Knight: from Apprentice to the Almighty

Roland skidded to a halt.

The scorching air stung his throat, and blood and sweat blurred his vision, but he still locked onto the figure in an instant.

The man was unusually tall, his build slender yet radiating a sense of Power.

His back was to the entrance, as if he were scrutinizing the twisted core.

The pure, bright silver form-fitting Armor he wore shimmered with a cold light even in the dim glow. Its lines were fluid and elegant, clearly no ordinary Battle Armor.

Yet despite being clad in heavy Armor and holding a Longsword that glinted coldly, his posture was upright and poised, lacking the roughness of a Warrior.

He looked more like a nobleman in a grand hall than someone standing before the core of Destruction.

It was just that the cold, judgmental majesty radiating from him made the blood-soaked Roland instinctively tense up.

"So, it’s you, Mr. Roland..."

Sensing Roland’s arrival, the figure slowly turned. A lock of brilliant gold hair fell over his shoulder plate.

His features were handsome and well-defined, with a high-bridged nose and thin, pressed lips, like a sculpture.

"Long time... no..."

The figure glanced down at the chaotic battlefield below and shook his head lightly.

"Perhaps I should say... we meet again?"

"You are..."

Roland’s brows furrowed at the man’s slightly familiar tone.

He racked his brain but couldn’t find a matching face in his memories, until...

"May the silver light shine eternal, Mr. Roland."

The figure gently touched his breastplate with his left hand, performing an ancient and elegant salute as he spoke softly.

"Thank you for guiding my path home previously."

Hearing those familiar words, realization dawned on Roland.

"Mr... Van Buren?"

"Yes, Mr. Roland, as you can see."

Van Buren looked down, examining his own body, a wry smile flashing across his handsome face.

"It seems my companion has reclaimed his Power. So much so that my soul was dragged back to the mortal world before it even reached the Wall of Souls. Truly..."

His tone was filled with helplessness and clear dissatisfaction.

But Roland had no time for such trivial complaints.

He just tightened his grip on his sword hilt, his body tensing as he asked in a low voice.

"So... are you here to stop me?"

"No, you misunderstand."

Van Buren’s crimson pupils locked onto Roland. After a moment, as if confirming something, he gave a slight nod.

His voice dropped, almost as if he were speaking to himself.

"Mr. Roland, I used to believe... that death was the end of everything."

"But many things that happened afterward... such as this... have clearly overturned my understanding. And on you, there is a certain..."

The Paladin’s gaze grew sharper, his face showing unconcealed disgust.

"The aura of someone I know well."

"Combined with your strength, which doesn’t match your age, it got me thinking. Could you be... an old acquaintance who has crawled back from the Abyss of death?"

"After all..."

Van Buren’s right hand slowly moved to the hilt of the sword at his waist.

"In my era, humans possessing the Giant Dragon Bloodline were exceedingly rare. I imagine it’s the same now, isn’t it? Therefore... I’d like to verify something."

"But rest assured."

He added, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

"The verification process will be quick. It won’t take up too much of your time."

"If I’m wrong, I will of course offer you my sincerest apologies. But if I’m right..."

As Van Buren’s finger tapped lightly on his sword hilt.

The next moment, an indescribable pressure descended.

VMMM! KRAK!

Space shattered like a fragile crystal wall.

The scene of the High Tower.

The stones, the dust, the twisted core—all were forcibly erased and overwritten in Roland’s Perception by an overwhelming will.

The solid feeling under his feet vanished in an instant. It wasn’t that he was falling into a void, but that he had been forcibly displaced.

The dizziness was fleeting. By the time Roland’s senses re-anchored, the sight before him was no longer the summit of the High Tower.

He was standing on a boundless, desolate battlefield.

The lead-gray sky hung low, solid as an iron curtain.

The cracked, scorched earth stretched to the horizon, stained with mottled, dark-brown marks that exuded the ancient, heavy scent of rust and dust.

The very air seemed to have grown thick and stagnant, as if burdened by a presence too heavy to bear.

What was most shocking was the wreckage of weapons that littered the landscape.

They seemed to sprout from the earth’s wounds, plunged deep into the scorched ground at impossible angles.

Broken Giant Swords, rusted longspears, massive Tower Shields covered in dents, Warhammers half-buried with only their blood-stained heads exposed...

...and countless other strange weapons of bizarre shapes, all emanating a frigid, cold light.

Not a single one was an illusion.

The deep marks of battle and the erosion of time were clearly visible on them, together establishing the cold, cruel, and absolutely real tone of this Domain.

A wailing wind swept across this steel boneyard, sharp as a blade, kicking up small vortexes of dust.

The chill it brought was stagnant and heavy, seeping into every inch of this Domain.

The moment this wind touched Roland’s body, he suddenly noticed something was wrong.

The burning pain in his lungs had vanished.

The fatigue in his muscles had also disappeared without a trace, like a receding tide.

He subconsciously looked down.

His originally blood-soaked clothes were now clean as new, without even a single wrinkle to be found, as if he had never been through that brutal fight.

And only now did Van Buren’s unfinished words from before slowly reach his ears.

"Rudolph, you who blaspheme the Gods, today... is the day you die!"

Van Buren’s voice didn’t echo; it simply "sounded" directly within this space, like a declaration of law.

He stood atop a small hill made of broken weapons not far away, his bright silver Armor radiating an undeniable presence under the gray sky.

His crimson eyes looked down on Roland, containing not just scrutiny, but the indifference of one with absolute control over this space.

"This is my Will Territory, where Law is made manifest."

The cold Longsword in his hand was already unsheathed. Its tip pointed steadily at the scorched earth, the very motion seeming to draw together the intangible, murderous aura in the space.

"Now, the verification begins."

The instant the words left his mouth, his figure vanished from the top of the weapon-hill.

It wasn’t a Residual Shadow from high-speed movement; rather, the space itself had responded to his will, and he simply "appeared" ten paces directly in front of Roland.

No warning, no probing.

The bright silver Longsword transformed into a streak of cold light that tore through the stagnant air, thrusting straight for Roland’s heart with an absolute, judgmental will.

Wherever the blade passed, even the wailing wind fell silent, as if space itself was surrendering to the blow.

Pure! Direct! Deadly!

This strike abandoned all flair, as if intending to crush its target with absolute Power and speed.

Faced with this blow that defied comprehension, Roland—whose condition had for some unknown reason returned to its peak—felt his pupils shrink abruptly.

His body’s instincts erupted before his mind could think.

[Nameless Breathing Technique] suddenly began to circulate.

The next moment, scorching Fighting Spirit filled his entire body as he brought the Longsword gripped in his hand swinging fiercely upward. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

CLANG!

The deafening screech of metal on metal rang out across the entire battlefield.

A searing white light exploded violently at the point where the two swords met.

A violent shockwave spread out from the two of them, sweeping up countless specks of dust and tiny weapon fragments from the ground.

A clash of pure Power erupted thunderously in this Domain built from will and Law.