Water Magician

Editor: Tseirp

Meanwhile, what was happening between Abel and Oranj?

“For a human, you’re quite skilled, Your Majesty. Call me surprised.”

“I won’t lose to a mere minion, when it’s not even the Djinn itself.”

“No, you’re underestimating me…”

Oranj frowned at Abel’s somewhat declaration of determination.

From Oranj’s perspective, while Abel was indeed a strong swordsman, if it came down to who would win, it was 100% him.

Even if the heavens and the earth were overturned, the outcome wouldn’t change.

But…

Looking into Abel’s eyes, Oranj couldn’t shake the feeling.

Those eyes were familiar.

The eyes of the man who once fought against his lord, Garwin…

(They’re the same eyes as Richard’s. He too, despite being repelled by Garwin-sama numerous times, continued to fight…)

To Oranj, who had watched from the sidelines, it wasn’t an unpleasant sight.

Richard, who never gave up.

Garwin, who fought with a smile on his face.

It wasn’t a mocking smile.

But a genuine one…

A laugh that seemed to well up from the depths of his heart…

Honestly, Oranj thought. How envious.

To be able to fight someone with a smile that comes from the depths of their heart.

Even if you lived for thousands of years, such experiences were rare.

Recently, he felt something similar when facing the water-attribute magicians in the city of Hafrena.

But, it was too short-lived!

Now, what about the man in front of him?

Possibly.

It made Oranj wonder.

Perhaps…?

(Is this…? Could it be? Maybe it’ll become clearer if we fight a little bit more?)

Oranj was a little surprised by the feeling that welled up from the depths of his heart.

The man standing before him, who kept coming at him time and time again…

He had potential.

He wanted to keep fighting.

He wanted to keep clashing swords.

More, more, and more!

“Oranj, what are you doing fooling around?”

Oranj’s thoughts were interrupted by a woman’s voice from the side.

“Isolde, don’t interfere.”

It was a surprisingly stern voice from Oranj himself.

It was filled with displeasure.

“Garwin-sama said to finish that man off quickly.”

“I’m just getting to the good part. So just stay quiet and watch.”

Ignoring Isolde’s words, Oranj deliberately didn’t respond directly.

He wouldn’t disobey Garwin’s orders.

But, right now, was really the best moment… and he didn’t want anyone to interrupt it.

That was Oranj’s honest feeling.

Abel understood that he was at a significant disadvantage.

The sword wielded by the minion in front of him called Oranj was unlike any sword Abel had ever seen.

It was different from his master’s sword, different from the sword wielded by the Demon Prince on the 40th floor of the dungeon.

Of course, it was also different from Ryo’s, the strongest magician Abel knew… even though he had only seen a few of his serious strikes.

But Abel understood that Oranj’s sword had undergone an extensive process to reach its current form.

It wasn’t just some superficial technique.

It wasn’t reliant on talent or ability.

If it were, he wouldn’t feel this despair.

It was the sword of someone who had devoted themselves entirely to the sword even more than Abel.

Such a sword was strong.

Of course.

And terrifyingly, the man before him was a minion of a Djinn.

Which meant…

He surpassed Abel in strength, speed, and skill.

Likely even in endurance…

How could one possibly defeat such an opponent?

The answer was clear.

‘You can’t’.

Of course.

The path of the sword wasn’t so easy.

That’s why everyone trained, honed their strength, speed, and skills.

To win.

It was impossible to defeat an opponent who surpassed in all those areas.

He knew that.

He knew that.

He knew that…but…

‘No! I won’t accept it! ’

For some reason, Abel heard the voice of the Premier Duke, who shouldn’t be there.

Since their connection was severed, it was undoubtedly an auditory hallucination.

‘Abel, there are still things you must do! You want to leave Noah fatherless? Or leave Rihya by herself? Or perhaps abandon the people…who crowned you king? No. I for one, won’t allow it!’

(Oh…. Those words he said on my sickbed. If we can’t defeat the Djinn here, Noah, Rihya, and the people…won’t survive. Ryo sure always asks for the impossible.)

Abel smiled faintly.

That smile brought a change to Abel’s sword.

His tension was released.

Perhaps that was all that happened.

The unnecessary force he used was relaxed. That was all… but…

The speed of his sword increased.

Gripping firmly at the moment of impact, and releasing the rest of the force… perhaps that’s why the power also increased.

And maybe because his field of vision widened… he could understand Oranj’s sword and movements even better than before.

All from just releasing tension.

In every sport, there’s a reason for repetitive practice.

It’s to optimize one’s body… some would say.

As optimization progresses, what happens?

Movements that were awkward at first become smooth.

Moves that were thought out every time become almost reflexive.

It’s about focusing energy intensely where it’s needed and releasing where it’s not….

In a sense, it’s about reducing unnecessary force.

Of course, Abel isn’t wielding his sword with those things in mind.

He’s just wielding it to win.

But by smiling a little and relaxing, unnecessary force was reduced…his field of vision expanded, and his thoughts became clearer.

“Not bad.”

Abel murmured.

At the same time, he was thinking inwardly.

(This minion…from his downward strike to his sideways cut and upward slice, the coordination is impressive…)

Abel realized the remarkably high probability of combination and connection within the high-speed barrage.

And all of this was thanks to the smile Ryo had brought to his face…

The fact that the king’s sword in front of him had changed was something Oranj had also perceived, of course.

(Sure enough, his sword speed has increased…. And, his body’s movement has become more agile! Did he just grow suddenly? No, that can’t be it. So what in the world…?)

Recalling the events from a little while ago, Oranj realized.

(He smiled just a bit…ever since then, I guess.)

Orange understood that Abel had grown stronger once he reduced the unnecessary tension he had, not only increasing the speed of his sword but also making his body’s movements smoother and faster.

Oranj was a sword-maniac minion.

Rather, one might even say he was a being possessed by the sword.

He had spent countless years pursuing how to win with the sword…

How to channel strength.

How to increase speed.

And how to hone his skills.

Countless years that a human cannot live…

If one were to spend that much time mastering the sword, it was only natural that one would become stronger.

That’s why he was strong.

But surprisingly, the swordsman before him was trying to catch up to Oranj, who had spent hundreds or perhaps even thousands of years in pursuit of the sword, in this moment.

(This is absurd…)

That’s right, such a thing was impossible.

Mastering the sword was not something so simple.

Even if one were to be a genius, no matter how much talent one had…it takes time to train.

(What the hell is going on?)

Oranj was skeptical.

While suspicious and finding it strange…deep down, he didn’t really care about the reason.

Because Abel had become stronger than before…

(This is interesting!)

A smile inadvertently escaped him.

Isolde, who was watching from the sidelines, was the first to notice the reason for Abel’s transformation.

Of course, it was because Garwin had pointed out something about Abel’s sword.

(That magic sword, it used to only glow red, but now white light has mixed in.)

Yes, the way Abel’s beloved sword shone had changed.

Although it was unclear what exactly had changed.

Isolde felt that it was for a reason…she was almost certain of it.

(That’s why I told him! To hurry up and finish him off!)

Isolde muttered curses in her mind as she clenched her fists.

And yet, Oranj told her not to interfere…

(Should I intervene?)

Honestly, she couldn’t decide.

They weren’t evenly matched yet…Oranj was still superior.

But…she didn’t know what might happen.

As Isolde remained motionless, she watched what happened next.

Oranj’s rapid flurry of attacks.

Although it was called a flurry of attacks, there were tens, hundreds of combinations, making it impossible for the opponent to predict.

Or so it should have been…

Oranj’s downward strike followed by a 45-degree upward cut, just before hitting the ground…

Abel widened his stance, bent further forward, and slipped under the sword about to be raised…

With a single stroke, he cut off Oranj’s wrists and then decapitated him with the returning sword.

“What…?”

Isolde couldn’t continue her words.

She understood what had happened.

King Abel had read it. Oranj’s coordinated techniques.

The connection between certain techniques embedded within the flurry of attacks.

The 45-degree upward swing from the downward strike.

Of course, it wouldn’t happen every time.

The downward strike of the sword was a common move.

But Abel must have found some habit to connect it to the 45-degree upward swing…or perhaps he made predictions based on more intricate details…

Either way, by ‘reading’ it, he turned the tide in an instant.

But Isolde knew it wasn’t just Abel’s strength.

When Abel severed Oranj’s hands and beheaded him, the sword gleamed sharply.

Whether it was Abel’s movement or determination…the sword responded to something…

“No…”

Abel’s breath was too ragged.

Finally, he thrust the sword into the ground and leaned on it like a staff to support himself.

It was clearly not just the result of swordplay.

“He entrusted himself to the sword…? He forcibly drew out the sword’s power.”

Of course, the sword must have acknowledged him to some extent.

But not completely.

The sword didn’t fully recognize him.

So he offered his energy…or perhaps his magic power…and momentarily drew out the power of the sword…

“I see… truly worthy of being Richard’s descendant.”

Isolde muttered with a frown on her face.

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