I'm fighting Kal'tsit? Really?

The young Nightmare had never personally experienced mountains of corpses and seas of blood, but his lineage gave him an innate ability to control fear.

Dominate...

fear?

When she came to her senses, Tora realized that she had forgotten to breathe.

Why do I feel afraid?

Nightmare looked at the enemy in front of him. The enemy did not strike him down with his sword, but stood quietly with his eyes closed, as if he was feeling the effects of Originium Arts.

Tora's body instinctively wanted to retreat, but he forcibly suppressed the urge.

He knew that if he showed even the slightest sign of retreat, he would be betraying his Nightmare bloodline... and his own destiny.

So he gripped the weapon tightly, his blood surging through his veins, and fear, like a raging tide, exploded deep within his consciousness, sweeping towards the other party.

The moonlight cast his figure onto the ground, revealing a dark shadow.

He stirred up those memories that remained in his blood, turning them into nightmares, into an army, into countless afterimages surging behind him and whispering in the wilderness.

"I see."

"So that's what the Nightmare Khan's skills and fears were like."

"...What a pity."

Gerald said so.

When he realized that the other person was speaking, Tora's consciousness began to fade. He could only stay awake by biting his lip and drinking his own blood.

He pulled his gun from the ground, aimed it at the Pegasus in front of him, and roared angrily, "Our battle is not over yet—! We have not yet decided the victor—!"

"Pegasus—!!!"

The moment the words left his mouth, Tora's spear flashed like a torrential rain. The army behind him advanced with him, turning their swords and spears into part of their offensive, and attacked Pegasus.

The clash between the gun and the sword sparked in the night, the force transmitted through the weapon to the bones. Nightmare's arm throbbed with pain from the recoil, yet he still gripped the gun tightly, determined not to let his rhythm be interrupted.

The situation remained the same as before; the slow-moving sword shadow would always intercept the attack at the most crucial moment, no matter how tricky the angle or how the trajectory changed.

But Tora had nowhere to retreat. He could no longer pay attention to the dozens of non-fatal wounds on his body. Instead, he desperately increased his pace, making the blade of the gun flip along the ground, and using his own weight to sprint forward.

The gun barrel suddenly twisted, tearing a tiny crack in the gap between the two men, allowing the spear tip to bypass the longsword's defenses and strike Gerald's chest.

opportunity!

Tuola stomped his foot on the ground, and the gun thrust forcefully into the barely perceptible opening.

But just as the spear tip was about to reach the opponent, the sword flashed suddenly.

It's dozens of times faster than before.

The army of nightmares was cleaved in two almost instantly by the longsword, without any ability to resist or struggle. It was as if a wisp of drifting mist had been blown away, so swift and decisive that one might even doubt its very existence.

A sharp pain struck.

Tora discovered that a section of his gun barrel had been cut off; at the very top of the shaft, where the tip of the gun should have been, there was now nothing there.

Gerald stood in front of him, maintaining the same posture as before, without even changing the rhythm of his breathing.

He lowered his head slightly, looking at Tora who had lost the ability to fight, and after a moment, slowly sheathed his sword.

"very good."

Tora heard the person in front of him say this, and then he heard the next sentence:

"The medical books from Columbia are indeed very useful... at least in the description of Kuranta, there are almost no problems. As the first opponent to experience these, I need to thank you."

"As for now, let's rest for a while, Nightmare."

Upon hearing this, Tora suddenly raised her head, wanting to ask the other party for the end of the Heavenly Path, even if that ending would be death.

But when he saw Gerald's eyes, all the words caught in his throat. Those eyes held no contempt, no pity, not even the joy of a victor, but rather a certain…regret?

He didn't know what Gerald was regretting. Perhaps he was disappointed with his own fighting style, or perhaps he regretted that he was "not strong enough".

Tora could only lower his head, remain silent for a moment, and then suddenly fall forward.

His consciousness plunged into darkness.

--------

“Interesting. I rarely see you silent for so long, Pegasus.”

In a dream.

Gerald snapped out of his thoughts and turned his gaze to the Blood Lord before him.

Those bloodshot eyes reflected a faint light as the quill pen in his hand moved across the paper, outlining lines of ancient and obscure characters. Beside him, a book was torn into scattered pieces, lying in the dark void.

He ultimately did not compromise.

The pride flowing deep in his blood wouldn't allow him to yield, even though each dream ended with his death.

To Gerald's delight, however, this formidable Blood Demon, an ancient being who had lived for over a thousand years, did not succumb to the shadow of defeat but instead chose to cope in a different way.

That is, "evolution".

Dukare's conclusion was a magical countermeasure originating from witchcraft, unique to the Blood Demon, a fighting style not belonging to any established system. He even specially requested paper and pen, wanting to complete a work belonging to the Blood Demon, or even the Sarkaz, in this endless void.

In the past, Gerald would have looked forward to the battles that would follow the completion of this work... but now, his attention has been drawn to something else.

"You have lived for a thousand years, Ducarre." After a moment of silence, Pegasus asked the Blood Demon Lord, "In these thousand years, have you ever seen that Harandu Khan?"

The Blood Demon Lord raised his head, letting out an almost inaudible sneer:

"Of course not. The Khan who conquered the land had no place for the Sarkaz. At that time, Kazdel, led by some nameless demon kings, could only live a life full of humiliation."

"To make a hero stop, there must be an even more unstoppable force—unfortunately, there were no heroes among the Sarkaz at that time, only scoundrels could become famous, and they could not possibly be compared with the two kings."

"But why would you ask these questions?" Ducarre narrowed his eyes, thought for a moment, and then nodded knowingly. "I see, you are a descendant of nightmares."

Gerald did not speak.

When the young Nightmare unleashed that Originium Arts derived from his bloodline, he clearly sensed the fear emanating from the other party.

Just as his deepest fears were also brought out, the Nightmare's Originium Arts covered everything, including himself—their every move reflected this emotion.

And then everything suddenly became clear.

Every battle is a process of Nightmare overcoming this fear, and in the Heavenly Path, new fears will be brewed, but Nightmare will also overcome its own fears as it moves forward.

Therefore, Nightmare would say that one's life truly begins only after conquering one's fears on the path to heaven.

But the Khan in history did not complete his journey to heaven; or rather, he was still on his way.

Gerald could sense that the nightmare's fear stemmed from his confusion about his journey and his uncertainty about where the path to heaven should lead.

And what about that Khan?

At this moment, Tianma felt that perhaps that Khan was just like himself.

Perhaps it was precisely because of his fear of his own powerlessness that his destiny was to conquer this land.

So much so that he would invite the King of All Laws to go to the end of the scorching land with him, to take the final step on his heavenly path, so that the fear deep in his heart would be forever subdued and never be able to rise again.

...Unfortunately, he will never be able to see that nightmare from more than a thousand years ago.

Gerald sighed softly, closed his eyes, and prepared to review his recent battle with the Nightmare while Ducarre wrote his own spell.

If he can replicate the fear he just experienced in his dreams, then this is also a way of forcing himself under pressure.

But just as he extended that part of his fear consciousness into his dreams.

The wind and sand, carrying a scorching heat, lashed against his face.

Pegasus opened his eyes.

What came into view was an endless desert, the sky scorching as if burned by fire, the air twisting and radiating a suffocating heat. Endless yellow sand danced wildly in the wind, its coarse particles hitting his face, seeping into the gaps in his clothes, even permeating every breath, as if eroding his very existence.

It looked exactly like the way Kal'tsit looked when he first entered his dream.

He slowly turned around, his gaze piercing through the rolling yellow sand.

An army is marching in through a raging storm.

Each person's figure was hidden in the sand and dust, with only the outlines of armor and weapons reflecting a cold light in the sunlight.

The gale whipped their cloaks, stirring up swirling dust, as if they had become one with the desert, as if the sunlight itself were swallowed by their shadows.

The person at the very front wielded two swords, wore heavy armor, and had his hair disheveled like raging flames.

He looked over.

Chapter Seven: The Third Battle (5K)

The churning yellow sand, like a flowing curtain, blurred the landscape into a scorching illusion, just as the nightmare's name suggests.

This army, like a black torrent, silently advanced through the endless yellow sand.

Countless nightmares moved in unison, their heavy armor, eroded by the wind and sand, yet showing no sign of slowing down. Their cloaks billowed like banners, and each step caused the sand to tremble slightly. The air resounded with both the beat of drums and the horn calls that continue to echo even in later generations.

No need for excessive commands or words; this is an army accustomed to war, born to conquer, born to the endless battlefield.

Gerald stood alone at the front of the army, facing the massive Nightmare Legion across the sandstorm.

He wore a set of light armor, unlike the choice of many conquering knights. His armor was lighter and had been specially adjusted by the craftsmen of Rhodes Island to reduce unnecessary burdens, so that his movement and agility would not be affected in the slightest.

However, if this decision were made in Sargon, south of Terra, it would be the perfect choice.

In contrast to his choice was the choice of the Nightmare at the very front.

The Khan, revered by posterity as a colossal beast, now wore even heavier armor and a fur robe, yet his steps were more steady than any celestial horse Gerald had ever seen. Though he wasn't running, he gave the illusion that he was faster than anyone else—this sensory disorientation was a symbol of a king who had conquered an era.

Gerald remained silent; he simply watched as the Khan clenched his fist and raised it into the air.

The nightmare army behind him obeyed his command almost instantly, stopping all their movements and steps, and standing at attention in place.

The Khan walked slowly forward, descending the slope of accumulated yellow sand, each step seemingly etching his own mark on this ancient, millennia-old sand.

The strong wind lifted his leather robe, revealing his battle-scarred shoulder armor underneath.

Distance: 10 meters.

At their speeds, this distance would be covered in an instant, yet the opponent did not rush to attack.

He simply stood there, letting the heavy oppression spread unchecked, letting fear approach from all directions, and letting the Khan's name begin to erode this land the moment his foot touched the ground.

Gaul collapsed under this fear, eagles lost their wings under this fear, and celestial horses succumbed to this fear.

"State your name, strongman."

Behind the mask came a language so unfamiliar it was almost foreign, and a deep yet clear voice, carrying the rugged spirit of the grasslands.

Haranduhan looked at the silver hair on the Pegasus's head, and at its somewhat familiar appearance, but he couldn't remember when he had seen this special Kuranta before. The young Pegasus's aura was so sharp that even Kazimir, a place he hadn't paid much attention to during his conquest, didn't immediately come to his attention.

Gerald.

Gerald did not back down; he did not even instinctively tense his muscles. Instead, he obediently swallowed his fear.

The weight that seemed to crush his soul instead seeped into his consciousness smoothly like sweet dew, bringing a strange feeling, like drinking a glass of cold water in a scorching desert, making him want to ask for more.

Gerald had never experienced such a wonderful thing before.

He suddenly felt a deep, profound understanding of how the Khan before him felt.

That desire to fight to the very end, that yearning to witness firsthand at the true end whether one can still conquer the land, that pure desire and fear that, even after conquering countless nations and annihilating countless enemies, one still persistently craves an even stronger opponent.

“Gerald.” Nightmare Khan repeated the name himself, his gaze falling on the pegasus before him. “No need for further words.”

"No need for further words." Gerald conjured a sword of incantations from his hand, causing a storm to gather around him, immersing all his mind in his own existence: "Khan."

Actually, very few people know this.

The Heavenly Path is not exclusive to Nightmare; rather, it can be used by anyone in Kuranta... or even if it's not Kuranta, it doesn't matter.

"The Path to Heaven"—even the name itself can be interpreted in various ways. This means that everything is up to you: how to take your steps onto the other side of the sky, how to decide whether to stay or leave—you don't need to become a nightmare to embark on the Path to Heaven.

For Pegasus

He already knew where his heavenly journey would lead.

Then the nightmarish bugle call rose from the legions behind the Khan.

……