A few hours passed since Murai finished his Guardian.

Close to the end of Gate 1. A person was walking among the obliterated enemies that he shattered under many cracking sword lights that cracked the floor. It was Razmund, who appeared unhinged like a wolf before his prey.

He was completely fine when a deep blue color shrouded his body in many waves. That could come from some sort of artifact, or high-level ability was in use. Either way, he ignored whatever worries he had, since he arrived at the end of Gate 1 by foot. He hated he didn't get the choice to skip ahead, but perhaps it was the change that was part of his 3rd visit.

Before his unblinking eyes were the same opening that Murai had seen hours before. It led to the bright museum full of fog that returned after a brief pause by the temple's caretaker. Statues of all kinds of demons, beasts, and people littered the corners and sides of the museum's wall. He more or less ignored them, sneering at few as if they didn't matter to him at all.

What was the highest possible enemy of this museum, let alone Gate 1?

So far, he had fought against enemies around level 70. Some were even below that level, or slightly above that.

Still, they were less difficult than he thought. He dealt with them like someone with his kind of Path would, but considering it was his 3rd visit, he should be glad that he had these kinds of opponents.

The limits were clear: enemies up or down 7 levels from sis level 65, which was already within the range of Law comprehension for the first time.

That was already a standard for high-level opponents, where the level disparity was no longer that wide. It wasn't like with Murai, who was fighting against enemies almost twice his level. Balance was kind of lackluster in the lower levels, while the further leveling and balance were steep, and every difference mattered at the higher stages.

Power creep was also apparent, and leveling and power around level 70 varied.

One way or another, Razmund felt confident enough to take whatever this temple gave him.

Above him, a half skeleton was following him behind. It was Lint, a Guide like Lorry.

“Well as a 3rd timer, I suppose you know what to expect from this place, don't you?” Lint asked.

“I already know what to expect. Although, I would rather not bother with it that much. You should've let me to the boss room long ago. What a shame. I've lost some of my stuff, but not like it matters much. I will make you regret it, do we understand each other?” Razmund glared at Lint, killing intent pouring out of his voice as his surrounding technique ceased away.

“Fret not my friend...”

Razmund pointed his claymore to Lint, his eyes unblinking in a deep stare.

“Ok. Not friend, but a word of advice is fitting regardless of your unhinged feelings. You shall get the desired rewards one way or another. Temple isn't shameful over the means necessary for any accomplishments. And you are already well over the threshold of the speedrun bonus.”

“Speedrun bonus?”

“It is additive point accumulation. You will get 20% more. 30% if you will defeat the boss in less than an hour. Isn't that great? That's how generous the temple is for those that are outgrowing the limits.”

“Never heard of this speedrun bonus. How come I got it now?”

“Because most 3rd-time Challengers travel in care, take their time, and think twice before being a lunatic. You, on the other hand, are alone and in quite a peculiar hurry. I wonder why.” Lint said in a meaningful manner, appearing smiling, yet it was hard to point that from the bones alone.

Razmund lowered his claymore, glaring back at the statues and this place. “Whatever, where is the Guardian? I need to get my shit together and go to the next Gate fast. I need to hurry. Faster, or I won't make it.” Razmund said, clutching a Destiny Dice that was wrapped inside of his palm by strands of silk. He used it not long ago.

And he didn't like how the Dice acted because his destiny was no longer in this Gate.

“Well, You don't need to be that afraid. Whatever it is, the Guardian will give you plenty of time to worry about other things, rather than your own reasons. It is coming. Careful and good luck.” Lint added, floating away to leave Razmund alone.

Thuds and tremors followed afterward, and even the fog seemed to shudder. Razmund stopped in his tracks, observing the surroundings to feel mana. The tremors were shaking the core structure of mana alone, destabilizing the laws that made them so thick, crisp, and clean together.

Noticing nothing abnormal about the rules of this noise, Razmund's face turned ashed when the Voice entered his head.

No fucking way. Those fuckers made that my boss? They weren't kidding about a spike in difficulty. Just what kind of monstrosities go into the 4th time? What sort of reason did they give me with this sort of decision? Fuck the Voice. Truly. Fuck both of them... Razmund cursed in his head and watched how a huge creeping shadow loomed around the corner.

He wasn't feeling that great, some even his forehead bulged with veins, indicating his anger and desire to fight it out with a literal giant.

Razmund had a limited understanding of Mindarch and what he truly was about. He was always the good boy to the Voice, the nickname for the Will of the Battleworld that was the center of the Centralis Kingdom. The riddles of Levandis Temple weren't something he was understanding of, even though he had grown as a proper Blessed with a chaotic mind.

He was standing in the big and tall hallway, built enough for any human to fight in, but those loud noises weren't that of a human. And he realized it with sounds alone, stretching and bouncing from far-away walls.

Well, the confirmation that he heard from Will of the Battleworld helped him get the full notification of what was to come. Not just the noise, he knew. It didn't mention anything wonderful to his mind, but his heart and core were delighted. The Guardian was coming, and by normal standards, this place won't be enough for it.

For him, this place was humongous and enough for anything, similar to small ducks such as Murai.

Razmund waited, feet on the ground, and claymore's handle tensed up like his eyes. He tried to remember the correct turns to get to a better position, think and see an angle, or he was thinking about reading his heart. Desicion and strategies were helping points to win any fight, and he was thinking of them before every start.

This place may be big enough for him, but what if the enemy was so large, that these hallways would be disadvantageous for him because of the size? This space was enough for any kind of maneuvers, dances, or stances. Going all out won't be a problem, even if the boss fight was up to his standards.

He expected something else, however.

Not a literal giant.

The need for a wider arena wouldn't be a bad idea. Fewer distractions as well, but those statues and treasures were everywhere, acting as bothersome details and obscurities. Few places around this place worked for better fighting purposes, but he remembered them from the last time he walked through this place. Back then, enemies were not this problematic.

This time, he knew he should use everything to his advantage. So the tight corridor may not be one of them, he reckoned.

Supporting pillars stood well to be of some help, unlike what Murai felt with his height and weight. Walls were nearly unbreakable, allowing one to jump around like a maddened monkey if they were quick enough. Challengers usually had their all-out battles in these corridors, and they acted straight to the point since most hallways were like tunnels: straight, one way forward, or one way behind.

One had no choice but to fight. Intersections, turns and further hallways created some changes of pace, but it was no maze.

Plotting or plans paid off when one actually could afford them, but the Guardians were always at least one step ahead of the Challenger. Their power and level were higher, so the need for some advantages was subjective.

What was behind Razmund was the hallway with only one way to go ahead. The hallway had a turn dozens of meters before him. And that was where the loud noisy thuds were coming from. What was after him was the path with no return. It was critical to continue. And hope.

Before him, the hallway soon had a huge shadow enveloping the corner, and those noises shook the surroundings much more than before.

Thuds of steps, akin to boulders hitting one another, were turning louder. A figure of a monstrous warrior walked behind the corner, shrouding the chandeliers of light, and forcing the fog to drift away. It was a manly warrior, but one that barely fit into these hallways, as his head almost reached the ceiling.

He walked straight, albeit his shoulders scraped the side of the walls when he turned around the corner. Then his hands and feet hit some statues, but the giant didn't care for them. He even trampled them, but they would never crack or shatter even under his finest of attacks. No one cared about them, since they were under specific and powerful bindings.

No one would crack them apart. He included, even if he was one of them a while ago. The giant was around 10 meters with human features, and his walking was like humans. However, he was not even close to a human. His race was known for its savagery, long-lost past, and weird history. Titans. This one had their blood, albeit diluted and weak.

He was following the bloodline of those warriors and creators of old times. His interpretation of Titans was called Goldsteel, depicted by golden threads running through their stone-like skin. Those threads glittered in the light, and even moonlight would give them a special look, as if many cracks were going through their skin.

Goldsteel Titans held deep lore that ran wild across the current Sky, as they were tools of many godly battles and interests.

Most known for being a slave of gods, Goldsteel Titans were unlike the progenitors of their race. For now, and even long before, they were known as workers and warriors, but their prominence was like a worm before the lost glory.

This one before Razmund was looking young, because who else but young Goldsteel Titan would go against him? No adult for sure. That would've shattered no small part of this temple.

Goldsteel Titans were constructed specimens. Their physiques and bloodlines came from the true Titans, but their birth did not. Their premise was simple: battle for godly sakes, die by their hands, covet freedom, and battle to the bitter end. Armies full of them were used in many past Divine Wars, and they were known to be terrific battle maniacs, protectors, or guardians.

How bad or great they were depended on the side, or who was their enemy, but their reputations were as respectable as their slave-like status.

Who was before Razmund was a peculiar tool, and someone far from the true Titans like any Goldsteel Titan. Youth lingered around him, but he was still at least a century old. This humanoid monstrosity resembled humans in nature with all regard to their physical appearances. For an old and ancient race, of course, it had some specialties and differences.

The size was most notable as he stretched tall, with two sturdy legs and arms acting as his main weapons. A torso was well proportioned to his body, and even the head seemed not out of place or proportions. His skin was parched, full of those glistering cracks of gold, but it was greenish and grey everywhere else. Hairless, but his skin hid muscles of deep mass and definition like the finest metal.

He looked strong in every way, and his wide shoulders made it bigger than he was. And then, the glistering Goldsteel Eyes glared for the enemy to fight.

What was out of place was not only his size but also his weight. The ground cracked a little here and there under his steps, but it wasn't enough to destroy this place. If there were hundreds of them, perhaps it would get dangerous.

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Goldsteel Titan found his target and stopped walking. Eyes glued to Razmund from about a dozen meters away, and his muscles twitched and twisted firm, but they weren't overly bulky. Simple clothes made from some monster's hide poised as a vest armor that highlighted the biceps and arms. It covered even his bottom, thanks to a belt around the hips. His chest was visible from the roughness of this big vest, protruding like boulders.

Both palms wielded a rough blade each, but their size of at least 4 meters was quite menacing. And even though they were twice as long as Razmund's whole body, he handled them with efficiency and power.

They didn't even appear that big in the hands of this Goldsteel Titan, whose information was clear to Razmund like a book. It was the splendid advantage of a magnificent Blessed, who were prone to Will of the Battleworld's messages.

All information about the enemies, let alone a Guardian, was covered by Will of the Battleworld or Mindarch. Usually one of them was enough, rather than both.

The Guardian looked to be quite powerful under Razmund's Voice, and all information about it confronted his ideas. It was already happening for some time after Goldsteel Titan moved forward. Razmund was hearing it all, and even the start of the fight. The messages from the Will of the Battlewold informed him of the Guardian, his Path, abilities, disadvantages, advantages, problems, equipment, and even notable abilities.

It was a hefty and detailed report, giving him the details he needed. Potential rewards acted to hype him up.

Level 70 Goldsteel Titan? He thought without changing his expression. Familiar with the Laws already? Well, for a youth. Expected. Familiar with hand-to-hand combat and sword arts of... questionable and inhuman quality. Don't care about those. The rewards are prominent. A Relic Artifact of the best choice? That is right there in my upper limits. That's rather a steep reward if luck and choice are there, but one never knows what the Voice decides. I will take it. Of course, I will take it. 10 attributes of choice are whatever at this point.

Razmund sighted, lowering his posture and taking a fighting stance by leaving his left grip on his claymore's handle. His right hand was his primary way to handle it, but his left one would do well too. He always held the handle with his left when he walked, but when fighting, it was different.

His right hand went for his pouch, closing as he looked forward. Slowly, he was pulling it toward his pouch, where there was something more precious than any kind of Relic Artifact. He seized the handle, pulling the tip of a straight handle out. It was a bit strange act since the sword itself was a long claymore, a medieval type of weapon with unnatural lengths, mass, intense power, and crude flexibility.

A straight sword went after the hilt. It was bigger than a longsword in any regard. Usually, the claymores had some differences in their designs. It can have all kinds of handles, but their size and mass stay constant. There could even be extended handles above each other for better grip and flexibility, or it could have a dull edge right past the handle, poising a better grip. But the latter one was a bit rare and often lackluster, while Razmund had a straight-cutting edge and nothing else.

Details such as these were usually not that stable in the world of gods and magic. So a straight and simple design was often more than enough. Razmund found out about it eventually.

In another case of such swords were those named zweihänder, which held many similarities to claymores, but were even better. But Razmund can't handle anything other than claymore. He was fateful for the choice he had made. His Path required that alone.

He finished his pulling under a few breaths, right as the Goldsteel Titan arrived before him, waiting 10 meters ahead.

“A Challenger of the 3rd breath? What do you seek in this place of my master? Revenge? Rewards? Or riches?” Goldsteel Titan moved his dark, dry lips, speaking in a very deep and muscular voice, which shook the surrounding walls. He was unbothered by his own voice, as his mission was much more important than any collateral damage.

Although, one thing was clear. He wasn't supposed to trample anything on this place, but he was impatient. Taking the initiative was part of his bloodline, and he was no failure of his bloodline, unlike the Crowhell Bat.

Left-out statues behind him were none of his concern, but unnecessary damage to the museum was one of the rules that shouldn't be broken. Someone won't be that happy, but it wasn't his problem.

“Oh, a Titan that hadn't had his intelligence wiped clean?” Razmund voiced, unafraid of him at all. He may have a higher level than him and even better combat prowess, but he had no choice but to still win in the end.

However, it may not be that easy.

Upon hearing his words, Goldsteel Titan's face changed to one of utter anger and immeasurable disappointment. His eyes shone brightly and his lips pressed together, making his face crack in great stress. It was a wonder which emotions were aimed at what. One of them was definitely aimed at Razmund, while the other was probably aimed at himself.

“Don't think too highly of yourself, human. Being a Guardian is my job. My breath!” he said, pressing his sword to the ground and pulling them sideways to point behind him. “Now, move those tiny legs of yours. We go to a proper location. It's up to your bene...” Before even ending his speech, Razmund picked his claymore behind him. His unhinged unblinking eyes were scarily looking forward. Then, he pouched forwards so fast, that he was leaving afterimages and sword aura behind.

Those appeared like shadowy forms of sword slashed and rough sketches of his body.

He used an ability called Flying Steps, which was Graded at C for his current version. It was a Dexterity-based ability and technique under his Path. It was a movement type of ability, allowing him to strike and travel dozens of meters under a breath. It didn't bear offensive or striking properties. Only moving, which already helped a ton more in a fight than one would guess, since he could use it however he wanted, alongside other techniques.

It was immensely flexible in sudden speedy moves. It went along with swords nicely; his claymore too.

Overlapping abilities was one of the strongest pursuits in any Path. One may find and get abilities that are highly compatible with one another. Those would enhance one's strength much better than a single one alone. The end result was often terrifying, especially if Grade S abilities or above were included.

Flying Steps was a great supporting ability, and it pushed him in a split second, followed by rapid strikes coming from his claymore. The enemy may or may not react properly since his sword went behind his steps, increasing the momentum of any strike, even though this was nothing more than a supporting ability. But it was helpful in gaining momentum, and fleeing at such speed was much more successful.

Right now, Razmund was using it for an ambush, because before him was one kind of a legend. No matter the age or the bloodline of this Goldsteel Titan, they were reputable and outlandish beings with tens of thousands of years of battling histories. He respected that, so he went all out straight away. It didn't matter to him if they were shadows of the true Titans or even that.

Unlike the situation against Thar, where he only wanted to try his luck and the power of his One Sword, this situation was different. He was obviously not any threat to Thar. A simple confirmation of his power was all it took for a thumps up.

Now, against this Goldsteel Titan, he wanted no test, nor did he want some challenge. This was a kill-or-be-killed kind of situation. Also because he had to fight, and not because he wanted to, but what difference or sense it made in a Battleworld? Little, if none. Kill or be killed. That was the law of the jungle.

Fully seeking his own potential came in stages, and his Path had limits meant to be broken. It will be good if they do, but if they won't, it won't be the end of the world. This temple was no large challenge for him. It was a stage for his Hunt, so one way or another, the power of this Titan race was something he had to test. He wanted to see it.

Well, it came unexpectedly and in a weird decision that wasn't his or this world's. Mindarch decided on this, giving him an unexpected gift.

Goldsteel Titan frowned, feeling a sudden push and change from his enemy, but as a warrior, he was always ready to take any hit. Because of the tight hallway and Razmund's Flying Steps, he took his hits head-on.

Razmund struck the thick legs, making 4 powerful slashes as he pushed forth with his Flying Steps. He was able to leave wounds on the tough skin, forcing cracks to widen, and gold fluid flowed for a split second before the Goldsteel Titan flexed his leg.

And his voice shouted in his flexed and trembling body. “Human! You seek no bliss, but shameless pride! You! You are a despicable sinner! You have no place in the battlefield of prided warriors! I, Zao of Goldsteel Titans shall be the one to clutch your head and twist the spine out of your body. Using it as a tooth cleaning tool shall be the sole purpose of your spine afterward.” Zao shouted so loudly, that even Razmund clutched his hand around his ear, feeling his ears shook in pain.

He stumbled as he hit a mountain, headache, and tremors swathed his body. Because he was so close to him after his failure to sever the whole leg, he accepted this cost.

Before him was a muscular mountain, more than 10 meters tall, and the sheer size of Zao's legs was impressive, let alone him as a whole. His upper body was wide, an intensity trembled in his core, and the Titan Physique spoke for itself. The defenses that Zao possessed were incredibly strong.

Before blinking for another step, Zao kicked Razmund across the whole room using the wounded leg. He flew and hit the wall, which shattered into many pieces. Part of it was the force of that kick, but his body and landing weren't that smooth. The walls of this museum were tough as steel, and yet the force of his body and Zao's kick shattered it for real.

Someone won't be too happy about it, Razmund reckoned, but his head was full of pain. Oh, so delightful one.

He forced himself from the wall and stumbled to his knees first before his eyes restored his head. He blinked for once, noticing a flash of something before his eyes. The tip of a massive sword went ahead, pushing through the air like a mountain. A straight thrust clashed against the wall.

In a nick of time, Razmund fell to the ground and managed to dodge Zao's attack which appeared in a second, before going away. It had incredible range because Zao had long arms, and the addition of his long swords made them very potent.

Zao was standing where he was before, in the hallway, and still angry. He was wielding his two swords beside his legs, crossed and deadly. It was a fairly relaxed stance, with almost all openings visible. But that wasn't the case. Razmund saw it himself and felt the aura and the threat coming from him.

It was a trap. One step closer meant an obvious move and a clear End in a couple of slashes, or thrusts. This place was terrible, Razmund realized. He regretted making the first move. He had almost no time to dodge. No room to move. Not against those swords and the mass of his body.

“Sobered up, huh?” Zao mocked how he rested there on the ground, speechless.

Fuck me. What sort of swordsmanship was that? Didn't catch that in time... Were the legends of these monsters wrong? I thought they were more conservative over the techniques and their swordsmanship. They always use spears, or single swords in addition to a light or heavy shield. Razmund scowled, but no other attack came his way.

It seemed Zao had enough of his hatred, so he took some pity on Razmund's lacking means to fight in this location. The inability to properly stabilize himself was important, but this place was harsh.

Zao was a Goldsteel Titan through and through, so he was respectable to honor the proper duels like a Law. He waited, which pissed Razmund quite a bit.

“Now, shameless human. Let's move to the other room. I seek a proper fight. Not the kind your kind may be used to. Do we have an understanding?” Zao said, his gaze filled with unfathomable power that Razmund did expect, but he was more fearful of his actions. Or those swords.

He gulped, pressed his hands against the ground, and picked himself up. He preferred some sense. The sudden ambush should've been a great idea, but it backfired instead. Thankfully, he had his own Physique, which was one of the most tenacious ones on this continent.

He looked forward to the glory of the Titan race, but unlike his high expectations for them, Zao was much stronger than he had ever expected. Their power was deep and mysterious. Almost too much, but Goldsteel Titans were much younger them them, and also weak and different than the original Titans. But even this little difference was unfathomable and heavy.

Razmund wondered what the true Titans were like, but those were old; almost extinct in the current era.

Goldsteel Titans were a byproduct of their history and legacy, forming a race that was similar to them, but not exactly. It was strange. On one hand, he knew the legends around this world, and a small part of it was before his eyes, but something much deeper was behind them. Should he fear history or reality more?

Gritting his teeth, Razmund picked something from one of the pouches around his waist. It was a handful potion filled with red glowing liquid. He gulped it down in a matter of seconds, before tossing it to the ground, shattering it in the process. “Huh..” Razmund let out a gasp of smoke, feeling a bit better. His body trembled, turning his fatigue away by increasing the stability of his eyes, head, and everything combined together.

His Physique can take this potion like candy, so he wasn't fearing some nasty side-effects that were often possible after consuming many potions or pills.

He liked the potions more, even if they were more diluted and less potent than the pills. Those were harder to craft and create, thus more expensive

His shivering lessened when the effects of Heartsear Potion were taking full effect. It was a Grade A Potion that had mental effects of empowerment. It sharpened one mind and jolted muscles up without increasing fatigue or pain, but it had some disadvantages. It would make one's body so tensed up, that one couldn't hold himself for too long if their physique were too strong. If the Physique was too weak, then the body would crumble.

Taking another thing out, but this time, from one of his pockets, he glanced at a small vial. Filled with transparent liquid, small points of red dots moved within inside. Some were large; others were bigger. Their different density made them prominent, but Razmund didn't care for them as he gulped the vial down his throat.

As he did so, his body stopped trembling. The complexity on his face calmed down. A surge of heat radiated out of his skin, creating steam. This was Grade B Stimulat, some sort of drug that Battleworld took for granted, supplying it into the harsh environment of this world. Battles provided its uses, so for many millennia, a considerable amount of potions and wonderful crafts were created by countless talented mages.

Stimulant was a mana-based potion, similar to the Heartsear Potion and many others. It was useful for only specific individuals who had powerful Physiques who could take it with an additional kind of potion. The Stimulant wasn't useful on its own. It can highlight the effect of the potion one already swallowed down their throat, making it stronger.

One had to be strong in mana and body, and if one of those wasn't stable enough, it was like swallowing poison.

If a weak unstable person went ahead with such a combo of potions, even with the addition of a high-grade Restoration Potion, one would drop dead on the spot, or blood would seep out of the body until nothing would be left.

Either way, neither of these things sounded that great, but Razmund didn't have to worry about them. He knew of much worse combos, potions, pills, or drugs and their effects. He had tried a lot of them, so he remembered what to expect.

An empty vial fell to the ground, shattering into thousands of pieces.

Razmund quivered and bent his back sideways into a weird motion, almost as if picking those thousands of pieces with his eyes. He glanced at them from a centimeter away, eyes bloodshot and body standing in one leg. Veins spread in his unblinking eyes, yet Zao already left the hall, his steps echoed into the distance, leaving him alone.

“He wants to play. Play!? With me? That... is good. Good.” he whispered in a calm voice. His body was weirdly hunched over, almost inhumanly so when he realized Zao was gone.

He smashed the leg that was angled upwards to the ground, beside the other, stabilizing his body, but his back was still kind of bent.

With that done, he walked towards Zao, the claymore's edge pressed to the ground behind him. His eyes looked down, his back still a little bent, but his mind wished to kill something or anything.