Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage Chapter 577: Havel’s Limits

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[Quickdraw – Flash Slash]!

Slash!

Slash!

Slash!

Repeatedly, Havel swung his blade toward the water.

But each attempt saw the edge just barely evade the agile koi fish swimming inside.

Irritation and exhaustion gradually built up, causing Havel to doubt his abilities.

The Quickdraw Style he practiced relied on swiftness, nimbleness, and accuracy as its core elements. Within his Noble race—and throughout his whole realm—it held fame as the quickest sword method.

Nevertheless...

In this place, that very technique somehow failed to match the pace needed for success.

‘No.’ Havel brushed the perspiration off his brow.

‘The style itself isn’t lacking in speed... It’s my own pace that falls short.’

He peered at his limb, shining from the sweat.

His garments clung wetly to him completely.

Havel struggled to recall when he had last strained himself to this degree.

Throughout much of his existence, achievements had arrived with ease, erasing memories of those grueling early days of rigorous practice that built his current prowess.

"Grumble~~"

Havel placed his palm on his belly.

This challenge certainly understood how to test his endurance.

Had the task involved something different, he probably wouldn’t have driven himself quite so fiercely.

Yet the drive keeping him persistent—the motivation behind investing such vigor in what appeared futile—was straightforward.

Food.

Hunger plagued him.

An intense, ravenous hunger.

Drawing from past encounters—and recognizing his own comparable traits—Havel realized the elf woman, who had offered him a meal earlier before dozing off once more, wouldn’t stir to provide another.

That shared bite had just been a fleeting impulse on her part.

Continuing like this, he’d perish from starvation well before she roused to catch more fish.

Havel had envisioned numerous possible ends to his life. Yet dying of hunger with a meal source gliding directly ahead? He utterly rejected such an outcome.

Thus, he compelled himself to persist in seeking an answer, despite no clear path appearing.

[Quickdraw – Flash Slash]!

Slash!

Slash!

Slash!

Still, regardless of the repetitions... the outcome stayed unchanged.

Abruptly, his sight blurred, sending him tumbling onto the earth.

‘My boundaries are closing in,’ he reflected inwardly. ‘Before long, I’ll lack the power to even lift my arm, let alone brandish the sword.’

Grumble~~

‘Such intense hunger... I must... consume something.’

His sight flickered once more.

Awareness dimmed as his thoughts wandered from the present into recollections.

A distant era resurfaced in Havel’s mind... the previous occasion when hunger had gripped him so tightly...

As an orphan, Havel’s initial years involved constant want, gathering meager food remnants wherever possible.

Survival came through that hardship.

But fate shifted entirely upon encountering a peculiar figure.

That individual appeared slender and delicate.

Still, his frame bore an aura of immense burden—handled with seamless grace.

He seemed kind-hearted, like someone who couldn’t hurt the smallest insect.

However, the myriad marks etched across his form—sparing only his visage—revealed a far grimmer tale.

The most notable feature remained the X-shaped mark slashed over his torso.

To this day, Havel remained unsure if that encounter proved fortunate... or disastrous.

One certainty lingered: following that meeting, scarcity never afflicted him anew.

At minimum, destitution no longer compelled him into famine.

Indeed, so much time had passed that genuine hunger felt like a faded echo.

Even during his abduction from his native realm to Pangea, prior to sale into the Fury Family’s primary agoge, starvation never forced him to rest deprived.

Relying on the abilities imparted by that person, he always devised a means.

But now, circumstances trapped him here.

Starvation clawed relentlessly.

Sustenance darted plainly in view.

Even so...

Grasping it eluded him.

‘Would you find this amusing, were you present?’ Havel pondered silently.

He dismissed the notion with a shake.

‘No strength for idle musings remains.’

Laboriously, he rose to stand.

All the while, the sword stayed firmly clutched.

Yet on this occasion, though balanced once more, he held back from another immediate strike.

‘Just a handful of attempts remain. Each must strike true. Squandering my scant reserves is impossible,’ Havel mused internally.

His gaze fell upon the weapon he held.

This edge had always proven reliable—a tool that guided him past innumerable perils before.

‘It shall serve equally well now,’ he affirmed resolutely.

Shutting his eyelids, Havel regulated his breaths and pondered possible resolutions.

Precisely then, a recollection—deeply interred from bygone times—emerged in his thoughts.

—

[Ultimate Quickdraw Art: Death Phantom Razor]!

During an assault on their modest dwelling by formidable foes, the seemingly fragile man advanced to confront them.

Though his build looked lean and vulnerable, he effectively guarded a youthful Havel against the threats arrayed.

Havel hadn’t perceived the motion at all.

Only after the adversaries fragmented into roughly ten segments did he comprehend his mentor’s intervention.

Some hours afterward, as they cleared the aftermath of the defeated invaders, Havel inquired with interest,

"Teacher, how can you shift and strike with such velocity?"

"When might I execute nine rapid cuts like yours?"

A smile crossed Havel’s teacher’s face.

"The Death Phantom Razor earns its name since mastering it demands grappling with death’s specter and seizing its blade for one’s own."

"You’re using enigmas once more, Teacher," Havel sulked.

"I’m not. Understanding escapes you for now," the man chuckled.

Shortly after, his demeanor grew grave.

"All creatures possessing intellect face constraints set by their own minds. This holds particularly for intelligent peoples such as our Noble race."

"That boundary safeguards against overtaxing the form past its capacity.

"Yet typically, the mind places this barrier well short of the body’s actual endurance."

"Put simply, dormant strength lies concealed inside us."

"Should we brave the agony and surpass the mental barriers, that latent force becomes accessible."

"From this core idea, Quickdraw Style users attain their explosive quickness and dexterity."

Understanding dawned as Havel inclined his head.

His teacher had conveyed this concept previously.

"To unleash the Death Phantom Razor, though, we drive our forms to greater extremes," the teacher pressed on.

"In one fleeting second, we exceed the secure bounds of bodily tolerance."

"Even if this beyond-limit phase endures just an instant, it ventures into perilous territory... where a misstep invites demise."

"Hence, I describe the Death Phantom Razor as a clash with death’s illusion."

"Victory grants life—and authority over its weapon."

"Defeat, however..."

"Brings oblivion."

Havel’s teacher halted briefly prior to resuming.

"Thus, to fully command the [Death Phantom Razor], one attains it only amid gradual, inevitable doom."

Extending his arm, he rested a hand atop Havel’s crown, tousling the child’s locks with a soft grin.

Rising then, he gazed skyward for an extended period.

He faced Havel anew.

"Take no haste, Havel."

"The singular trial needed to grasp the Death Phantom Razor truly... As a comrade in the blade, I promise you’ll face it eventually."

His features eased.

"Truthfully, though... as your protector, I wish it never arrives."

"Such an event would signify my shortcomings toward you."

—

Abruptly, Havel’s eyes snapped wide.

Clarity returned to his sight as awareness pulled back from dizziness and reminiscence.

‘Failure eludes you, Teacher. This route is mine by choice.’

‘To its conclusion, I shall tread it fully.’

Havel clenched his sword tighter.

Motion followed.

[Ultimate Quickdraw Art: Death Phantom Razor]!

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