Chapter 259
A naked young man floated inside a steel tank. His entire body was finely sculpted, a youth of astonishing beauty.
Bubble, bubble...
Each time air bubbles rose, his jet-black, silky hair swayed like seaweed.
Before long, the young man opened his eyes.
‘Am I... still alive?’
Strangely enough, despite being underwater, he could breathe without any difficulty. He blinked.
‘...Where is this place?’
Moments later, the liquid inside the tank drained away, allowing air to flow in. The front of the tank slowly opened. The young man let out a violent cough.
“Ku...! Cough, cough!”
With each cough, fluid spilled out from his lungs. Gasping for breath, he struggled to step out of the tank. A woman in a robe cried out and ran toward him.
“Teslon!”
Teslon staggered as he stepped out. The woman quickly covered his bare body with a cloth she had prepared. Wrapping it around himself, Teslon muttered.
“Philena...”
Philena anxiously scanned him from head to toe before asking, filled with worry.
“Your body? Is it okay?”
Teslon stared blankly at Philena. Bit by bit, his memories returned.
That terrifying strike that had come crashing down upon him, the sixfold Calamity Horn.
The Adamandril Suit, shattered into pieces.
His own bloodied body, dying...
“What... happened?”
Philena responded swiftly.
“We managed to escape using the Feather of Return. And then, Guardian Serelein immediately placed you in here.”
Teslon examined himself. A lean yet muscular physique, appearing flawless, his skin was smooth and radiant, as if he had just been born. Not a single scar remained.
He turned to look at the tank in a daze. Philena continued explaining.
“This is an ancient artifact, a Recovery Capsule. Guardian Serelein said that as long as you’re still breathing, it can heal any injury completely.”
After checking his condition, Teslon clicked his tongue in disbelief.
His body had suffered wounds so horrific that survival should have been impossible. And yet now, there wasn’t even the slightest pain or scar left. The only thing he felt was a lack of energy from being immobile for so long.
‘Unbelievable... My wounds were beyond recovery, and yet...’
As expected of the Sage of Silver. To possess such an extraordinary artifact...
Tears welled up in Philena’s eyes as she looked at Teslon, safe and sound. She cupped his face with both hands, her voice trembling with emotion.
“I’m so glad… really, so glad…”
Seeing Philena on the verge of tears, Teslon smiled gently. He could feel the depth of her sincerity.
Finding her adorable, he reached out and patted her head, his voice warm as he reassured her.
“I’m fine, Philena.”
“Mm… Mhm…”
Philena wiped her tears away with a smile.
Still dripping wet, Teslon suddenly remembered something and asked, “More importantly, what about Repenhardt? What happened to him?”
A cold voice came from behind them.
“Unfortunately, we failed.”
A silver-haired girl gazed at them indifferently. It was Guardian Serelein.
“The Fist King led the slaves and successfully escaped Zeppelin. That was months ago.”
“…Hmm.”
Teslon let out a faint groan.
‘So in the end, we couldn’t stop the Demon King…’
Serelein’s expression softened slightly.
“But his fate won’t last much longer. Because of what happened in Zeppelin, we now have a legitimate reason to kill him. Even if he is executed publicly, no one will question it.”
She let out a small sigh.
“Hah… I had hoped to deal with him in a way that minimized the impact on humans, but things have escalated too far. There’s no other choice now.”
Teslon understood. Repenhardt’s latest actions had undoubtedly shaken the entire continent. This was no longer a matter that the Sage of Silver could quietly handle behind the scenes. There was no need for assassins anymore.
Then, something struck him as odd.
“But… does the Sage of Silver have anyone strong enough to take him down?”
Wasn’t that why Serelein had sought him out in the first place?
“It won’t be someone from the Sage of Silver’s side.”
Serelein shook her head.
“It will be the strongest swordsman on the continent, from the Holy Basutalon Empire.”
“Sword Star Banatel!”
Teslon’s face lit up in recognition.
‘I see… At this point in time, he’s still alive.’
Back in his past life, when the Demon King, Repenhardt, had established the Antares Empire and drenched the continent in blood, it had been a time of chaos.
Even then, Cyrus and Teslon were already known as Sword Star and Fist King, standing as two of the strongest beings on the continent. The only reason Teslon hadn’t yet earned the title of Fist Emperor was that he had not yet taken on a disciple. But even back then, he had been unquestionably one of the greatest warriors in the world.
A decade before that time, however, the title of the continent’s strongest belonged to two other figures.
One was Sword Star Banatel, the Guardian of the Holy Basutalon Empire.
The other was Gerard, who would later be known as the Fist Emperor after training Teslon.
Even in their eighties, the two of them remained unrivaled, standing at the peak of swordsmanship and martial arts. Yet, as famous as their martial prowess was, their long-standing rivalry was just as well known.
Sword Star Banatel and Fist Emperor Gerard had never been on good terms. Compared to them, even sworn enemies could be considered warm and affectionate. After earning their respective titles, the two clashed multiple times, yet their duels always ended without a definitive victor.
Ultimately, their final battle took place in the Neiwig Forest, where they slew each other with their own hands. That happened in Continental Year 998, a decade from now.
‘So that Sword Star Banatel is aiming for the Demon King…?’
Teslon had never met Banatel in person. He had heard countless stories about him, yet fate had never led them to cross paths. Because of that, he had never truly grasped Banatel’s strength firsthand.
However, he knew all too well just how powerful his master, Gerard, had been. And Banatel had been a warrior who matched him in every way.
Unless Repenhardt had somehow reached the realm of the 10th Circle like before, there was no way he could survive against Sword Star Banatel.
“Sword Star Banatel, huh… Haha.”
Something about it didn’t quite sit right with him, making Philena tilt her head in confusion.
“What’s wrong, Teslon? Isn’t this a good thing?”
“Hmm… I suppose so.”
Yet, an unsettling feeling lingered in his chest.
‘Well… I’ve spent my whole life chasing after the Demon King. Maybe it’s only natural to feel this way.’
With a hollow smile, Teslon murmured,
“So this is the end for Repenhardt. Unless a miracle happens…”
* * *
At the same time, on a hill overlooking the White Imperial Castle of Antares,
Ten Aura Users stood with tense expressions, their eyes locked onto the old man who had appeared before them, Gerard.
None of them had thought this mission would be dangerous. They were confident in their own strength, but more than that, they had Sword Star Banatel by their side.
Yet, the colossal old man standing atop the spire, the Fist Emperor Gerard, was another of the continent’s strongest warriors, one whom even Banatel couldn’t guarantee victory against!
Gerard, who had been gazing down at the hill, suddenly stomped lightly on the ground.
“Hup!”
His massive 2.5-meter frame soared soundlessly into the air, leaping from the spire of the White Imperial Castle. Though he had no wings, a single step propelled him over the inner fortress and past the castle’s outer walls. Landing briefly, he leaped once more, and with just two jumps, he reached the fallen Russ and Tassid in an instant.
It was an astonishing display of agility.
Still struggling to catch their breath while using Aura to recover their bodies, Russ and Tassid looked up at him in shock.
‘So this is the Fist Emperor Gerard…’
‘The master of our benefactor…’
Gerard glanced at the two men and asked in a calm tone,
“Where did that bastard Repenhardt go?”
Russ stammered as he replied.
“Ah, b-brother is currently away from the castle… He should be back in about three or four hours…”
For a moment, Gerard raised an eyebrow.
“Huh? Brother? That brat’s younger than you.”
No matter how he looked at this young man, he appeared to be in his late twenties. (Though, in reality, Russ had already passed thirty, he simply had a youthful face.)
‘My disciple should be… in his mid-twenties, at most.’
But Gerard quickly understood. Looking a decade older than one’s actual age was an ancient tradition of Gym Unbreakable. The past Fist Kings, all men of bold and uninhibited nature, had never bothered to correct such crude misconceptions.
Even when Gerard himself had stepped into the world at twenty, not a single soul had ever thought he was under thirty. And besides…
‘Well, that bastard Repenhardt… Even by our sect’s standards, he matured abnormally fast. Sometimes, I’d wonder if this kid was really just a teenager.’
Despite taking him in as a disciple at a young age, there were moments when Repenhardt spoke with the air of a world-weary old man.
Shifting his gaze, Gerard now looked at Tassid. Despite being an Orc, he had an exceptionally well-honed Aura, something Gerard found intriguing.
“And what’s this now? An Orc that’s awakened Aura?”
Tassid blinked at Gerard and muttered under his breath.
“What the hell…? Who’s this old-faced human? And why the hell is he so big?”
He had never in his life imagined there could be someone taller than Kalken. At 2.3 meters, Kalken was already an enormous figure, but this old man, despite being human, was a full head taller. Honestly, at this point, Tassid wasn’t even sure if this guy was actually human.
Gerard chuckled as he looked at the dazed Tassid.
“This damn disciple of mine… He sure picks up the strangest things.”
But Gerard quickly lost interest in Tassid. He was the kind of man who hadn’t even batted an eye when his most cherished disciple suddenly decided to change his own name on a whim. Something as trivial as an Orc using Aura wasn’t nearly enough to shake his composure.
Meanwhile, Banatel was caught completely off guard by Gerard’s presence.
Everyone knew that Fist King Repenhardt was Gerard’s disciple, but even so, he had never expected the Fist Emperor himself to show up here. It was because of Gym Unbreakable’s long-standing tradition.
“You bastard, Gerard! What the hell are you doing here?”
Gerard stroked his beard and responded as if Banatel were spouting nonsense.
“What’s so strange about a master visiting his disciple’s home?”
“Of course it’s strange! Since when has Gym Unbreakable ever been a sect where masters and disciples actually care about each other? Once you send them down the mountain, you’re strangers! That’s how you people work!”
It was true, throughout history, none of the Fist Kings had ever reunited with their masters after leaving the sect. Likewise, the Fist Emperors never went looking for their former disciples. That was why neither Banatel nor the Holy Basutalon Empire had ever considered the possibility that Gerard would appear here.
“Hoho, where did you get such a silly idea?”
In truth, Gym Unbreakable was not devoid of emotional bonds between master and disciple. If anything, their attachment and gratitude toward each other ran even deeper than in other martial sects, after all, training a disciple in Gym Unbreakable was an unbelievably grueling task.
Gerard shrugged.
“We look for each other whenever there’s something important to take care of.”
It was just that, for the Fist Emperors and Fist Kings of Gym Unbreakable, normal life events like birthdays, weddings, funerals, weren’t considered “important” matters.
Even if a disciple’s life were in danger or they desperately needed help, it still wouldn’t be considered a serious enough reason to reunite.
The motto of Gym Unbreakable was boldness, freedom, and grandeur.
The sect, which prided itself on the path of the cool-headed man, firmly believed that a real man should part ways cleanly and never look back, walking his own road alone.
As a result, once a disciple left the mountain, it was rare for master and student to ever see each other again, leading to widespread misconceptions about their relationships.
Then again… considering how often disciples were beaten during training, it wasn’t entirely incorrect to say that they instinctively avoided their masters afterward.