Descent of The Demon Master [EN]: Chapter 2037

A metallic taste fills his mouth.

The arm he swings feels incredibly heavy.

His body, which always provided him with tireless energy, now feels as heavy as waterlogged cotton.

Crack.

His joints feel stiff, like they’re not working properly. It’s as if he’s an old machine left to rust without any lubricant; every movement is accompanied by a clunk and a grinding sensation.

‘Did I absorb too much blood…’

His vision hasn’t blurred yet. But it feels like the information his eyes are taking in isn’t being processed properly in his head.

And even that slow processing is too much for his body to handle. His body moves a beat later than he intends.

This is probably because he absorbed too much blood as well. Even if martial arts possess power that defies common sense, the brain still needs blood to function.

His body.

The source of all his confidence, the body that is his everything, is collapsing. His strength is steadily crumbling.

Clang! Clang!

Another sword strike slices through his thigh.

It wasn’t a single blow that brought him down. But those strikes were steadily eating away at him, one by one. Like a massive dam collapsing from a tiny hole, or a sturdy tower crumbling from a collection of hairline cracks.

Pain doesn’t matter.

The pain from the web of wounds crisscrossing his body, the pain from the energy burrowing into his body and burning his meridians [energy channels in traditional Chinese medicine]—he can endure it all.

What’s wearing him down is his body, slowly falling apart. A body that can no longer be perfect, no longer like an iron tower.

No, that’s not it.

It’s not his body that’s cracking. It’s his mind that’s wavering. His absolute confidence in his body, his unwavering faith in it.

‘Impressive.’

The Demon Swordsman, his entire body’s capillaries bursting, turning him a dark, almost blackish red, spits out blood as he unleashes a flurry of sword strikes.

He’s never experienced anything like this before.

He’s faced opponents who could match him in strength head-on, but he never imagined he’d face someone who couldn’t match his power, yet dared to leap into his space and slash at him with a sword.

That reckless acrobatics.

He wields his sword with a tension that feels like needles scraping against his nerves.

It’s something that can’t be attempted without the confidence to perfectly control one’s body, and the resolve to accept the tragedy of losing one’s life with a single mistake.

Bator is someone who would do anything to win, to prove that his path is right. But this Demon Swordsman was clearly showing that he, too, was someone who could risk everything to prove himself.

‘Kuh.’

He laughs.

How long has it been since he’s fought a battle that squeezed every last drop of moisture from his body?

‘I was just talking the talk.’

He’s worked hard. He thought he’d done everything he could. But Bator knew. Even if the rest of the world didn’t, he couldn’t lie to himself.

After his fight and defeat against Kang Jin-ho.

He constantly challenged himself. To fight stronger opponents.

But on the other hand, he didn’t challenge himself at all. The opponents he’d fought so far were always those he wouldn’t regret losing to.

Kang Jin-ho, and the Red King.

Even as he felt the gap between them widening, all he did was try harder.

He could swear it.

He never stopped pushing himself. He always squeezed out every last bit of effort, trying and trying again.

But….

‘What’s the point of trying if it’s okay to lose?’

What value is there in practice that doesn’t need to be rewarded?

Bator had no choice but to admit it.

To say that you’ll keep challenging even if you lose means that it’s okay to keep losing. That’s not not giving up. That’s just pathetic self-satisfaction. It’s nothing more than deceiving oneself.

He’s right in front of him.

A warrior who has put himself in danger to achieve a complete victory, a perfect victory that he can accept.

He doesn’t know if it’s right to use the word ‘fierce’ to describe a person’s expression, but there was no other way to describe the Demon Swordsman’s face right now.

Someone who has pushed himself to the limit is wielding his sword in a trance.

‘He looks like he’s enjoying himself.’

If anyone else heard that, they might point fingers and call him crazy.

It’s a paper-thin fight. Someone who is literally risking his life on the edge of a cliff, dancing with a sword, looks like he’s enjoying himself.

But….

Even if no one else does, at least the Demon Swordsman might agree with him.

‘Of course he’s enjoying himself.’

He’s spent his entire life chasing a single goal. With the power they’ve gained, they could easily obtain wealth and power, and live enjoying all the pleasures of the world, yet they’ve thrown themselves into training that can only be called ascetic, focusing on only one thing.

The power they’ve gained like that.

The abilities they’ve gained like that.

How could they not enjoy themselves when they’ve met an opponent they can use all of it against?

‘We’re that kind of people, after all.’

They can’t feel alive unless it’s this moment. If it’s not in battle, if they can’t confirm their own strength and their own beliefs through battle, their world will only fade into a monochrome of dullness.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

And….

Bator’s pectoral muscles tense. The moment the sword strike tears through his chest, flesh splitting and bones breaking, an indescribable, terrible pain surges through his entire body.

But that pain is the clear proof that he’s alive, the confirmation that his body is still protecting him.

“Oooooooooh!”

Bator takes a step forward, swinging his arm. The immense pressure created by his arm crushes and tears the Demon Swordsman’s skin.

Even without being directly hit, the skin around the Demon Swordsman’s shoulder bursts, and blood gushes out.

They’re both at their limit.

Both him and the Demon Swordsman.

So!

Bator’s eyes unleash a crimson glow.

‘Now, the end!’

It was at that very moment.

The Demon Swordsman, pulling back his sword, spins his body. Perfectly, without any wasted movement. And the moment Bator sees that, his world begins to slow down.

‘This is…’

It was a sight that felt like being sucked in.

Fluid like water, yet intense like a storm.

He clearly sees the Demon Swordsman’s toes digging into the ground as he slowly rotates. The power that starts from his toes travels up his calves, bounces off his knees, and then coils around his waist like a spring with incredible elasticity.

One strand, then another.

He could almost see all the power in his body, all the inner energy, traveling through his chest and into his arm. It was as if Bator was observing the Demon Swordsman’s body.

At that moment, Bator understood.

What all of this meant.

Right now, the Demon Swordsman is probably unleashing the most powerful strike of his entire life. He might not know it himself, lost in a trance, but Bator, who is facing him, could clearly see it.

And that meant only one thing.

The Demon Swordsman’s sword, gathering all its power, begins to draw a fantastical arc.

The increasingly slow world makes the sword seem almost frozen, and with just that small movement, he could tell where the tip of the sword would land.

‘My neck.’

The sharpness of the sword is unprecedented.

The sword, constantly sharpened on the massive whetstone that was Bator, has finally gained the sharpness to cut through Bator.

Perhaps… this sword might be the only thing that can truly be called a ‘sword’ for Bator.

If the word ‘sword’ means a blade that exists to cut something, then only that sword in the Demon Swordsman’s hand can be called a sword for Bator.

That sword, at this moment, that sword in the Demon Swordsman’s hand, could cut off his neck.

And at that moment, Bator faced an emotion he had never felt in his entire life.

Fear.

Yes. It was fear.

The fear that an ordinary person would naturally feel when seeing a massive sword flying towards their neck with all its might. But that was an emotion that was too unfamiliar to Bator.

Because he had never been afraid.

The concept of something that could cut off his neck with a single blow didn’t exist in Bator’s world.

But the moment he recognized that the sword would cut off his neck, something that had never happened before began to occur.

He’s afraid.

He’s afraid of that blade flying towards his neck. He’s terrified that the sword will cut off his neck in an instant, proving that his body is nothing.

Death is certainly frightening. But what’s more frightening than death is the negation of everything he believes in.

Bator’s feet, which had always moved forward, stop in their tracks.

That sword will tear through his neck and cut it off. It will shatter his body.

‘I…’

In this slowed-down world, the only movement possible for him in the short time before the sword reaches his neck is about a hand’s breadth.

But Bator knows.

If he retreats?

If he retreats just one step?

Then that sword will pass by his neck. And the Demon Swordsman, who has squeezed out all his remaining strength to unleash that sword strike, will have no more power left. Then an easy victory will be his.

No one will blame him. No one.

Yes. Retreating is not cowardly. It’s foolish to face an opponent’s attack head-on.

Hasn’t he already faced his inner self, his past self? What he wanted was victory, and to reach the realm of martial arts, not to prove that this damned body was the strongest in the world!

So just one step.

Just one step back is all he needs. With just that, he can have everything.

The glory of victory, the duty given to him, the proof of himself, and even the opportunity to challenge again.

What did he think when he saw the Red King accepting defeat? Now he has the opportunity to achieve a complete victory. Thanks to that idiot who poured all his remaining strength into his final strike, thinking he would never retreat!

Battle is ultimately about deceiving and being deceived.

This one step back is absolutely justified. No, it’s the perfect stance for a martial artist. Someone who calls himself a martial artist should never miss this opportunity to avoid an enemy’s attack and seize victory.

Yes, just one step.

Just one step. One step, just one step. One step, just one step.

If he just retreats….

Bator’s mouth opens slightly at that moment. His blood-soaked teeth are revealed as Bator puts a twisted smile on his face.

‘I…’

Yes. I am Bator.

‘You’re all fools, you bastards!’

Bator takes a step forward towards the sword that is about to cut off his neck.

And at that moment.

The Demon Swordsman’s final strike, transformed into a beam of light, pierces into Bator’s neck without any hesitation.