Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 146

That speed... is terrifying.

Leon’s eyes widened as he carefully studied the traces Varg had left behind. A straight black line was cut into the ground.

It gave off the faint stench of burning, the mark of where Varg had passed only seconds before. Even moving at such incredible speed, one foot had still touched the ground, and the friction alone had scorched the surface of the stone black.

It meant that without the condition of having both feet on the ground, he could have moved even faster than that.

“Hah.”

Leon let out a hollow laugh despite himself. He had been careless.

He’d chosen a defensive stance, telling himself it was “ready for anything,” believing that he only needed to land a single strike to win. In truth, it was arrogance.

Varg, the Beast King. The apex of the Great Savannah. The heir to a martial art forged by Rodrick himself. Facing him with such a mindset was unacceptable. Leon corrected himself, raising his sword high.

“Oh?”

For the first time, light gleamed in Varg’s otherwise impassive eyes.

A high guard and an open declaration of intent that if he comes closer, he’ll be cut. His gaze, devoid of all distraction, gleamed like a freshly whetted blade.

And his spirit? Golden flames rippled across his body, scorching even the passing winds. He had poured all his Aura into his nervous system, sharpening his reaction speed beyond mortal limits.

Reckless... but that daring spirit is worthy of a man!

His blood boiled. The instinct to fight, buried in the bloodline of Fenrir, surged within Varg, baring its fangs in answer to Leon’s resolve.

It was hard, but he managed to suppress it. If he unleashed it now, this would become a battle to the death.

“Very well. Here I come,” Varg said and moved again.

Leon gathered every shred of focus into his eyes. Time slowed. The world bled of color.

A splitting headache stabbed into the back of his skull, like a spike driven into his brain—but beyond that pain lay a world few could ever see. It was a world faster than sound, swifter than nerves could transmit signals. For the first time, both warriors shared that realm.

He’s coming.

In this slowed world, where even arrows might seem frozen, only Varg blurred, his form warping with speed. He wielded the Wind Aura. He bent air resistance behind him, converting it into thrust.

Against the extreme velocity birthed by law-breaking acceleration, Leon’s eyes ominously crackled with pain, straining to keep up.

Even so... this much, I can respond to!

Varg carried several restrictions: No Aura Blade. Only allowed to attack from behind. And if Leon landed even a single blow, Varg would lose.

Dozens—hundreds—of potential attack paths were cut down to just a few. With his senses heightened to the limit, Leon could keep pace.

“Hm.”

Varg’s foot, sliding to the left, halted. At the same instant, Leon had already turned, thrusting his sword forward.

A golden streak seared the air, trailing Varg’s afterimage and twisting through the void, redirecting again and again. Swinging the sword was faster than hurling his whole body.

Leon proved it, transforming his blade into a lightning bolt. In barely a second, twenty-four slashes of golden thunder poured forth.

Goddammit, none of them hit?

Varg slipped through them all without a scratch. The Holy Sword cut nothing but a few strands of his gray hair.

Varg smiled, mocking Leon’s astonishment.

“You can follow me this far? Excellent. I can’t recall the last time I’ve properly run like this!”

“You mean you’re going even faster?!”

He was only bounding side to side in place, yet whirlwinds howled into being. If Footwork meant adapting to an environment for optimal movement, Sirius surpassed it—reaching a realm where one ruled the environment itself. Before Leon could fully prepare for the next movement, Varg took charge.

“Sirius, Swiftwind Step: Chasing Wind, Catching Shadow.”

Varg’s form multiplied into ten, charging all at once.

Clones?!

As Leon tried to figure out the technique, El-Cid interjected, —Not clones! Your dynamic vision just can’t keep up!

Leon slashed calmly, but one phantom surged into his face, blotting out his vision. In a battle where even a tenth of a second mattered, the moment he thought “too late,” it already was.

A crushing blow struck his back, blasting him forward, coughing raggedly as he rolled across the ground. Varg had claimed the first point.

“You call yourself heir of the Founder—this can’t be all you’ve got, can it?”

“Of course not!”

If one strike had been enough to break him, he would never have come this far. The true quality of a Hero was to burn brighter in adversity.

All four of Leon’s Stigmata flared. The energy he’d spent was restored in only a few breaths. The real fight began now.

—You’re not gonna use the halfie’s shield or the trick I taught you?

No. I want to be acknowledged through martial skill as much as possible.

El-Cid’s voice carried a strange note of approval.

—Hah! Alright, then. Do your best. Use everything I’ve taught you and bring down an opponent who’s several levels above you!

Got it!

Leon reset his stance and raised his sword. Clashing once had been enough for him to realize that using lines—slashes—would not suffice. He needed to control entire planes.

Unless he could dominate space itself, there was no way to contain that impossible speed. Leon had not yet crossed the threshold into the realm of Master. Fighting Varg in the same domain would never let him win.

So, he poured his overflowing Aura into his blade. The flames couldn’t even be contained by the sword—blazing torrents spilled out, unable to fit within the steel.

It was a sheer waste of power. Even an expert would be drained in minutes, but Leon’s recovery outpaced the loss with the Stigma of the Guardian replenishing his Aura faster than he could burn it.

“Huuup!”

If his sword couldn’t match Varg’s speed, then he would dominate the space itself, blocking every path. His blade swung wide, setting the air alight.

This was Aura Flare. Fire surged from the sword, seizing a radius of several meters.

“Hm. This is troublesome.”

Varg avoided it, sweeping his arms. The flames that should have scorched his skin collapsed as if pressed down by invisible hands. It was no threat from afar, but to strike Leon’s back, Varg would have to plunge directly through that burning zone.

“Sirius, Swiftwind Step: Wind March, Frostbite.”

His movement shifted to match his purpose. Fast as the wind, sharp as frost. The momentum of his charge multiplied several times over, and even the flames recoiled, opening a path. Leon, however, was not simply watching.

“Leon-Style: Boost Blade.”

He copied only the principle of Zahar’s swift blade from the duel days ago, accelerating his sword. Aura was already pouring out of him. By releasing Aura Flare in the opposite direction of his strike, the backlash drove his blade forward. The winds Varg’s speed had stirred, now turned back, roaring as they whipped the sword on.

“Khahaha! My blood boils!”

Varg laughed thunderously as he advanced. His hair singed, his skin flushed red from grazing the flames, but he did not stop. The excitement he’d forgotten for decades surged anew.

Victory without struggle was meaningless. This—this was a battle. A true contest. A clash where one pressed forward despite wounds and pain, where molten courage met icy wisdom, colliding like magma against a frozen mountain.

Ten, twenty, thirty strikes. Explosions of golden flame ravaged the mountain peak, hurling fragments into the gale as they chased one another.

So close they could seize the other, yet so elusive they never touched. Leon and Varg forgot even to breathe, eyes fixed solely on their foe.

Sound lagged behind. Explosions and shockwaves tore the air half a beat after they passed.

Here it comes!

Leon’s sharpened focus told him Varg was about to accelerate again. If he didn’t read it a step early, he would be hit without fail. This unfairly fast strike was one of Varg’s ultimate techniques.

“Sirius, Swiftwind Kick: Advancing Thunder.”

Varg’s left leg became a streak of blue lightning, curving toward the back of Leon’s knee. Even as an arc rather than a straight line, the speed was chilling. If he waited to react after it began, it would be too late.

The split air shrieked as it tore apart. Leon had evaded. Since the blow came from behind, the tiny margin gave him just enough time.

Sweat chilled his back as he stepped forward. Crisis was opportunity. Having dodged such a grand technique, now was the moment to counter—if not for the sudden shockwave that hammered his knee.

Leon staggered at the unexpected strike. Wrapped in aura, his bones held, but without it, they might have snapped. Bewildered, he looked up to see Varg grinning.

“That technique just now is called Rebound. Part of the force of a missed strike is returned, landing a blow where you thought you’d escaped.”

Leon’s lips twisted in a bitter smile. He now only had one strike left.

“So that leaves me one.”

“Indeed.”

Varg had scored two of the three valid hits, but he wasn’t quite at ease. The first had been easy, but the second was dangerously close.

Had Leon ever seen Rebound before, his counter would have turned that exchange into a draw. And then—Varg, who needed three hits to win, would already have lost.

“This will be the last. It’s been a while since I’ve had such a fine match.”

Varg lowered his body close to the ground, almost prone. Leon recognized that stance.

It was the same one Hati had used to break Zahar’s secret technique, Khamsin. A movement style that maximized the advantages of four-legged motion, combining explosive acceleration with sharp turns.

Sirius Sprint...!

And if Varg dropped to all fours, the condition that both his legs had to touch the ground was hardly a restraint. Leon lowered his sword into a low guard.

Against a stance like Sirius Sprint, whose center of gravity leaned more toward beast than man, any guard higher than mid-level only slowed the response.

The two of them stood in a standstill for a moment. One second felt like a minute as both warriors drew lines in their minds over and over—how to break through, how to block, how to land the single telling blow.

Varg was the first to decide. He vanished, sinking into the ground like the air had collapsed beneath him.

Leon focused all the Aura outward, spreading all around his body. He was going to use Spacework.

Even without striking the ground and listening to the rebound of vibrations, nothing was more precise than one’s own Aura. No matter how fast, in the instant of contact, the body could not fully hide.

A few seconds later, Leon’s blade whipped in a reverse spin, striking behind him even as his stance faced forward. The slanted arc of his sword stopped just short of Varg’s throat.

“How did you predict my path...?” Varg asked.

His fingers were pressed lightly to Leon’s neck, mirroring him, but he didn’t bother hiding his surprise.

Leon answered flatly, “It was too obvious that you were aiming for my back.”

“So you read one move ahead and attacked behind you?”

“Yes.”

He had gained a step in the mind game, but the result was still a draw. Factoring in Varg’s acceleration on all fours, Leon would need to read three steps ahead to seize victory. That was the difference in their speed.

“Hahaha! I never thought it would end in a draw.”

Varg withdrew his hand from Leon’s neck and laughed heartily. For someone who had always worn a mask of stoicism, his colorful expression stunned Skoll and Hati into blank, dumbfounded stares.

Varg’s eyes even twinkled with mischief as he said, “As it’s a draw, I cannot treat you as a true master. To that extent, I cannot concede.”

Only then did Leon realize his intent and click his tongue.

So he never intended to acknowledge me in the first place.

He was nothing like Elahan, who had been ready to prostrate himself the moment Leon appeared. Varg was no founding Beast King Hakapel—only his grandson. He neither revered Rodrick nor believed in the prophecy that the true Hero would rule the Fenrir tribe.

Whether it was pride as the leader of the steppe, or just stubborn refusal to bow to anyone, Leon wasn’t sure. However, he had a way to test it.

“One last bout. This time, I will set the condition,” Leon suggested.

“Hm?”

“I will attack. You may block or dodge as you please. If you succeed, I’ll accept defeat.”

Hati realized at once and thrashed wildly, but trapped in Elahan’s grip, she had no way out.

“Please! At least let me cover my ears!” she pleaded.

“Quiet.”

“I beg you, just my ears—”

“Quiet.”

“Ah...”

Subdued, Hati could only whimper as the tension around the duel rose. Leon released his sword hilt and raised both palms.

The unknown always brought fear. Varg, wary of the strange stance, dropped again to all fours—a posture ready to evade or counter any attack with speed.

In this world, however, there were unfair tricks that existed, nonetheless.

Clap, clap!

Smack!

Two claps and a tongue click.

Elahan and Karen tilted their heads at the odd display, but for three others it was another matter entirely. El-Cid’s prank, hidden in Sirius since three centuries ago, worked only on its inheritors. Varg, Hati, and Skoll—all three were caught. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

“Hm?”

“Wha...?”

“...”

Hati, having already experienced it once, flushed bright red and trembled. The other two, bewildered, looked up at the sky as if stunned.

Leon let out a long sigh and said, “You said it yourself—if both feet left the ground, you’d lose.”

“Huh?”

“I win.”

With that, the Hero declared victory over the strongest of the Great Savannah and his two heirs, all lying flat on their backs.