Chapter 253: The Castle of Sand

For Lord Faust, this wasn’t his first encounter with Virendorf Swordsmanship.

If one were to trace back, it began during the Virendorf Campaign.

Although he couldn’t “absorb” sword techniques from Lady Claudia von Reckenber—as she wielded a poleaxe—he had encountered many formidable knights.

Virendorf was a nation that revered martial prowess.

To show cowardice on the battlefield was more shameful than death itself.

Every knight was willing to sacrifice their life to secure victory for their comrades, believing it to be an act of eternal honor.

Only those who lived by such values could call themselves Virendorf knights.

Thus, they were far from weak.

There wasn’t a single weak knight in all of Virendorf.

They could cleave through plated armor and deflect cannon fire with their strength alone.

Even for someone as absurdly powerful as Faust, a knight of Virendorf was a formidable foe.

But that was only on the battlefield.

In situations where he was surrounded, facing multiple opponents, even Faust had moments where he resigned himself to the possibility of death.

However, a one-on-one duel was an entirely different matter.

There wasn’t a knight among mortals who could match Faust’s brute strength.

To him, one-on-one duels against anyone but other superhumans were nothing more than routine.

Frankly, they even bored him.

“――”

That said, even within the monotony, there was always something to learn.

Martial arts.

Through observation during duels, Faust could learn his opponent’s techniques.

The reason for this ability was unclear—it was simply how he was born.

With an absurdly massive greatsword that looked like it belonged in a parade, he wielded his tremendous strength.

He had stamina that seemed to spring forth endlessly like a fountain.

Even if he bled or his bones were shattered, his body would heal in moments, thanks to his abnormal constitution.

On top of that, like water adapting to its surroundings or a shadow mimicking its source, he could absorb the techniques of his opponents.

Faust’s mother, Marianne, was not a martial artist.

She was merely a minor noble, holding a small estate called Polydoro in the frontier.

Yet, she understood her son’s potential.

Thus, she raised him in an unconventional way.

She neglected offense.

Rather than teaching him how to attack or strike first, she prioritized defense above all else.

Her singular goal was to ensure he survived—to ensure he would never lose.

Like constructing a massive fortress, she focused entirely on laying its foundation.

Until the Virendorf Campaign, Faust’s martial arts were nothing more than a sprawling, unfinished foundation.

“――”

He thought about it.

It had been a worthwhile experience.

The time he had faced off against ninety-nine Virendorf knights in one-on-one duels during a peace negotiation.

That had been valuable.

There was no wasted effort in those battles.

Even though he had held back during the duels, many of the knights had been superior to Faust in terms of martial technique.

The Fool’s Stance.

The Bull’s Stance.

The Plow’s Stance.

The Roof’s Stance.

These were the four basic stances of Virendorf Swordsmanship.

Naturally, Faust had already analyzed and seen through them.

He could predict the techniques that would emerge from each stance.

The reason he could barely fend off the sword techniques Baumann unleashed as she transitioned between stances was thanks to that prior experience.

Without it, while he might not have died, he likely would have suffered several effective strikes.

Faust pondered the nature of martial arts.

What is martial arts?

He wasn’t asking about philosophical or spiritual theories meant to refine a knight’s soul.

He was purely questioning the techniques themselves.

“――”

Martial arts were not about exploiting one’s physique or strength.

In fact, it was quite the opposite.

Faust believed martial arts were about finding ways for the weaker side to overcome the stronger side.

It was, in essence, the art of overturning disadvantages.

There was a moment when Faust had experienced true terror.

It was during his duel with Lady Claudia von Reckenber.

Why had he won?

How was it that he survived?

Even now, he didn’t understand.

In terms of strength, they had been evenly matched.

And in terms of martial skill, Reckenber had overwhelmingly surpassed him.

Yet, he had won.

If she had come at him with her full strength from the very beginning, Faust would undoubtedly have died.

He understood that much.

Yet, somehow, it was Faust who had survived.

From that moment on, he became fixated on one thing.

He wanted martial arts.

He wanted to learn the techniques of “initiative”, the art of offense.

He needed methods to overturn disadvantages when faced with someone as monstrous as Lady Reckenber.

“――”

Systematic martial arts.

The exceptional swordsmanship of Virendorf.

Of course, he desired it and had already memorized much of it.

The basic sword techniques, he had learned from the knights he dueled.

But it wasn’t enough.

For Faust, it was still insufficient.

Ultimately, he knew he fell short of Lady Reckenber.

If he were to face another “monster” like her, could he win?

If asked that question, he wouldn’t be able to nod in affirmation.

He likely wouldn’t be able to win.

Thus, he sought out more martial arts.

Techniques referred to as secret swords.

He even longed for the kind of fantastical abilities found in fictional tales of swordmasters.

Though half-heartedly, as if not expecting much.

“――”

Yet, if he were to conclude, such techniques did exist.

For instance, his duel with the Knights of the Rampaging Boar, led by Duke Temeraire.

That had been excellent.

No experience benefited Faust more than a duel with another superhuman.

Among them, he was particularly intrigued by the technique of a warrior known as the Samurai.

“Whirlpool.”

That was her ultimate move.

She twisted her body backward, creating a tremendous contortion.

Her spine, her abdominal muscles, her thighs, her calves—even the smallest veins in her body seemed to bend unnaturally.

The elasticity of a superhuman body allowed her to endure the strain.

And through that act, every fiber of her being compressed into an explosive force.

This was the kind of martial art Faust had always sought—something almost fictional in nature.

The Samurai was said to have cleaved both horse and rider in two with her favored nagamaki.

Yet, “Whirlpool” wasn’t strictly a sword technique.

It was a body technique that enhanced a superhuman’s already immense strength.

Faust admired it.

If this technique were used repeatedly, even a superhuman’s body wouldn’t hold up.

The same applied to anyone.

Save for one exception.

And of course, that exception was himself.

Only Faust von Polydoro, with his extraordinary regenerative abilities, could unleash this technique consecutively.

“――”

There was another encounter—Raikuya.

She had said:

“You know nothing of lightfoot techniques. You know nothing of internal power. Surely you know nothing of external power. It seems you know nothing about what makes a Feilong superhuman.”

Indeed, she appeared to know these things.

Qigong, was it?

To think such a thing existed… When Lord Faust realized this, he was secretly thrilled.

This world contained magic, true.

But it didn’t involve shooting flames or hurling lightning bolts.

When he learned that from Martina, he had been thoroughly disappointed.

But now, his feelings were the complete opposite.

So, such interesting things exist in this world…

Faust still didn’t know qigong.

It wasn’t something he could learn merely by enduring attacks.

However, if he asked Yue-dono, who had studied under the same Master Mother as Raikuya, she would tell him.

They had already made that promise.

Faust had no interest in the Landsknechts’ squabble.

He pitied them, that was all.

Just that and nothing more.

But he truly enjoyed his fight against Baumann.

“――”

He felt as though he might mutter something under his breath.

What was he trying to say?

Faust pondered.

Somewhere, the words were stuck—on the verge of emerging, yet refusing to come forth.

As if those words were somehow improper.

Meanwhile, he focused solely on parrying Baumann’s fierce swordsmanship, considering these thoughts all the while.

Baumann adopted the Roof Stance.

The uppermost position.

Her chest was left wide open, and Faust moved to strike horizontally—

But he stopped just before doing so.

He realized it was a trap.

Strictly speaking, not just a feint.

It was a sacrifice.

She meant to trade her life to deliver a finishing blow that would take Faust’s life.

Aah.

Baumann truly was a Virendorf knight.

No doubt Lady Claudia von Reckenber would be delighted in Valhalla.

But what to do about this strike?

What should Lord Faust von Polydoro do?

He hesitated over his own actions.

“Fun…”

Only one word slipped out:

Fun.

Yes, it was enjoyable.

The words that had been stuck inside finally popped out.

Faust was enjoying this fight.

He was enjoying his life-and-death struggle with Baumann.

He didn’t love killing itself.

He didn’t delight in such deadly exchanges.

Those were impurities.

In other words, it was like a fortress.

Faust was gathering building materials called “martial arts” to erect a great sandcastle on a plot of land meticulously prepared by his mother, Marianne.

He enjoyed that construction.

His duel opponents provided all the building materials he needed.

“――”

Faust read Baumann’s attack.

Yet, rather than dodge or strike first to finish her off,

He chose to receive it.

If he didn’t receive it, he couldn’t see it clearly.

If he didn’t receive it, he couldn’t learn it.

He couldn’t learn the peerless, mighty swordstrike that Baumann was about to unleash.

He couldn’t inherit Lady Reckenber’s “anger-fueled strike.”

He wouldn’t be able to carry on all of Reckenber-sama’s legacy.

“…Whirlpool!!”

Faust shouted.

His cry was drowned out by Baumann’s ape-like scream.

More than that, a thunderous roar, as if from an explosion, erupted from both of their swords.