Sword and sword.
Every time the silver sword body danced, sparks were engraved. Each time, the aftermath of the collision tingling up the firmly contracted arm muscles; indeed, it was a sensation incomparable to something like a wooden sword.
More than anything, the tension was different.
The opponent before me was the old woman called the ‘Grand Master’, a true ‘sword ghost’ who had devoted her entire life to the path of the sword.
If considering only the years, a gap of decades with me.
That difference inevitably showed most clearly when not using mana.
Like a rake, the blade tore the air. It was merely a single sword, yet an illusion arose as if more than three bladed tools were pouring down targeting me.
Then, the path I could respond with was only one.
As I set the blade vertically, along with a sharp collision sound, a creepy tremor vibrated the wrist bones. It was the unique resonance left as blade scraped past blade.
That wasn’t the end.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The old woman’s sword was bizarre. Sometimes it split into several, and now, like a whip with…