Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 154

There was an old saying: “To give wings to a tiger.” It meant making something already strong even stronger.

Among the countless predators of the natural world, the tiger reigned at the very top of the food chain, more than capable of tearing apart any C-rank beast and below.

They were the undisputed King of the Mountains. Even without techniques, the species ruled entire territories simply by rampaging with its raw power and savagery. In the case of exceptional individuals, they were strong enough to contend with B-rank monsters over dominion.

So, then. If such a beast were given wings, how much stronger could it become? That was how the phrase was born.

Leon steadied himself after meeting Urakan’s strike head-on. The Holy Sword quivered in his grip. The sheer force behind it was that great.

Power, speed, and technique—all combined into one attack. Even though only a few seconds had passed, the sting in his hands made Leon click his tongue despite himself.

A flying tiger... Makes sense.

Amused, El-Cid chimed in, —Hah! That’s a pretty adorable comparison. His martial arts are still infantile, but with that physique, he’s dangerous. It’s his own rough-hewn style, forged from experience. Plenty of talent, too. He’s stronger than some fool who half-learned a flashy art.

It was true. The tiger beastkin had physical ability on par with B-rank monsters on average. And Urakan was the strongest of them all, a chieftain famed across his generation.

Yet he wasn’t content with raw might. He had sought martial arts and forged techniques of his own—skills Leon himself, taught by El-Cid, could not dismiss lightly.

El-Cid snorted, reading Leon’s thoughts.

— Wrong, you idiot disciple. That tiger’s ‘martial arts’ are still crude. A patchwork riddled with flaws, covered up by brute strength. There’s no versatility to it. Don’t be dazzled by speed and power. Look at its essence. He’s an opponent you can bring down.

Got it.

Leon nodded, raising his sword into a mid-guard. The stance most suited to countering Urakan’s attacks.

Urakan saw it and curled his lips in a mocking grin, sneering, “How long do you plan to just block? Don’t tell me you’re waiting for me to tire out?”

Leon offered no response.

“Well, fine. Let’s end the probing here.”

Neither side had suffered much yet, both sides’ breath still steady, their only marks mere scratches. Like flipping the first card in a game, the true match began now. Urakan narrowed his eyes and shifted into another stance.

“Tiger King Style: Savage Tiger Rampage.”

He spread arms and legs wide. To Leon, it looked full of openings, but the instant he tried to step in, a chill ran down his spine. It only seemed open. Something dangerous lay hidden within.

Urakan didn’t miss that heartbeat of hesitation.

“Kwaaah!”

With a thunderous roar that froze the marrow, Urakan lunged, and Leon leveled his sword half a beat later.

Defenders have the advantage of timing—two steps ahead of attackers—so he still had leeway, but Urakan’s speed erased even that margin. His shoulders blurred, and his arm snapped down like a whip from above.

Leon blocked, sliding half a step back. Urakan instantly stepped in, his left leg lashing out. From hip to knee, knee to ankle, a chain of acceleration.

They say a leg strike carries three times the power of an arm. Leon slid aside calmly to escape the arc and countered, but retreat alone wouldn’t resolve this exchange. He had to break the momentum.

The clash of blade and limbs rang not like metal but like massive hammers colliding. The audience clapped their hands to their ears. For beastkin with sharper hearing than humans, the ringing steel was torture. Still, the clash of the two did not stop.

“Keugh!”

Leon groaned under the searing pain, tightening his grip. Unlike him, bound to a single sword, Urakan wielded every limb—four weapons against one. His trajectories and speed were simply incomparable. Before Leon could finish deflecting one blow, the next was already upon him.

—Hoh... so the principle is Flicker? He’s using the broader range of beastkin joints. More like continuous body punches than jabs... ah, I see. A barrage harnessing quadrupedal balance. Once it starts, it hounds the foe until they fall.

El-Cid stripped the technique bare. The assault looked chaotic, but in truth, it was nothing more than his four limbs swinging without pause. The overwhelming strength and speed made it nearly impossible to enter his guard.

However, break the flow just once, and an opening would appear. Leon, searching for a gap through his Footwork, realized the same truth.

Give flesh, take bone!

His eyes flashed, and he charged in. The Holy Sword blazed gold with Eclipse, and Urakan’s instincts screamed, “Dodge!”

However, he heeded it instantly.

“Bullshit!”

Claws wreathed in dense battle qi clashed against the sword. It was not Aura, but the raw crystallization of life force—cruder, less refined, but potent. A beastkin’s art, born of their overflowing vitality that was several times stronger than that of a human.

The Holy Sword sheared through, snapping three claws and carving Urakan’s chest. Blood sprayed, but the actual cut was shallow.

The claws had twisted the blade’s course. The strike that should have split the collarbone to the heart left only a gash across the hide.

Still, Urakan’s stormy momentum was broken.

Good. The tide’s turning.

The Savage Tiger Rampage excelled only in offense. It overwhelmed defense and counter with sheer speed and ferocity, but shifting to defense mid-flow was nearly impossible.

Leon saw the gap and stepped forward. Then, out of nowhere, a whipcrack rising from below smashed into his jaw.

“Urk?!”

The blow itself wasn’t much, but it was enough to break his momentum. The opening Leon had forced after shattering the Savage Tiger Rampage vanished in an instant, and the two warriors once again widened the gap between them, ten meters apart.

Spitting blood from his mouth, Leon quickly realized what had hit him.

“A tail, huh...”

It was a weapon humans didn’t have. Precisely why he hadn’t accounted for it.

Urakan snickered at his reaction, “Hah, you’re the one who’s ridiculous. To see through my technique right away. We both know it’s not going to work twice.”

It had become clear that Urakan’s Tiger Rampage would lose much of its bite once its weakness was exposed. It was time for both to reveal their next cards.

This time, Leon acted first, drawing deeper on his strength. The Holy Sword blazed gold from edge to hilt, heat shimmering like a mirage around it. The Aura of the Sun—its twin aspects of Light and Heat combined with the sword’s own might until it roared like a furnace.

What Leon had over Urakan was clear: Aura surpassed battle qi. If it came down to a clash of pure output, he could not lose.

“Heh... now that’s scary.”

Urakan, however, still hadn’t unleashed his own gift. He still had the Tigris’ innate power, Extremis.

It multiplied life force for a short time, driving every facet of the body to greater heights. Stronger than the Taurus’ Fury or the Ursus’ Harden. A dark crimson haze boiled up from Urakan’s body, wrapping him like storm clouds before a downpour.

It was an armor of pure qi. Even with Eclipse, Leon wasn’t sure his blade could cut through to the bone.

No—it can. If one strike isn’t enough, then two will be.

With Eclipse on his edge and Boost Blade behind it, he could tear apart that wall of qi. Urakan was just as confident. With Extremis active, there was no way he could lose.

The two warriors locked eyes.

I’m cutting you down.

Leon surged forward, completing the stance of Zornhut—the guard of wrath, the launch point for Zornhauw, a wrathful diagonal slash famed for its destructive might.

In a single stride, he closed the gap, his sword blazing down in a golden arc. Urakan did not simply stand and take it.

“Tiger King Style: Tiger Rend Severing Slash.”

His magnified life force warped into qi, coiling into his hands as they took the shape of enormous claws. Strength against strength, two forces collided, neither giving way.

The crash between golden sword-light and blood-red claws was sharper and wilder than Elahan’s bout with Totuga. Power ripped outward from the impact, tearing the ground itself.

“Haaaah!”

At the end of the exchange, Leon was the one left standing. His Holy Blade carved through the claw-shaped qi and drove forward, stabbing into Urakan’s exposed belly.

However, he had spent everything to break the Tiger Rend Slash. The sword only punched a shallow hole into those black abs before halting. Urakan’s smile twisted with ecstasy as he countered.

“Tiger King Style: Dragon-Kicking Tiger Strike.”

It truly was a kick that felt like a spear thrust. Leon didn’t foolishly try to meet it head-on. Planting both feet firmly into the ground, he raised his blade flat against it.

The strike was so fast and fierce, the sword’s surface seared, smoking white. Had it landed on flesh, it would have snapped his spine and more.

“Kahahaha! Curl up into a ball again, I dare you!”

And that wasn’t all. Pressing his advantage after the massive kick, Urakan unleashed another of his self-made arts.

“Tiger King Style: Tiger’s Cast, Dragon’s Grasp!”

He raked both hands across the earth for speed, charging in on a path like the Sirius Sprint, then launched a crashing punch. Had he taken inspiration from Varg? Leon had seen the same technique from the Beast King himself, so he broke the strike without difficulty.

Urakan’s eyes went wide as he asked, “You blocked it that easily?!”

“A swift strike whose line is read is weaker than a slow one.”

“I see. You’ve faced the King, too,” Urakan understood instantly, and his grin turned feral. “This really is a glorious day! To fight someone who draws out all my strength, who lets me unleash every skill I’ve honed!”

Few beastkin ever studied martial arts. Unless they had a special case like the Fenrir tribe, instinct made them spurn “needless effort.”

However many overcame that with will? How many could match Urakan in battle? Only his rivalry with Varg had staved off boredom, giving him reason to endure the empty days without challengers.

But now—

“Say your name again!” Urakan roared, eyes blazing with rare respect. “I, Urakan, Great Warrior of the Tigris, acknowledge you as my foe! With all due honor, I’ll face you as a warrior of the Great Savannah!”

“My name is Leon,” he declared, leveling his sword with pride. “As the direct disciple of Holy King Rodrick, I will defeat you and bring peace to this land!”

“Kahahaha! Excellent! Whether that’s an unfounded boast or not, it doesn’t matter!” Urakan’s eyes bled red as he hurled himself forward. “I’ll kill youuuuu!”

Wreathed in blood-red mistlike qi, Urakan descended like a storm. War faction, peace faction, all of that meant nothing. He wanted to fight until death. He wanted to kill until death.

The impulse dyed into his blood since birth stirred violently. Not to trample the weak for pleasure. Not to spill meaningless blood. He had always roamed in search of an enemy who could face him head-on.

Unfortunately, Varg’s throne as Beast King made him hard to challenge. The law of the Great Savannah demanded that after one failed challenge, ten years must pass before another attempt.

“Tiger King Style: Tiger’s Roar, Wind Born.”

Urakan cast aside all else and roared.

“Kuhoooooong!”

Sound became vibration, and vibration became force. The shockwave blasted from his gaping maw, stained with his blood-red qi, forming a swelling sphere of destructive force.

This sphere held more destructive power than fifth-tier magic. Leon recognized it instantly and raised his sword straight up.

With a single stroke, he split apart the orb of Tiger’s Roar, ignoring the explosion that ripped behind him as he pressed forward. Urakan was already there, within arm’s reach. Four claws of qi ripped outward.

“Tiger King Style: Tiger Fang, Eagle Talons.”

Leon’s sword, blazing with Eclipse, tore through the four streaks of claws and carved down the arm beyond. Blood spattered from Urakan’s forearm, but the beast did not falter. His reason had fallen silent. Only the instinct to fight ran rampant in his body.

“Tiger King Style: Cloud Dragon, Wind Tiger.”

Using his own qi as a foothold, Urakan vaulted nearly thirty meters into the sky in one leap. Like Sirius, it was as though he ran upon the heavens.

The audience’s eyes rose with him. High above, nearly out of sight, Urakan raised one leg. This leap was the setup for the Tiger King Style’s ultimate art: to soar skyward, then hurl himself down, condensing that entire plummet into a single kick.

He had named the technique after the stars that fell from the heavens.

“Tiger King Style: Meteoric Tiger Kick.”

A meteor, so crimson that it almost felt ominous, plunged down in Urakan’s greatest and strongest strike. Ironically, that very form freed Leon from the shackle that had bound him, which was the fear of harming the stands. At last, he could unleash the Grand Chariot.

“A star, huh...” Leon muttered.

To think Urakan’s ultimate attack, like his own, bore the name of the stars. Leon marveled at the coincidence but gathered his power with unshakable focus.

Just by sight alone, he knew. The Meteoric Tiger Kick’s raw output in a single point surpassed even the Grand Chariot. One slash would not hold. Even two might not suffice.

Then the answer was simple—he would cross three.

Power compressed to its limit turned to starlight, gathering in brilliant gold upon his blade. His wrist tingled, his elbow throbbed, and his shoulder ached.

The weight of channeling three Grand Chariot forms was incomparable to anything he had swung before. The more strikes he layered, the stronger it became—and the heavier the toll upon the wielder.

“Go.”

Leon gritted his teeth and raised the sword. What was a hero who buckled under such weight? Even with mountains on his back, he must not bend his knees. Even beneath the sky, he must not bow his head.

That was the path of a true hero. That was the path of Holy King Rodrick’s disciple.

Grand Chariot. Like the sun rising over the eastern horizon, dazzling light erupted skyward.

“Heavenly Core, First Form: Dubhe.”

The vertical cut ended, and without pause, Leon reversed the blade and slashed horizontally.

“Heavenly Jade, Second Form: Merak.”

This was the North Star Cross, the twin slashes of the Grand Chariot’s chained technique, the golden cross strike that once split a drake’s Dark Breath into four. However, Leon knew instinctively that two would not be enough against that crimson meteor.

“Gh...ugh...aaaghhh!”

Enduring the agony of twisting muscles and screaming bones, he raised his sword once more, aiming at a single point.

Too early would miss. Too late would fail.

And in that fleeting instant, as the cross-shaped strike reached its completion—

“Now, the seventh form: Alkaid.”

A final thrust lanced from the blade, crowning the great cross with its finishing stroke. It was the first time Leon had ever succeeded. The second of the linked secret arts, forms One, Two, and Seven, combined into a three-strike sequence.

Its name: Grand Chariot, Chained Secret Art: Three Stars in Heaven’s Jar.

Three stars rose in broad daylight to intercept the crimson meteor.