Blood dripped from the corner of his uncertain smirk. Razmund didn't know how or when, but he took a great hit yet still felt great. His Physique preferred taking damage, letting Vitality rise or fall, and cruising blood resonated in a surge of heat.
Added all together, like energy that stormed around his flesh and skin, it trembled him from the inside out with unnatural power. Mana moved as well because some Physiques often affected Shapers to a specific or flexible degree.
This clash felt painful, yet his body resonated with it somewhat. It was blunt damage, so it didn't feel as threatening as a literary split chest in half. The residues of such clashes and forces affected his heart rate and flow of blood, which therefore affected his Mana Core.
It felt intense. Like a meteor hitting the large sea. That was how he often talked about the damage, flow of blood, and mana. It was his major influential decision that he realized before he even started this Path. All under the chosen parts of the Sword Sage Path, it taught him, while Uzbek highlighted the errors. The pain taught him about consequences.
This usually held different circumstances from fight to fight. It had certain costs for the future, but at the core, as long as he wouldn't break down, pain or cuts were just wounds. It depended on how heavy they were and what came afterward.
Which Razmund always kept close to his mind, lest he became insane like some Sages might get. Claymore rested in his open palm, still swirling in its mass of red sharp lines that knew no bounds. Well, it had some stops, as its fuel came from Razmund's core.
Luno pushed him quite some distance away, driving deep into the wall in a straight line. Blood leaking from his face was an unnecessary effect. He could stop it if he truly wanted, but it was more of a physical reaction of cause and effect. Enduring Space Shatter to the face can do worse.
A dislocated jaw was one thing; his face swelled was another. His cheekbones were perhaps broken, or perhaps his brain was shaken to its core, yet what mattered? He felt the pain so much, that it made him more alive. His heart, blood, and Physique all swirled to a motion, swelling his core, and pushing an increasingly hot river down the bloodstream.
He began his move. A price to finish this fight.
The brain was fine for what he was like, but Razmund always told himself to care for consequences later when fighting difficult foes.
He grasped his jaw with the free hand, pushing it into its right rightful place. It hurt, but bones clicked back into place. The swelling was better in just a couple of seconds thanks to the stream of his Physique that overwhelmed him.
Forcing himself from the hole in the wall, Razmund staggered in his step, feeling that his legs went over these Flying Steps a bit worse than he expected. Well, he always used them in better effects thanks to his potions, but he wasn't using any right now. It felt wrong, but their use wasn't.
The split of his attention between wounds, smirk, and this clash was soon gone. His wounds weren't an issue, even if those Space Shatter strikes crashed at him in numerous layers. His defenses weren't enough for them, but his Physique can take it with some price.
While the coldness of his Destiny Dice kept his sanity in check, he grasped his claymore again.
For the lack of its purposes, using a piece of thread to make it wrapped to his middle finger worked surprisingly well, and meaningfully so by its touch and purpose.
In this matter, even if he went all out of his way, he shouldn't lose it. It worked so far.
“Oy?! You alive? You are tougher than a brick. Which brick you ask?” Luno asked in half worry and half laugh, before noticing dozens of cuts around his arms and torso that weren't closing. There was also a deeper cut around the left arm, the one he used to perform the last attack. The cut was reaching towards his neck. It started at the wrist, all the way to his elbow, before ending above the shoulder.
Blood seeped out of it, dripping down to the sand, revealing flesh but no bones. Luno didn't like it for sure. He felt the seeping intent and Sharpness out of it. He shouldn't have underestimated a potential Sword Sage, even if Razmund was an unfathomable distance away from that status.
It was an unfortunate blunder. A time when Razmund wanted to cut into the neck. He failed again at the cost of his face.
Luno wasn't that concerned about his blood after faking disinterest and scoffed at this Physique. He shrugged, shook his left arm as if there was a mosquito there, and looked at Razmund again. “A rather fierce one this is. An unexpected attack. Sharp too. That ought to finish the usual job, I reckon. Too bad I am so tough, huh?”
Razmund wished to pull his middle finger at him, but all he managed was to spit some blood on the sand.
“This Sharpness of yours underwent steep improvements from our readings and small Codex. I can see the mana of your quality seeping deeper into my flesh, coming from your sword. It wants to cut me that much, right? Too bad, again.”
Razmund thought Luno was speaking nonsense far too much to someone disinterested in listening to him.
Yet he kept going. “Even though this Gate was yet to give you a thing too. Peculiar. I suppose your return to the Surface will grant you a quantitative Boost that you all so desire.” Luno said, still brandishing the whirlwinds of Space in his palms. Wounds and bloody cuts made him appear more regal and bloodthirsty.
Hearing his sensible, yet bothersome words that shouldn't have a place in such fights, Razmund didn't care to give him any face. He already did it so literary, so he wished to grasp his face and shove it across the room.
Talking also hurt, as his jaw winced in its spot, cracking it in the process of his breathing and tries of his talking. It led to quite some discomfort that he wasn't used to. Usually, such brunt and brutish forces wouldn't hurt him much. It did this time, so it proved how Luno's strength was off the chart, clashing against his bones and the ways his Physique worked.
The swelling was still apparent on his face, but unlike Luno who bled from more than a dozen cuts, he was fine. And his Sharpness failed to cut and prove his Path. Luno was still standing, not exploding to pieces. His eyes were shining brightly as he looked for a way to force this Luno to submission.
So he readied his claymore, tightened his grip over his mana, and went towards another stance.
“Oh! A true wounded warrior madman? I like those the most. They are tough cracks to nut, and can't think twice before they act. You didn't disappoint me. My Lady didn't disappoint me!” Luno cheered. For the first time, he took a proper stance.
As a bare-handed fighter, he was a rather unique opponent that Razmund hadn't seen very often. The flesh was flesh. It had its uses, but without a weapon in hand that had its proper history and uses, he felt using fists against a swordsman was questionable. Almos stupid. All Sword Sages would agree with such logic.
Luno put his palms forward, focusing on the strengths and weight of his core. His Space Aura, notable by the shimmering energy all over him that seemed like gravity, wind, and thin fog, turned denser and swirled onto his palms.
With whirlwinds of energy on top of his palms, his legs contracted in their muscles by slowly increasing weight above. The increasing velocity of his Space Shaping put some strain on his weight and muscles. It needed an outlet. He bent his leg, positioning it behind him as he changed his stance.
Slightly curved as well, the other leg went forward, also bending but to a much sharper degree. Back hunched like a boulder, his arms aimed forward. In this weird stance, his height was lower, but his stability was guaranteed to create something insane. Was it an offensive stance or a defensive one? Luno wasn't sure.
He had no doubts that Razmund would attack him head-on. He was that sort of person, even if he had met him for the first time.
This was one of his favorite moves. Called Bull Crasher, it put him into an unmovable position where he looked like a bull that was close to pouncing.
This was a reasonably defensive stance that didn't emphasize attacking, or defending. It could do both things well, but against a sword that already cut him? That worry was on his mind as well, but he honored his flesh and Path.
His arm swelled as the whirlwinds cracked apart, cruising over his flesh and arms, giving him what one would consider moving armor that followed him in every way, cycling from the core to cover and create sharp and wavy horn-like fists.
It was a different technique from a Space Shatter. It was much sharper and on a whole different level in its vision, concepts, and power. Law of Space was a very potent Law and Luno was handling it well enough for a Level 70 who managed to take the Space Law to his core, or core to this Law.
It was not only another Mana Awakening, as Space Law was still within the perception of mana, but Laws worked differently from a lot of things. They were quite another problem, as they depicted truths of the universe.
It was about comprehension. The means and aspects of the universe and its respectable rules complicated everything. Touching onto such a concept was often vague, and pounding like a sudden storm. It often came with luck. Resonances were often following such principles and hopes. One couldn't usually get them, but hopes to reach them were neverending.
And when Mana Awakening met the Law in a good way, fusing, or working together, things got intense. Luno held the concept of Space within his core's roots, which then came in clutch when Laws arrived, fundamentally changing his Space.
Mesmerizing was the word to use, as these swirling, crackling, and flowing Space Waves--as the Space Law often manifested--touched his Shaping, Path, or anything he liked.
They could be physical, non-physical like space should be, or wild like cracks in space that were one of the most dangerous occurrences in outer space.
Razmund understood this straight away, as he was closing on Level 70 himself. But because of the differences in Paths and many other variables, there were distinct lines to understand something unfamiliar and not.
At least from his position, which was openly provocative, he understood his intentions. Luno was asking for it: HIT ME! COME ON, little sage!
Luno remained unmoving, even if seconds passed and his Space Waves remained around his palms like pieces of cloth that stressed him like the strangeling touch of a Titan. Razmund bet they did hurt, and not a little because he was still Level 70. The further one went after that point, the more potent the Laws became before fully consolidating when one hit the Extreme stage.
So Razmund walked forward, figuring that Luno waited for him, unlike him.
Stopping a few meters in front of him, Razmund kept his mana rising within his claymore, and his blood boiled with this mocking challenge. His Physique was reaching the state he desired. Floodgates will soon break. It was time to make a proper Dance.
He stopped himself and pushed mana onto his claymore like a small storm that no longer adhered to these lines. It became more savage but similar to before. He decided on the 3rd Dance.
Putting the claymore above his left shoulder with one hand, he picked its furthest physical edge with point and thumb finger. Flexing every fiber of his visible muscles, Razmund was going all out as he bent his claymore, flexed his feet and hips, and everything about his Physique screamed.
This Dance was extremely harsh and tense. Mana flared up all over the bent claymore, pressurizing, tensing up like a bowstring that was behind its curve. It was unnatural for a straight sword to bend like this.
Razmund looked forth and pushed the limits of this Dance while Luno watched him too, silent. He could've stopped him, but his pride stopped him.
Foolish. That was what Razmund was thinking, but he shouldn't complain.
Luno had a grin on his face, his aura turned thicker in his Space Waves that could crack apart at any moment, unleashing an attack that bent the Laws of Space.
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It was dangerous, but each of them saw the danger in the other. Razmund had used this Dance many times after killing Zao with it. It had some stages with various forces, required bend, and amount of mana placed on his Physique and claymore could turn this Dance into many forms. It could be unleashed in a flash, barely bent before, or it could take its time, bending even more to unleash terrific force.
1st, 2nd, and 3rd Dace were much more familiar to him after taking the toll of this Gate.
But their use could be much more efficient, if Combo of Potion was down his throat, or if his other technique acted along with them. Unleashing Flying Steps along with this much bent 3rd Dance was that, or Raging Bull too might help. It was a question if he could afford that.
Which he didn't.
Luno wouldn't allow that; so did Razmund's pockets.
Razmund figured that, but he knew his Folding powers. Awakened Mana, his claymore, and freely changing Dances were a deadly combo that meant success and absolute power to anyone briefly familiar with any Sword Sage powers. Forcing himself to Luno was possible. That could mean even someone close to Level 80 should feel some pressure from him, but that was already stretching the limit. Any more than that, and he would be asking for too much.
Understanding Laws would be a massive improvement and harvest of his dreams, second to catching Murai, of course.
No Will of the Battleworld and its Boosts were there for help. This was up to Razmund, as it was a comprehension problem that needed familiarity. No Boosts will teach him how to handle his Dances efficiently, swing his blades, or work around the Folding of his powers.
There were limits even what Boosts could grant, so it made sense that many techniques didn't require any Boosts. But they would certainly have higher difficulty in learning and mastering, which many beings were predisposed to.
Anyone was the seeker of this sort of success. And that was one of the many reasons why non-Blessed beings still had the potential to become extremely powerful, even if the ceiling was soaring high. It wasn't because of the Batleworld and its gifts alone. Blessed were subjected to them in powerful ways than them.
It was because of the talent, efforts, and sheer fucking Will. Those could crack many limits, but when Blessed and this sort of vision collided, it was another thing altogether. They moved along with that vision way too well, which made them very influential in the Battleworld.
All Blessed were stubborn and conceptually different beings because of their memories and past. Each was their own problem, but Razmund had his full attention on something else than caring for something that he couldn't care less about.
The tip of his claymore was getting ready for the release. It was just a question of when he should release it, but he saw how Luno was turning more and more impatient.
Using every fiber of his being, he was at the very edge of his Will, Physique, and touch of his claymore. Destiny Dice gleamed a little in a pink color, close to the raging currents around the claymore.
His bend had reached the threshold of curvature seconds ago, similar to mana that audibly screeched in its Sharpness, almost exploding and cutting onto his arms and shoulder. It was a good sign. So when Razmund was thinly crossing some line, he let go of everything, his mind included.
At that moment, Luno wanted to attack. There were around 6 meters between them, so Luno furrowed his brows, not understanding why Razmund didn't jump in his quick and flashy ways. He thought he would, so he focused a lot on his hands and steadiness of stance to figure out his pounce that didn't happen.
It was a crucial mistake.
Before he knew it, not so powerful, but incredibly sharp feeling arrived in his mind, before cutting into his flesh too. It was vague, like whispers of Mindarch.
A wild, yet so quick and savage vertical strike flickered through the air, cleaving what was before, or behind him, but not damaging the Space Cage of this Island. The sand didn't explode but split as if cut, parting away into two halves, as if the heavens were halved.
Quick, not powerful, but thin slash of utmost speed pushed unto Luno's palms, but something about it wasn't only physical. It cut into his spirit too, but more so to his whole body.
It wasn't about his stance any longer, nor the Waves he wanted to unleash. It ended up useless, as the cut moved past his stance, shuddering Luno as he realized what this was.
“Crap.. Intent? I haven't heard anything about that before!” He scowled, but it was too late to regret his choices or stance.
His defenses weren't overlapping his whole body, and soon enough, he felt the inevitable cut on his body. From the left shoulder, all the way to his right thigh, a crimson line appeared, cutting deep.
Luno flared his Space Waves, flickering its forms into the barebone defenses that he desired. It worked as the line hadn't moved to his arms because they had protections of his Space Waves. It made sense to expect something great from these new primary powers. Its quality and power were absolute, protecting his hands against the Sword Intent. Not an ordinary one, but one with a proper Sword Sage Dance behind.
But what was after the hands, wasn't under such protection.
The cut had just passed through the hands, continuing as if ignoring the premise of what were physical collisions and what wasn't. It still cut, moved, and severed where it could, no matter what Luno tried. At least his hands were safe.
He saw the dripping blood from the cut that wasn't too deep to reach his organs, but his veins were cut and so were the muscles and bones. It felt like a needle. It didn't hurt all that much. It felt like the split that arrived like a yawn. And not just in small manners, but it was as if he was butter.
Even a couple of his bones weren't spared. A bunch of ribs were halved, shoulder and hip were cut. They lost like the muscles, which meant his entire Physique lost against this cut.
Thankfully, his lungs were intact by luck or the Space Waves that flickered around his upper body from the hands, protecting what it could, albeit a little poorly.
It worked for what Luno hoped for. That was enough for him as he felt Razmund outstretched his latent talent, similar to how he did so himself not that long ago.
Lono was 34 old, and a lot older than this Blessed. Every year should be a huge disparity and advantage, yet surprises were everywhere.
Razmund exhaled a breath of velvety smoke, arriving at the stage he only hoped to achieve in a year.
Just now, he put his everything on the line. He didn't think. He just acted and succeeded, striking Luno with the Sword Intent; an intangible concept that was different from the Laws but not very distant either. It was something that only a master swordsman could use.
He did use it. Not willingly, but he did use it by pushing past his limits, or was it the accumulations of this Gate, his Will, or everything combined? Any Intent can change a lot of things and how someone could act. It wasn't about Will per se. The intent was an action, motion, or belief.
For swords, it was a spiritual and physical manifestation of what they carried. It was mostly about cuts, allowing some sword Laws to manifest much more smoothly.
Bolstering his back, Razmund lifted the claymore that rested on the ground. A meter-wide pathway was in front of him with split sand, revealing bricks underneath.
At the end of this path was still standing Luno, who appeared fine at first, as his Space Waves worked overtime, but the cut was deep, seeping into the spirit and the flesh. He was in rough shape of his failing stance, embarrassed that he couldn't even unleash his attack. Blood continued dripping away, cutting into the fuel of his Physique, before it crumbled and blood splattered from the single thin line.
“Want another one?” Razmund asked, obviously aware that he couldn't use this twice. Why not? Because he was out of his mind, shocked and surprised that he felt the Sword Intent. Perhaps it was just a stroke of luck that would soon disappear.
He didn't know how this affected him, but once felt, it should be easier next time. That was the common knowledge according to the Path Manual he held deep in his heart.
Luno shuddered, coughed, and put his hands down, patting his injuries and feeling his blood. “Nah. I will give you this one.”
That was a clear indication of what Mindarch waited for, even if a little begrudgingly.
[68th Island is completed. Acknowledgment of a Marshal loser was an unpredicted news.]
[How improper.]
[Tier: Satisfactory.]
[High Key granted.]
That was everything that Mindarch said, but a swirl of space later, a metallic key fell before Razmund's feet.
Hearing that, he took yet another breath, visibly calming down as he hoped. This exchange took just a couple of moves and neither was simple.
Luno ceased his aura too, and both men let their killing intents decline, even if they could keep up with it for longer.
This fight wasn't as normal as many others, simply because of the Sword Intent that Razmund hadn't counted on. He would never rely on something he hadn't used or felt once. Without it, he had no doubts that his 3rd Dance wouldn't cause such damage and shock Luno.
That was how things were, are, and will be amongst this damned Gate. All kinds of warriors, assassins, and beings, in general, moved in such ordeals. Carefully, some didn't want to spend their lives on something stupid. Most cherished their hopes, all hail to the Will of the Battleworld and the Gods that ruled this world.
“What about you?” Razmund asked Luno, furrowing his eyes in the process before picking up a Key.
“Nothing. Oh, don't you ever dare to die by the way. I won't live this down until we meet on a proper battlefield. I swear upon my name of Luno!” he shouted, ignoring the continuing flow of his blood from the cut.
Even that couldn't stop his personality. He appeared like a kid who found a good toy.
“Fucking liar. That is what you are.” Razmund said. “You lack some proper manners, if you ask me, but against that Intent, I shan't speak much myself. This is what you get in turn when you have such manners. This is... disappointing.”
“I wasn't allowed to go all out. Space Law is complicated, but its manifestations are what they are. Apologies. Your Intent hurt though. That is the reality. Rules are like shackles, you see. I would damage the Islands, while all invitations run on some rules and specifics. Sorry for that. Though, your face says otherwise. Heheh!” Luno laughed, pointing his hand right towards Razmund's face that he hit before. The swelling was still apparent, while blood was still around the corner of his mouth.
Without any stops of his fists, Luno was more than confident to completely eradicate his head from the face of the planet. It would just need a lot of care, as he was under some rules. It was a neat idea to go all out, but an act that would destroy more things in the process wasn't good.
This place was fairly ancient and properly ruled by a set of rules and watchful eyes. Even Extremes often fought here after all.
Luno had more to offer. That was the truth that Razmund understood. Which was why he hadn't hoped to kill him in the slightest. If he were close to that point, Luno would wipe the floor with him sooner rather than later, taking the rules for unnecessary shackles.
He had the power to do so. Reputation as well.
As disappointing as it wasn't, Razmund joked that he minded this. He won this by a sheer blunder and luck. That was all. Luno wasn't expecting that Intent. If he did, he would ready himself.
Razmund disregarded this for the time being since it was for the betterment of his mind. It wasn't the first, nor the last enemy who held back for some reason. That was just how things went, or how some actions moved behind the scenes.
And when two special parties moved at the same time, involving interesting subjects and figures, it had many implications. Trying to understand them wasn't within Razmund's mind. That wasn't his job to solve, force, and work through.
The most important worry was the forces of this temple. Not only Mindarch but its Overlords or Gods were problematic topics for the Surface. They didn't want to lose powerful members who had to be roughly balanced around Razmund, who was untamed in this regard, as he was the enemy of the Depths.
Anyone close to Razmund was a precious figure for any army, so most enemies he met were wild and feral beasts or undead at the end of their lifespan or some limits. Anyone further away from that was closing to Level 70. Those were all precious members, while even numbers around Level 60 were a force to reckon with in enough quantity.
At least in terms of demonic factions, this was the truth. The same went for Surface too, but those were a bit more complicated as such lands were much vaster and varied in races and politics. Power ruled the Depths of the Hells.
Razmund had a good grasp of both of these factions in the Somalis continent alone. And this Luno before him was no demon. He was a human, but a human that served a demonic God.
Luno didn't hate this loss. It was a fairly respectable fight, so he couldn't be angry or cheerful about this loss.
Razmund knew it, so he secured his claymore to his pouch. “You are a damned demon. So no. I am the lucky one here. Let's meet again if Fate wills it. Farewell.” Razmund said, and before walking to the bridges that revealed themselves, Lint floated into the arena.
“Oh!? He is alive! What the hell happened here?” Lint lied. “Who do we have here?”
“LINT!? My guy, what's up!?” Luno shouted, noticing a friend on the way. He ignored his bloody appearance, leaping toward the half-skeleton. Luno collapsed to the ground just before him, facing the sand as the blood loss took its toll.
“Uh?” Lint looked at the unconscious Luno. He looked at Razmund, who was also somewhat beaten, but he knew what happened here, so he wasn't in the mood to be a chatty Guide. Razmund was in no shape for that either.
“This is ridiculous. Did he hold back this much?” Lint asked a thoughtful question.
“Who knows? Ask him yourself. Oh, wait... That's too bad.” Razmund sneered, tossed his Destiny Dice after unwrapping it free, and hoped to continue at this pace.
A new path was soon before him, so any argument was lost cause.
Ignoring Lint and his face, Razmund returned to his journey, while securing the High Key to one of his pouches. This fight didn't even take that long, but it could've taken much more effort.
Using overpowering tactics to crack the opponent apart was the perfect idea to quickly progress through the Islands.
But any mistake in being brutal and caring about consequences had steep prices hiding behind it. Razmund's lack of resources was that. As he was doing this tactic, the use of his Dances on every Island became more frequent and clearer. It was fairly tiring, and while this tactic wasn't fatal, it had its weaknesses and advantages.
Perhaps, if Razmud had kept up this pace, he would have reached his goal faster, but there was a catch.
The time wasn't in his grasp.
***
Hours soon passed with fights and some struggles. Razmund reached Island 80 with hardly any rest.
While Murai was already closing upon the 99th Island. Just this one, and the next one, and he was free to go out of this Gate, or so he thought. This journey had no shortcuts, but some information was withheld from him.
Unsurprisingly, he couldn't regret what he didn't know. He was happy in his blissful ignorance, albeit tired after the intense fights in the Endling Isles. His essence gathering continued; his time in this Gate was closing to its end.
Every Isle took roughly an hour to finish; resting longer, so he had no regrets behind him.
He forgot about the suffering, pain, and sheer effort that he put into the first half of this Gate, or time before the 89th Island.
He put them behind his head long ago, focusing on what mattered instead, which were the diabolical difficult Ending Isles that made prior Islands like walk in a park.
Calming down through suffering was something he had done in many of his lives. Focus, confidence, or stubbornly forgetting his chaos were other choices. Those were great factors to not get swallowed by his Cursed Living.
They were the usual hopes. A lot of beings had them, so he wasn't lying to himself. Usually. This life was showing something unique to him, and he wasn't willing to be miserable all the time.
Strange as it may be, by going this far into this temple, this life was showing him things that he never thought a duck would be like.
It caged the life of that damned pebble or a leaf, as it had some insanity, wildness, vigor, and vividness. Those weren't the usual miseries! It might be weird, but his wings were showing some opportunities besides flight, his core was still hard to handle, yet his sturdy soul was unshakable, providing benefits that he wasn't even aware of.
It was making his life less miserable, so that may be why he wasn't cursing like a wild clueless duck without the ability to change it.
He cursed at things that he couldn't change. Those were the situation surrounding him, rather than what was within him.