The Canyon of Sighs was a geological wound that bled cold wind. As Arthur led his retinue into the limestone throat of the gorge, the air pressure began to shift, pressing against their eardrums like the palm of a giant.
"The wind here... it's alive," Meteria whispered, her hand tightening on her staff. "The spirits of the air are screaming, Arthur. Something doesn't want us here."
"The 'something' is hungry," Arthur replied, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the jagged rims of the canyon.
Beside him, Nana and Cecil stood ready. Nana's hand was a permanent fixture on her hilt, her body coiled like a spring. Cecil, carrying her heavy, custom-forged spears, let out a low whistle.
"If I were a monster, this is exactly where I'd hide. High ground, narrow bottle-neck, and enough noise to hide a stampede."
From the jagged cliffs above, dozens of shrieking shadows detached themselves from the rock. Canyon Harpies (Lv. 165-170). Their feathers were the color of rusted iron, and their talons were coated in a paralytic filth.
They didn't dive; they rode the chaotic thermal vents of the canyon, moving in erratic, dizzying patterns that made them nearly impossible to track.
"Alfia, ground them! Meteria, protect the rear! Nana, Cecil—front line!"
"Chain Casting: Gravity Well!"
Alfia's staff flared with a violet intensity. A localized sphere of intense gravitational pressure manifested in the center of the Harpy swarm.
The screeching monsters were yanked downward, their hollow bones snapping under the sudden, agonizing increase in weight.
Arthur moved before they even hit the ground. His Level 150 stats, combined with his high-tier gear, transformed him into a streak of crimson lightning.
[30,000 Army Sky splitting sword!]
The canyon walls echoed with the sound of a hundred simultaneous strikes. Arthur didn't just kill the Harpies; he dissected the air they breathed.
His Aura—now a stable, searing white flame—flickered with every transition, turning the Harpies' iron-like feathers into fine ash before they could even scream.
Nana followed in his wake, her movements a blurred reflection of Arthur's efficiency. She didn't have his raw power, but her precision was terrifying.
She moved between the grounded Harpies, her blade finding the gaps in their armor-feathers with the ease of a needle through silk. Cecil, meanwhile, played the role of the anvil.
Any Harpy that managed to escape the gravity well found a spear through its chest. She swung her heavy weapons with a blacksmith's strength, shattering beaks and wings with every rotation.
High above the carnage, standing on a ledge that seemed too narrow for a human foot, a man watched in absolute silence.
He wore the tattered remnants of a traveling cloak, and a simple, battered straw hat shadowed his eyes. His hands were calloused, rough, and stained with the dirt of a beggar, yet they held a stillness that spoke of a different life.
This was Piaro, the fallen Great Swordsman and once-illustrious Captain of the Red Knights of the Saharan Empire.
Piaro's eyes, normally filled with the weary madness of a man betrayed and hunted, sharpened as he watched Arthur. He didn't see a warrior. He didn't even see a "Player." He saw a rhythm—a lethal, flowing cadence that resonated with the very soul of the sword. But it was different from the Imperial style. It was being tempered by a heat and a craft he hadn't seen in centuries.
'That boy...' Piaro thought, his grip on his simple plow-sheath tightening. 'He carries the technique of a master, yet he moves with the soul of a creator. Who are you, boy, who comes to this canyon of ghosts?'
He didn't move. He didn't follow. He simply watched as the quintet finished the Harpies and disappeared into the liquid veil of the great falls.
The Loran Waterfalls were a vertical ocean. The sheer volume of water falling from the 500-meter cliff created a mist so thick it was like walking through a cloud of liquid lead. The roar was no longer a sound; it was a physical force that vibrated through their marrow.
"The pressure of waterfall... it's over 400 kg per square inch!" Alfia shouted over the roar, her mana shield flickering as she tried to hold back the crushing weight of the falls.
"Follow me!" Arthur roared, his voice cutting through the thundering water.
He ignited his Aura to its maximum output. The white light formed a wedge of pure force, parting the falling water like a hot knife through butter. Nana, Cecil, and the twins huddled behind him as they stepped behind the curtain of the falls and into a hidden grotto—a cathedral of damp stone and ancient silence.
As the mist cleared, Arthur's breath caught in his throat.
The back wall of the cave wasn't smooth. It was a masterpiece of violent, flowing art. Hundreds of deep, rhythmic gouges had been carved into the granite—not by a chisel, but by a sword. The carvings depicted a man in motion, a blurred figure performing a series of impossible, graceful, and deadly maneuvers.
Arthur stepped toward the wall, his hand trembling as he traced the lines. He began to copy the movements, his body following the ancient "intent" left behind in the stone.
[System: You have discovered the 'Records of the Legendary Blacksmith'.]
[Your resonance with the Pagma's Apprentice class has reached 77%.]
Arthur stood in the center of the grotto. He closed his eyes, ignoring the flickering system windows. He felt the rhythm of the carvings. He could hear the whistle of the wind as Pagma's blade had moved through the stone centuries ago.
He raised his sword. His body began to move instinctively, mirroring the carvings. It wasn't just a combat style; it was a prayer. A dance of creation and destruction.
[Congratulations! You have learned the Legendary Skill: Pagma's Sword Dance!]
[Pagma's Sword Dance (Lv. 1)]
* Passive Effect (Deactivated):
* You are one with the sword.
* Physical Attack: +20% | Critical Hit Rate: +10%
* Consumes no mana.
* Active Effect:
* Become the sword itself.
* Mana Cost: 20 to activate.
* Available Techniques: Wave, Restraint, Link, Kill, Transcend.
Arthur's eyes snapped open. They were no longer ruby; they were a brilliant, molten gold. The Dignity stat within him surged, solidifying the knowledge into his muscles.
"Link," Arthur whispered.
He didn't use a skill slot. He performed the movement. His sword became a blur, a series of thrusts so fast they appeared as a single beam of light connecting him to the cave wall. T-t-t-t-tap! Five strikes occupied the space of one.
"Kill," he shifted, his center of gravity dropping. The air in the cave compressed. The strike was singular, heavy, and carried the absolute intent of ending a life. The sonic boom from the strike sent a ripple through the falling water outside.
"Wave... Restraint... Transcend..."
He flowed through the forms. Wave sent out a rippling pressure that slowed everything in its path. Restraint created a vacuum of spiritual pressure that locked an enemy's movement. And Transcend...
When he performed Transcend, Alfia, Meteria, and Cecil had to drop to their knees. The pressure coming from Arthur was no longer human.
For a split second, he looked like a god standing in a waterfall, his sword glowing with the light of a thousand suns, his presence rewriting the laws of the grotto.
Beside him, Nana was watching with wide, glazed eyes. Having been present when Khan's ancestors spoke to Arthur, she felt a strange resonance.
She began to move, her body mimicking the "Link","Wave" And other forms Arthur was demonstrating. Because she lacked the Legendary Class, she couldn't grasp the full essence, but her talent was undeniable.
[System: Follower 'Nana' has witnessed the Pagma's Sword Dance.]
[Nana has learned: Pagma's Sword Dance (Degraded - Lv. 1).]
Though it lacked the lethality Nana's combat power tripled in an instant. Her sword hummed with a new frequency.
Outside the cave, Piaro felt the mountain tremble. He felt the Transcend state resonate through the stone.
'He did it,' Piaro whispered, a rare, sane smile touching his parched lips. 'He didn't just read the stone. He understood the heart of the smith who became a great swordsman.'
Piaro looked down at his own hands—the hands of a man who had lost his way in the dirt. He looked back at the waterfall one last time before vanishing into the mountain mist. Arthur had his dance; now, Piaro had something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Hope.