The second part of the story does not begin with a massive explosion or a declaration of war, but with loss.
Three fragments of the Holy Sword Excalibur—sacred artifacts belonging to the Central Church—vanished without a trace. They were not stolen carelessly, but taken cleanly, swiftly, and with precise calculation. The culprit was no ordinary human, but a mysterious group operating from the shadows, led by a fallen angel whose name alone was enough to make the Church's higher-ups frown.
Kokabiel.
The latest reports placed him in Japan, specifically in the Kuoh region—a small city that appeared peaceful on the surface, yet had recently become an all-too-frequent focal point of supernatural disturbances.
Not long after, another rumor followed.
There was a "rogue exorcist" roaming the streets at night. He killed humans—and other beings as well—with methods that were too clean, too holy. The wounds were unmistakable.
One of the Excalibur fragments had been used.
The Central Church moved immediately. They dispatched a team of regular exorcists to investigate. But days passed, and not a single one returned. No reports. No distress signals. As if they had simply vanished, swallowed by the darkness.
The situation forced the Church to take more extreme measures.
They sent in the chosen children—teenagers who had been baptized and spiritually modified since childhood. Their bodies and souls had been forcibly adapted to synchronize with Excalibur. The holy sword was too powerful to be wielded by just anyone. Without compatibility, the blade would not shine—or worse, it would burn its user from the inside.
Those children were no longer civilians.
But neither were they fully soldiers.
And it was there… that this story truly began.
...
Several days after the quest became active, Jun's life on the surface appeared largely unchanged.
He continued his daily routine—simple, almost boring from an outside perspective. Waking up early, training, training again, then training even harder. Occasionally, he would "challenge the floors" as usual, as if it were nothing more than part of a regular workout.
But this time, he stopped.
Floor 32.
Jun had attempted it several times, and the result was always the same: a dead end.
Not because the enemies were too strong.
Not because he lost in technique.
The problem was… there were no enemies to fight.
From Floor 31 onward, the challenge changed completely. There were no living creatures. No malicious aura. Only a long, silent corridor filled with psychological pressure. The walls were plain, the path straight—too straight to feel safe.
Traps activated without warning. Needles from the floor, thin blades from the walls, sudden shifts in air pressure. Everything was designed for a single purpose: to test human endurance, not monstrous power.
What made it worse—all of his abilities were sealed.
Jun was forced to clear the floor as… an ordinary human.
Again and again, he had to retreat, breathing heavily, his body covered in minor wounds, his mind exhausted. This floor was not about who was strongest, but who was the most patient and meticulous.
That was why, for the time being, he stopped climbing the tower.
Not giving up.
Just… postponing it.
Instead, he returned to the basics. To something simpler, more grounded—sword training in the style of the Mount Hua Sect, performed gradually and calmly. No pressure from the floors, no devious traps. Just himself, a wooden sword, and the rhythm of his breath.
The problem was… since when had the city park turned into a performance arena?
At first, Jun didn't realize it. He simply trained as usual beneath a lone plum tree standing among rows of cherry blossoms. His sword movements flowed—soft, circular, like petals falling in the wind. Each swing formed a beautiful pattern, almost like a dance.
When Jun paused to regulate his breathing, only then did he notice—quite a number of people were standing at a distance, watching with expressions that mixed confusion and fascination. To ordinary people, what he was doing looked strange… yet beautiful. Like martial arts, but more like a performance.
He let out a quiet sigh.
"Seriously…?" he muttered.
Hoping people would leave on their own, Jun placed his hat on the ground—more as a joke than a genuine intention. A subtle signal that this wasn't a free show.
Instead of dispersing, the opposite happened.
One person chuckled and tossed in a coin, prompting others to follow. Before long, small bills were added as well.
Without realizing it, the training turned into an impromptu street performance.
Jun wanted to protest… but hesitated. He resumed his practice, a little more serious this time. His movements grew smoother, more refined. The plum blossom sword techniques he demonstrated looked alive, as if invisible petals were truly fluttering alongside each swing.
And that was when things spiraled out of control.
Recording.
A short video—Jun performing a Mount Hua sword technique with elegance and near-unbelievable precision—began to spread. Within hours, the number of spectators in the park increased. People came not by chance anymore, but out of curiosity.
Jun, who had only wanted to train in peace, now stood in the middle of the park… as an increasingly popular spectacle.
The cheers gradually died down as his final sequence of sword techniques ended. He exhaled, lowered the wooden sword, and glanced toward the hat on the ground. Inside—coins and small bills had piled up far more than he had expected.
"…This has really gone way off track," he muttered, half resigned, half amused.
But before he could pack up his things, his gaze caught something that felt… off.
At the edge of the crowd stood two figures in white robes. They tried to hide themselves, yet did so in a way that was too conspicuous—like people trying very hard not to be noticed. Their hoods concealed part of their faces, but their posture and the way they observed were clearly different from ordinary spectators.
They were envoys of the Church, exorcists sent to operate in a sensitive area—Kuoh City, a region officially under devil administration. In a cold-war-like situation such as this, unwritten rules applied: anyone entering had to report in and maintain proper conduct.
And right now, they were simply… watching.
Jun, of course, didn't know all those details. What he felt was a gaze that was too focused, too evaluative. When the cheering peaked and people began to disperse, the two robed women also turned away, leaving as if their interest had been satisfied.
Jun watched their backs, his brows knitting slightly.
"Strange…" he murmured.
But he didn't dwell on it. In any case, the park grew quiet again. He gathered his hat, slung his bag over his shoulder, then sat cross-legged beneath the plum tree. Eyes closed, breathing steady—returning to meditation as before, as if the earlier crowd had never existed.
Several hours passed.
Then—
"Hello…"
The voice appeared suddenly.
Jun opened one eye. Standing before him once more were the two women in white robes. From this close distance, small details felt even more… distracting. Their posture was upright, their demeanor calm, and—Jun cleared his throat inwardly—there were rather noticeable curves hidden beneath their loose robes.
'Ahem… focus,' he thought.
He opened both eyes fully and stood.
"Sorry," he said politely but firmly. "The performance is over. And… ladies, I'm not a clown."
Silence hung in the air, until one of the women—the slightly taller one—stepped half a pace forward. From beneath her hood, her voice emerged, calm… and startling.
"Would you like to spar?"
Time seemed to freeze for a moment.
Jun's eyes widened fully. His expression stiffened, pure surprise without any mask.
"…What?" he replied reflexively, his tone jumping an octave.
//--//
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