He died many times.

One. Two. Three… Nine.

In normal situations, Kaden would have lost his mind already, broken by the consecutive deaths he was experiencing, but his Will stood strong.

Each death gave him 50 Will points, making his Will stats now a bloody 1000.

Not only that,

His Will was evolving. It was becoming something entirely new, something unique.

But there was something missing. There was a last ingredient he needed to find, and once he found out what it was…

"I will defeat you, Slave," Kaden said, a bloody grin stretching across his lips.

His clothes were torn apart, blood flowing freely, yet this time he was healing, albeit slowly.

He had learned a few new tricks by fighting the Slave. For one, he learned he could inject his Will into the wounds of his enemies, making it more difficult for them to heal or even worsening them.

He thought this type of application was only possible with Intent.

And he had dared to use both his Intents in front of the Slave. They didn't have any damn effect. It was like he was protected by a field nothing could pierce.

A field of Will.

At the beginning, he was filled with anger. He had this deep urge to kill the Slave for daring to pity him, Kaden Warborn.

But the more he died, the more he learned from him — the more his sword balance strengthened, his sword skill increased, his footwork improved, his Will transformed into something entirely new — the more his goal started to change.

It was no longer to kill the Slave.

It was to defeat him.

Clank—!

Their swords clashed, sparks bursting out in dazzling arcs, scattering around them, as they stepped back, separating once more.

The Slave looked at Kaden with slight surprise.

"Your Will… is almost as unique as mine. How is it possible?" he asked, voice tinged with curiosity.

There was no anger. No shock. No, there was almost a hidden delight in his tone — like a man who had thought the world could no longer surprise him, only to be proven wrong.

"How else? I have learned from you, Slave. It was not a minor affair, if you want the truth. I died many times just to grasp the basic application of your Will." Kaden responded, shaking his head as if lamenting his lack of talent.

The Slave tilted his head. "You like to talk about death too much. Understandable, you are the heir of that madman."

"Who is that madman?"

"Your god."

"I have no god."

The Slave shrugged. "Everyone has a god they follow — whether they acknowledge it or not — except us."

"Except us?" Kaden echoed.

The Slave only smiled mysteriously.

"Defeat me."

Defeat him to get the answer, huh.

Classic setup.

But Kaden liked classic things.

The issue was he still didn't know how to surpass the barrier stopping him from creating his own unique Will. In fact, he didn't even know what it truly meant to have a unique Will.

He was just going with the flow, without understanding much.

The Slave noticed that. He knew this interesting young lad was missing something. So he decided to do what he had never done before…

'I guess an untold number of years of loneliness does wonders to your mind.' he chuckled inwardly.

"Raise your sword," the Slave said. "Let's have a proper duel."

"Oh, are—!"

"Raise your sword, Heir of Death." His voice as suddenly firm. As firm as a mountain. He shifted his stance, the chains on his ankles cackling like thunder on a black-clouded sky.

He glared at Kaden.

"You are in front of a swordsman, not a poet. If you have something to tell me, do so with the clash of our swords."

The Slave raised his blade, pointing it at Kaden, staring intently.

Kaden felt pressure. He felt fear.

There was no killing intent behind the Slave's eyes, only seriousness. But somehow, that made it even more terrifying.

Once again, Kaden had the feeling he was not facing a man.

But a god in mortal flesh.

He exhaled a steamy breath, raised Reditha in the same position as the Slave. His eyes hardened like steel ready to draw blood.

There was silence for half a second.

Then a blur of movement.

A song of swords erupted through the space as the duel began.

Kaden fought like a man with too much blood in his head. His steps were fast, his strikes heavy.

The Slave was fast, graceful. He fought like he was on a dance floor. He swirled, ducked, and slashed in ways never seen before.

Every strike flowed into the next. There was no pause, no wasted motion.

It was like an unending dance of freedom, the clashing of swords the music.

Kaden propelled himself forward, closing the distance in an instant. He slashed downward with Reditha, using his whole body to force the blow.

The Slave blocked easily, stepped aside, and deflected the strike. In that same motion, he shifted his grip, spun, and pierced Kaden's ribs.

He groaned, staggering back.

The Slave didn't allow recovery. He pressed in, slashing diagonally from left shoulder to right thigh.

Clumsily, Kaden deflected some of the strike, but the rest still tore into him through sheer Will.

He groaned again, but this time instead of retreating, he dashed forward.

He caught the Slave slightly off guard, but it didn't matter.

The Slave sidestepped, ducked low. Kaden's blade cut empty air. Then, coughing blood, he felt the Slave's edge carve his chest once more.

"Sloppy. Your stance is too sloppy. Why do you use your whole body to strike?" the Slave asked, still attacking.

The song of swords rang louder as Kaden was cornered further and further.

Compared to the Slave, he was lacking in sword knowledge.

"W-What?" he managed to mutter.

"I said, why are you using your whole body to strike?" the Slave repeated, cutting him again.

Blood sprayed. Kaden cursed.

"Isn't this how we do it?" Anger and frustration burned in his voice.

He blocked a strike, then countered, but forced too much power into it.

The Slave used that misplaced strength, redirected the force, and sent it crashing back into him.

Blood oozed out like crimson ichor. Kaden cursed again, legs faltering.

"You don't need to cut too hard. You don't need to put all your strength behind every strike," the Slave said as Kaden fell to one knee.

He raised his head painfully, staring up.

There was no anger toward the Slave in his eyes. Only frustration, frustration with himself for being this weak.

"Then how should I attack?"

"Don't use all your body, of course."

"You just need to cut with confidence and decisiveness. Relax your shoulders. Do not put them into tension, it will slow your body's movement."

"Now get up and try again." The Slave stepped back, waiting.

Kaden forced himself up, slowly.

He raised Reditha.

He took a deep breath, loosened his muscles, let his shoulders fall into ease. He tried to cut…not with brute force, but with intent, with decisiveness.

He slashed.

The wind hissed. It was cleaner. Seamless.

Kaden immediately felt the difference.

"Do you understand now, Heir of Death? It's not about power. It's not about strength behind the swing."

The Slave approached the stunned and bloodied Kaden.

Compared to him, the Slave was untouched, pristine. Well, as pristine as a slave could be.

Stopping an inch away, he glanced at Reditha, then smiled briefly.

"Tell me, if it's not about strength… then what is it about?"

"Will?"

"Yes. The Will, Heir of Death. Now let me ask you another question."

"What do you fight for? Do you fight to be remembered? Do you fight for honor? For loyalty? Or do you fight for… freedom?"

His void-black eyes bored into Kaden, as if piercing beyond reality itself.

Kaden didn't hesitate.

"For strength. I fight to obtain strength. I go through hardship for strength. Not just any strength, but strength that will crush every restriction these worlds put on me. Strength to protect my loved ones."

The Slave smiled. "A lofty goal."

"Everyone desires that type of strength. Everyone would love to be strong enough to cut any…" he lowered his gaze to the chains on his ankles, then continued…

"…restrictions."

Kaden stayed silent.

"Without considering the sacrifices required to achieve it, tell me…what must your sword be?"

"What must your sword embody to help you reach that state of being? What kind of Will must she carry?"

He reached forward, grabbed Reditha's blade.

Reditha flashed a blinding crimson in defiance. No one should touch her except Kaden.

But she could do nothing against the Undefeated. He only smiled, finding it cute.

Kaden froze at the sight, but before he could speak, the Slave's voice cut him again.

"You are such a waste, Heir of Death. Your sword is alive. Your sword has a Will. Your sword loves you. Your sword would die for you."

"How can you be this bad at swordsmanship?"

Kaden's body shook in shame.

"Are you listening to her words? Are you listening to her heart?"

Kaden wanted to say yes. But he knew he wasn't. He barely gave her time.

"Find it," the Slave said suddenly, releasing Reditha, stepping back to sit on the skull of a massive purple eagle corpse.

"Find her Will. Then create your own."

"And come to me. Come defeat the Undefeated."

He smiled.

Kaden once again felt unknown emotions rising in him.

"Each failed attempt will grant you a scar. And with my Will, those scars will never fade."

Kaden fell silent.

He looked at Reditha. He felt her turbulent emotions — anger, worry, love, frustration, loneliness… so many, so complex.

He gave a faint smile to the glowing crimson sword in his hand.

"My Reditha…"

She shook with an intense red hue.

"…shall we?"

—End of Chapter 236—

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