kaor strutted away, his swagger unmistakable. He had no doubt Ghislain would remain unimpressed—his old mentor had always treated him with a mix of indifference and disdain. Yet, as Kaor turned, a voice stopped him. “Congratulations. You did well.” “...Huh?” Kaor spun around, wide-eyed. Ghislain offered a faint smile. “The Duke—no, the Grand Duke—will be proud to hear this news.” With that, Ghislain gave Kaor a firm pat on the shoulder and walked away. Kaor stood frozen, his mouth agape. He was still processing Ghislain’s uncharacteristic praise when Belinda passed by, laughing softly. “So, all you wanted was to have fun, huh? Well, everyone’s world is their own, I suppose.” Even Elena, dragging her hammer behind her, gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “That was amazing. And thanks to you, I won some—uh, I mean, congratulations!” Others came forward, offering °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° words of encouragement or envy. Only Alfoy muttered bitterly, “What a pain,” as he stormed off. Kaor stood silently amidst the chaos, a rare and unfamiliar warmth swelling in his chest. For the first time, his comrades truly celebrated him—not just for his antics, but for his achievement. Scratching his head awkwardly, Kaor murmured to himself, “Guess it’s not so bad...” With that, a small, almost reluctant smile spread across his face. For the first time, Kaor felt a flicker of ambition. Perhaps, now that he was a transcendent, he could live a little more meaningfully. But one thing would remain constant. No matter what, he vowed to always live in the moment. Today, at least, was worth celebrating. *** The soldiers of the 1st Corps, led by Count Vipenvelt, launched a relentless assault on the fortress. While the 1st Corps lacked siege weapons, they did have ladders. Positioned as the rearguard, they were equipped with various supplies, allowing them to mount an aggressive attack. The cavalry dismounted, rushing to the ladders, while the priests of the Salvation Church surged forward, pouring out their divine power without restraint. The result was devastating for the coalition forces. Each clash claimed scores of their soldiers. Despite their greater numbers and defensive advantage from the fortress, the coalition forces suffered heavier casualties. “Hold the line! Whatever it takes, we must endure! Reinforcements will arrive soon!” shouted Marquis Gideon, his voice hoarse from barking commands. But his ability to command was inherently limited. The coalition army consisted of troops from various kingdoms, their coordination hindered by internal divisions. If they had faced another commander, they might have managed to hold out longer. However, the skill gap between Marquis Gideon and Count Vipenvelt was insurmountable. The coalition's resilience was driven only by their shared goal of survival. The assault escalated as the coalition forces' left flank began to crumble. “Reinforce the left flank!” “Hurry and push them back!” The fortress, despite the absence of siege engines on the enemy side, was on the verge of collapse within a single day. Without champions or high-tier defenders to neutralize the wide-ranging attacks of the priests, the coalition was overwhelmed. Their few trebuchets were destroyed early in the conflict. Cowed by the priestly attacks, the coalition forces huddled defensively within the fortress. Only their superior magical forces allowed them to barely hold on. Count Vipenvelt assessed the situation and furrowed his brows. “It seems this will take until tomorrow.” Facing nearly 50,000 coalition troops without siege engines required relentless effort. Even with their superior individual combat skills, the lack of heavy equipment significantly slowed the assault. As night fell, the Atrothean army retreated temporarily, only to return the next day with renewed intensity. They needed to secure the fortress swiftly. Doing so would ensure easier coordination with other units and better preparation for any unknown maneuvers from the Duke of Fenris. By the second day, the fortress was filled with the anguished screams of the coalition soldiers. Despite their numerical advantage, their ranks were rapidly thinning. Marquis Gideon, surveying the carnage, muttered in despair, “Is this the end?” He had anticipated the strength of the Atrothean forces but was unprepared for their overwhelming power. His forces were being systematically dismantled, their defense proving futile. The relentless onslaught of the priests was particularly devastating. Each strike of their dark energy devastated hundreds of coalition soldiers. Those moments of chaos allowed the Atrothean soldiers to ascend the ladders with lethal precision. Despite reinforcements rushing to plug the breaches, the coalition troops fell in waves, overwhelmed by the superior combat prowess of the enemy soldiers. The knights, though formidable, were reaching their limits. Marquis Gideon’s hands trembled as he gripped his sword. “This is the end...” The priests' wide-ranging attacks hammered the fortress, while the coalition soldiers' morale plummeted. Gideon, tears streaming down his face, whispered, “They’re far too strong...” Realizing there was no escape and that surrender would only lead to slaughter, he steeled himself for a final stand. Drawing his sword, he shouted, “Fight to the last man! Take as many of them with you as you can! Our revenge will be left to those who come after us!” Despite Marquis Gideon personally joining the fight on the walls, rallying his forces, and slaying many Atrothean soldiers, the tide of battle was unchangeable. From the skies, an Atrothean priest identified Gideon. “That must be their commander. Killing him will break their spirit.” Channeling his energy, the priest prepared for a decisive strike. Yet, as he prepared to swoop in, a massive surge of energy made him halt. “What’s this?” In the distance, a loud explosion resounded. While most soldiers were too embroiled in combat to notice, a few sharp-eyed priests caught sight of it. A light in the distance pulsed intermittently, growing closer with each blink. Suddenly, a golden bolt of lightning shot toward the fortress, accompanied by deafening thunder. The lightning struck the walls, obliterating nearby Atrothean soldiers before they could even scream. Garthros, recuperating in the Atrothean camp, leapt to his feet, his face twisted in rage. “That bastard!” In the midst of the devastation stood a lone figure, bathed in golden light. Marquis Gideon, his voice trembling, stammered, “You... you’re...” Sporting a mischievous grin, Jerome replied, “Shall we try holding out a bit longer?” Known in his past life as the "One-Man Army," Jerome was ready to prove his title once again.