pertwk Chapter 8 The God-Slaying Spear
Chapter 8 The God-Slaying Spear
Another cycle has begun.
Arthur stood in the center of the training room, gripping the sword in the stone with both hands, his emerald green eyes fixed on Scáthach in front of him.
Her scarlet spear was pointed diagonally at the ground, its tip shimmering with a dark red light, like a venomous snake poised to pounce at any moment.
"Today, we'll change our training method," Scáthach said, a rare seriousness in her wine-red eyes.
"In the previous cycles, you have been learning to 'take a beating' and 'read through the patterns'. Now, it's time to learn to 'fight back'."
She held the spear horizontally in front of her, gripping the middle of the shaft with her left hand and loosely holding the butt with her right.
"The second move of the technique to kill the king, 'Godslaying'."
It's not for fighting gods, it's for fighting the "invincible."
Arthur frowned: "An invincible force?"
"Yes." Scáthach's gaze sharpened.
"Among your future enemies, there are some that you 'cannot defeat'... at least not from a common-sense perspective."
Gods, monsters, cursed heroes... their power far exceeds human limits.
You could try to kill him with a sword for a hundred years and still not succeed.
She raised her spear, the tip drawing an arc in the air.
"So you need to learn... not to 'defeat' them, but to 'kill' them."
These are two different things. To 'defeat' someone requires you to be stronger than them, while to 'kill' someone only requires you to find their 'death point'.
Arthur recalled the images that the sword in the stone had brought to him.
In those images, he saw countless powerful beings.
Goddesses, monsters, heroes—their power truly far exceeded his imagination.
"How do I find it?" he asked.
Scáthach did not answer.
She made a sudden move.
It wasn't the kind of "holding back" used in training, but a real, deadly stab.
Arthur's pupils suddenly contracted.
That shot was too fast; it was so fast that his body didn't have time to react.
He only saw a crimson light explode before his eyes, and then...
The tip of the gun stopped three inches in front of his throat.
"See?" Scáthach holstered her gun, her tone indifferent. "If I wanted to kill you, you're already dead."
"You couldn't even see the trajectory of my gun, let alone find the 'death line'."
Cold sweat beaded on Arthur's forehead.
He knew Scáthach was strong, but this was the first time he had truly felt the fear of being "killed".
"How do I learn it?"
"Use your 'Planetary Path'," Scáthach said, her wine-red eyes staring directly at him.
"Can't you see 'possibility'? Then use it in battle."
The moment your opponent makes a move, see the possibility that 'it will kill you'... then, work backward to determine its 'death line'.
Arthur was stunned; he had never thought of using that ability in this way.
"Let's give it a try." Scáthach raised her gun again.
"This time, I won't hold back... but I won't really kill you either. I'll control my power to the point that it will seriously injure you but not kill you."
She made her move.
This time, Arthur did not try to dodge or block.
He closed his eyes, then suddenly opened them.
Something seemed to be shimmering in its emerald green pupils.
He saw it.
It wasn't Scáthach's gunplay, but rather the image of "being killed herself."
In that scene, the crimson spearhead pierced his heart, blood splattered, and he fell into a pool of blood, his consciousness fading.
But in that scene, he saw the trajectory of the gun.
Not from Scáthach's hands, but from the perspective of "death".
How did that gun penetrate his defenses and find his heart?
He turned to the side and swung his sword.
The blade of the sword in the stone grazed the gun barrel, sending sparks flying.
Scáthach's spear tip pierced past his shoulder, tearing his cloak but not injuring his flesh.
Scáthach holstered her gun, a hint of surprise flashing in her wine-red eyes.
"You saw it?"
"I saw it," Arthur said, panting. "But I only saw it for a second. If I had been any faster, I might not have made it in time."
"Then practice more." Scáthach raised her gun again. "Again."
This training went on for countless cycles.
Arthur had lost count of how many times he had been knocked down.
His armor was completely destroyed, and he was replaced with light armor specially made for the Land of Shadows by Scáthach.
It was black leather armor, engraved with runes, lightweight yet sturdy.
His arms, legs, and chest were covered in bruises and wounds, some fresh and some old wounds that hadn't healed before being reopened.
But he made progress.
From being completely unable to see the "dead line" to being able to barely capture a fleeting moment.
From only being able to dodge the first shot, to being able to parry, counterattack, and even occasionally force Scáthach back half a step.
"That's enough." Scáthach sheathed her gun, a hint of satisfaction in her wine-red eyes. "Your performance today was barely passable."
Arthur knelt on the ground, panting heavily. His hand had split open again, and blood was dripping from the hilt of his sword onto the ground.
"Just... passing?"
"Just a passing grade." Scáthach walked up to him and looked down at him.
"You think 'god-slaying' is so easy? It took Cú Chulainn three whole years to learn this move, and you've only practiced it for less than a month."
Arthur looked up: "A month? I've been in the Land of Shadows for a month?"
Scáthach raised her left hand, and runes appeared in her palm, their pale golden light pulsating steadily.
"To be precise, twenty-three cycles. In terms of current time, that's about forty-six hours... almost two days."
But the flow of time in the Land of Shadows isn't constant; the corresponding time in the present world for these twenty-three cycles... I can't say for sure."
She put away the rune and turned to walk towards the door.
"But none of that matters to you. What matters is... that you have mastered the basic principles of 'god-killing'."
The rest is practice and real-world application.
Arthur, leaning on his sword, stood up: "A real battle?"
"The Land of Shadows is not just a castle," Scáthach said without turning her head.
"Outside are countless monsters, undead, and even fallen heroes."
In the training that follows, you will fight them.
She walked to the door and stopped.
"That concludes today's training. In the 'next cycle,' I'll take you hunting."
After saying that, she disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.
Arthur dragged his tired body back to his room.
He lay in bed, closed his eyes, and replayed the day's training in his mind.
"Godslayer," he murmured the word.
He recalled Scáthach's words, "Not to defeat, but to kill."
To defeat someone requires equal strength, but to kill them only requires finding the death line.
"Is this the way to 'change fate'?" he asked himself. "Not by confronting it head-on, but by finding the flaw in that 'possibility,' and then..."
He clenched his fist.
"One strike, one kill."
At the highest point of the castle in the Land of Shadows, Scáthach stood on the terrace, her wine-red eyes gazing at the dark wasteland in the distance.
Countless monsters roam there, and the wails of the dead echo in the wind.
That was her kingdom, and also her prison.
"Twenty-three cycles..." she said softly, "It only took me less than a month to learn the principles of 'god-killing'."
She thought of Cú Chulainn, that hot-tempered, passionate, fiery boy who took three years to learn this move.
It wasn't because he was stupid, but because he was too obsessed with "power".
He believed that as long as he was strong enough, he could overcome everything.
But this blond boy is different; he doesn't pursue "power," he pursues "possibility."
"Perhaps..." Scáthach's lips curled up slightly, "he really can forge a different path."
She turned and walked back to the castle.
On the terrace, the deep purple magical flowers swayed gently in the magic.
They will not wither, because Scáthach is still alive.
And Scáthach, for the first time, felt that... living might not just be a curse.