Snap.
The world reset with the chilling sound of a breaking bone. Reine stood on the dry dirt of the Herlem border, but his mind was still trapped in that suffocating void between lives.
"She is filthy..."
The creature's voice—celestial and dripping with disdain—still vibrated in his skull. It had called Rinah "filthy." His sister, the only soul who had stood by him when the Vangalf name was dragged through the mire, was being mocked by an entity without a face.
Reine looked down at his shaking hands. He ignored the veterans babbling about logistics nearby. His jaw tightened until the bone groaned.
"Filthy?" Reine whispered, his voice a trembling, boiling rage. "That piece of shit talked about my sister like she was nothing..."
The Fifty Percent Threshold
He gripped the hilt of his practice sword. The veterans were right to blame him—he had failed her—but hearing that thing describe her as "filthy" flipped a switch in his soul.
What was I thinking? he scolded himself. Did I really try to escape just to live a pathetic life? What about Rinah? "Fifty percent," Reine growled. "I'm going to push fifty percent!"
He didn't just channel mana; he forced it. He flooded his frame with Aether, focusing the pressure into his legs.
Sweee—
He lunged. He was quick—not as fast as the Midnight Knight, but far beyond any Novice Herlem had ever seen.
[Tactical Analysis]: By distributing exactly 50% output across his entire body, the mana acted as a kinetic stabilizer, protecting his internal organs from the sheer G-force of the acceleration. His knees flared with a stabbing heat, but he stayed upright.
"Vangalf!" the platoon leader shouted. "Go warn the Commander—"
"Yes, sir! Will do!" Reine cut him off, already a blur of dark green and white hair.
The Meat-Grinder of Herlem
Reine reached the Commander's tent in record time, his intensity so high the guards recoiled.
"Sir! The Paekl Vanguard is using Sealer Arrays!" Reine shouted. "The arrows won't come from the front. They're looping them through the upper atmosphere!"
The Commander saw a boy who looked like he had already died a dozen times. "All units!" the Commander roared. "Shields up! Vertical formation!"
Swoosh.
The arrows appeared like magic, dropping straight from the clouds. Because of the warning, the shields were already angled high. Men lived who should have died.
Reine hit the front lines first. With his 50% output, he was a reaper. He cut down ten men in seconds, his blade moving with the "Singularity" of a veteran master. Amidst the blood, he saw a tall, orange-haired soldier surrounded by enemies.
"You! On me!" Reine shouted, beheading a scout to clear the path.
"Who the hell are you to order—" the soldier started.
"I AM SECOND-IN-COMMAND OF THIS SECTOR!" Reine lied, his voice a thunderclap of authority.
The soldier apologized immediately, falling into step. "Sorry, sir! Name's Argol, sir!"
The Final Clash
They reached the clearing just as the Cold Pressure hit. The air turned to ice. Argol froze, his sword hand shaking.
"Focus!" Reine roared. "Protect your neck! If he moves, go left. I take the right!"
The Midnight Knight stepped from the shadows.
He moved instantly, a black blur aimed at Reine's head. Reine didn't parry early; he waited until the black steel was inches from his skin, playing with his luck.
Clang!
Sparks showered Reine's face. His 50% mana-saturated muscles screamed under the Knight's weight.
"I see you," Reine hissed. "And I'm going to make you bleed."
The Knight's visor rattled with a low, metallic hum. "A foot soldier with a pebble's core… parrying a Sovereign strike? Preposterous."
[Combat Logic]: For high-mana attacks, Reine raised his blade early to deflect momentum. For slower strikes, he waited until the last possible millisecond.
Taken back, the Knight vanished, reappearing in Reine's blind spot. But Argol was there, swinging with a desperation that caught the Sovereign off-guard.
The Knight's aura flared. He pivoted with explosive speed.
"ARGOL, MOVE!"
It was too late. The black steel flashed, and Argol's head hit the dirt.
Loop 15: The Definition of Grit
Snap.
Reine's eyes shot open. Back at square zero.
"I was too slow," Reine muttered, a dark, predatory smile spreading across his face. "He wasn't even taking me seriously yet. This is fun."
He reached the Commander's tent like a lightning strike. Within minutes, he had secured Argol.
"Second-in-Command?!" Argol gasped as they ran, eyes wide. "But... you're wearing a recruit's tunic! And your boots are literally falling apart!"
"It's a stealth-op uniform," Reine lied effortlessly. "Now, look at the sky. Arrows. Vertical shields. Now."
THUD-THUD-THUD.
A thousand arrows slammed into the raised shields. Not a single man fell.
The Knight's Confusion
They reached the clearing. The Knight moved—a blur aimed at Reine's throat. But Reine didn't flinch.
Schlick.
Reine slipped inside the Knight's guard, his blade catching a fraction of the Sovereign's forearm. A thin line of red appeared on the dark armor. The Knight backed up, his visor tilting in genuine confusion.
Argol saw an opening and swung for the neck. With a predatory snap, the Knight tilted his head, his black blade looping back in a counter-arc meant to take Argol's throat.
Argol froze. He was dead.
But Reine was already moving. He didn't care about the Knight's sword; he lunged forward, his blade aimed straight for the Knight's exposed collarbone. He forced the Sovereign to choose: kill the recruit and get stabbed, or retreat.
[The Definition of Grit] Most call it talent. Some call it luck. But in the world of the Sword Path, it is the ability to stare at a God and refuse to blink. It is the stubbornness to die a thousand times and still reach for the hilt with bloody fingers.
The Knight's blade stopped an inch from Argol's neck. The Sovereign leapt back, his aura exploding in a wave of black frost.
"You got lucky, insects," the Knight spat.
But then, the Knight suddenly stopped. He stood perfectly still, staring at Reine as if he had seen something impossible. Without another word, he began to retreat into the shadows, casting one last murderous gaze behind him.
"Why?" Argol gasped, his lungs burning. "Why did he stop? Sir... Second-in-Command... are we chasing him?"
Reine didn't answer. He couldn't. His 50% output was finally failing, and the world was beginning to blur.