The clash of blades thundered ...
a storm of edges, a vortex of steel and cutting arcs that tore through the silence of space itself.
Agaroth had entered a completely different form.
A form crafted for one purpose alone—
To face Nameless.
For as long as the sword was concerned, Nameless had always held the advantage.
None could rival him in skill, none could even approach his level.
And that...
Was what Agaroth had chosen to overturn.
The moment he assumed the Yaksha form, the King ascended to another plane entirely.
His speed surged beyond limits, his control over the blades absolute.
Each edge carried immeasurable force and durability—
enough to cleave through an entire moon with a single motion.
He wielded a technique reminiscent of the great claymore...
yet infinitely more lethal.
His blades could extend near-instantly, striking like beams of condensed annihilation ...
only to retract just as quickly, as though nothing had ever happened.
Agaroth abandoned spectacle.
Abandoned the grand displays and devastating wide-scale techniques.
Now, everything was focused—
On close combat.
He collided with Nameless face to face, and the two were swallowed by a storm of dark and violet arcs.
A hurricane of blades clashed relentlessly, scattering white, black, and crimson sparks ... a violent dance of destruction.
’His movements... are completely different...’
To withstand Agaroth’s assault, Nameless pushed his senses to their absolute limits.
At the same time, he relied on the King’s Domain to trace the trajectories of incoming strikes.
But the blades...
They carried something else.
A strange aura—one that flowed in reverse.
An existence fundamentally opposed to the Domain itself.
And because of that—
The King’s Domain could no longer track them properly.
Agaroth had seized complete control of the battlefield.
’Those blades...’
Nameless’ eyes flared mid-battle.
’How many abilities did he fuse... to forge that metal?’
These were no ordinary weapons.
They were manifestations—
embodiments of multiple fused world-breaking abilities, drawn from Agaroth’s vast arsenal.
The two vanished within a colossal shadow.
Their hands moved faster than light.
Nameless pushed himself to the brink just to survive—
barely deflecting the relentless onslaught.
He couldn’t counterattack.
Agaroth forced him entirely onto the defensive.
What was most terrifying...
Was that this form alone exerted more pressure than the hundreds of clones and the overwhelming barrage of world-breaking abilities Agaroth had unleashed earlier.
Back then ... Nameless could still fight back.
Now...
He was being crushed.
Gradually, the blades began to carve into his body.
Wounds accumulated.
Step by step, he was driven backward.
And yet his swords moved with flawless precision—
an extension of his very being.
A mastery beyond comprehension.
That skill alone kept him alive beneath the storm of the Demon King’s assault.
But even that—
Was only delaying the inevitable.
The damage inflicted by those blades would not heal.
The second phase of Shadow Adaptation had become completely useless.
’...I can’t block this with the King’s Domain.’
Standing before the nightmare known as Agaroth, Nameless saw the truth clearly.
Defeat was inevitable at this rate.
One blade pierced his abdomen—
Bursting through his back when he failed to intercept a strike that came like a bullet.
The damage worsened.
He was driven back further—
Until his back slammed into the ruins left behind by their own destruction.
Agaroth did not stop.
He pressed forward, burying Nameless beneath the wreckage.
Time slowed.
The world turned gray within Nameless’ vision.
He saw two crimson-black arcs coming for him ... He blocked them.
Then four—
He blocked those too.
Then eight—
And again, he defended.
The number kept rising.
Doubling.
Expanding.
He blocked.
And blocked.
And blocked—
Until his arms trembled, despite the immense power flowing through them.
And then—
The blades broke through.
He minimized the damage as best he could.
Barely preserving himself enough to continue fighting.
But Agaroth’s attacks dug deeper with every passing second.
Nameless’ defense weakened.
His Domain shifted ...
Warped, reshaped, as though he was attempting something.
But it only made things worse.
And that...
Irritated Agaroth.
"Is this... the limit of your swordsmanship?"
Slash.
The King cut deeper, his power intensifying as the very fabric of space fractured beneath his strike.
"Is your skill truly this... pathetic?"
He was displeased.
He had expected more.
The swordsmanship that once fascinated him—
to fall so easily before his current form?
He wanted resistance.
A fiercer struggle.
But he was denied.
Nameless’ reactions slowed with every passing second.
Even defense was becoming difficult.
All he could do now...
Was mitigate the damage.
Just enough to remain in the fight.
He prolonged the battle.
But it was meaningless.
Blood poured from his wounds.
Aura leaked from his body at the same rate.
And yet—
The masked warrior continued.
He fought.
Endured.
Forced himself forward.
What did "impossible" truly mean?
Fighting a monstrous being—
a creature whose power defied all understanding, whose origin remained unknown.
A being that had never once been defeated.
Fighting with a broken body.
With incomplete power.
Facing him without his armor—
The Armor of Night’s Zenith, rival to Crimson’s Blood Armor.
Without his greatest weapon ...
The Sword of Shadow Sovereignty, said to cleave through space itself.
Fighting the most powerful Demon King—
A battle that would yield nothing...
But despair.
Fighting while carrying the souls of an entire world—
trying to save them...
trying to keep them from vanishing forever...
The Void showed him every path.
Every possible outcome.
And in all of them ...
he saw defeat, clear and absolute.
Even Frey had surrendered once... had drowned in darkness when his mind failed to conceive a single scenario where he could stand against the Demon King.
But Nameless did not.
What does it mean to stand against the impossible?
If there is an answer—
then it is simple.
To be Nameless.
He endured Agaroth’s onslaught.
And after a brutal clash that lasted only minutes ...
minutes that stretched into eternity—
Nameless deflected those blades thousands of times, while only being struck a handful.
Yet his body was ravaged.
Wounds layered upon wounds, until even his arms nearly tore free—
large portions of them already severed beyond recovery.
Agaroth’s eyes narrowed slightly.
He watched as Nameless’ arms dropped, his strength finally giving way.
There was disappointment in his gaze.
But he moved to finish it regardless.
The blade extended.
It descended toward Nameless’ broken body.
Nameless remained still.
His eyes empty, staring at the ground.
If this strike landed—
It would be over.
He understood that.
Yet he did nothing.
For a moment—
It seemed as though everything had ended.
’I am not a god...’
’I am nothing more than a man who devoted his entire life to the sword... and to uncovering the truth hidden within this world.’
’They may call me a great warrior... a king... a monster...’
’But that is not who I am.’
His thoughts echoed.
Within the realm of souls ...
Where Frey remained, alongside countless burning spirits drowning in a sea of blood.
’All I have... is perseverance.’
Agaroth’s blade reached him.
And just before it struck ...
Something changed.
The King’s Domain ignited.
From the edge of Agaroth’s blade, a faint violet spark was born.
It moved faster than the blade itself.
It pierced Nameless.
Ran through his nerves.
Through his organs.
And into his mind.
His consciousness flared.
And with it—
His entire body ignited.
The void eyes lit once more.
And Agaroth’s blade cut through nothing but an afterimage.
Nameless had already moved.
Agaroth’s eyes widened.
He attacked again instantly, wondering if what he had just seen was coincidence.
But there were no coincidences in this world.
Nameless evaded again.
Perfectly.
For the first time since the Yaksha form had been unleashed—
He struck back.
His counter forced the King to retreat.
Even scratching the dark armor that had seemed untouchable.
Nameless’ body burned with a warm violet flame.
His wounds began to heal.
Slowly.
Agaroth’s eyes gleamed, puzzled.
And the answer revealed itself ...
Through the Domain.
Nameless raised his swords once more.
And walked forward.
"Unlike you... I do not possess an infinite reservoir of world-breaking abilities."
"I have only a few."
"But the difference between us, Agaroth... is simple."
"I created these abilities myself."
"I pushed them beyond their limits... myself."
"While you..."
"You only own one."
"And the rest... you stole."
"You devoured them."
Nameless raised his blade ...
And surged forward once more.
The battle resumed.
But this time—
Everything changed.
Nameless began to match the Yaksha form.
No—
He overwhelmed it.
The clash of blades thundered.