Demi-human?
Sword Master?
Gapar narrowed his eyes.
In this world, there was no race officially called "demi-humans." Species that fit a similar concept were generally classified as humanoids—goblins, ogres, and the like.
The term specifically referred to races with physiques similar to humans but markedly lower intelligence.
As for races such as elves, dwarves, and beastfolk—those possessing normal intelligence—they were considered part of the broader concept of humanity. The different names existed merely for classification.
Incidentally, someone like Gapar would simply be called "human" by other races. Pure humans didn't seem to possess any particularly distinctive traits that clearly separated them from others.
The posture of the Demi-Human Sword Master resembled that of a goblin—perhaps some kind of variant.
Gapar recalled the goblins he had encountered before: filthy creatures with dull minds, interested only in indulgence and debauchery.
Not just goblins—most humanoid races shared the same degenerate image. Demi-humans likely weren't any better.
Since when did such inferior demi-humans deserve the title Sword Master?
That scrawny body.
Those twisted bones.
That hunched back.
Could such a form truly wield swordsmanship worthy of the name "Sword Master"?
Disdain for humanoid races was something everyone was taught from childhood. And to be fair, it had been centuries since any truly outstanding individual had emerged from among them—no wonder they were discriminated against.
Gapar shared that prejudice.
But unlike most people—
He respected anyone who held a sword.
Even if they were humanoid.
Shing—
The longsword slid free from its scabbard. Gapar assumed a simple stance.
If you bear the title of Sword Master, he thought, then let me see your blade.
To better experience his opponent's technique, he deliberately refrained from using his usual stance.
The Demi-Human said nothing.
Whether it was incapable of speech or simply unwilling, no one knew. It merely tightened its grip on the sword—and charged.
"Solid stance. Fast, too."
A single glance was enough for Gapar to discard his earlier doubts.
Regardless of actual skill, that posture alone spoke of years immersed in swordsmanship.
The Demi-Human closed the distance in an instant, drawing its blade in a flash—an iaijutsu strike so fast it blurred. The Lonesome Sword gleamed faintly.
Gapar raised his sword to block, coating the blade in dense battle aura. That was the only reason it wasn't cut clean through by the clearly sharper weapon.
Even so, the force transmitted through the clash made his arms tremble.
Such a frail body… yet it can unleash power that numbs even my arms?
In the outside world, demi-humans might be bullied by anyone. But here, that was far from certain—especially not when facing a Demi-Human Sword Master like Onze.
Iaijutsu delivered its greatest power at the very instant the blade left the scabbard.
When the first strike was blocked, the Sword Saint followed up seamlessly with a two-hit combo—just as fast, just as ruthless. The power dropped slightly, but it was still nothing to scoff at.
"Excellent!"
Gapar couldn't help but praise him as he defended. The sharp ringing of steel echoed through the room—music to anyone who truly understood swordsmanship.
Clang! Clang!
Both fighters accelerated further. The violent exchange distorted the air, sparks flying without pause. Even plain steel-on-steel could be this spectacular—at this moment, the visuals rivaled magic itself.
A closer look revealed something else.
Gapar was always on the defensive.
Whenever the Demi-Human increased speed, Gapar matched it—almost as if he were deliberately synchronizing, performing together in a perfectly tuned duel.
It had been a long time since he sparred with a true swordsman. His hands itched; he didn't want the fight to end so soon.
Yes—even now, Gapar believed that if he fought seriously, the battle would end in an instant.
Clang clang clang—
The Demi-Human always struck from difficult, deceptive angles. His swordplay and body worked in flawless harmony, using his short stature to create a unique and deadly style.
Gapar enjoyed dancing along the blade's edge. He could savor his opponent's technique while gaining insight between life and death—though at his level, such revelations were rare.
Sword deflections were addictive.
But given enough time, even novelty faded.
This Demi-Human fought only at close range. His swordsmanship was exquisite—arguably superior to more than half of all swordsmen Gapar had ever encountered—but his strategy was rigid.
"It's time to end this."
Gapar suddenly exerted force, knocking the sword aside. In the brief instant his opponent adjusted his stance, Gapar activated his techniques:
[Flowing Stance]
[Wind-Breaking Guard]
[Giant's Arm]
All three shared a single trait—
They pushed Gapar's speed to the extreme.
Then came the finisher—
[Accelerated Slash]!
Four speed-based techniques chained together, combined with Gapar's own physical prowess—on this continent, no one could perceive this strike with the naked eye.
Time seemed to accelerate endlessly.
The Demi-Human's movements slowed to a crawl.
The strike was about to land. That frail body would surely be cleaved in two.
You fought well, Gapar thought. But the victor is me.
Light flared in his eyes as the killing blow descended—
Whoosh!
The wind pressure from the slash swept through the entire room. Fine cracks spread across the ground like spiderwebs.
Gapar's eyes widened slightly.
Because—
The Demi-Human landed lightly on the ground.
…He dodged it?
My Accelerated Slash… was dodged?
Gapar was certain he had grasped his opponent's limits. Throughout their exchange, the Sword Saint's speed had already reached its peak.
So why—
Why did he suddenly unleash speed sufficient to evade that strike?!
Before Gapar could process it, the Demi-Human Sword Master appeared directly in front of him, poised in a thrusting stance.
When did he get here?!
Gapar forcibly calmed himself—but there was no time to dodge.
Then there was only one option—
Trade injury for injury!
He swung a powerful slash. At this distance, unless the opponent moved at turtle speed, it would hit. The only question was how much damage it would deal.
However—
Boom!
A cloud of smoke erupted where the Demi-Human had stood.
Gapar's strike missed again.
What kind of technique is this?
He had never seen such a move before.
As expected, when he turned—
Onze was behind him.
Gapar slashed again—
Boom!
Another burst of smoke.
This time, the enemy appeared midair, raising the sword and cutting down.
Gapar had fought many enemies capable of blinking or teleporting.
But one who combined teleportation, invincibility frames, and masterful swordsmanship—
This was his first time.
The Demi-Human had refined this mist-stepping technique—similar to the Raven of the Mists—to an absurd level.
His mobility was overwhelming.
At least for now, Gapar couldn't adapt.
He was beginning to look…
Cornered.
The Demi-Human Sword Master—
In Elden Ring, he might only be an ordinary boss imprisoned in a gaol.
But in the lore—
He was a grandmaster of his era.
in this world, he would not be inferior even when compared to Gapar—another Sword Master.
At this very moment, Gapar completely set aside his earlier disdain. He elevated the Demi-Human Sword Master to a position equal to his own.
Activate Blessing: Grave King's Greatsword Dance!
Countless massive crimson sword blades erupted from the ground, forcing Onze back. Seizing the opening, Gapar adjusted his stance and surged forward in a single breath.
But at that instant, Onze suddenly adopted a completely different opening posture than before.
The moment Gapar saw it, alarm bells rang in his mind. He immediately retreated.
The next second—
Countless sword lights bloomed.
Cold, azure blade-light swept wildly through the chamber, flooding it with freezing intent. A thin layer of frost even spread across the ground.
This move strongly resembled the dimensional slash used by that overwhelmingly powerful man!
"I can do that one too."
The moment the "dimensional slash" ended, Gapar closed in and unleashed a similar technique of his own.
Sword deflection—continuous sword deflection.
Onze parried again and again, movements precise as if following prewritten commands. Blades clashed nonstop. At the final deflection, he transformed into smoke once more and reappeared midair.
Gapar had already grown accustomed to this technique. He calculated the distance and stepped backward—far enough to make the attack miss, yet close enough to counter immediately.
But at that very moment, the Sword began to glow.
It was as if countless stars were converging—points of starlight linking together along the blade, forming a brilliant, radiant line.
The attack range was vastly extended!
Another move I haven't seen before!?
Gapar raised his sword to block, but Onze was now even faster. The azure Sword danced through the room—mysterious, elegant, and deadly.
This technique even synergized with the smoke, seamlessly combining offense and evasion. It was nearly perfect tactics.
In a short span of time, Gapar accumulated numerous wounds. Each injury radiated biting cold. If not for his physique—far stronger than that of ordinary people and resistant to freezing effects—he would have already turned into an ice sculpture.
The Sword continued to weave across the battlefield. An ordinary observer wouldn't even be able to track its movement.
This was the power of a true Sword Master.
"Good!"
At this moment, Gapar's fighting spirit did not waver—it surged. Aura condensed along his blade as he tore open his upper garment, revealing honed, solid muscles. His eyes burned with exalted intent as he ignored the pain and clashed head-on with Onze!
He took back his earlier words.
This Onze surpassed ninety-nine percent of all opponents he had ever faced!
Raging battle intent drove his strength to erupt uncontrollably. Boundless dominance surged as he charged forward without regard for his injuries. When the Sword carved a massive wound into his body, Gapar seized that hard-won opening and struck back.
The Sword Master's technique broke.
Onze was sent flying.
Even Gapar was momentarily stunned by the unexpected result—until realization dawned.
No matter how exquisite the swordsmanship, certain physiological flaws could not be overcome. Onze's body was simply too fragile—fragile enough to be staggered by a single solid hit.
"You must have been unwilling to accept your frail body… which is why you chose to refine your swordsmanship,"
Gapar took a deep breath and offered respect to the staggering Onze.
This opponent was unquestionably a Sword Master.
That title required no acknowledgment—nor did anyone have the right to grant it.
Against such an enemy, there was only one thing he could do—
Fight with everything he had.
"Again!"
"…"
Moments later, when Gapar was being strangled by "force," he admitted that his earlier confidence had been a bit too loud.
Another unseen technique!?
Rings of magical force appeared in Onze's hand, binding Gapar's body. He needed time—time he didn't have.
Before he could break free—
The Sword would pierce his chest.
This time… it was over.
Yet at that very moment, Onze did something completely unexpected.
He glanced at Gapar—and instead of striking, hurled him backward, slamming him heavily into the ground.
"Why?"
Gapar asked instinctively. That had clearly been the perfect opportunity to kill him.
Onze said nothing. He merely reset his stance, eyes filled only with combat.
At that moment, Gapar realized something—
He had lost.
Perhaps not in swordsmanship.
But in character—he had lost utterly.
The opponent had refrained from striking while he was restrained, as if saying:
I can kill you—but I want to duel with swords.
Such uprightness commanded Gapar's respect.
He bowed deeply to Onze, a smile on his face, and raised his sword once more to rejoin the heated battle!
Some time later—
Gapar stood blood-soaked, leaning on his chipped longsword. Before him, Onze lay fallen.
Victory ultimately belonged to Gapar.
Onze's body was simply too frail. A single solid hit caused staggering, and heavy blows left it unable to rise again.
Once Gapar fully committed—ignoring pain and trading injury for injury—the Sword Saint's defeat became inevitable.
"I'll never forget you."
As the enemy's body turned to dust and slowly dispersed, Gapar paused for a moment, then planted his chipped sword into the ground—like a gravestone.
Such an enemy deserved respect.
"It's been a long time since I've felt this exhilarated."
He rolled his shoulders—and the wounds across his body healed visibly. Even the bloodstains were absorbed, leaving him merely looking disheveled, as though no battle had occurred.
Gapar had indeed gone all out—but "all out" referred only to swordsmanship. Any abilities he deemed unrelated to the blade remained sealed within him.
An altar appeared in the room once more. This time, however, there was no Humanity, nor did a teleportation chest appear.
It seemed this was the end.
He was the first person to clear the roguelike challenge!
A violet light hovered above the altar, drawing his attention. Gapar stepped forward, picked it up—and smiled.
It was a strangely shaped sword, with fragmented glintstone embedded along the blade, shimmering like stars.
[Star-Lined Sword]
[Unrefined fragments of glintstone are embedded in the blade, forming a sword that resembles connected stars. This is the weapon of the demi-human swordsmen. When the queen bestowed this blade, the swordsmen swore—to uncover the truth at the end of the linked stars.]
[Weapon Skill: Onze's Line of Stars]
"I'll accept it."
He solemnly claimed the sword. Even without explanation, he could tell—it would not disappear upon leaving. This was his clear reward.
Perhaps… it also symbolized the Demi-Human Sword Master's acknowledgment.
A pity that he hadn't won purely through swordsmanship, but by exploiting his opponent's physical weakness.
If he ever returned and faced him again, he would fight openly—blade to blade.
Along with the Star-Lined Sword came another reward option: permanently learn one skill from this roguelike journey—specifically a combat technique or magic—along with a large amount of souls.
What choice was there?
He chose Magic: Carian Greatsword.
Gapar exhaled heavily. Fatigue finally caught up with him—it was time to rest.
But just then, something felt… off.
As he looked at the Star-Lined Sword in his hand, that unease intensified.
Why had he entered Sein Dungeon in the first place?
The Storyteller's Staff on his back, and the Carian Greatsword spell he had learned, stirred his thoughts as he muttered,
"Didn't I come here to look for a Larva Tear?"
He had cleared the dungeon—
So where was the Larva Tear?!
"Worthy of a Sword Saint. Even his residual mana rivals that of a group."
In the lord's chamber, Wade reviewed the footage of Gapar's battle. It had been immensely entertaining.
The Demi-Human Sword Saint Onze was already strong. Under the effects of Strength Balance, his combat power during the fight had risen to just below B-rank—roughly B− to B.
And Gapar still defeated such an opponent—
While holding back.
Terrifying.
Rumor had it that Gapar already stood among humanity's top-tier warriors. Judging by performance alone, he could be classified as B-rank, or even B+.
But—
Wade frowned.
That felt… low.
If even Sword Saint–level elites were only B-rank, then who would oppose the A-rank monsters he might release in the future?
Would the world's powers need to band together just to clear a dungeon?
A strange thought surfaced.
Perhaps… this world wasn't as strong as he had assumed.
"Let's assume that's true for now."
Wade glanced at the new letters appearing above the altar—messages from the Astar Alliance and several other dungeons.
His decisive battle with the Hive Dungeon was approaching, and other dungeon lords had written to express concern.
But he clearly remembered sharing this information only with the Astar Alliance.
So how had the others found out?
He set the matter aside and returned to his hypothesis.
"The battle with the Hive Dungeon will confirm whether my assumption is correct."
He was eager to see just how strong other dungeons truly were.
Meanwhile, within Kindred mode, Gapar's bond value was rapidly rising.
It was about to break past twenty—
Soon enough, he could be sent to the Hive Dungeon to slaughter bugs.
Somewhere deep down, Wade felt a premonition.
This would be a lighthearted, relaxing—
Fish-frying massacre.