The sword in Margrethe’s hand was black and cast out of some unknown metal. There was no design on this sword, and it seemed especially coarse and rough, not smooth at the slightest. Were it not for Ovid’s unique understanding of the sword path, he would have assumed it to be some form of an extremely blunt weapon, such as a club. this was because the sword did not have an edge.
Even then, the blade lacked any distinguishing characteristics, and the mana surrounding it did not fluctuate at all, just like a completely ordinary sword. Only, it was very broad and long, thick and black, causing the sword to appear… extremely heavy, unliftable by even the strongest man.
Margrethe was not a man, she was a woman. More importantly, she was a phoenix and held unnatural strength and speed that even saints would find difficulty rivalling.
The sword had appeared in her right hand inclined downwards, her slender fingers holding it very easily. Her posture holding it seemed extremely comfortable, so comfortable that it seemed as if the sword was tailored for her.
This was because, although the sword hilt was just like its body, in that it was very heavy, thick and crude, and certainly possessed unthinkable weight, there was also something attached to the blade in Margrethe’s hand.
The ‘thing’ attached to the sword heed the command of Margrethe and even increased her already incredible strength. The ‘thing’ was sword intent.
The only thing in the world able to match one sword intent was another sword intent. The sword in Ovid’s hand felt the existence of a matching sword intent with itself and expressed a desire to compete with Margrethe’s blade. Ovid was a little hesitant, for although he had exceptional perception and was a half-saint, he could not fully perceive the nature of the sword intent in Margrethe’s hand. He could only clearly see that the intent was just like the sword itself, incomparably heavy.
Margrethe brandished the metal sword and chopped down at Ovid’s forehead with a speed impossible for such a crude sword.
If it was at any other time, whether before he had become a half-saint or even moments ago, Ovid would find it very difficult to receive this strike. No matter how reinforced his body was, or how pure and powerful his sword intent, compared to this heavy and tyrannical sword intent that came from this sword, he was still much weaker. However, at this moment, his mind was completely empty, lacking a single thought. He, thought any thought, swung at Cai Hua’s sword.
The feeling once again appeared in his heart, changing into his instincts. Ovid did not require any thought to follow this feeling.
This feeling was so simple to him, yet so mysterious and indescribable at the same time.
With a loud clang similar to the bells used by the clergy, several deep cracks parted the soil beneath Ovid’s feet.
That extremely heavy sword had been blocked by the pig iron sword in his hand.
Before could she even fully utilise the techniques that complimented the sword, it had already been stopped by his second-rate sword.
The sword intent extended from the edge of the sword. It was innumerably long and illuminated the plains outside the city.
Margrethe’s white wings retracted over her body, shielding the blow. With a painful cry, she retreated backwards with an even swifter than previously. Her sword feet landed in an undisturbed spot of the plain, and cracks in the earth started to appear there as well.
However, she did not stop there. The sword intent directly pierced through her pair of wind and shot towards her forehead.
With a flap of the two wings that blew away the soil, Margrethe leapt and landed before the city gate.
However, that was still not enough.
She leapt up once more, retreating rapidly into the now empty streets of the city.
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It was still not enough.
As Ovid had done previously, she needed to constantly retreat.
The only sound was the smashing of stone and mortar.
Her body was like demolition tools. It destroyed every building touched, leaving behind only rubble. Only after she had travelled to the other side of the city did she finally stop.
Silence.
The grey clouds that loomed over the sky had begun to rain once more, soaking into the dirty streets of the city. The entire city and its surrounding became drenched, from the faraway forest to the farms nearby.
Margrethe supported herself with great difficulty and wiped away the blood from the corner of her lips. She looked through the countless buildings at the metal sword in Ovid’s hand and was shocked to a degree. Did she wonder how this sword possesses such power to oppose the terrifying weight and thunderous power of her sword? Even if Cai Hua placed all his sword intent into it, it cannot be this strong, right?
It must be known that the sword in her hand had legendary renown. It was called the Vuori.
Countless years ago, in one of Margrethe’s first incarnations, she had descended into an active volcano and reached its’ deepest depth. Under such pressure, iron did not melt under the heat of the volcano but had rather condensed into a concentrated cube. This metal was different from any metal from the surface of the sword. It was extremely heavy, extremely dense, extremely strong and extremely tough… it had even absorbed a portion of the natural world’s will. As long as one can wield it, it was the best metal for making a sword. In the end, that incarnation of Margrethe smelted it down to make one sword.
This was naturally the sword currently held in Margrethe’s hand.
It was heavy as a mountain, so it was simply called ‘mountain’ in another language by Margrethe’s previous incarnation.
The core of the Earth in Ovid’s world was already incredibly dense. This world was even larger than the blue planet, and furthermore blessed by the natural world - so it was one of, if not the heaviest and terrifying sword in existence.
Margrethe’s previous incarnations were all well known throughout history, and so was her sword. Over the millions of years this world had existed for, who know how many experts and famous people had been crushed under its’ weight. They say clothing makes the man, but for Margrethe, the sword makes the woman.
Only she, the creator of this weapon can utilise the entirety of its power. And only this brutal and blunt sword can match the strength of its’ creator. The sword and Margrethe were made for each other because they were from the very beginning. It could even be stated that aside from her true form, the sword was the most critical for her and the previous incarnations to have collectively lived for so many years.
In the incarnation of her before this life, she had even clashed with famous figures such as Gael and Glafx, fighting them to a standstill. She was the ruler of the wilder parts of the Aeon forest, and one of the few saints to have existed on this continent. In the end… she had challenged Alexander and suffered greatly in the fight, all her previous feathers being plucked in the process. Fortunately, her countless lives did not end there, for Alexander had humiliatingly spared her, using the proud saint as a stool for many years. After she was spared, she no longer could bear living and immediately began the process for her next reincarnation.
Margrethe did not inherit this humiliating memory, however, she did inherit this sword. But she did come to possess into this life was something she had lost after suffering defeat in the hands of Alexander.
After her humiliation, her previous incarnation had lost her iconic proud and overbearing personality, but now, like a fresh piece of paper, she had regained her this attitude, perhaps becoming the most arrogant incarnation of her lives yet.
The sword Vuori had a likewise proud and overbearing nature, the sword intent raising and falling with its’ owner. Since Margrethe was the proudest incarnation to this point, the sword was the strongest it had ever been.
Because she knew this fact, her eyes were filled with anger and confusion.
Countless buildings separated Ovid from her, so he did not realise he had garnered such emotions from Margrethe.
Ovid looked at Cai Hua’s sword in his hand and felt the extremely powerful sword intent coursing through his body. He was not certain what emotions he should be feeling at this moment.
If he truly wanted to understand this sword intent, he should not actually be looking at the sword at this moment, for it was only a projection of Cai Hua’s will.
Cai Hua’s will wanted to help Ovid.
He raised his head at the rows of buildings as if staring at Margrethe. He used a communication technique he had learnt from Cai Hua and transmitted his thought through the curtains of rain.
“I think there is no point in fighting anymore.”
Runoff gathered on the roof of the building Margrethe was standing beneath splashed on her figure. It soaked her red hair and seeped into her clothing, causing her to seem rather miserable. With her confused expression, she seemed so pitiful, like a child waiting for her parents to arrive in an abandoned house for several days. However, her voice when shouting was furious and passionate, for what Ovid said was extremely arrogant in her eyes.
“This sword intent isn’t yours at all, don’t get cocky! Even if I’m defeated it wouldn’t be by your hands!”
Ovid immediately responded, “I’m not being arrogant.”
Margrethe furiously returned, “What rubbish!”
Margrethe viewed Ovid borrowing Cai Hua’s sword intent as an extremely disgusting act. To naturally achieve such a sharp sword intent required the genius of geniuses to pursue wholeheartedly on the sword path for hundreds of years. But it was given to Ovid, this person who had not even reached the age of twenty by Cai Hua.
The most indignant matter was that this sword intent was even able to make up for the huge difference in their strength.
“Yes, this is my teacher’s sword intent.” Ovid turned his gaze North toward the peak Cai Hua and Li Zhan rested at, then looked at the city. He said, “But mother had told me that it doesn’t matter if the cat is white or black. As long as it can catch sparrows, it’s a good cat.”
Margrethe said, “Don’t you feel disgusted holding that man’s weapon and using his sword intent?”
Ovid peered deeply into the city and repeated his previous statement.
Juliana’s inhabitants had all exacuated, so the city was silent.
Now than Margrethe, the only soul who was talkative in a dozen miles had fallen into a state of shocked silence, the city entered a state of complete stillness.
Margrethe did not except Ovid to be so shameless, at least by her standards. Her mind stunningly came to the only conclusion she could accept for a woman to accept Cai Hua’s sword intent into their body.
“Were you actually a guy?”