The Regression Of A Grand Mercenary - 79 - Liondel VS Armored Oxy

It was supposedly just another day in the city.

Laughter echoed across the streets, children chased each other under the glaze of the spring sun, and merchants called out their wares with boisterous voices. Truly, it was a peaceful day.

And in Samsel City, within the guild that housed the strongest men the country could boast of, Liondel sat alone in his chamber, casually tending to his sword as he always did. His routine was a quiet ritual—oiling the blade, polishing the steel, listening to the scrape of cloth against metal.

But then the peace broke.

The door slammed open with a violent crack, and a sword buried itself deep into the wood, quivering from the force. Pierced upon its edge was a letter.

Liondel blinked, his hand halted mid-motion. He set down the blade and strode to the door, yanking the sword free to read the message. His eyes scanned the paper, and a heavy sigh escaped him.

As usual, it was another challenge from Oxy.

The corner of his mouth twitched with reluctant amusement. “That man…”

How many times had it been now? Ten? Twenty? Oxy’s persistence bordered on obsession. Liondel respected him, of course—his stubbornness, his hunger for strength—but the fights always ended the same way. With Oxy battered, defeated, yet smiling as if he had won something invisible.

Still, respect demanded an answer. Liondel gathered ten of his swords one of those being that of made from Thill’s hands. Then he strapped them across his back and sides, then left the guild behind.

The message named the place: west of the city, deep in the forest. A single lone tree, white and mossy as a dandelion. Everyone in Samsel knew of it, yet few dared to tread there. Monsters prowled that part of the woods, and those who strayed too far rarely returned.

Liondel pressed onward.

Yet as he pushed through the undergrowth, the atmosphere began to unsettle him. No monsters lurked. No birds sang. No carcasses of slain beasts littered the forest floor. The silence was wrong.

And then he saw it—the lone tree, pale and spectral in the clearing. Beneath its branches stood a man clad in black dragonic armor, the plates jagged like scales, edges rimmed in a faint crimson glow. A greatsword rested in his grip, heavy enough to cleave stone.

Liondel froze. This was not the Oxy he expected.

“…Who?” His hand slid to the hilt of one sword, instincts sharpening.

The armored figure did not answer. Instead, with a guttural roar muffled by the helm, he lunged.

Steel screamed as Liondel drew in a blur, catching the descending greatsword in time. The ground trembled from the collision.

And in that heartbeat—Liondel knew.

“Oxy…?”

Beneath the black helm, the aura, the rhythm of the strikes—it was him. But this was no longer the Oxy he had sparred and beaten countless times. This was Oxy reformed into something greater because of the armor. The Darkened Fury Armor had reshaped him into something faster, something stronger, something merciless.

Liondel’s eyes narrowed. It was then that he instantly figured out how it was possible for such an armor to be made.

Only one man was capable of creating such item.…and that was Thill.

The duel began instantly. He didn’t have time to find reason why this fight instantly happened, after all, it was Oxy who challenged him. He was the kind of man who would start any fight with anyone who seemed strong enough.

Truly, the fight rose like a storm given flesh. Two heavenly warriors clashed with no restraint, their strength shaking the world itself.

The armored Oxy pressed forward, his greatsword cleaving arcs so heavy they bent the very air around them. Every swing hissed with murderous weight, ripping the grass from the soil, sending the trees shuddering like terrified witnesses. The forest itself seemed too fragile to contain their battle.

Liondel weaved between the colossal strikes, his swords ringing like silver lightning. He parried, redirected, absorbed—yet each collision rattled his bones as if his very skeleton might shatter. Oxy wasn’t merely attacking like he usually would… He was consuming, pressing forward like a hurricane with blades instead of winds.

“F-fast?!” Liondel spat, locking steel against steel. Sparks showered from the clash, a brief storm of fire between them. But the pressure bore down, forcing Liondel’s boots deep into the earth until the soil cracked beneath him.

With a grunt, Liondel twisted aside, letting the monstrous weight slide into the ground. The earth ruptured, dust and stone bursting outward. In the same instant, he countered—his blade slashing across Oxy’s armored chest. Sparks flared. The strike should have been enough to cut through iron, but the blade only screeched against the armor and left no mark at all.

In that moment, Oxy repayed that attack with his own. He raised his knee and he slammed it into Liondel’s ribs with the force of a siege weapon. His own power alone should have caused a man to be left with his entire ribcage broken….but Liondel took it on like it was any other day. The blow hurled him backward, tearing through trees in a splintering cascade until he crashed into the earth, rolling like a ragdoll.

“Cough* *Cough*!” I n moments of this struggle, Liondel coughed blood and tasted the iron that fell to his tongue. Truly, it has been a while since he felt this kind of pain against someone who was worthy.

Yet his eyes narrowed—not in despair, but recognition. Even as Oxy bore down on him like a demon of war, he saw it. He was holding back. Oxy was showing restraint in his actions.

That realization burned hotter than pain.

With a snarl, Liondel drew another sword. Two blades now, his stance lowered, predatory. His aura surged, his muscles swelling with intent.

‘Fine. Let’s play.’ in that moment, he took a step forward.

His step cracked the world. In the blink of an eye, Liondel vanished, reappearing in front of Oxy with such speed the air itself screamed. The ground behind him collapsed into craters, shockwaves bursting outward as though the land itself protested his advance.

Steel met steel once mor and the collision thundered across the forest. The air warped. The clash sent waves of destruction in every direction. Where they struck, the world broke—craters gouged, trees uprooted, cliffs trembling. In just a second, their positions blurred; only the devastation left behind proved they had been there at all.

Oxy’s greatsword fell like judgment itself, for every swing he made was heavy enough to split mountains. Liondel’s twin blades answered like rivers, flowing, redirecting, cutting apart the storm. Yet with each parry, he felt his arms becoming numb, his breaths growing harsher.

The Darkened Fury Armor was alive. It fueled itself from Oxy’s bloodlust, feeding his aggression. Every missed strike only sharpened the next, every swing faster, heavier, crueler. His footwork—once brash and reckless—now carried the precision of a predator.

In one of Oxy’s strong arcs, Liondel couldn’t take any more of the swings, he couldn’t parry, he couldn’t counter…he had to duck beneath that murderous sweep and roll past his reach. At that given chance, he slashed at Oxy’s flank. His blade bit into the armor, but again, the steel skittered off like a child’s toy against divine metal. His efforts made it clear to him…he couldn’t cut through the armor with a simple sword alone.

Oxy twisted with inhuman speed. His gauntlet shot out, clamping Liondel’s wrist like a vice. And with a simple wrench, he flung Liondel aside as if he were nothing.

The swordsman’s body smashed into the cliffside, rocks collapsing around him. Blood spilled down his chin as he staggered up, chest heaving.

In that moment, he still knew something was off about Oxy’s personality in the battle. Although he acted out with the raging bloodlust of a beast, it felt lacking compared to his usual aggression. But truly, he couldn’t ignore the fact…

Oxy had grown very strong since the last fight.

“…S-strong!” he rasped, the word torn from his lungs.

And yet, beneath the pain, excitement sparked. For the first time in years, Liondel’s heart raced—not from fear, but from the thrill of an opponent who truly towered above him.

This fight was real.

With a roar, Liondel summoned four more blades, six in total, orbiting around him like silver stars. His mastery was beyond mortal comprehension, his control was absolute. Six swords danced in his hands and his aura ignited the forest.

But as he raised them, even now—he felt it. That suffocating weight pressing down, the crushing certainty of Oxy’s presence. The armor radiated dominance. Even with his mastery, Liondel felt himself shrinking beneath it.

And yet, he fought.

“COME, THEN!” Liondel bellowed, his swords flashing as he lunged.

But the moment he struck—his instincts screamed. Something beyond mortal danger clawed at his mind.

Then it came.

“!!!”

An invisible force, sudden and absolute, pressed down upon him. His knees buckled. His lungs locked. The pressure was not just Oxy’s killing intent—it was real, physical, like a mountain forcing him to kneel.

Steel screeched in protest. His six blades shattered in his hands before he even reached his target.

Liondel’s eyes widened. “W-what is this?!”

But Oxy didn’t answer.

Through the slit of his helm, his eyes burned with merciless fire. And then he moved.

The armored warrior lunged himself at a great speed, his greatsword cleaving forward, making it seem as though reality itself seeming to warp around its weight.

Desperation roared through Liondel. So in a blink of a thought…he gathered his core to its purest point and leapt to the side…

In that moment, he was reaching close to a point that was light itself…but before he could admire his speed, the world split behind him.

The cliff collapsed. The forest tore away. The ground exploded into ruin. The winds surged into a violent storm, howling with destruction.

He escaped the sword…he escaped the force pushing him down…

Liondel lived.

He staggered through debris, bloodied but alive, chest hammering. He knew he had no time. Against someone who had reached the Seventh Stage of the Pure Core, there was no hiding. Oxy could sense him, feel him, track him anywhere.

So there was no escape.

The battle still continued.

He burst from the rubble, summoning four more blades—his last, his final arsenal. Ten swords now, shining like fangs ready to rip apart heaven and earth.

But Oxy was not there.

Liondel froze, instincts blazing.

And then his gaze snapped upward.

“!!!”

From above, a shadow blotted out the sun. When he squented his eyes…it was then he realized what it was.

A boulder—half the size of a mountain—was falling.

Liondel’s teeth clenched. “Tch—!!”

He had no choice. He raised his blades, his will, his mastery.

And in one perfect motion—he cut.

The mountain split like paper. His swords carved through stone as though through air. He didn’t smash, didn’t shatter—he cleaved, clean and true. In what seemed like a true mastery over swordsmanship…deep inside that action, he didn’t just cut through the mountain itself, but everything in between that was naked to the human eye.

Not only was the mountain affected, but the molecules in the air as well were torn apart in his actions…space itself warped because of his mastery over the sword….

The world broke open.

The forest drowned in quakes. The sky filled with dust and ruin. The land screamed as the mountain crashed down and shattered into oblivion.

Liondel stood amidst the destruction, swords dripping with stone dust, chest heaving.

It was strange…all of these abilities demonstrated by Oxy were unknown to Liondel.

In all their history in fighting, Oxy was always using his sword and warrior-like techniques to overwhelm him, but today…the invisible force that came from the sky pushing him down, the boulder appearing out of nowhere to crush him…all of it seemed new to his eye.

What did it mean? He asked himself…

And while he was deep in thought… Oxy advanced.

The instant Oxy appeared out of the haze of dust and ruin, Liondel’s instincts screamed. There was something wrong—something sinister—about the air clinging to the blackened greatsword Oxy carried. A faint shimmer, almost like oil spreading over water, coated its edge. He recognized it too late.

The sword swung with an arc that split the ground like parchment. Liondel twisted, his body swaying in desperation rather than calculation. The blade grazed him at the side, not a direct strike—yet it was enough. His armor held, but the sting that spread across his ribs wasn’t natural.

Poison.

The realization crashed into him as his breath grew shallow. His blood seemed to thicken, his vision faltered at the edges. His limbs felt heavier with each heartbeat, as though shackled by invisible chains.

That single touch was all it took to tilt the battle.

Liondel stumbled back, his knees threatening to give way, but his pride anchored him. His body might betray him, but his spirit would not. He would not yield—especially not to the man in front of him.

A snarl tore from his lips as he reached deep within himself, his core burning hotter than ever before. His ten blades responded, each unsheathing into the air around him, orbiting his body in perfect synchronicity. They weren’t just tools—they were extensions of his will, the legacy of his countless battles.

“I will not….F-fall here!” Liondel roared, his voice shaking the battlefield.

With a surge, he unleashed his ultimate technique. The blades aligned as though guided by the stars themselves, converging into a radiant arc that seemed to tear through the heavens.

[Heavenly Sword – Splitting Beyond]

Reality itself seemed to waver. The air fractured like glass, space warping beneath the sheer authority of the strike. The light from the blades carved through the battlefield as though splitting heaven and earth, a force capable of annihilating all that stood in its path.

For a moment, even Oxy’s shadow seemed to falter under the brilliance.

But Oxy… did not flinch.

The blackened fury armor pulsed, runes etched into its plates glowing like molten veins. His greatsword, heavier than stone and darker than midnight, rose to meet the celestial storm. There was no fear in his stance—only an unrelenting hunger, a feral defiance that seemed to thrive in the chaos.

The clash came with a sound that silenced the world.

Light and darkness slammed together, compressing into a singular point before erupting in a shockwave that flattened the ground for leagues. The very sky split, thunder roaring as if the heavens themselves bore witness.

Liondel strained, every muscle in his poisoned body screaming as he forced his art to break through. The brilliance of his blades threatened to engulf Oxy whole.

But then, as the radiance dimmed, the truth was laid bare.

Oxy still stood.

The blackened greatsword was damaged…yet soon, it began to heal itself under the control of Oxy’s core. The fury armor bore the wound of Liondel’s mastery—yet it was only a single scratch etched across the chestplate. A shallow reminder that even heaven’s blade had failed to pierce its depths. And it too was healing itself little by little under his control.

Liondel’s eyes widened in disbelief. His trump card, the culmination of everything he had forged, had failed.

Breath ragged, strength waning, poison coursing through his veins, Liondel staggered. His blades hovered unsteadily around him, their once flawless formation trembling as though reflecting his fading resolve. And soon…their forms began to break. Shattering like glass, Liondel witnessed his swords fall into dust.

“…” he was speechless…

Across from him, Oxy tilted his head slightly, the red glow beneath his helm pulsing like the heartbeat of a beast unchained. Slowly, he raised his sword again, as though mocking the futility of Liondel’s defiance. And he put that sword to his back. Resting his blade and showing that the battle has ended.

The message was clear.

Finally, Oxy reached up, unfastened the helm, and lifted it away. The red glow beneath the visor faded, revealing his face—sweat-slick, eyes sharp, and a calmness that cut deeper than any blade.

“I won,” he said simply. There was no pride in his tone, no arrogance—only the quiet weight of truth.

Liondel’s chest heaved. His vision wavered from the poison coursing through his veins, but he still managed to rasp, “…H-how? How could you…?”

Oxy’s gaze didn’t falter. “I’m sure you already know who crafted this armor.”

Liondel’s eyes narrowed. “The boy…”

“Yes.” Oxy looked down at the jet-black plates, brushing a gauntlet across the single healing scratch Liondel’s Heavenly Sword had left on the chest. “This armor is flawless. Its strength alone should have been enough to overwhelm you. To grant me victory. But…” His lips tightened. “That isn’t the whole truth.”

Liondel’s breath caught. “!?”

“This armor is alive,” Oxy continued. “It spoke to me. It granted me strength unlike any I’ve ever known. At first, I was confident it was the armor itself that made me strong. I thought that with it, I could defeat anyone.”

His eyes darkened, recalling. “I tested it. Fought monsters across the country. Every battle, I tasted power far beyond what I thought I had. And yet…” His voice dropped to a low growl. “The taste was mild. Like an unseasoned boar roast. Something was missing.”

Liondel frowned.

“I craved more,” Oxy said, a dangerous gleam in his eye. “Each fight I pushed myself further. I came closer and closer to understanding what felt wrong. And then it struck me.” He placed a hand over his chest. “The armor didn’t make me strong. It simply showed me the strength I already had—but had never reached for.”

“…What are you saying?” Liondel asked, his voice unsteady.

Oxy’s smile was grim. “In truth, because of this armor, I came to realize something. I have now reached the 8th stage of my pure core.”

Liondel’s eyes widened. “What!?”

“It’s true.” Oxy’s voice carried no hesitation, no lie. “Through the armor, I gained a taste of strength far beyond myself. And with that taste, I finally saw the other side of the wall that all warriors face—the barrier of our current selves. The armor didn’t hand me power. It enlightened me. It forced me to realize I was never as weak as I thought. The strength was mine all along.”

Liondel staggered back a step, his mind reeling.

For warriors, breaking through each stage of their core was never simply about training or talent. Each stage carried with it a trial, a question that had to be answered. How do I become stronger than I am now?

It was a question most never solved. For to glimpse strength beyond one’s comprehension was terrifying. It was alien, unreachable. A future self that could not yet exist. To taste such power was to stare at the impossible.

Yet Oxy… had tasted it.

Through the darkened armor, he had been shown a fragment of his future strength. And instead of rejecting it, he embraced it. He understood it. Little by little, the impossible became possible—and he grew beyond his original self.

Liondel’s throat tightened. “…I see.”

Oxy stood tall, helm tucked beneath his arm, his presence heavier than before. “That’s why you couldn’t win, Liondel. You faced not just me, but the man I’ve already become.”