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And we have reached third world there, it being Monster Integration.
***
To Alan, fighting Garam felt like trying to cleave the wind. No matter how much force he poured into his swings, his blade met only empty, mocking space. Again and again, his steel whistled through the air, finding nothing but the void where his opponent had been a heartbeat prior.
Alan retreated a few steps, his gaze locked onto the man before him. "…Strange," he murmured, his voice barely audible. This was a departure from every battle he had ever known. Previous enemies had possessed overwhelming power, blinding speed, or impenetrable defense, but Garam was something else entirely. He was untouchable. Garam stood in a relaxed posture, his breathing as steady as a man lounging in a garden.
"You feel it now," Garam said, his tone casual yet heavy with authority. "The gap."
Alan didn't deny it. The sensation was visceral—Garam wasn't just stronger; he existed on a higher plane of martial completion. Taking a slow, measured breath, Alan allowed his aura to shift. Instead of exploding outward in a violent display of power, the energy condensed, tightening around his frame until it was a pressurized sheath of intent.
"Buff."
His body steadied, his senses sharpening to a razor's edge. Every vibration in the air and every shift in the dirt beneath his boots became a data point. Garam watched the transformation with a flicker of genuine interest. "Oh?"
Alan moved. He was fast, but the recklessness of his previous strikes had vanished. He launched a simple, honest strike. Garam shifted his weight to let the blade pass, but in that infinitesimal window, the air screamed.
[Undefeated King's Swordsmanship: 400,000 army Death sword.]
The blade defied the laws of momentum, changing direction mid-swing with a violent, metallic snap. Clang! The steel grazed Garam's arm, drawing a thin line of red.
Silence descended upon the clearing. Garam looked down at the shallow cut, then back at Alan. For the first time, his effortless smile wavered. "…You ..what is this swordmanship!"
Alan remained silent, his focus absolute. He no longer chased Garam's shadow; he waited, his sword held in a low guard as he read the flow of the world. When Garam stepped in, the air itself seemed to buckle.
Clang! Clang!
The sounds of colliding metal rang out in rapid succession. Alan wasn't missing anymore. By utilizing the principles of the Undefeated King's Swordsmanship, each of his movements became sharper and more precise. He had abandoned the futile effort to overpower his foe; instead, he was dismantling Garam's rhythm, adapting to the "untouchable" nature of his opponent step by step.
Garam's eyes narrowed. "Interesting."
The air distorted as Garam threw a heavy palm strike. Boom! The impact sent Alan skidding backward across the earth, his boots carving deep furrows in the soil. Yet, he stayed upright. Without a moment's hesitation, he surged forward again, his sword trailing a cold, blue light.
Slash!
Another cut opened on Garam's shoulder. It wasn't deep, but it was proof—the gap was closing. Garam's aura flared, the atmospheric pressure rising until the surrounding trees groaned under the weight.
"…So this is your answer," Garam said, his voice dropping an octave.
Alan raised his sword, the tip pointed directly at Garam's throat. He was calm, a vessel of singular purpose. "I'll reach you."
Garam stared at him for a long moment before his smile returned. This time, however, the amusement was gone, replaced by the cold hunger of a predator acknowledging a threat.
"Try."
In the next instant, the clearing vanished in a blur of motion as they both collided, moving far faster than the human eye could follow.
The clash resumed, but the tempo had shifted. It was no longer a fight; it was a storm of sparks and screaming air. Alan's sword moved with the fluidity of water, every strike stripped of hesitation and sharpened by pure calculation. Garam met him with nothing but his bare hands, his palms hitting the steel with the force of falling boulders. A single collision sent a shockwave through the earth, splitting the ground beneath them, yet neither man budged.
Alan surged forward, closing the distance until they were chest-to-chest. He twisted his frame, putting every ounce of his momentum into a singular, desperate arc. The blade whistled as it finally found its mark, carving a deep, jagged wound across Garam's side.
Blood spilled onto the dirt. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to freeze. Garam looked down at the red staining his clothes, then looked back at Alan with a gaze that had turned predatory. "…You really are reaching me," he said quietly.
Suddenly, the atmosphere grew heavy. Garam's aura didn't just grow; it compressed, becoming so dense that the ground beneath his feet began to sink. He raised a hand, and a dark, solid golden light gathered in his palm. Before Alan could even process the shift, Garam moved. There was no blur, no flicker—he was simply there.
Boom!
The strike caught Alan in the ribs, launching him across the battlefield like a ragdoll. He crashed through stone and dirt, leaving a trail of destruction before finally coming to a halt. A heavy silence followed as the dust settled. Then, slowly, Alan pushed himself up. He spat out a mouthful of blood, his arm trembling from the impact, but his grip on his sword never faltered.
"…That one hurt," Alan muttered, his eyes remaining locked on his enemy. He wasn't broken. If anything, his aura was becoming darker and more focused, a sharp edge honed by the pain.
"Good," Garam replied, his smile completely gone.
Alan took a step forward, then another, refusing to yield even an inch of spirit. "I'm not done," he declared. Garam nodded once, and in the next instant, both men vanished from sight. The sound of their next collision didn't just ring out—it shattered the battlefield entirely.
KRAAASH—!!
A violent shockwave erupted outward, flattening everything in its path. The ground caved in, trees were uprooted, and the air itself seemed to shatter under the force of their collision.
They reappeared at the center of the destruction—
Blades and hands locked.