There was silence.

There were no words between them. They only stared at each other, eyes locking with respect, with acknowledgment.

That alone was no simple matter. The Slave was no simple being. To receive such a look from him was an achievement so immense that Kaden wasn't even aware of its weight in that moment.

But there, in that place reeking of death, in that space beyond the bounds of worlds, in that graveyard where even a dragon wept as its heart was gouged open… two beings prepared for their final duel.

And they did not linger.

At the same time, they kicked their feet and launched forward, steel drawn, as weapons clashed in a burst of sparks that lit the void.

A sharp sound echoed, steel against steel, sparks raining.

They retreated, each taking a measured step back.

They looked again, and they both felt the difference. Kaden's Will now allowed him to block the Slave's attacks.

He was proud, he wanted to say something.

But they were no poets. They were swordsmen. And swordsmen spoke through their blades.

So they talked. Or rather, they sang.

The song of steel filled the air, strikes ringing out as each one ducked, dodged, countered with flawless precision.

Kaden's strikes were cleaner now. He struck with his shoulders, firm and decisive, his footwork steady, his stance flexible.

The Slave's way of fighting hadn't changed, it was still fluid, still seamless. He looked less like he was standing on rock and more like he was dancing upon water.

Soon, they looked like two streaks of light swirling amidst shredded corpses, spiraling around one another in deadly rhythm. Their footsteps made no sound. Only the hiss of steel and the splash of their blood striking the ground echoed in that void.

And still, they smiled.

They bled, their wounds deepened, their bodies screamed with pain as Will sharpened every cut…but their smiles only widened.

Kaden had forgotten entirely that this was a quest, a trial to defeat the Undefeated.

All that mattered was this: he was fighting against his master, not a slave, and he had to prove to him that his disciple understood.

That was all.

And the Slave's smile stretched further.

It was irony.

He had been born a slave then later, he became the slave of the world, bound because his Will was too dangerous, too unheard of.

All his life, he had never tasted freedom. Never known what it was to act without chains. To choose without being told.

Until now.

He had never taken a disciple. He had wandered alone, always searching for a way to break the chains binding his soul.

His life was misery. His life was pain. His life was chains. His life was rage.

But now, as he watched this young man fighting desperately to impress him — a boy who could block his strikes, who could wound him — he laughed.

"Hahahahahaha!"

He laughed loud, wild, like he had never laughed in all his life.

He didn't know how this boy's Will had grown to be unique, like his own. It wasn't supposed to be possible.

He was supposed to be the only one. A Wonder.

But in that moment, he didn't care.

He only wanted to enjoy this fleeting instant. So he cast aside every thought, and focused only on his disciple.

What irony.

A slave… being called master.

He laughed again.

Then coughed blood as Kaden's blade pierced his chest. His legs faltered, his vision blurred, stars exploding across his eyes, and he collapsed with a heavy thud upon the ground.

He looked up at the sky, at the endless scars of blades etched across it, and laughed.

Gods, he was laughing so hard it hurt. His diaphragm burned. He was breathless.

The sound of knees striking ground echoed. He turned, saw Kaden. His face and body were torn with wounds, his blood flowing, but his injuries were already healing with his Will.

"Master…" Kaden's voice was soft, yet thick with grief.

He hadn't known this being long, but it felt like he had known him forever. That was the weight the Slave had left upon him.

The Slave laughed again, lips trembling, blood spilling. "I-It's awkward… to be called master… when all my life I've been called slave."

Reditha was still lodged in his chest.

Kaden's lips pressed into a thin, trembling line.

"Tell me… what's your name, Heir of Death?"

"Kaden… I am Kaden Warborn, master."

"D-Do you truly want me as your master?" His face grew pale, his voice faint. Blood loss was stealing him.

Kaden took his hand, clasped it tightly in both of his own. It was cold. Too cold. The chilling grip of death itself.

He shivered, bit his lip, and nodded. "Yes. I want to." His voice cracked.

Why was he so emotional? He didn't bloody know. But this Slave tore something open inside him.

"For a killer… you're awfully emotional, d-disciple," the Slave muttered, stuttering over the word, almost embarrassed.

It was almost cute. Almost… human.

"I don't have much time," he said, and Kaden's grip tightened, his focus absolute.

"Listen to me, my disciple."

"I won't burden you with heavy farewells, but I'd be an unworthy master if I left you coddled."

He chuckled dryly, blood bubbling at his lips.

"Your goal… is dangerous. The strength to cut chains? No one has ever reached it. Even I, your master, failed."

Kaden listened.

"But…" his smile returned.

"I will be unreasonable, and I will believe. I will believe that you, Kaden Warborn — the one who called a slave 'master' — will succeed."

"I will believe in my first and last disciple. Because if a master cannot believe in his disciple… then who will?"

Kaden trembled. Pain deeper than wounds tore through him.

"So don't fret. Don't hesitate. Your Will is like mine, unseen in all the worlds. But you have more than my Will, so you will surpass me. You will become the man I could not."

He gasped for air, lungs burning, words tearing his throat, but he pushed on. He had to finish.

The only one who had ever called him master deserved it.

"Rise… and go beyond. Search every place, both worlds and realms. Learn the histories, the gods, the truths. Leave nothing untouched."

"It's a heavy task, because the more you know… the less you will know. But do it."

"And finally… find me. The real me."

"You're not… dead?" Kaden asked, shocked.

The Slave chuckled faintly.

"My disciple, I am the Undefeated Slave. After a certain level… the only way to die is to be killed. And I cannot be killed. I am immortal." His voice carried a thread of pride, as though reminding his disciple how great his master was.

Kaden chuckled too, though his heart ached.

"You're the best, master." he said, forcing cheer.

"I'll find you. I'll find your real body. And I'll make him accept me as disciple too. I won't fail you."

But there was no reply.

Kaden looked down. The Slave's mouth was half-open, as if to speak, but death had claimed him first.

At that moment, Kaden didn't think of his success. He didn't think of completing his mythic quest.

The only thought in his heart was simple, crushing.

His master was dead.

He crawled closer, lifted his head gently, placed it in his lap. He looked down at the Slave's peaceful face and smiled, broken.

He didn't know if he was crying…

But his vision blurred.

—End of Chapter 238—

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