Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 160

Leon blinked wide at the incomprehensible display. The sword at the man’s hip swayed with each peal of laughter.

Why the man burst into laughter the moment they met, Leon couldn’t understand. He could only stand there, bewildered.

This has to be the chief of the Bedouin...

The beastkin had never invaded the desert, not only because there was little to gain from victory, but because the Bedouins had one man: a Swordmaster who could stand on par with the Beast King himself. That man was Al Razzaz the Tyrant.

He was a literal one-man army. An asymmetric force that could annihilate legions alone.

“Hahahahaha! Truly, heaven has not abandoned me, Al Razzaz! Come forth, honored guest! I never imagined this would be my way out of this trouble!”

Finding himself strangely welcomed, Leon lowered the hand resting on his hilt and asked, “You know who I am?”

Al Razzaz’s reply was so brazen it was borderline shameless.

“Not in the slightest!”

Leon was struck speechless, while Al Razzaz strode over without hesitation, turning to Zahar at his side. At the chief’s gaze, Zahar immediately dropped to his knees.

“I, Warrior Zahar, return having fulfilled the command entrusted to me!”

“Stand!” Al Razzaz pulled him up with a booming voice. “Zahar, I never thought you would achieve such merit from a mission that was only meant to keep you active during your recovery! Just a moment ago, the path ahead was utterly dark, but the instant I saw the man you brought, it was as though the dark horizon cleared. You are the pride of our tribe!”

“I-I am unworthy of such words.”

“Go back to your tent and tend to your wounds. I’ll see to our guest.”

Flustered, Zahar bowed deeply and withdrew along with Elahan. For a man notorious for his stiff neck even before the elders, he was like a lamb before Al Razzaz.

Now alone with Leon, Al Razzaz kept his smile and muttered, “Interesting.”

“...”

“A young man not yet at the Master’s level, yet able to wield Aura Body freely? Sure, the outside world is massive compared to this tiny desert, but men of your caliber must surely be rare outside as well.”

“Aura Body...?” Leon repeated.

“The golden wings you showed just now.”

“Ah,” Leon realized.

The power El-Cid had taught him—Psychokinesis—was a concept not even named outside his tutelage. Naturally, the derivative form, the manifested mind-body, had different terminology here.

Aura Body. A second flesh, a power only Aura Masters could bring forth.

“Fascinating. My instincts tell me you are the one who can open a path for my people.”

“You would trust me on instinct alone, without knowing a thing?”

Al Razzaz laughed heartily at his retort.

“Hahaha! You know little of me, but that’s what I would expect from an outsider like yourself,” he said, understanding. “Those born of the desert know my tale. It was instinct that led me from an Antlion’s nest, through three sandstorms, to slay the Saka chief single-handed. My instinct is not mere feeling—it borders on foresight.”

By reason alone, the claim was absurd. Yet from the mouth of an Aura Master, it was worth second thought.

After all, this was a transcendent being beyond mortal limits. El-Cid might have mocked the current era’s Masters as “half-baked,” but even he could not dismiss such a gift.

If Al Razzaz’s Aura Skill was truly tied to foresight, then his instincts were more than hunches. They were answers.

“Ah. The geezers are coming,” he muttered in a bored tone, then he turned back to Leon with a sly smile and asked, “Honored guest, your name?”

“I am Leon, an adventurer of the Guild.”

“Named after the lion, huh? Good. Before we talk, I must ask your consent. Time is not on our side, is it?”

Leon did not understand the meaning behind his words, but the lack of time was undeniable, so he agreed quietly.

“That’s... true.”

Al Razzaz gestured behind him and asked, “Do you see the old men approaching?”

“I see them.”

“They are stubborn, forever prattling on about law and custom. Even if you declared you would help me, they would doubt your intent, seek to bind your feet. They will say, ‘Outsiders cannot be trusted.” Then, he bared his teeth in a fierce grin and added, “So show them your strength.”

His left hand was already gripping the hilt of his blade. The instant Leon realized, he leaped three steps back, drawing the Holy Sword in a flash. His reaction came faster than thought, knowing that hesitation here meant death. The instinct of a warrior’s body pushed him forward.

“Chief,” Leon called.

“Mm? What is it?”

Leon met his gaze with a wry smile and said, “Let’s be honest here.”

Al Razzaz. The Tyrant. Though he bore the face of a young man befitting an Aura Master, the apex of the Bedouins was childishly mischievous in ways Leon hadn’t expected.

“That’s all just an excuse, wasn’t it?” Leon asked.

“Ke, keke, kahahaha!” Al Razzaz laughed as he drew his blade. “Well, about ninety percent, yes.”

No one in the tribe dared to challenge his authority. If he chose to brandish force, so be it; if not, so be it.

A Swordmaster who had stood at the desert’s peak for decades, so fearsome even challengers had stopped coming, could afford to ignore the truth and indulge his whims, all to satisfy his own curiosity and lust for combat.

“How about we call this with just one strike?” Leon suggested.

“Forgive me for being childish.”

“Then I’ll consider it a favor and bank it.”

“Sharp for a young man, aren’t you?”

Their idle banter carried no substance, yet their Auras swelled slowly, pressing down with such weight that those approaching instinctively halted in their tracks.

A single, all-or-nothing clash. No feints. No tactics. The strongest blows they could muster, meeting head-on.

Leon steadied his breath as he watched Al Razzaz’s stance.

High guard...

The high guard was the simplest, yet most destructive. Raise the blade overhead and cleave down—that alone could end battles in one strike.

And wielded by a Swordmaster? Words were unnecessary. Even so, Leon did not falter.

I’ll meet it head-on.

Like Al Razzaz, he welcomed the chance. To cross blades with a Swordmaster, even without risking his life—what swordsman could resist?

Without hesitation, Leon lifted his blade. Two warriors, mirrored like reflections, glared at one another from the high guard stance.

Across the taut stillness between them, the faintest breeze slipped through the boundary line. It was a fraction of a second.

“Now.”

With that, Leon struck first.

Driving his foot into the earth, he swung down with all his might. A golden arc of light roared forth in its wake.

“Heavenly Core, First Form: Dubhe.”

Time slowed as the golden light surged forward with the slash to cleave heaven and earth in two.

And then Al Razzaz moved. No—“appeared” was the better word.

What?!

Leon’s eyes widened. Before his astonishment could register, it was manifested.

A translucent giant’s torso, sheathed in muscles like stone, gripped a blade identical to Al Razzaz’s in both hands.

“Aura Body Manifestation: Djinn of Al Razzaz.”

Closer inspection revealed its form: condensed Aura and wind made visible, carrying the power to reduce all it touched to dust.

It was a giant made of a storm. As the colossal spirit mirrored Al Razzaz’s swing, the mere backlash overturned the air for hundreds of meters, unleashing a roar that tore at the ears. As the giant’s blade of storm crashed down against Dubhe’s golden arc, the strike’s momentum faltered.

He stopped Grand Chariot with one blow?!

Leon’s shock barely had time to register before the golden arc shattered into sparks with a shriek. The storm giant dissolved into the sky like mist.

And that was the outcome of their single exchange.

The suffocating pressure vanished, and wind returned, cool and light. Neither man was gravely wounded, neither forced back far, yet the outcome was plain.

“I yield,” Leon said and sheathed his sword, acknowledging defeat without a fuss.

He still had strength left—Icarus Wing among them—but so had his foe. Al Razzaz had merely called forth his Aura Body and swung once, yet even Grand Chariot had been overpowered. This was the level of a Swordmaster, a man whose blade alone could look down upon the world.

“It was a fine strike,” Al Razzaz said, his voice flat, the vestiges of excitement and bloodlust still lingering. “Had this been a real duel, it would not have ended in a single blow. You didn’t even use your Aura Body. Pity we are not enemies.”

“For me, it’s the opposite.”

“Oh? So our hearts don’t align this time.”

At Leon’s weary murmur, Al Razzaz seemed satisfied. He slid his sword back into its sheath and turned his body.

In the end, his ploy had worked flawlessly. The Bedouin elders who had followed him here—those who had witnessed the clash between Al Razzaz and Leon—looked not just shocked but deathly pale. They no longer had the composure to question whether Leon was an outsider or not.

Seeing their faces, Al Razzaz grinned like a mischievous child and bellowed, “Did you see that?!”

The warriors who had watched without breathing, the elders who had collapsed from weakness, could only blink blankly.

Al Razzaz, however, pressed on.

“This man is the honored guest brought by Warrior Zahar! The warrior of warriors, Leon, who will fight with us to strike down the calamity of the desert!”

A roar swept through Amarh. This was no simple speech—it was incitement. For a man to withstand the Tyrant’s blow was enough to demand respect.

In such a moment, no one would dare to question Leon’s identity. In the end, the outcome wasn’t bad at all.

So, this is a Swordmaster.

Leon glanced down at his open palm, remembering the instant his genuine Dubhe strike had been broken apart as if by a casual blow, the backlash hammering his body.

The difference in power was clear. Even with four Stigmata and the Icarus Wing, in the end, he would lose to this man.

And yet, confidence welled in Leon as he clenched both fists.

“Not so far out of reach.”

***

The Bedouins’ tents were many and varied. Some were simple cloth and leather. Others were adorned with metal and precious decorations. A few were framed with the bones of desert monsters, their shapes grotesque to behold.

Among them, the chief’s pavilion was by far the grandest. It was decorated with treasures of every kind, relics seized from the Saka tribe decades earlier when they had clashed with the Bedouins.

It was here, in Al Razzaz’s tent, that the council was held with Leon present.

“Hoh,” Al Razzaz’s eyes gleamed. “So not just the Holy Church and the Guild, but even the beastkin? I’ll finally see the face of the Beast King again.”

“You’re not planning to fight him, are you?” one of the elders asked with concern evident on his face.

“Truthfully, I’d love to, but...” Even the Tyrant knew when to restrain himself. Al Razzaz shrugged broadly and shook his head, muttering, “I’ll save it for another time.”

The elders all exhaled in unison, as if they had been holding their breath. Leon almost felt pity. How much must they suffer daily, to react with such relief and dread to every word their chief uttered? Some clutched their stomachs as though heartburn gnawed at them.

Al Razzaz spoke again.

“By your proposal, retreating all the way to the plains won’t be a problem. The beastkin actually agreed to that?”

“A...aha...”

Leon couldn’t bring himself to admit that he had forced their compliance through duels. Then came words Leon had not expected.

“Truth be told, this works out well. Those monsters the ‘thing’ has been spawning have been nothing but a nuisance. Each one isn’t much, but they won’t stay dead no matter how many you kill—fighting them is a pain.”

“Wait. Monsters...?”

“Hm? You didn’t know? If it had kept moving alone, the damage wouldn’t have spread this quickly.” Al Razzaz rose to his feet and added, “I’ve got one captured. Care to see it?”

Leon’s answer was already decided.