Unaware of Freya's group "spectating," the boy in the clearing fought on.
Every fragment of body and mind was locked into survival. In a dead end like this, he couldn't afford even a sliver of carelessness—one mistake meant death.
His breathing was heavy, yet steady. Pain stabbed at his brain, forcing him to keep thinking with an icy clarity.
There's no retreat left. Only a fight to the death… If I show even a hint of fear, they'll seize the opening.
Me—a transmigrator—reduced to this pathetic, dying struggle… What a disgrace.
He tightened his grip on the hilt, eyes tracking the gray wolves circling from different angles.
Qianshuo—that was his name. And as for how many years it had been since he arrived in this world… he'd already forgotten.
When he first crossed over, he'd nearly become a wild beast's meal. An old hunter had saved him, taken him in, and taught him what little he could.
The "swordsmanship" Qianshuo used now came from that man—basic fundamentals, so crude they barely even qualified as "techniques."
But perhaps it was the so-called perk of being a transmigrator: Qianshuo possessed an almost unfair talent for the sword. He threw himself into the Way of the Blade, grasping insights far deeper than he should have been able to at his age.
And he truly loved it. Whenever he had time, he honed himself—over and over—tempering his skill like steel on a whetstone.
After the old hunter died, his final words were simple: go chase your ideal; seek the sword-path in your heart.
Before the grave, Qianshuo swore an oath.
He would become the world's number one great swordsman—the strongest swordsman alive—and he would never betray that expectation.
Then he left the Far East. He became a drifting leaf, roaming the continent in search of stronger sword arts.
But this time was different.
The "beasts" he'd encountered were far more terrifying than anything before. These gray wolves were larger than normal wolves by far, and their speed, awareness—everything—was beyond an ordinary pack.
This wasn't a gap sword-skill could bridge.
It was a brutal difference in raw stats: stamina, speed, size.
Qianshuo had forced himself past the edge just to kill one. The price was the long, raked wound across his front—proof of how vicious the fight had been.
He couldn't even remember how many times he'd faced death on this journey.
Today he might become monster feed.
Or he might rot as a corpse in the wilderness.
This was a killing board—sealed.
An ordinary person would already be shaking so hard they could barely hold a weapon.
Did he regret it?
If he'd listened to the old man, stayed in that peaceful village, taken a wife, raised children… maybe he could've lived quietly to the end.
Death was frightening.
But he didn't regret it.
From the moment he stepped onto this path, he'd already accepted that he might die.
If he was going to die, he would die after exhausting everything and cutting his final strike—rather than leaving like a coward, trembling in fear.
It was ambition toward this vast world.
And… an absolute hunger for the pinnacle of swordsmanship.
Besides—
Run?
Against monsters with stamina far beyond his own, fleeing was the stupidest choice. Only a fight to the death could buy even a thin chance of life.
Qianshuo leaned forward slightly, left leg leading, right leg back—his most familiar draw stance, the posture that was simultaneously his last offense and last defense.
"Not choosing to run… a wise decision."
A flicker of something passed through Hedin's eyes as he nodded in approval.
Qianshuo's calm under pressure, the aura of someone prepared to die, and the decisions born from cold reasoning—these proved he wasn't an idiot.
The others remained silent; clearly, they shared Hedin's view.
Freya's lips curved faintly. She watched with mild interest.
Her evaluation hadn't changed. The boy's will to struggle and his clear head were commendable—
But in the end, his soul was still turbid. That was Freya's judgment, and it crushed the small spark of expectation she'd briefly allowed herself.
A child this ordinary wasn't even worth saving in her eyes.
Killing a wolf and showing a cool head didn't make him "special."
After all, the people beside her were the world's top-tier prodigies. Compared to them, this boy couldn't possibly enter her sight.
Still—since she'd stumbled onto it—Freya decided to enjoy the "dying struggle" as entertainment.
And as the "ticket price" for the show, she would pull him from the monsters' jaws.
As for whether he could leave this forest alive afterward… that would be up to his luck.
At that moment, fangs flashed.
A deafening roar split the air as a swift shadow lunged straight at Qianshuo.
Clang!
His draw-stance defensive slash met the wolf's claw. Steel bit into flesh, carving a wound deep enough to show bone. The beast howled—yet instead of retreating, the alpha's frenzy only intensified.
Then—on his left—a second wolf seized the opening.
Fast as lightning, it darted behind him, jaws snapping toward the back of his neck.
Qianshuo swung to block—
But the earlier fight had drained him too far.
He was half a beat slow.
The fangs were stopped, but the follow-up claw tore through the air—and tore into his chest again. A headlong slam sent his body flying.
He rolled several times before forcing himself up with the tachi. His vision was blurring; the blade was slick with both his blood and the monsters'.
No road above.
No door below.
Qianshuo understood the dead end perfectly—yet there was no fear in his eyes. He still raised his hand into the draw stance.
In his mind, he replayed sword drills he'd practiced countless times. His fingers crushed the hilt, knuckles whitening.
Blood and saliva poured from his mouth.
In those pupils already starting to lose focus, the last spark of something called "reason" was fading—
replaced by an emptiness so gray it made the heart seize.
Am I really… going to die here?
But I'm not satisfied—at all!
His gaze turned absolute.
His heart trembled.
The will to live and the "intent" at the core of his being—at that instant—overlapped perfectly.
He didn't want to die.
He didn't want to lose.
His sword-path could not end here!
With the eruption of that will, a fierce wind—no one knew when it began—howled around him.
"So this is where it ends."
Freya shook her head lightly, a trace of disappointment in her voice.
She could already tell—the boy's stamina had reached its limit.
Even if that turbid soul burned with a tiny flame of survival, it would still end in darkness, destined for mediocrity.
"Hegni."
Freya called softly.
"Understood."
Hegni knew her meaning. He stepped forward, preparing to eliminate the three gray wolves hemming Qianshuo in—
But as Freya turned to leave, her peripheral vision caught Qianshuo for one last instant.
Her body froze.
The sudden pause made everyone behind her blink in confusion. Hegni's raised hand stopped in midair.
"Lady Freya?"
Hedin asked quietly.
And now—Freya's eyes, bright as stars, were locked onto the boy. A strange light crossed her face, and then unmistakable surprise surfaced.
In her vision—
the "fixed" color of that boy's soul… was changing.
A pulse—impossible to describe—exploded from the depths of Qianshuo's spirit.
Even Freya couldn't put that radiance into words. It was a color she had never once seen.
And what it offered her wasn't just "sight."
It was a sharpness, unprecedented—so keen that, in the instant she observed his soul, it felt as though a sword edge had stabbed straight at her brow.
"…Seems I misjudged you."
Freya let out a low laugh, her tone brimming with playful delight.
"Hm?"
None of them understood what she meant.
At the same time, Qianshuo felt a power ignite from within his soul, surging violently through his body.
A purer power.
More savage.
More decisive.
A power that compressed—down to the absolute limit—his life, his will, his everything!
His pupils contracted.
He could feel it clearly: his body was undergoing a world-shaking transformation.
Speed.
Strength.
Reflexes.
Even his five senses—
all of them were skyrocketing in a way that defied reason.
Dense azure-blue flames erupted around him—not from outside, but from his pores, from his bones, from the deepest layer of his soul—spewing out in a mad torrent.
In that moment, Qianshuo felt as if he possessed the power to cut through anything.
"Ittou Shura!"
That once-turbid soul now flashed with the cold radiance of countless condensed sword-energies—a luster Freya had never seen before.
Even Ottar, the strongest among them, couldn't help but be moved.
"This child… is burning his life away?"
Everyone present was Level 6 or above. One glance told them how abnormal this power was.
And yet—
he had no divine blessing.
Still, in a dead end, he unleashed this kind of force.
It was unprecedented.
Qianshuo moved—taking the opening motion of a draw slash.
"Secret Sword — All-Realms Severance!"
A swordlight brighter than anything before—paired with a body-speed that ripped open the air—swarmed toward the three gray wolves.
There was no clang of metal.
No beastly howl.
Not even the sound of blood spraying.
In the instant the swordlight passed, the three wolves were cut cleanly into halves. The cross-sections were smooth as mirrors—so perfect that not a single drop of blood splashed out.
Then the pain hit.
The blue flames around Qianshuo scattered. His body swayed like a dead leaf in the wind.
A horrific backlash flooded him in a single wave.
The power of Ittou Shura far exceeded what his body could endure. His meridians tore open in dozens of places. It felt like his entire being had been hollowed out.
Freya watched, her smile dangerously enchanting—eyes filled with appreciation and astonishment.
She never imagined that a boy whose soul had been "turbid" could, in mere minutes, accomplish ascension.
Soul ascension.
A miracle.
The first miracle Freya had ever witnessed with her own eyes.
Something even rarer than the great deeds adventurers carved into history.
At this moment, the way she looked at Qianshuo was no longer like she was watching entertainment.
It was the gaze of someone appraising an incomparable treasure.
Ottar, Hedin, the others—all of them were quietly stunned. No one expected the boy to reach this point.
A miracle.
An unquestionable miracle.
Smiling brightly, Freya turned away, her expression full of satisfaction and delight at this "viewing."
She hadn't expected a harvest like this on the road back to Orario.
Could this child… be the one I've been waiting for?
"Ottar. Bring him back."
"I want him to become my… child. (…Odr.)"
-------
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