The Sword Saint, Gapar—that was the name of the mentor Leon once apprenticed under.
Decades ago, Gapar had already reached the rank of Sacred. Whether his strength had since ascended to the Legendary tier, no one knew.
Because—he'd retired from the world.
The reason?
He wanted to become a mage.
According to Gapar himself:
"Every battle as a swordsman means charging headfirst into the front lines. After every fight, I'm drenched in sweat, blood, and… unidentifiable fluids. Even when I'm off the battlefield, I have to keep training every day, swinging my sword like a lunatic. There's nothing elegant about that!"
"But a mage—ah, a mage is the embodiment of refinement! All you have to do is stand gracefully at the back, chant a few spells, and unleash cataclysmic magic with a flick of your wrist! When your mana runs dry, you can even collapse dramatically on the ground, and no one dares call you lazy. They'll just say you're fragile—because mages should be delicate and frail! Tell me, is there any class more sophisticated than that?"
"There isn't! No one appreciates the true elegance of a mage better than I, Gapar!"
Every time he came back from battle reeking of sweat, he'd regret not choosing the path of a mage from the very start.
So why didn't he learn magic earlier?
Well… that part was hard to admit—his wife hated mages.
She loved watching him swing his sword, and she thought mages weren't "manly enough." Only after her passing did Gapar finally reveal his true ambition:
"To hell with it! I'm becoming a mage!"
But tragedy struck. Because of his extreme "class adaptation," his body had become too deeply molded by swordsmanship—it could no longer hold even a single thread of mana. He couldn't even cast the simplest Ignite spell.
And so, disheartened, the Sword Saint Gapar withdrew to a remote mountain to live in seclusion.
Once, someone had asked him,
"Your wife was just an ordinary person. You were far stronger—why didn't you just ignore her opinion? You're the strongest! If she dared oppose you, just smack her!"
Gapar's answer was simple:
"Get lost. If I didn't care about her, would I have married her in the first place? Don't mistake respect for fear, idiot."
The one who asked that question was beaten half to death afterward—and looked miserable for weeks.
In any case, when Leon brought the Larval Tear to Gapar's doorstep, the old man had wept tears of joy and personally trained Leon's team for seven days and seven nights.
Leon refuses to speak of what happened during those seven days. The only proof he survived was his tougher physique and sharper swordsmanship.
Gapar didn't keep the Larval Tear—it was a First Clear reward, usable only by those who had cleared the dungeon themselves.
He'd earn one with his own hands!
Gapar had originally planned to return with Leon and the others, but some urgent matter delayed him. That "delay" stretched on until now. No one worried, though. After all—he was Gapar.
Leon's eyes blazed as he stared at the Knight before him. Then, to everyone's surprise—
He bowed to the Knight.
His training under the Sword Saint had taught him humility and respect. One must always bow before battle to show one's honor…
Even if the enemy uses that exact moment to attack!
Veins bulged on Leon's forehead. He grit his teeth, barely keeping his temper in check.
"Forget it. There's no point teaching you manners."
With a swing of his sword, Leon unleashed a crescent-shaped blade of energy so dense it could cleave through stone.
The Knight rolled aside, but when he rose—Leon's glowing sword was already above his head!
He had crossed more than ten steps in a single instant.
Clang!
Sparks burst as the Knight hastily raised his shield to block, only for Leon to follow up with a brutal kick to the gut that sent him staggering backward.
"I won't give you the chance to fight back!" Leon roared, pressing the assault. His swordsmanship was fierce and unrelenting, leaving no opening.
The first time he faced the Knight, he had been utterly helpless. He'd replayed that defeat countless times since then.
This time, he wouldn't make the same mistake.
If you're going to fight—then fight to the death!
But the Knight's was bulky, his armor thick, his defense unyielding.
Enduring Leon's flurry, the Knight finally completed a forbidden technique—just like before, when he'd killed the mage Drew first. He was repeating his old trick.
"Tch…"
Leon dodged backward, narrowly avoiding a fatal counter. In normal combat, this would've been his opening to strike back.
But against this Knight—was that even a real fight?
Absolutely not.
As the Knight's blade flashed again and again—ten strikes within a heartbeat—Leon tried to parry with flawless swordsmanship. It was useless.
All his years of training meant nothing before Cancel.
Frustration flickered in his eyes—then, without hesitation, Leon turned and ran.
Yes, he ran.
He sprinted toward the edge of the circular prison arena, circling the Knight like a marathon runner.
The Knight froze for a moment.
Wait… isn't that my move?
"Always study your opponent's tactics. Feel no shame in learning from your enemy. When you defeat them using their own signature skill, the shame belongs to them!"
— Sword Saint Gapar.
Naturally, the Knight gave chase. The two began running laps around the circular arena.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Throwing knives sliced through the air, but Leon deflected every one aimed at his vitals as if he had eyes on his back—ignoring the rest.
No matter how the Knight taunted him, Leon just kept running.
If the Knight had any self-awareness, he'd be shaking with fury.
And then came the breaking point.
The Knight suddenly stopped, shaking his shield in mockery. Leon's response?
"Eat this!"
He pulled a round object from his pouch and hurled it straight at the Knight.
The throw was obvious—anyone could dodge it, and the Knight did.
But when it hit the ground—pop!
A thick, brownish-yellow smoke exploded outward, filling the air with a stomach-turning stench.
The Fetid Pot.
The Knight froze again—his second time in disbelief—and this time, he trembled with rage.
He… threw poop at me?!
Furious, the Knight charged forward, sword and shield raised.
"Just as planned," Leon grinned. "That pot doesn't just stink—it draws aggro."
When Leon first obtained the crafting recipe for the Fetid Pot, he'd been baffled. How could a jar of… excrement… be rated as a rare, purple-tier item?
He only understood after making one himself.
Because it was disgusting.
Getting hit by that thing would infuriate even a saint—let alone a normal person!
In this world, the Fetid Pot's hidden effect was simple: massive aggro generation.
And by "massive," it meant about as much hate as killing someone's entire family.
If they didn't have family, well… the rage still worked.
Look at the Knight—no family, but mad enough to kill.
"I'll kill you!" the Knight roared, charging with inhuman speed—faster even than Leon post-training—closing the gap within seconds.
He prepared to unleash Cancel again—
But Leon suddenly turned, a loaded scatter crossbow in hand.
The bolts shimmered with faint purple dust—the Bone Hypnosis Arrows Stellan had earned as a reward!
The Knight raised his shield—but too late.
Thwack!
The arrow pierced through armor, and the sedative powder took hold. A wave of drowsiness washed over him.
But one arrow wasn't enough to fell the Knight.
Leon took another brutal beating—ten slashes in seconds, blood spraying through the air.
The true horror of Cancel wasn't just its speed—it was the stun that followed.
Take ten hits, and you'd freeze—unable to move, counter, or flee.
Game mechanics… made real.
Unreasonable? Maybe. But fun? Absolutely.
Even covered in wounds, Leon dropped to his knees just in time—dodging the tenth strike that would've locked him in place.
The Knight's sword missed. When he tried to re-aim, Leon was already sprinting away, reloading his crossbow.
Something's wrong…
A flicker of instinctive danger stirred in the Knight's fading consciousness. Had he missed his only chance?
Why was Leon retreating so far? Even if he put the Knight to sleep, it would take too long to reach him…
Minutes later, the answer revealed itself.
After countless shots, another Bone Hypnosis Arrow struck true—finally putting the Knight into a brief slumber.
And the distance between them? About five seconds of full sprinting.
The sleep would last only three.
So what could Leon possibly do?
"I knew from the start," Leon said softly, smiling, "that fighting you head-on with swordsmanship was impossible."
He dropped his straight sword and drew two curved blades from his back—held in reverse grip.
These weren't his usual weapons.
They were the Reverse Swords.
"This battle's a game of strategy. Your technique far surpasses mine. If you catch me, I die. My proud swordsmanship means nothing before yours."
He crouched, taking a stance that seemed oddly familiar—the kind seen before at a bonfire.
"The Sword Saint taught me one thing: do whatever it takes to win."
Ash of War: Swift Slash.
The instant the words left his mouth, Leon vanished—crossing the entire arena in a blink, reappearing behind the Knight.
A violent burst of sword energy exploded in his wake.
Moments later, the Knight fell, body dissolving into ashes. Only the Knight's Straight Sword and Shield remained.
Leon didn't rush to claim his loot. He looked down at the ashes and murmured:
"I finally understand. To survive in Sein… you must fight like Sein."
A knowing smile spread across his face, as though he'd glimpsed the ultimate truth of the universe.
If this dungeon defied reason—then clinging to reason only led to death.
Ash of War: Swift Slash. Bone Hypnosis Arrows.
These were the true keys to conquering Sein.
He bent down, picked up the sword and shield, and a flood of information surged through his mind—teaching him how to wield the power of Canceling.
Slash. Shield. Slash. Shield.
After hundreds of attempts—
Finally, Leon executed his first-ever Cancel.
"I did it… I learned Canceling."
Now—
It was time to end everything.