Chapter 71: Ice Wyrm (1) – 69

A/N: Magical numba 69. We did it, y'all! (I had to do this, sorry...)

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I had become a literal flame, being completely immaterial, formless and endless, with only the aspect of "burning everything in my path" defining me.

Surging towards the dragon, I let my "body" go with the flow of this world, as all natural things should, flaring my power as soon as I hit fuel, the flesh of the ice wyrm.

Sure, it was covered with a layer of ice, but in front of pure fire, ice, something that was actually material, was unable to stop my advance, and I soon buried myself into the flesh of the wyrm.

"ROOAAAARRRR!!!!!!"

As shockwaves rang through the area, the wyrm buckled and twisted, trying to get rid of the nuisance in its side, but was unsuccessful until it shot a gust of its subzero breath at my attacking area.

'Tsk, that didn't do as much damage as I thought.'

Cancelling Angel, I turned material again and backed off, as, even with angel making me a pure flame, the amount of mana that it would take to sustain such a thing was extraordinary, and the ice breath that the wyrm released had been the last straw that made me break the 50% mana barrier, meaning, I had to let go of this attacking method if I wanted to save enough mana for other types of attacks, attacks that would make more sense taking into account the fact that the wyrm now had learned, "a way to make the pain go away".

'I guess I could use my dagger... nah, don't want to be showing my better cards this early yet... How about a magic attack?'

After all, all the watchers probably knew about my extremely overpowered spell back then, and it was a fire type spell too.

If I used it again right now, at a moment when they knew I had already expended a lot of mana, I could actually take some parts of the target off my back by blaming it on a bonded artifact instead.

Yes, this was what I would do.

Ah, but then I wouldn't be able to show you guys how far my fighting skills had progressed.

But, wasn't it smarter to save my cards so that the watchers wouldn't know? I'd just show you guys another time, let you guys stew in the agony of the wait.

"..."

"..."

"..."

Keep in mind that, whilst I was thinking about what to do, I was constantly dodging the wyrm's attacks. I wasn't going to be a dumbass and just stand right there tanking attacks after all.

'Fine fine, I'll do it.'

Deciding that I would keep my promise to the viewers, I purchased a basic sword from the market, barely making a dent in the cost assigned to me.

And then, I came at the wyrm with the same sword art I had always used, the same one I had used when I first sparred against Vasilie, but, after a year, this sword art had become ever more so intricately complicated, especially after my sword tasted blood for the first time.

'Hmm... let's start off with one that'll surprise "dad" and make him shit his pants.'

'Endendyk House, Sword Art, Crimson Autumn, First Form: Falling Frond.'

Just a single swing going in one direction, down.

All I could do was watch as the proverbial leaves that had been raked into a pile split cleanly in half, without one leaf moving an inch, as the speed behind the attack left all unmoving.

'Nothing, not even a scratch.'

Looking up at the face of the dauntless wyrm that had recovered from its initial shock of being hurt so much be my fire, I couldn't help but think about how weak the sword art of House Endendyk was in front of monsters.

'Well, of course it is. It was made to combat a different type of monster after all.' (A/N: For those of you that don't get it, I, or well, he's talking about humans.)

'Endendyk House, Sword Art, Crimson Autumn, Second Form: Nature's Blaze.'

Using both my feet as a pivot, I tore at the ankle of the wyrm by spinning as hard as I could with my sword out, wearing down the outside skin of the wyrm by precisely striking the exact same spot over and over again.

This time, my mana manifested as an image of a swirl of autumnal leaves blowing through the sky, as they created a tornado colored by the infernal embers of autumn.

'Still not powerful enough.'

Jumping back after seeing that, once again, I was doing no damage, I turned my mind to the third and final form that I had mastered of House Endendyk's sword art.

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You see, before that, for an explanation, my sword art allowed me to obtain "insight" after swinging a sword enough times whilst following the basic stances of a sword art, which, most of the time, were distributed freely for the public to use for the purpose of everyday self defense.

Using this "insight" I could relatively copy the first few forms of the actual sword art, and eventually, I would integrate the forms into my own ever changing sword style after I had perfected the few forms that I had gained insight on.

This was the basis of my sword style.

It had nothing to do with my body, or the way my mana moved, because, as y'all all know, my body was trash and my mana was trash along with it.

Yet, I could make it work with this sword style because, well, because the most important aspect of this sword style was my own intellect and my past experiences, drawing on them both to gain insight on all these different sword styles, as I knew what would make the most sense for a specific sword style if I learned the basic stances and the "why" of how the sword style was made.

For me, it was that simple. This was a sword style honed only by my instinct to live, my ability to think exactly like the originator of every sword style, and my critical thinking.

Why? Because they all boiled down to just one thing, one thing that one couldn't deny made up the core of each of these elements.

The desire to kill.

That was it.

And I understood this desire better than anyone.

That was why I was able to make this sword style, and it was the reason why I had stayed alive until now.

You see, always, the best way to get rid of a problem was to get rid of it entirely.

It was that simple.

Looking up at the problem in front of my, I allowed myself to smile.

'Endendyk House, Sword Art, Crimson Autumn, Third Form: An Ember in the Ashes.'

...

At the end of autumn, as the winter chill starts to hit, fire is life.

But, when an ember escapes, the consequences can be devastating.

The meaning, the purpose of an ember was to be a spark, a small explosion that would lead to a disastrous catastrophe.

And I became the embodiment of that ember.

"Click."

My sword touched the chest of the wyrm, right in the middle.

"..."

"..."

"..."

"BOOM!"

My mana suddenly fluctuated, and an overwhelming fire blinded the eyes of the watchers, as the entire area of the maze that I was in, was engulfed in a dazzling white light, all of it for one eternal second.

As the second passed, the light disappeared, and what was left was this one single scene.

Me, standing at the tail end of the wyrm, as the two sides of its body that had been separated fell to the ground with two distinct thuds.

Ahh... what a refreshing feeling.

I wiped the singular drop of sweat that I had worked up off my brow.

My sword had already disintegrated into dust.

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