An indifferent voice greeted the man.
It was the greeting offered by the black-haired, golden-eyed man.
“The sword is right before your eyes. Take it if you have the skill.”
It was a wall.
A towering structure of iron so immense that such a description suited it better.
It merely happened to be shaped like a sword. Before the Sword Duke stood a great mountain of metal he could not even imagine swinging.
“This is……”
“Don’t you know by now?”
The mysterious man immediately answered the Sword Duke’s dazed question.
“It is the ‘you’ that you worked so hard to bury. You thought yourself a genius, someone special…… but you were merely lucky. You’re not so different from the ordinary talents you used to pity.”
Was that so?
Deep down, he had known.
“In other words, that is your weakness.”
Was a sword merely a tool for harming something?
If so, then why did the practitioners of the mountain struggle so desperately to swing their swords?
To flee from painful, agonizing pasts?
It would not turn back time even if they did.
What they had truly wanted to flee…