Chapter 1236 Confessions of A Swordsman
Chapter 1236 Confessions of A Swordsman
In the icy cavern that held Diana captive, Arthur waited alone, the echoes of the earlier conflict with the assassins from the Berilo Kingdom lingering in the cold air. As he watched the minutes tick by, the reality of the security breach weighed on him; the ease with which his foes had entered Runera troubled him deeply, hinting at vulnerabilities he hadn't anticipated.
The frost-laden walls of the cavern seemed to amplify the silence, a stark contrast to the chaos that had erupted earlier. Arthur's mind replayed the skirmish, his strategic defenses unraveling with each memory. He knew that Runera's security protocols needed a severe overhaul—how could his enemies infiltrate so deep without prior detection? This lapse pointed to either a betrayal within or a serious underestimation of his adversaries' capabilities.
As midnight approached—the hour when he would finally break Diana's icy prison—Arthur was gripped by a mixture of anticipation and dread. His heart raced at the thought of seeing Diana again, yet the weight of his recent choices, the confrontation with Miko, and the implications of his plan to merge the worlds lay heavy on his soul.
Lost in his thoughts, Arthur almost didn't notice the soft footfalls that disrupted the cavern's silence. His hand instinctively reached for his dagger, Nightmare, as he turned to face the newcomer. The figure stepped into the dim light, revealing himself to be Yurirl, the Divine Swordsman whom Arthur had encountered many times before—first as a comrade in the Tournament of Runes Apprentices' Cup, then as a classmate in Jerano, and lastly on the battlefield of Runera only a month ago.
Yurirl's face was shadowed, his expression unreadable, but the sword of light he carried glinted ominously. "Arthur," Yurirl began, his voice echoing slightly off the cavern walls, "I've always found you to be an interesting man, but even the best of men can wander down the wrong path."
The betrayal in Yurirl's tone stung Arthur. He had expected resistance from many quarters, but not from Yurirl, whom he considered a kindred spirit. "Yurirl, we are both men haunted by ghosts of the past, but unlike you, I still have a chance to save the one I love," Arthur responded, his voice firm yet tinged with sadness.
Yurirl adjusted his stance, the light from his sword casting long shadows across the ice. "I cannot let you proceed, Arthur. The destruction you could unleash by merging the worlds is too great a risk for a single soul, no matter how dear."
Arthur's grip tightened on Nightmare, and a cold resolve settled over him. "You of all people should understand the lengths to which a man will go for love. You lost Anna forever; I refuse to accept the same fate for Diana."
Yurirl nodded, acknowledging the parallel but shaking his head sadly. "Understanding your reasons doesn't mean I can condone your actions. It's my duty to stop you."
The tension between them crackled, as palpable as the icy air surrounding them. Arthur's thoughts flashed to Yurirl's brother, Lyle, hoping to stir the swordsman's empathy. "Lyle would have understood, Yurirl. He knew what it was to fight for someone he loved."
This reference to his brother hardened Yurirl's resolve. "Do not presume to know what Lyle would have wanted," he countered sharply, his sword of light ready. "He taught me to stand firm against those who would sacrifice the many for the few."
With no more words left to bridge the chasm between them, Yurirl launched forward, initiating an attack with his radiant sword. Arthur countered with Nightmare, sparks flying as light clashed against darkness. The fight escalated quickly, each of Yurirl's precise, powerful strikes met with an equally forceful parry from Arthur, who began weaving defensive runes into the fray to offset the divine swordsman's advantage.
The cavern filled with the sound of metal against metal, and the air thickened with the power of their confrontation. As Arthur fought back with growing intensity, he knew that this battle, unlike any before, was not just about winning or losing—it was about the very essence of what he was willing to become to save the one he loved.
As the cavern trembled with the force of their conflict, Arthur faced Yurirl with a mix of admiration and sorrow. The righteous swordsman stood defiantly, despite the odds stacked heavily against him. Arthur's voice was heavy with regret as he spoke, his gaze fixed on Yurirl's determined eyes.
"Step back, Yurirl. I do not wish to harm you," Arthur implored, his tone sincere yet tinged with the inevitability of the clash that loomed between them. The black lightning crackled around his fingers, a stark manifestation of his inner turmoil and rage.
Yurirl's response was equally heartfelt, his stance unwavering as he gripped his sword of light tighter. "I cannot, Arthur. The One Arm Asura, my master who also respected you, tried to stop me from coming here. He said a single man should not decide the fate of the world. I didn't listen because I believe that too."
In Yurirl's righteous determination, Arthur saw a reflection of the man he once aspired to be—one who stood unyielding in his beliefs, protecting the world from perceived tyranny and destruction. But now, standing on the brink of achieving his most desperate desire, Arthur felt that ideal slip through his fingers like sand. The thought of sacrificing his chance at saving Diana ignited a fury within him that was hard to contain. With a guttural roar, he unleashed the Gate of Wrath, a massive, swirling vortex of dark energy from which millions of wrathful souls poured forth, eager to defend their king's desires.
The onslaught was intense. Yurirl, armed with nothing but his glowing sword, faced the tide of souls with a bravery that bordered on the heroic. Each swing of his blade banished dozens of spectral attackers back into the void from which they came, but they were relentless. Despite the odds, Yurirl did not falter; his resolve seemed only to strengthen with each wave he repelled.
As the battle raged, Arthur, standing amidst the chaos he had summoned, shouted over the din of clashing souls and energy, "Yurirl, I have taken measures to protect our world! This is not the end but a new beginning!"
But Yurirl, driven by a deep-seated duty, was unconvinced. He darted forward, slicing through the wrathful souls with precise and powerful strikes, making his way to Arthur. Each step was a battle, each breath a war cry.
Arthur watched the approach of his once-friend with a heavy heart. As Yurirl reached him, the air around Arthur thickened with dark energy as he summoned his dagger, Nightmare, and prepared his most devastating attack—Godslayer Art, Third Stance: Shattered Divinity. The power unleashed was monumental, the force of it shattering the tranquility of the garden and sending shockwaves through the cavern.
The entire structure shook violently, threatening to collapse under the strain of their battle. With quick thinking, Arthur used his runes to stabilize the cavern, preventing it from caving in on them. The impact of his attack was too much for Yurirl, who was flung against the far wall with such force that his sword broke upon impact.
Yurirl crumpled to the ground, wounded and defeated, but his spirit was unbroken. He struggled to his feet, his face a mask of pain and defiance. "I... will not... yield..." he gasped, pushing himself up despite his injuries.
Arthur, watching the swordsman's futile efforts, felt a pang of deep sorrow for the path he had chosen. "Yurirl, please... do not force my hand further," he pleaded, the shadows of his actions growing darker around him.
Yurirl, leaning against the wall for support, shook his head slowly. "As long as I breathe, I cannot allow you to do this, Arthur. Not like this."
Arthur's figure, cloaked in the darkness of his wrath, stood in stark contrast to the fallen swordsman, illuminated by the fading light of his broken sword. The cavern around them echoed with the remnants of their clash, a solemn reminder of the price of their convictions.
As Arthur stepped closer to Yurirl, his eyes reflected not just the power of a Godslayer but also the immense weight of his choices—the eternal struggle between his desires and the greater good. Yurirl watched him approach, his expression resolute, ready to stand against Arthur once more, despite the odds.
The cavern held its breath, the air thick with tension and unspoken questions about the path of righteousness and the cost of love. In this moment, two men stood on the brink, their fates intertwined in a battle that was far from over.
Yurirl, leaning heavily against the wall for support, looked up at Arthur with a grimace of pain and a glint of resolve in his eyes. His voice was hoarse, but it carried clearly in the chilled air, heavy with the weight of an unshared secret.
"Arthur," Yurirl began, his gaze unwavering, "since the Runes Apprentices Cup, where we fought against the fallen beings, I've been haunted." He paused, the effort of speaking clearly taxing him. "The Nameless... it touched me, whispering promises of infinite strength, offering me a path to bring back Anna from the kingdom of the dead."
Arthur's face, already marked by battle and burden, softened in understanding. The darkness Yurirl spoke of was not unfamiliar to him.
"But I never yielded," Yurirl continued, a note of pride mixed with the agony in his voice. "The cost... it's too high, Arthur. Being swayed by such promises only leads to ruin. Neither of us should succumb."
The cavern seemed to hold its breath as Yurirl's confession hung in the air. Arthur looked down at his old friend, his face contorted in a mixture of respect and sorrow. The revelation shed new light on the swordsman's relentless pursuit of righteousness, his refusal to bend even under the greatest of temptations.
Arthur shook his head slowly, his response tinged with a raw honesty that matched the intensity of their surroundings. "Yurirl, I envy your strength. Your ability to resist, to stand firm against the darkness... it's something I can't emulate." His voice broke slightly, the admission cracking his usual façade of invincibility. "I am not that strong. Without Diana... I can't..."