"Yes, that's what we call a Seven Dragon General level."
Edelplat adjusted her stance, turning her sword halfway as she spoke. Her missing eye twitched.
That eye had been taken by the Tumor of Mount Tai. It was the symbol of a swordswoman who had faced the incarnation of rage alone and endured for a day and a half.
"Let's see if they're really at that level."
"What about magical power?"
"None. They taught it, but I didn't have time to learn. All that complicated magic talk is too complex for us. But Yon, what we hold isn't magical power, but a sword, isn't it?"
Edel smiled like a predator. Tying back her wildly flowing hair, she looked at the elves lined up behind her.
All elves despise sweating and physical exertion. They consider martial arts inferior to magic. They believe that martial artists' meditation is no different from magical energy cultivation, and that sword techniques are merely trivial skills inferior to a Wind Cutter spell.
No matter how quickly one swings a sword, it takes years just to cut objects a meter away. That's how long it takes to break through space and embed a slash.
Yet with just the most basic destruction spell, this becomes possible within a couple of months—mere basic curriculum. In Kalion's environment, elves never felt the need to learn skills other than magic.
However, there are those who overcome societal pressure and racial instinct to grasp the sword.
The most obsessed among the elves. Those mad about martial arts. The disciples of the Sword Pavilion.
Believing that magical power is merely a process toward mastering martial arts, not the key that distinguishes martial artists from ordinary people.
Even without a drop of magical power, do they not have arms to hold swords? Do they not have legs to step forward?
They have feet, so they step on the ground.
They have hands, so they grasp swords.
And so the stance extends to the center line. The sword tip always pointing to the sky. To reach the realm of the divine with a human body and ascend to heaven.
Toward the end of this path. For the ideal of martial arts that must exist somewhere. Those who raised their swords solely for this purpose.
"Now, brothers. Sisters. I, Edelplat Koenwolf, dueling proxy of the Privy Council, the Undefeated of Kalion, and master of the Sword Pavilion—"
At Edelplat's words, all the elves raised their swords in unison, silently.
"And as a mere elf, as a simple martial artist, I ask: what lies at the end of martial arts?"
The disciples all looked at her in response to Edel's question. This might be their master's final teaching.
Edel concluded with a cheerful smile:
"There is a person."
All martial arts come from human hands and end in human hands. Therefore, at the end of martial arts, there is neither technique, nor secret, nor mythical achievement, nor swordsmanship, nor earth-shattering magical power.
Just one person holding one sword. That's all.
Therefore, the swordswoman who had reached the pinnacle of this era looked at the God of Winter with one eye and said:
"Let's go, martial artists of the Sword Pavilion. Today we will fight as mere individuals, climb to the top with the strength of one person, and look down upon the world through the eyes of one person."
At her words, all the elves of the Sword Pavilion burst into laughter. They each giggled, but without idle chatter, they readjusted their grips on their weapons.
Swords are raised. Spears are lifted. Whips and axes, occasionally greatswords and cavalry lances can be seen.
Those who have trained with different weapons for at least decades, many for centuries, move in unison.
If one were to add up the years these elves have dedicated to martial arts, it would easily reach ten thousand years. How could this not compare to the lazy winter that has awakened from a ten-thousand-year slumber?
"Edel, the strategy—"
"What strategy?"
Edel laughed at Ivan's intervention and replied:
"I'll open the path. My most proud disciple. I'll give you the heart, so you strike it."
A master is one who opens the path for disciples,
And disciples are those who continue the path paved by their master and pass it on to the next generation.
Is that not how the path of martial arts continues?
Edel laughed heartily and jumped into the flow of elves rushing like arrows toward the Eternal Palace.
"Senior. Should we keep the team formation as is?"
"Yes."
"And the formation?"
"Single formation for monster hunting."
Dmitri nodded at Ivan's answer and gestured. The orders were immediate, and there was no delay in action.
Thirty agents dispersed, each taking charge of their team. They immediately melted into the darkness of the city.
"You'll take the front. Shouldn't the most experienced agent stand in the most dangerous position?"
"Yes."
"No, you should still stand a couple of steps back."
"...What?"
Dmitri tossed a potion bottle to Elfihera and gestured to the remaining agents. They quickly handed emergency supplies like bandages and potions to the group and turned away.
"To be honest, haven't I been active longer than you, senior? You took a 4-year break."
"...Dmitri Cherkatov."
"Lieutenant Colonel. It's Lieutenant Colonel now, senior."
Dmitri snickered.
"You took down one of those when you were a lieutenant colonel, so why couldn't I? I'm with the finest men of this era."
"Orders—"
"Ah, I'm the field commander. You're currently relieved of duty. For treason. Make sure to apologize to His Majesty when you return. Now, kids?"
Dmitri smiled at the group who were quietly watching him.
"Our role was originally reconnaissance. Think of us as coachmen delivering you without a scratch to the Seven Dragon General. We're doing what we do best, so lighten up. Smile, kids."
The Hero Party remained frozen without answering. As if they had just realized the weight of the burden they were carrying.
And Ivan, too, silently watched them. The snickering Annihilation Squad. The last survivors of them.
The final agents who carried on the battle orders of those who departed for deadly missions.
The finest men of this era.
They all saluted in unison. Toward the one person who had walked one step ahead of them to reach this place. Ivan silently accepted their salute.
"Do not mourn those who have gone before."
The most representative salute of the Annihilation Squad.
So, he had to respond.
"For I stand in the same ranks as they do."
That's all. If we see each other alive, I'm the commander now, right?
With those final words, Dmitri flicked his leather-gloved hand. The Annihilation Squad agents all turned around. The coats of the departing men fluttered in the wind and disappeared from sight.
In the distant background, the sounds of battle continued. Screams, destruction, winter storms, terribly twisted magical energy, the wet, fresh sound of newly woven magic tearing human fabric.
Ivan silently opened the potion he received and applied it to his arm.
The wound heals.
However, scars never completely disappear. Even if they fade, never completely.
So, having scars is proof that one has survived. Once again, in place of the lives of better people.
The burden grows heavier. So, step forward with more strength, onward.
"You should have prepared for much longer."
Ivan said bitterly. Too fast. Too much. This battlefield is too harsh for kids who have just finished their first university class.
The Hero Party members had already been assembled in a completed state. Even they struggled and lost hope while experiencing battlefields that scraped their souls and tore their fabric.
That's what the journey to kill the Demon King was like. To kill the king of those called gods while alive required that level of determination and skill.
In this era of preserved peace, the current Hero Party was not ready. Neither in skill, nor mindset, nor sense of duty.
But there's no time to lament their inadequacies. Each step the Hero Party takes is a continuation of years marked by the blood and death of those great individuals.
So, they must move forward. Wasting a day is no different from wasting thousands of lives.
"If you want to give up, now is your last chance. Today is not the last day of the journey, and despair like today's will be just part of the daily routine."
"..."
"Despite that, can you raise your head, grasp your weapons, count the lives hanging on your back, and look up to find the morning star?"
At Ivan's words, the group bit their lips and bowed their heads for a moment.
To accept this lightly would be the act of fools living thoughtlessly. When one truly realizes their duty, no person can be without fear.
The fate of their people rests on their shoulders. They must have realized that.
However, being a hero doesn't mean being the strongest. It means being the most courageous, those who stand up in any moment to become symbols of hope.
If they are the Hero Party, they should raise their heads again—
"I'll do it."
An elf mage nodded while still bleeding.
"If you fall, I'll be next."
A vampire grinned as he gripped his weapon.
"Well, did you know the fate of my people was at stake when I entrusted myself to Krasilov?"
The dwarf princess pulled out an impossibly large cannon from somewhere in her sleeve.
"Now I understand Lord Yeremov's feelings. So this is what a damn isekai is like."
The stranger from another world smiled bitterly as he raised his sword and staff.
At this, Ivan nodded and turned around. It was time to head back to the battlefield.
Though they had never learned it, they formed the formation of the Hero Party of old. They formed a party supporting each other with Ivan at the center.
So, for daring to take the place of heroes. Though it felt awkward, they were also a little proud.
Ivan washed his wounds with potions and gripped his weapon, moving forward.
He doesn't run. He doesn't rush. The times when they needed to rush were being bought by individuals greater than them.
So with the most perfectly prepared breath, and the most excellently prepared stance. Becoming a sharp dagger.
Toward the heart of a god, carrying thousands of lives in each step.
One step at a time, steadily but without wavering, becoming a straight line.
Walking toward the morning star.
Of the six hundred ninety-four members of the Sword Pavilion under Koenwolf, six hundred seventy.
Of the thirty members of the former Annihilation Squad under Dmitri, now the First Team of Internal Intelligence, twenty-seven.
One arm of the greatest elf swordswoman.
Both legs of the most extensively trained agent.
Walking the peaceful path paved with the blood and flesh of all those individuals.
Finally, the Hero Party passed through the fragments of the god and reached the heart of the collapsed Eternal Palace.