Tears of Leviathan had not only regeneration properties but also empowering effects of flesh. Like a ridiculous shot of adrenaline, it tensed everything physical, which in return, pushed a massive storm of physical feelings onto the spirit. Someone weak-minded would turn insane.

Razmund cared little about it, thanks to what he had. Zao wounded his foundations and turned his mana flow to shambles, but he countered it with treasure that most Tier A powers shouldn't take for granted. Tears caused the sense of insanity to spread in his mind, but they also helped with the prospect of Raging Bull and stabilizing his Core.

It was barely enough for him to stand straight and feel this tension and madness. He cherished it, grasped his claymore, and focused on the simplest outcome.

To fight.

Leviathan was said to be a large aquatic Divine Beast, capable of swallowing arrogant fleets that desired to cross the waters between the continents or simply fish. Those locations were dangerous around every land, but the desires of men to do business between continents were neverending. Some folks even considered it their lifelong dream to make a fortune, or they revered the seas.

Leviathans were one of the most nightmarish creatures around the shores, making their heart's blood legendary and capable of bringing a person from the End. Of course, that was exaggerated. Few took it that seriously since End never came back so easily.

But at its core, it can certainly revive someone from the brink of the End, exactly like how it saved Razmund from lacking defense. Razmund was not using the base of that treasure, it held up the empowered effects because it was made into a potion. Graded SS, it was better than digesting those tears alone, since they went through the processing of some high-level alchemists.

Razmund got the blood flow moving in a matter of seconds, guiding the mana around him so even Raging Bull spread under his Shaping, focusing on his arms and neck, before circling around his back. That should be more than enough, thanks for the rarity and concept of the Grade SS treasures. Razmund was in a top-tier condition once again, albeit his combo of potion was slowly turning away.

Going all out against Zao was possible for one last series of clashes, which was enough for him.

Both of them reached the possible limits of what their bodies may endure. However, it wasn't as obvious on Zao, whose body gleamed through golden cracks, tensing the ground and air around him.

Power rampaged through Razmund's body after Tears fully bonded to his Physique. It wasn't as nice as it sounded. After all, most of his peers would've never considered taking Grade SS treasure of this caliber anywhere near them. They wouldn't be able to take its effects without losing their minds.

Razmund was able to take it all at the moment thanks to a few things. Combo potions, while surprisingly, the Raging Bull's spiritual pressure did move well against the Tears, reaching some sort of crescendo that allowed him to take it better. Then his Physique took it all in. Without it, he would've died.

His failure was resolved easily, albeit with limitations put under his ticking time. Those Tears would lower their efficiency the more time passed. It wasn't just a mistake. He got angry after enduring pain and an attack that he could've prevented. Though, Zao wouldn't allow that, as he wasn't so weak.

“Ok. Time to turn this up a notch.” Razmund mumbled and changed his stance. Caving his knees down to almost hit the ground, he lowered his stance. Grabbing the handle with his right hand alone, Razmund pulled the claymore around his left shoulder, almost resting it there. His left hand grabbed the furthest edge could reach, and it was fairly far, making this stance look unnatural. Thanks to the waves of the Raging Bull, every act seemed seamless and bathed in azure luster.

He poised in such a low-ground stance, that any swordsman would question its effectiveness. But it looked threatening, resembling a crouching tiger. Under his Path Manual, it was the 3rd Dance that represented the momentum and power of a strong slash. Following its principles, he had clues and hints of the old sword masters who took the sword as their life.

It was a Dance that he had trouble adjusting to, but it had incredible cutting power.

It was even more oppressive when Raging Bull took it to another level. Flowing azure waves supplemented every point of this Dance: waves pressed around his right hand, securing the hand to the handle so it wouldn't go away, and his left-hand fingers were each curved with waves of mana, securing the grip around the furthest edge. He touched it thinly, but thanks to the Raging Bull, his flexing fingers handled it more than enough.

Then, he bent the sword's edge, acting as if he wanted to break it apart.

The whole sword bent, flexed and screeched, yet it remained in a single piece.

Zao had yet to hit the ground, so he saw what was happening. He was excited to see the tension rising, feeling the tingling sensation of danger from his Dance. It was a ticking time bomb, ready to thrust forward and strike the opponent like his own Dance. It looked similar to his Dance and much to his personal Pride, so he didn't hate it.

It perhaps took after his ideas for sure. The swordsmanship of Titans was known across the Skies and even beyond, but Zao didn't know what kind of Path was under his belt. If he did, he wouldn't be as excited for sure.

There was no Pride in being afraid. He continued being the attacker because that was what he had always done. Whether it would mean the end of his wishes was another thing. Zao pushed his feet forward, crushed the floor, and his left sword went down, forming a curved horizontal slash right around the waist area for a regular human, and crashing the ground.

It is coming! Razmund thought in focused excitement. The attack is both fast and strong, capable of cleaving me in half. It comes directly, advancing like a form of the Titans. The beings that took the Ancient Races to another Sky, an unknown time, and... who knows what else. Impressive. I am speechless that someone allowed a Sword Sage Seeker like me to see the aspects of Titan's swordsmanship. Splendid. Great!

Their sole purpose is to battle and so is mine. Their skin may be tough, their muscles are like Timeless Marbles, or Oz Metal that will survive the ages of gods. I. Myself. I shall be the witness to that might. Old and ridiculous. A kill to streak that past. Fight for the Pride. Razmund thought amidst a strange sensation of peace and serenity.

He hyped himself with utter calmness, but his internal body was boiling. Both arms touched each side of his long claymore, shoulders screamed under a tight clutch similar to a tensed back. He was tensed like a bowstring, while his claymore was a releasing point to this tension, bent and resting above his left shoulder.

There was no chaos for a mere moment. There was silence until it exploded. A surge of killing intent washed it all away, although he was yet to release his fingers. Mana of dense crimson color enveloped the claymore in a thin layer. It went quickly, created for the purpose of not destabilizing his grip and the bent nature of his claymore that shouldn't be like this.

3rd Dance: Crouching Tiger that Cleaved the Heaven.

Razmund flexed his right hand, trying to overcome his left one that was keeping the claymore in place. He bent it further, trying to build up power. The claymore bent further, no longer looking one bit straight. But it didn't shatter, which was a major problem of this sort of Dance. One had to own a splendid sword for it, along with 3 understandings.

Momentum. Patience. Accumulation.

These words were principles of the 1st of his Sword Sage Manuals he had. The 3rd Dance was the epitome of striking with everything one had in one single slash, similar to the 1st Dance, but in a different manner. An incoming wave like a mountain came from Zao, and at that moment, Razmund released the edge of his sword.

Raging-Bull-infused left fingers let go of it, which left the right hand flying forward, flexing the claymore and building up more momentum as it wanted to straighten back. Even his arms and back twisted, and Razmund stepped forward all so slightly to move like his claymore.

Physically demanding, sharply awakening mana and metallic claymore cleaved at the incoming chop that wanted to cut him apart. The metals struck one another, shooting and leaving storms of wind blades around the room, shocking Zao's sword away and cracking it in a few nasty cracks. It didn't explode, but both of their moves clashed against one another with utmost momentum. Any ordinary swords would be long gone.

Razmund countered his move, rather than striking Zao directly. He knew he wouldn't be able to hit him when his reach was way too advanced.

The floor itself cracked throughout the whole perimeter of this arena, but mainly, in the line in front of Razmund and Zao. That came from their direct confrontation and starting clash of their swords. It was becoming wider the more they pushed against one another until the momentum exploded and a wild power rushed forward, striking Zao. He took the brunt of this power without trouble, but the force behind the Crouching Tiger was a pure swordsmanship strike that was as straightforward as it could get.

The physical strength of that little claymore felt like an endless river. Zao understood how heavy it was if it endured his body and his charge in one piece. Razmund barely took a few steps, yet his claymore struck his blade with the power of the mountains. From any point of view, each Dance was capable of killing one another.

Calling it a terrifying striking potential was the base of their abilities, but Zao's was far too impressive, considering his weight and mass. Titans were more known for their physical power, rather than the flexible nature of their bodies.

Razmund had his fair share of impressions. 3rd Dance needed some preparations in order to use it to its full potential. This, right there, a clash of metal to metal was about the finest uses of this Dance he had ever used. With every speck of strength he had in him, his Claymore still forced its mass into Zao's sword and stayed in place.

Zao tried to shatter everything before his path, but it felt as if he struck the mountain, while the maintion roared back. Razmund thought the same thing, but he had one advantage. His sword was better than his. That was the key difference that allowed him to change the outcome of this fight.

Getting fed up with this sort of strike wasn't fitting, but Zao grasped his core to null, empowering his blade with everything he had.

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Golden cracks widened...

A huge blade cracked further.

Just a little bit more and it would be gone.

Unless one had a clear way to get fundamentally stronger, this sort of strike often remained in limited use because of limited equipment. Dances had peculiar methods of progression. They had no levels. Sometimes, they even had no Grades. They had nothing but insights into swordsmanship, making each matter more than the other. Swings of the swords often carried simple motions, but when it all came to the arts of killing and moving, there were an impossible amount of variables.

More advanced Dances touched upon the mana and all kinds of techniques and Laws. There was no end of them.

Crouching Tiger that Cleaved the Heavens held a limit of what many physically based dances never had. The body was important like a sword, making each mend the other. That was why handling it together was important to become stronger, yet if one thing was in shambles, everything crumbled apart. It was unlike regular Paths, which had more specific needs of progression that often didn't have many shortcomings.

A simple spell to shatter the enemy sounded easier to manage than figuring out a complex swordsmanship.

It needed utmost care, reflexes, balance, and patience. All sorts of other things were needed to make a great swordsman. A sword too.

Zao understood the complexity of Razmund's move more than enough, which caused those cracks following his blade to be an endless disappointment. He almost felt his Pride crack too.... He almost laughed at that.

His left hand flexed like the rest of his body, but his remaining blade was an external item. Those often couldn't follow the power of the flesh, let alone the physique. They were simple tools. Cracks widened around his arms and torso, and Razmund pushed forward, letting his claymore pass through. A crimson claymore slashed forth at Zao. It was quick and close since Razmund had no need to move. Zao kept moving forward after losing the clash of their swords.

What was the closest behind the partially cracked blade? His head almost blew away, as crimson streaks and claymore colored his flesh and body. Razmund cut at him, leaving a deep wound around his forearm, traveling to his head, and even chest, before Zao stumbled behind him in his lost momentum.

Zao didn't groan. His hand took the most damage, but it was bleeding very heavily in return and almost turning it useless.

Razmund was unable to finish the job to the bitter hand. He angled his slash just a bit worse than he wanted, but he figured it was because of Zao's blade that changed his angle. He failed in his desire to cut Zao's head away. It was his mistake, or did Zao aim for that instead?

It was far too late to cry over spilled milk. Razmund grunted and didn't care for the loss of momentum. He attacked Zao again, charging at the stumbling Goldsteel Titan.

“E...Excellent. You managed to cleave my skin... And...” Zao mumbled as he bled. “It appears you are not holding back at all. Good. I suppose this is something I should've expected from this sort of invitation that this temple granted me. You aren't even 30. I actually forgot it's such a case here, but some blood loss is no concern for us. Right?” Zao talked as if the blood loss was none of his concern, but the wounds around his head and body did make his voice weaker.

He sounded like a dying fool, but the cracks filled with golden liquid made him weirder, while his red hooded wounds made him look like a savage warrior who was far from his End.

In a moment, he flexed his right arm, stopping the bleeding thanks to the control of his flesh. As for the head and torso, they still bled, but it was something he could live with for the time being. His arm looked worse, so the twisted muscles and cracks solved that for him.

Razmund didn't hear him. He struck him without hesitation, but Zao flickered his almost destroyed sword, using its edge to slap his claymore aside.

Claymore almost shot out of Razmund's hand, but he kept his touch on it with Raging Bull alone. He hit the ground, deeply engraving his legs into the floor, while he bled from his pores. He didn't even count the amount of muscles torn in his body or cracked bones. Everything hurt when performing this damned 3rd Dance.

His mind screamed at him to fight.

Fuck... Has he gotten stronger? Freaking Titan Bloodline... They took in way too much mana and Sword Intent. He thought, before getting back to a proper standing position, glaring at Zao who was still able to fight. For now...

Zao stepped forward, ushering in his monumental Pride and Will to continue this fight. At that moment as he swung his blade at Razmund, the wound on his chest and head burst in many cuts. Razmund hadn't moved an inch. It almost seemed like an explosion, causing blood and flesh to splurge from much deeper wounds. His arm wasn't spared either and through the twisted cracks and twisted muscles, lines cut and severed his bones and shredded his arm.

This time, Zao had no way to stop it. He didn't expect it. He was way too overconfident in his body, which allowed Razmund to take it into his own hands.

Zao clutched his torso with his left hand, seeking the blood uncontrollably flowing away.

“W-what? Was that...” A cut around his forehead and scalp also led to quite a bloody hole, revealing even bits of skulls and his teeth. They were deep enough to be fatal, but the ridiculous vitality of his body left him standing. Fight may be too much for him, but in terms of wounds, he will either bleed out or die after suffering more minutes, or more cuts.

It wasn't just the skull that was tough on Zao. He took this without a peep. Firm and shocked to seek his wounds, he felt warmth and no pain. usually, even the tiniest bruise on the head led to bloody wounds. That was common sense over many human-based physiques and races. Zao was no exception. He was still in a weird sense of shape, part of a humanoid race.

Razmund looked at the bleeding Goldsteel Titan with a calm face. He can end things here and there, but can he? Did he want to end it in this way?

As he thought and waited for nothing, Zao was trying his best to readjust his control over his flesh by breathing and letting his heart calm down.

It was hard, considering his Path wasn't known for calmness, but relaxing should help against the loss of blood. The power over his flesh was extraordinary, so without Razmund's interference, he managed to close the wounds on his chest, but the mangled mess of his arm turned out to be a failure. Then the toughest on his head were impossible to heal. They will keep bleeding, showing his skull, teeth, and mangled flesh and cracks. He didn't follow his Pride, but he didn't lose it.

The dizziness started to envelop his mind, so clutched his remaining hand.

At this point, he looked like a waterfall of blood pouring down from a hill. Calling him a warrior-like figure was quite praiseworthy and prideful.

Zao shuddered, noticing that he was already dead, yet the sword was still firm in his shredded arm, so grabbed it, clutching it for himself and no one else. Fury aimed at Razmund. Pride surged. Unwillingness to let go of this fight returned to his face.

“I am not thankful for how it turned this out...” Zao mumbled. “But I will seek the End myself.”

“We are even, Titan...” Razmund argued after coming to an easy conclusion that he had won. Since his plans in this temple were already going well, this brief fight was a good reminder. The fighting was his fate while continuing them wasn't wrong. But he couldn't ignore his purpose in this temple.

Experiencing new things as a 3rd-time challenger was already well over his expectations. They were magnificent chances, allowing him to reach new limits, and seek his Pat. It required this sort of attitude, albeit this temple would gladly kill him for his path and treasures in his pockets.

New comprehension will allow him to finish this Hunt faster. Razmund knew it, so he was yet to forget about Zao.

Dead enemy didn't matter in the end, but memories of this fight will linger in his mind for a long time.

That was about the core of how Blessed viewed this world. Razmund was no different. His sense of adventure and seeking power was still surging through his mind. Now, he was no Falconer. Even Cetralis Kingdom vanished out of his mind. He was here for himself, yet shackles were there in his mind and heart, following him because he accepted to be here.

An undeniable plot surrounded everything. He didn't want to care about it or think about it. But that wasn't up to him... It was useful to not ignore it. it wasn't always the case. Sometimes he can accept some sacrifices, or punishments to appease his mind and sense of self.

Greed. Gods that considered Tier A powers like toys were never simple, so questioning some ideas was oftentimes useless.

Clutching his claymore, he held all sorts of thoughts, while Zao staggered forward. He was slow like a turtle on land, but his stature made up for the speed. The strength of his mass ensured some power remained in his messed-up body.

Razmund calculated in his mind the rough time he had left.

That was when he realized he was out of his time himself. The effects of Heartsear Potion faded away, Tears flared up in intense spiritual pressure, while his Raging Spirit raged more. He clutched what he was left with, shredding the insanity away. The remnants of the Raging Bull will be enough, albeit his Mana Core was almost empty.

His style of Path had harsh mana expectations since sending the mana away came with a price that wouldn't come back. It was unlike what Murai was prone to, as his mana could return to him if he wanted.

Zao was fully on his feet, straight and tall. Almost falling too.

Wait... Do I need to fear or care about this? There should be plenty of others like him on the lower Gates. Though, I don't know. The last visit wasn't something pleasant, although I faced high-level opponents, but not this big. I don't know what will be down below. That is the truth of this Hunt. Razmund thought, forgetting the fact that he was in the middle of the battle.

Swoosh!

Noticing Razmund's careless attitude, a blade emerged beside his body. Razmund saw it, placing his claymore vertically to deflect it away by angling his claymore. Raging Bull flared to support this angle and move, clutching his feet, supporting his back and both hands. Still. as he did so, he staggered away a couple of steps before another slash was coming again. This time, it was a vertical hit, followed by Zao's cry and utter savagery.

His blood boiled, life was in no line. He was as good as dead. He was simply following his Pride.

Razmund sidestepped aside, dodging the Chop that struck the floor, breaking it in return. Unlikely and wild clashes soon ensued. Calling it a dance may be the correct term because Razmund's emotionless face glared at every spot of Zao's body. He kept dodging more than ever before since he knew his enemy had a tight clock around his fate.

Zao was spending his last bits of living, ushering in remains of his Pride, blood, and what his Core wanted.

He was fighting to the bitter End. That was the motto of his race.

His strikes seemed not one bit weaker than before, but they lacked a certain punch and intent. Razmund saw a drastic shift in momentum. Exploiting these weaknesses was not shameful. Blood splurged after every one of his swings, painting the cracked floor with more blood. A lot of it even ended up in Razmund's face and body, but he didn't care for it.

Second by second and move by clash, the remaining Zao's Pride prevailed. He ushered in his hope that his tribe viewed as fitting. Honorable End meant a peaceful End on the battlefield.

Razmund was looking at him and soon found his chance. Zao cleaved the air into a horizontal slash, stabling afterward as he used too much momentum. Razmund jumped up, kicking the dull edge of the blade away as a platform. As he did so, he assumed a rather quick and clumsy-looking posture of his 3rd Dance. Putting his right-handed claymore beside his left shoulder, he bent the end of his claymore by clatching the edge with the left hand. It was a little bent, but enough for him.

Releasing it was a matter of single movement, and with Zao close and in mid-swing, he asked for it. Yet, what was before him wasn't a wide-open Goldsteel Titan. His face was his shield. His mouth was a weapon. His eyes showed unhinged resolution to bite his head off.

“Let's see what is stronger. My Path or your Pride?” Razmund shouted, and let go of his edge with his left hand. A flickering slash resonated in the air when a thunderous strike hit the skull and the flesh, violating everything in one direction.

Zao's body endured it no more, blood splurged and Pride left his mind. The floor pushed to his back, leaving a trace of blood and dust behind him. The floor was at this point one big mess, but it was no wonder, considering who was fighting here for almost half an hour.

This exchange was the finale with a clear winner. Razmund landed from his jump and clutched his claymore, kneeling, and feeling like shit. He looked at the dark and dull edge with hidden emotions and various thoughts. Getting up proved to be a massive headache. Every power under his disposition faded away, causing his bones, blood, and muscles to scream. Raging Bull ended.

Forcing himself to walk forward, he placed the claymore on top of his right shoulder, still alert over the enemy. It was a weird habit... Unless he confirmed a kill, he was never fine to leave any doubts behind.

Well, he failed to do so with Murai in that well, but who knew that a limbless duck was even more resilient than a freaking Goldsteel Titan?! He didn't... so when an Encoutner snapped his mind apart, revealing that Murai was not only alive but engaging him in an Encoutner, he was more than shocked.

Following the trail of blood, he came upon Zao who moved no more. The right hand was mutilated with a few fingers missing, and bones cracked in open wounds, revealing flesh and golden veins. Blood flowed away, revealing his insides that Razmund didn't care about. It wasn't disturbing for him, as he was the one who caused these wounds.

Mana seeped out of his wounds along with blood and golden liquid that was part of his bloodline and physique. He was more or less unable to lift a finger. It was no wonder. There were deep cuts around a chunk of his head, revealing his skull and brain.

Yet, Zao remained breathing, still clutching the remains of his blade. “Prideful loss... is acceptable.” He mumbled, aware and accepting this End.