A gentle breeze rustled tall grass under a golden sky.
Victor was just a boy again—laughing, wooden sword in hand. His father stood beside him, correcting his grip, guiding his stance.
"Keep your shoulders square," his father said with a soft chuckle.
In the distance, his mother sat on a blanket beneath the shade of a tree, watching them with a warm smile, eyes full of pride and peace.
The world was simple then.
Whole.
Safe.
And then the scene shifts to a carriage at night.
Victor, still a child, clung to his mother as monstrous beasts burst from the forest. His father fought valiantly—he was no legend, but a mid-class sword adept with experience. He held them off as best as he could.
But it wasn't enough.
somehow one monstrous beast managed to slip passed the defensive line and made it's way to the carriage. Maybe it was just too dark that they didn't noticed it.
As the beast tore and broke the door of the carriage and made it's way inside, in a desperate attempt to protect her child, Victor's mother threw him out of the window from the other side hoping that he'd survive.
Victor remembered his mother's scream.
The sound of tearing flesh as blood splattered all around the carriage, to the ceiling, the floor, and even through the window, before his father could react, it was already too late.
The sight of his mother's dead corps beside the decapitated dead beast.
The smell of blood, the lifeless body, and the fear of loosing someone.
The helplessness.
The rage.
And then—something had ignited in him that night. Something more than grief.
The will to survive. The need to protect. The vow to never be powerless again.
Victor's eyes snapped open.
The world rushed back—sound, color, pain—but also something else.
Power.
From deep within, something surged.
A force that cracked through every nerve in his body. His blood boiled. His muscles tightened. His aura ignited like wildfire, blasting outward with a shockwave that shook the ground.
The demon had just raised his claw, beginning to count:
"One... two... th—"
And then Victor moved.
Faster than before. Stronger than before.
Something inside him had awoken.
Something that shattered human limits.
Adrenaline surged through his veins, but this wasn't just instinct.
It was fury. Purpose. Awakening.
In a blur of motion, Victor vanished from sight.
CRACK—!
His fist slammed into the demon's face with inhuman speed and force, sending the creature flying backwards. The ground tore open beneath the demon's path, a deep trench scorched into the earth as he tumbled, body skipping like a stone across water.
Victor stepped forward, unfazed.
He drew his sword—now stained and weathered from battle—and slowly raised it before him.
Crimson light began to gather around the blade.
Thick. Heavy. Furious.
The aura blazed like a living flame, coating the weapon in a bright red hue. What was once a battle-worn sword now looked as though it had just been forged—polished, razor-sharp, reborn in the heart of fire and blood.
The demon rose to his feet, snarling, dirt and blood caked across his body.
But Victor was already in position—both hands gripping his sword, eyes locked in, posture rigid.
And then—he moved.
In a blink, the distance between them vanished.
A single, devastating slash ripped through the air—and through the demon.
SHING—!
The demon froze mid-motion, eyes wide.
His lower half fell to the ground with a heavy thud, cleaved cleanly from his torso.
He hovered in the air, half a body, already beginning to regenerate, snarling in disbelief.
"You... damn—"
Before he could react, Victor shifted again.
This time, into a stance no one had ever seen before.
It wasn't from any sword manual. It defied technique. It broke form.
And yet—it radiated death.
Stillness swept the battlefield.
Then—
WHOOSH—
Victor vanished again.
In an instant, he unleashed it.
Hundred Death Slash.
A storm of blades exploded into the sky, too fast to follow—too many to count.
The demon floated there, silent... until he raised a hand.
And that's when it happened.
His hand crumbled into pieces—perfect, cube-like fragments tumbling through the air like shattered glass.
Then the rest of him followed.
One by one, his body broke apart—sliced into a hundred precise pieces.
Frozen in disbelief, the First Demon Corps Commander—the strongest among them—was reduced to nothing more than drifting fragments of flesh and cloth.
Silence.
Then wind.
Then... nothing.
The last piece of the demon's body crumbled to ash, carried off by the wind.
Victor stood at the center of the battlefield, his sword still in hand, blade still glowing faintly with crimson light. But his body—
His body had long passed its limit.
Blood poured from his side. His breaths came shallow. The light in his eyes flickered.
He had pushed himself beyond what any human was meant to endure.
Muscle torn. Bones cracked. Veins scorched by the sheer force of energy he had unleashed.
Even for a Sword Saint—even for him—there was a threshold. And he had broken it.
Not bent it. Not brushed against it.
Shattered it.
He had torn free of the restraints that held mortals together—mind, body, and soul unchained for a single moment of impossible power.
And now... the price was being paid.
Victor sank to one knee.
The world around him began to blur again, but this time, it wasn't from pain—it was peace.
He looked up at the sky, the clouds clearing from his final strike. For a moment, he saw not battle—but blue. Endless blue.
And he smiled.
Because in that instant, just before the end, he felt it.
Something far beyond the pinnacle of swordsmanship. A far more greater power.
And as he close his eyes, and took one last breath. He uttered a single word.
Amazing.